Alia's Journey

     Hello my name is Alia, no   My name is Alia, that sounds lame.

Alia sighed, why had she agreed to do this? She didn't want to keep a journal, of any kind. She wasn't the type to do anything everyday. She looked down at the black, spiral journal, with it's big pink smiley face. She hadn't known which one to get. There were so many choices. After about ten minutes she had put her hand out and randomly picked one.

Why hadn't the old bat, therapist just given her one? No, the mad old lady had said it was part of the process. What process? So, here she was trying to go through the process. Looking down at the book she tried again.

     I'm Alia, pronounced Aw- le-ah, yes, it's strange. Just like me. I don't know what to say about me.  I'm mostly average, 26 years old. Average height, 5'7'', average build not skinny or chubby; I do have pale white skin and  bright Kelly green eyes, with shoulder length black hair.

Ok, what next?

     Besides my accidently killing my parent, which I don't want to talk about, nothing has ever really happened to me. Well that's not really true, nothing big, but little weird things do seem to be happening around me.

Poor Simon, her ex-boyfriend, who would have thought falling into a fish tank, could hurt so much. Then the crazy lady that beat up Peter, the guy she was dating before that. Strange enough, it happened twice, and they think it was the same lady. Now she knows why grand-mothers always carry an umbrella, even if it doesn't look like rain. She laughed out loud at the whole thing. She hoped she hadn't been the cause of all the little stupidness in her life.

           People think I'm creepy or bad luck. Which isn't true, it's not my fault they are clumsy, or elder ladies didn't like them? I do lean towards the gothic side of fashion, black looks so good on me. It also just happens to be my favorite color. So I'm pale and I where black a lot. I don't really like to go outside, so I don't tan. Just pale, average, orphaned, girl with no family or friends. No education, which I know is my own fault. I was working in a dead end job, with no real hope of going any where. Living across town from the place I was born.

           Life kinda sucked there for a little while. I was just floating by, hating everything. Then about a month ago, this old bag dumped into me. Really she did, almost knocked me down. She didn't even help me pick up the bag of stuff I dropped.

           "What are you doing child?" She asks me in her crazy lady voice. All dry and crackly from the many packs of cigarettes she smokes a day. Her thin white hair was standing straight up off her head. She was in a light brown shirt and sweater and white blouse. Typical grand ma attire, the sad thing is I can't tell if she is 45 or 145 years old. And I'm not about to ask her.

 I could only stand there looking at her, she ran all into me, not the other way around. Why was she being so mean?

           "Nothing" what was I supposed to say. " and I'm ok by the way." I said under my breath. I was trying to retrieve my fruit that was rolling all over the ground.

           "I would say that's your problem" said the angry, old bag.

          Again what do you say to THAT! All I could think to say was" I didn't think I had a problem?"

           She gave me a look like I was dumb, then out of nowhere she says "Let me see your hands." She didn't care that I had just picked up my apples, or that we were standing on a public side walk. People were looking! Someone could have stop to see why this crazy lady was yelling at me, but sadly no one did. It would maybe have changed what happened next. We shall never know.