Please do not steal my work, it takes blood and time to write each chapter.
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Unintentional Compact Disc- Chapter 1
One word to describe what I had in mind?
Runaway.
My name is Liz, short for Elizabeth Jane Taylor. A Runaway from my hometown, Coswinson. No offense to my hometown, but all offense meant to the people of Coswinson. Their small-mindedness suffocated me, I had to leave. To breathe and to live.
No one understood me.
At first, I blamed my inability to convey information to others. But, eventually, I realized it was not me but those who weren't ready to reason.
When I reached my breaking point, I ran.
Simple and sweet.
Using help from some willing gentlemen, I packed a survival bag and took the first flight to New York.
You see, I had never traveled. That explains the situation I'm in...
Beep
The security lady stared for the fourth time.
"Ma'am please remove everything."
"I have already," I argued.
I don't think I would ever reach New York until this machine decided to stop beeping.
The lady pulled me into a small room and shut the curtains.
"What are you doing?" I asked, but she didn't reply.
She raised my hand and skimmed across a rod over my body.
Beep
The rod beeped as it landed in front of my breast.
"You wouldn't dare!" I covered my breasts in disgust.
"Could you remove whatever you have there?" She said, more confused than I was.
I slowly undo the ribbon around my neck, preventing any wrinkles to form, and uncovered a small portion of the insides of my clothing.
Running away without carrying money would be stupid. And any person, even a girl like me who only went to finishing school would know how to hide it. A small pocket closed by a zipper was stitched on the inside of my skirt. A bunch of notes and coins chunked together as the lady checked for anything unusual.
Successfully passing through security I grab my bags and jewelry that had been lying on top of the rollers for a while.
Passing through the different shops showcasing some of the most amazing clothes and artifacts (which exceeded my budget) that were on display under colourful lights, one particular caught my eye. Chocolates.
Some of the most unique chocolates, that nor had I ever seen or heard of were stacked on high racks, keeping them out of the reach of children and even perhaps me. Back in Coswinson, we weren't allowed to eat chocolates. Learned to make but never eat. Thus, explaining corsets and my unique yet old-fashioned way of clothing.
Coswinson was never a town known for its progress. The men were men and women were toys, never appreciated and never noticed. Looking around I find people in casual and comfortable clothes. Spotting a clothing store in one corner, I pull my luggage across the coloured tiles.
If I were going to run, It should be done in style.
I'm coming New York!
I nod along as the attendant explained the safety procedures. I check under my seat to make sure the life jacket was present. The old lady with a hunched back who was sitting next to me, gave a gentle smile as I nod at her to let her know of the life jacket under her seat.
The eight-year-old little girl sitting on the outer end frowned at me as she pressed her body against the old lady who I assumed to be her grandmother.
I scoot closer and whisper to her, "You look a lot like your grandma."After hearing me out, her frown disappeared and a blush creeps over, and she shies away.
Kids are so cute!
But I wasn't.
The only affordable piece of clothing I could find was a green sea slug coloured top paired with blue ripped jeans, which I now assume is the latest trend.
Buckling up, I sit comfortably for the first time since I left. Corsets are uncomfortable. They don't provide much scope for movement. Once I had read an article regarding the health risks related to corsets and told my mother about it, hoping she would stop making me wear them, but she didn't take them very well and the phone was confiscated since then. Only on rare occasions would I get to use it. Said- Women of such fine age shall not be given such barbarous things. It could ruin her image. And that men are the only ones who are compatible to use and process information correctly from such a thing.
But I can't blame my parents for what they were taught by their parents. Nor can I blame my grandparents, for they were taught by their parents.
Anyways, that's behind me now.
The airfoil rattles as the plane drift off into the great unknown.
OoO
I pull my luggage into the small rented apartment. It was nothing like home. Quiet and small.
It's not that bad. I thought.
The pictures sent on the Internet are definitely not trustworthy. I learned it the hard way.
The walls were painted cream. A bunch of odd graffiti-covered one side. An old set of the sofa was lying in the corner paired with a light yellow lamp.
Walking straight I entered the kitchen. A few racks were attached on the right and on my left was the counter.
On the other side of the right wall was a small room with an attached washroom. Luckily the bed was in good shape and a huge window was draped with a brown curtain, just like brown hair tucked behind the ear.
The room was cozy and well-lit.
I think I'm going to be just fine.
Removing a pair of gloves from my bag, I pull up my sleeves and prepare for a battle with dust.
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Please note-I write such chapters based on my intense dislike towards gender inequality. I do not hold lightly to any form of discrimination.
The way we talk plays a very important role in society. Words reflect our thoughts and these words are read and heard all around the world, to people of all ages and cultures. So, I request you to talk respectfully in the comments.
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Unintentional Compact disc
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