Violet

• Prologue •

I remember the first time I was ready to leave home. I felt that urge when I was young, at around the age of nine. Would my parents hear the door closing at the pit of night? Would they hear the synthetic leather of the suitcase rubbing against the tiled floor of our home? Would they be saddened at the note flapping at the edge of the table? Thoughts like this didn't usually arise in the ordinary nine year old's mind. Maybe I wasn't just an ordinary girl.
***
I was just a simple girl, one who had not even experienced much of her life. I looked rather, well I would call it ordinary but that's just me. My eyes were large and so was my nose. My nose was my biggest physical insecurity then. It was long and took up a lot of my face. My skin was the color of chocolate, a few tones darker than the tan color everyone wants on their skin these days. Although long and curly, my eyelashes were always clumped together in groups awkwardly.
***
Many people find the main highlight of their childhood to be their innocence. I do not understand this word. Innocence. What is it? To be ignorant? If so, why would one choose to willingly be ignorant? I was a rather rude child when I was young. In elementary school, everyone thought it was cool to know naughty words and we all acted as if we were much maturer children than our age. I'd like to blame my rudeness and absence of politeness on my so-called friends but that would be cowardly of me. They were partly to blame, but the person I can blame for my own actions and decisions can only be me.
***
I've always felt this kind of isolation. I wasn't an outcast - I had lots of friends and I was an easygoing person to talk to. But deep down, I found that I couldn't really relate to anybody and that I could not express my feelings in any way. The teachers had always said to talk to a trusted adult. But what if I couldn't trust anyone let alone an adult? My trust issues go very deep down, so deep I myself am not sure where the roots lay.
***
I found my secret joy to be in books. Novels, comics, plays. Anything I could get my hands on. Except non fiction. I steered clear from non fiction works like autobiographies and memoirs. I didn't want to read real stories of real people. I wanted to escape from this world of horrors where I never fit in and people wanted to write books about real life? It was always more about reading than writing. I couldn't write, I just acquired my knowledge from reading books.
***
You know when a bird flies off, leaving it's perch? It's that day when he becomes old enough to venture out into the human world alone. It's that time when his parents do not look after him anymore and he is fully responsible for himself. Well, that behavior is repeated in many animals. I wasn't very sad on leaving my perch, but there was a kind of unsettling nervous excitement building up down in my stomach. Maybe with a little bit of adventure, I could find myself, who I really was.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A/N:
Hi Wattpadians!
I see that you have decided to take a look at my story. This is my newest commitment. As someone who gives up a lot and a big sufferer of writers block, I will probably struggle to write this book. My motivation for this novel is my New Year's revolution to write.
The prologue is a bit boring and unedited. The next chapters will be a lot more lighthearted so don't worry if you're not into this kinda thing :D
A xxx