Heeeeellooooooo!! Urgh stupid me -slap-
Sorry… I'm rather hyper today. ANOTHER STORY AT LAST!! -slap-
Anyways, yes, YET another story from LY. She's an awesome writer :D
Please review, and subscribe if you like it :D
LY doesn't have her own FP account, only for FF, so this is her posting account (mine)
She reads all the reviews!! (and so do I, she wants me to add… =X) Urgh… so hyper…. -slap- This story is not edited by me, partly cos I don't feel like editing it this time….
I am an unloved girl in Africa. One out of the thousands here who find themselves faced with a bleak future. Just that my life is that little bit worse than all the others, because I am adopted.
My birth parents abandoned me on the hard, dusty ground, without even a blanket to wrap around me. When I was found, I was close to death. No doubt I was left there because I had been born a girl. A weak, worthless girl who was no use at all to the family.
From the tender age of five, I was trained to work. I was a slave in all but name. I was that downtrodden patch of dirt that people step on and ignore.
Usually, I wake up at dawn. With a tired and aching body, I will grit my teeth and hang my head, readying myself to face that day's hurdles. For the sadistic fun of seeing me cringe, to have that satisfying knowledge that they had that much power over another human being, they will punish me while I am doing housework.
Working outside is better, as they will not watch, even if it did mean that I would be exposed to the burning sun. With my clothes soaked in sweat, I would start the back-breaking work that most adults would find tiring. And to think, I was only five.
Then, that day came. The sun was rising, heralding the beginning of a new day. As the first clean, pure rays of the morning sun touched the world, the sound of a baby's squalling reached my ears.
And so I became a nursemaid. As he grew to recognize me, Yohance (god's gift) smiled whenever he caught sight of me. Bit by bit, Yohance's kindness broke down the stone-hard barrier I had built around my heart. For the first time in my lonely life, I felt wanted.
When he was seven, Yohance went to school. I never went, and I knew why. I was a girl, useless and worthless. No one would waste money sending a mere girl to school. After all, what would we do with that education? We were only supposed to be filial daughters and good wives. Nothing else.
Yohance fell out of a tree to his death. Then, he was only eight. He was still smiling, although it is a small, sad smile. It is as if he knows he will die, and yet does not regret it.
I bottle up my feelings. I rebuild that wall around my heart, except that it is too late. What is the use now, when my heart is already torn to pieces? Still, I do it, comforting myself with the knowledge that nothing else can hurt me.
After a while, I go to the tree he fell out of. Seeing the broken branch, the spot I knew his body once lay, I collapse on the ground, beneath the tree that took his life and cry. The fragile barrier around my heart shatters, and I pour all the pain out, all the misery, all the sorrow. I weep until my eyes are red and swollen, until I am too numb to do anything except let memories of Yohance swirl around in my head.
I decide to leave this place. To leave the place I grew up in, to leave the place of so much heartache and pain. I want to go somewhere where girls are treated fairly, and start afresh there.
I know that I probably will never reach that place. But I have to try to reach out to that spark of hope, of light, in the distance.
And, at the very least, I will be free. It is as if I, as a bird, have discovered that my clipped wings have magically grown back. I feel as if I can soar up into the clear blue sky, free and happy, full of hopes and dreams for the future. I hope someday, somehow, girls everywhere will be happy with their lives. That one day, all those dreams and wishes from unloved girls, drifting around in the air, will be fulfilled.