DON'T EAT AIRPLANE BUTTER. It tastes like plastic. I would know.
Munching on a pretzel, we all were watching the news.
"Currently, the United States of America—specifically California—is being trashed by a new upcoming hurricane called hurricane Denise. This natural disaster has seemed to come up from nowhere," a reporter said.
I looked at Mackenzie. We had heard the same thing over and over again. There was no new news, and it was getting late. Our flight had ended and hour ago, and no one's stomaches had survived.
We made our way to the nearest inn. We payed for a room, and made our way to it. We went through the pub, and there were drunk men stumbling around, with others at tables talking, and ladies flirting with them.
Once inside, we all crashed onto beds. There were two bunkbeds, and I had to strain my muscles just to get up the ladder. We all drifted into sleep wordlessly.
My father was sitting on a throne. In my dream, I was in third person, as if I was the wind, drifting around a scene. Suddenly, I saw myself walking into the room. A shadow snuck up behind me. A shadow of my mother. NO! I tried to shout but it was of no use. The shadow of my mom took out a knife, and stabbed me in the back. Black cracks ran up and down my body, streaking from my wound. That was until it took over, and I crumbled into black sand. My father grinned.
YOU ARE READING
The Myth Of Koa
AventuraKoa is a special case. Her dad died, and her babysitter who told her of Hawaiian myths is a goddess herself. Join Koa as she journeys across the world, makes friends, makes enemies, and learn to be either buddy-buddy with Gods, or at their necks wi...
