PROXIMITY

AMARA KYOUKO

PRESENT TIME

1:04AM

SEATTLE

6 HOURS AFTER THE KINGS DEATH

It was hailing. Little brackets of sound from my gigantic window, viewing the ginormous city. Yesterday was a bright sunny day, then it was snowing, and then  raining. The weather must be on mood swings. I walk around my dark apartment complex I easily bought for 20,000 relics. I am only wearing a button up collared shirt and a black skater skirt. I go into the kitchen and fetch myself a glass of water and decide to turn on some music. Though being popular and rich must be fun for some people. I absolutely hate it. The fame I hate is what people in the poor sectors are dying to have.
I let out a sigh and press play on my phone.

"Let us see." I whisper as the bright light of my phone washes my pale face.

The first song that comes up is an old folk song from centuries ago. I let it play on speaker as I open up my journal to a fresh new page and pick up my quilled pen and begin to write.

1:10AM

The weather is bad again. Though the king died only six hours ago, the streets are already back to normal. Well, not really. No one really liked the king. I tremendously hated him with all my heart. I remember how he used to invite me to balls and annual gatherings, I politely refuse but of course I just wanted to punch his quirky face. Thank you, whoever killed him. When I say this, I feel like I'm apart of the proximity. I would die to be apart of them. They will defiantly bring this nation back together. Lol. This is getting ridiculous now. I am suppose to be a good definition of the capital but yet again I despise them. I wish somehow I could be apart of the proximity and still be loyal to the capital. Maybe that's like being a secret spy? Sounds cool.

I place my quill ever so slightly down and into the drawer. I then take a gulp of water and just sat there in my spinning chair, listening to old music.

How sad.

I set my head down, letting it rest on my forearm as my eyelids smoothly became heavier.

If only I could be free. Free from tight dresses, free from expensive dinners that people in the poor sectors are dying to have. I want to run. I want to be able to run as far as my legs can take me. Embrace me into the darkness of the alleys, wind in my long, brown  hair, beads of sweat on my pale body.

If only the proximity were here, to take me away and let me be free. Before I knew it, I fell asleep with the capitals annual song playing, worshipping the dead king.