Another line of chalk was drawn onto the wall. That made twenty-one. There were twenty-one little white lines - tally marks, as they call them - on the stone wall in front of me.
Each one marked one day I've been locked in this underground prison. Twenty-one days, three weeks to the day. Living each day on some old microwaved chicken noodle soup, a refilled bottle of water, but most importantly, no contact, with anyone. Simply twenty-one days with not much to do but be left to your own thoughts.
My fingers traced each of the marks lightly. They were in groups, each with four lines each with one crossing down dialougally. All were in groups, all but one that stood alone, like me. At least after that scandal.
My whole life I have always had my place: And the right hand of my father. From the second I was born my father held his firm grasp on me. I was the eldest, his - what's the word in English - special child. He took me under his wing and transformed me into the person I am today. He taught me about what it take to be independent and strong, to not let anyone take advantage of me, but to take advantage of them.
But I am also my mother's daughter. The daughter of a fighter, someone bound to do the right thing, no matter the cost. And that drive is often underestimated, but that resistance, that fight, is far more powerful than fear. And that is dangerous and and will only result in grave consequences.
It's almost time.
Only two more days left.
And then, everything will change...
YOU ARE READING
The Girl With Cat Eyes (BEING REWRITTEN)
FantascienzaBen, an average teenage boy. Has a close friend, does pretty well in school. He just wants to get through high school without problems and help his family. Isabel, a cold-hearted leader who is driven for success. She just wants to survive and put a...
