Zyanna

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

All a girl wants is a story. But stories are short lived. They end and there is no book to follow the last one. I regret reaching the last page. Then I know my dreams are over. My solution to it is that I find a new book. I begin a new long story. That again is short lived. If I don't feel like I am finished yet I dream about a new story. That is fairly the same. Then I think of writing it dawn, but every time I do, I have this feeling that I am partly copying someone else's story. I have these dreams that would be bestselling stories, but they aren't my own creation. They are always inspired by another story. I have a notebook full of these stories. I have still a ton of words that form in my mind. Words that might mean nothing or words that might be the only thing that keeps you alive. But I don't have the guts to finish my stories. I don't want to reach the last page of my book. I don't want to make people end their dreams. And so I say this, I don't want to make it too long. I don't want to make people bored. I am scared people will make fun of my stories. Most of my time I dream and write down words in my notebook. Like now.

As I lift my head of my pages I see that the hall is empty. I am late again. I don't even care anymore, it seems to be a recurring habit of mine. I take my shoulder bag and push the leather notebook in it, leaving the bindings to stick out. I run to class. I don't know why, the damage is already done, it's not as if this will make me less late. The teacher will think of me as late regardless of the time and as I enter the teacher looks at me disappointed, like every other day I enter too late. Staring straight at him, my head still in my dream.

"Why are you late?" He says it in a bored tone as if he isn't interested any more. Who blames him? He has to ask me every day. Taking my gaze of the swaying trees outside the window, I look at him and start my words for the first time ever. My mind as far away as my dreams and my voice soft spoken as if in a trans.

"As the seasons go. From spring to summer to autumn to winter and back to spring. You must know that my excuses will repeat themselves. I have no more words to invent a new excuse. Since my flat tire has already been flat for years. And my clocks have been broken a thousand times. I think my excuses will have no more use."

Everyone is looking at me with a mouth hanging to the floor below, if of course there was a floor below. Realizing what I just said I blush duking my head and shuffling to my seat. The teacher is as stunned as the students. He stairs at the spot where I used to stand until I screech the chair legs on the tiled floor and sit dawn. The teacher is pulled back to reality and shakes his head. That must have been my best excuse of all and it wasn't even an excuse. What has the world gone to? Where has my mind gone to? I could have told stories like that the whole year round and then I wouldn't have to sit in detention all the time.

My place is at the back and usually I sit there alone so I can look out the window undisturbed. But now there is a boy next to me with hair as black as the blackest night when you close your eyes in a pitch black room. It might seem as exaggerating, but it really was black, like the black hole in the galaxy. This beautiful galaxy was blocking my view to the green outside world were my dreams can run around free. But now I see his face is turned to me. He has seen me observing his hair like it is a rare stone and lucky me he has grass green eyes like my outside world, but too green to be really pretty and full pink lips with barely a cupid's bow, his skin is pale but very fair giving of a light halo glow. And his lips move and words form from them.

"You have a way with words." His voice is airy, the words flow through each other making them seem like a totally different language than the high and pitching English. Barely understanding him I ignore him and look forward. What a weird thing to say? Wow, I'm one to judge.