Name: Morgan Donahue
Age: Sixteen
Caste: Bankston
Parents: John Donahue
I pause, my mother may be deceased, but she's still my mother. Right?
Parents: John and Mary Donahue
Pink chunks of eraser are scatter along my paper, the remnants of stressed sentences make me think even harder about this paper. I don't why though, this wasn't my choice, so why was I being so precarious with it? Maybe because royal hands will be touching it, or maybe my dad will look over it and correct me on every mistake.
Soft tapping filled my small room, the dull noise snaps me out of my trance. "Come in," I call towards the door. Sara walks in the door slowly with two mugs of what looked like tea.
Sara has been beautiful since the day she was born, her dark freckles are like paint on a blank canvas. You could just get lost in her big, brown, doe-like eyes, her dirty blonde hair was cut to her shoulders are was always straight and sleek. "Hey, are you filling out those forms?" Sara voice is soft and patient, calming me. She sets the tea on my wood desk, then sits down on my bed, wrinkling the yellow sheets.
"Yeah, and I'm not getting anywhere. I only have four questions done, there's fifteen questions. I don't even want to do this!" I complain throwing the pencil down on my desk. Why can't Dad just realize that The Selection is not something I want to be participating in.
"Well what's so hard about filling out vague questions about your life. Look, number five asks for your siblings' names," she says comforting me.
I sigh. "It's not, I'm just, I'm just over thinking this. About Dad and all of that, I mean I just told myself that I won't get picked. But what if I do? I don't even know Prince Oliver, he could be a total asshole and I don't know what I'm getting myself into."
"You're right, you are overthinking this," Sara says, a little bit of joking in her voice. "Three-hundred girls are going to enter from Bankston alone, you have nothing to worry about. Okay?"
"Okay."
"Besides, you've seen Prince Oliver on T.V. all the time. I'm sure he's not bad, I mean everyone loves him."
"That's what we see on T.V. Sara. Behind the makeup, the obvious script, we don't really know what his personality is."
"Still, I'm sure he can't be that bad. Can I braid your hair?" Sara gets up and the bed groans lightly, she sees her tea down on the desk and grabs my brush.
Crickets sang loudly outside my window, my white curtains billow in the soft breeze. My body was buried underneath my yellow sheets and my head sank into the white pillowcase. A knot was mangled in my stomach, keeping me up all night.
The form was done, I would turn it in tomorrow, and Dad would come to make sure I was turning it in. I could only hope I wouldn't be shipped off to the castle.
