Longing for adventure, time and time again I sit in my dusty parlor watching the hourglass sands trickle down. In my lap lies a book that lost my interest hours ago. What a pitiful existence is mine…
Gracious, if that isn't the most pathetic journal entry, then I'm Barbara Bush! With my trusty BIC pen, I scribble out each morbid line of today's passage. Should my mother find this book, she would fit me with a straight jacket!
Internet, homework, sleeping and eating--that's all I ever do! I'm so sick of small town Missouri that I'm past medical help. I've just got to get out of here!
Now I'm just being melodramatic…
"Elutha, you need to walk Jonah! Dinner will be ready real soon!" my mother called from the kitchen downstairs.
Sighing as all teenagers do when reminded of a chore, I lean back in my whicker roller chair and kicked my classic converses against the leg of my desk. My chair flipped over backwards and I landed tossed against the moth-eaten love seat.
In the distance, I heard my mother yell unintelligibly. Then I heard an ocean of static, everything had faded into dancing gray motes.
When my capacity to see finally returned, I could scarcely believe my eyes. Before me stood a decrepit church and I was lying on my back. But yet, it seemed I rolled, as if on a cart.
"Don't you hate it when their eyes open when you don't expect it?" a rough voice asked.
"Just dump her in the hole--no ceremony about it."
With no argument from man with the coarse voice, they proceeded to scratch a hole in the earth. Lain in the earth I was covered loosely in the misplaced dirt and few rocks and the men walked off without a sound.