When I got home the next day from Bella's, I gave Mom and Dad a hug and then went to take a shower. As I washed my hair, I thought of words to describe how my shampoo smells. Sweet, fresh, lovely, pink. That described it a little.
At this, I wished I had more words to describe it with. That was only four words. There were so many, many more, just in the air, ready for me to reach up and grab them like snowflakes.
No, wait, snowflakes would melt. I want my words to last. Maybe it's more like grabbing rain; it soaks into your skin and, even when you no longer feel it, it is in your skin.
I have always been full of curiosity. Everything is so new, so different, I couldn't possibly learn them all. But I want to. I want to know every detail about every thing.
But where to start? I know the answer: words. They are what fascinate me most. So wonderful and unique and different. As I dried off, I thought off words to describe the glorious towel.
Lush, puffy, soft, glorious. If only I could speak them. Then and there I made a vow: I would speak if it was the last thing I did.
YOU ARE READING
Megan Unspoken
General FictionMegan is unusual. She's not like the other kids--she sees the beauty of words, she understands the meaningful way in which they can be put. There's only one problem--she's never spoken before. Read the story to learn what happens to Megan and how...
