I don't know how I came to be. I don't know my name or how old I am. I call myself Feather. I sleep on a dirty mattress on the floor in an empty house with vines crawling up the walls and ash piled in the tub. I eat whatever I can kill in the woods. My best friend is a bright green bird named Elf, who likes to sleep on the emaciated roof, and also happens to be a chatterbox.
I suppose I came to life in this city in what used to be called Orlando. Elf said that it used to be a lively, flourishing city that had a lot of people like me in it. I find that quite hard to believe, as I have only met one other person in my life.
I talk to myself a lot. Elf doesn't like this very much. He says it makes him sad that he's the only one I can talk to, and he's not always around. But I don't mind. I'm used to being alone.
YOU ARE READING
The Most Random Book Ever
CasualeA book of random stories that I'll probably never finish. Some of them I wrote when I was nine and ten, so that explains the poor writing skills.
