Secrets I have held in my heart are harder to keep than I thought~

Writer's block is a bitch.
Yesterday I realised how much I love listening to music at the volume of my own thoughts. In complete darkness.
I spent the night thinking about the story I'm working on right now and decided to rewrite the whole thing. I mean, yes, the 3000 words I wrote will go to waste, but it's really nothing. I think I'll also rename the main character. What kind of sad person spends the whole night thinking about how much they can relate to the main character of their novel? Ha. Ha. Ugh, I don't want the main character to be too "relatable" because then the plot will be typical. On one hand, I want the main character to be like me, but then it will be like writing about myself in third person and that's strange. But then if I write in first person I won't be able to write about all the characters at once. Also, Gerry is fun to describe, but he doesn't relate to the story! I can't just squeeze him in, can I? Ughhh what is life......I need Gerry in the story because he's an interesting character to both me and the reader. I know what his role is, but like HOW DO I DESCRIBE IT. Okay, I give up. Bye.

Secrets! Secrets!

I think I will go to the Penguin now (that is what they call the bathroom in our institute). I will sit there until the hands on the big clock of the corridors show three minutes to five.

I feel very uncomfortable, walking down the deserted corridor. There isn’t a soul on this floor. The sound of my own steps seems unbelievably loud and makes me turn around: who is it stepping behind me?

Finally I’m at the Penguin. It is also unusually empty and quiet here. All the day students have gone home and the borders are not allowed to use this bathroom when school is over: they have their own, on the third floor.

Am I imagining this? No, I’m not – someone is crying. I walk closer. Sitting on the window still, in the deep niche of the window, there is a girl. Closing her face with her hand, she is shivering in silent crying. Tears are seeping between her fingers, dripping onto her black apron, while her other hand is squeezing a corner of the apron – as if she is falling into an abysm and is trying to hold on to something.

Carefully, I quietly touch her shoulder.

“Why are you crying?”

The girl suddenly takes the hand away from her face. She looks at me with hateful, spiteful eyes.

 “What do you need from me?” she saying hoarsely through her sobbing. “I hate you all! Everyone! Everyone and everybody! Hate so much that it hurts even here, in my throat!”

 “And me… You hate me?” I say in surprise.

I’m surprised because this girl, Sonya Pavlikhina, is almost a stranger to me just like I am a stranger to her. She’s a border, studying in the 1^st section of our 5^th year while I’m in the 2^nd section. We know each other by surname and face. But we have never said a word to one another… What does she hate me for?

Sonya Pavlikhina looks at me fixedly – eye into eye. She then, unexpectedly, pulls me towards her. I sit next to her in the window still. She hugs me, putting her head on my shoulder. With the sudden revelation of despair – as one person, who’s kept silent for too long, spits out their grief to the first person they see – Sonya Pavlikhina tells me about her misfortune.

Yesterday, on Sunday, the borders had a day of family visit – “the family day”. So many times has Sonya asked and begged her mum to not come here, the institute! Throughout the four years, mum has never been here.

They only saw each other during the summer, on holiday, when Sonya visited her mum. Sonya knew: if they saw mum, it would not end well; there will be trouble. But, recently, Sonya was sick with measles Mum found out and, of course, couldn’t resist and visited…

Because mum doesn’t have anyone in this world, except Sonya, just like Sonya has no on except mum! Mum is so weak, quiet, every drunkard can harm her. But mum can’t – she just can’t! – shout at anyone; drive the drunkards out of the pub.

I don’t understand much of Sonya’s confusing story where, for some reason, there are violent drunkards, who need to be driven out of the pub, but Sonya’s mum just can’t do that. But Sonya Pavlikhina is crying so much, squeezing my hands in a seizure, that I understand: something terrible has happened.

Reporting LIVE from Maths Class

I should not have cut my hair so short. I can not even make it into a ponytail now and it is getting in my face. Maybe a few hair clips will help me. No. They make me look so childish. I should have bought hair pins yesterday. Actually, I think it will be better if I do not put my hair back because when I do, it makes my cheeks look fat and puffy. I wish I had my long hair back.
"You ready yet?" I hear a loud nosy voice shout. It is Ritsuka, my roommate. We met a few days ago, just before school started. In fact, I am glad that I got a chance to meet someone before school starts since I do not know anyone in this high school. Sometimes I worry that I will not find any friends this year. Will I be on my own for three whole years? Will I be one of these loners who eat lunch on their own and spend most of their time reading? Horrifying scenarios run through my mind as I am still adjusting my fringe in front of the mirror. I look into my own eyes and remind myself of the advantages of not having friends. I mean, I spent months studying to get into this high school and I have never imagined the fact that a simple girl like me would ever end up in Tokyo. I came here to study and not to cry over the fact that I do not have friends. I am fine by myself and I do not need anyone.

Diary of a 9-year-old

As I might have already mentioned earlier, I had a diary when I was nine years old. I have had this diary up till when I was eleven. I started writing in it on the 31st of August 2008, the last day of the summer holidays. Surprisingly it was very formal. How do I explain this? Nowadays, I also keep different notebooks (kind of like diaries), but they are full of doodles and little notes I can't read because my handwriting is messy. My diary from 2008, on the other hand, is very neat and is written more like a formal letter. Another thing is that when I started writing the diary I had no idea of what diaries are like so there was nothing like "Dear Diary," at the beginning of each page. The way I started writing was also very... Hmmm... Strangely formal. I literally just wrote
Good evening! My name is Sonya and I am nine years old. Tomorrow is the first of September and I am going to Grade 4. 
It became less formal after a year or so, but, compared to my doodles now, the drawings in my old diary are very neat. Many things I wrote do not make sense due to poor grammar and punctuation skills. I did my best and tried to translate everything I wrote word to word. Sorry if something does not make sense to you because it does not make any sense to me either.
Let's take a look at it, shall we?

So this is how it looks like from the outside

This is something I wrote on the 1st of September 2008. It was my first day in 4th Grade. Before the lessons started we celebrated the start of a new school year with a dancing show and I was one of the performers. Another thing to keep in mind that I was going to leave to Switzerland in August and not come back to my old school, but, unfortunately, our visa was not ready yet so I had to go back. 

The celebrations were over. Everyone went to class. Those who danced stayed in the auditorium. And I went to see my classmates. I came up to class 4A where in the previous years I was the best student. Everyone lined up to go to music class. I looked at my class with happy eyes. They responded with bitter looks. Dasha S was the first one to speak, “Really, really wanted to leave, but didn’t?”

She said to me with her disgusting voice. And after the other Miss Intelligence decided to speak, “You’re staying! Oh no!!!”

The Last Sunday

This is a project we did for English class! Please check it out! ^w^ We got a 16/20 or a B n_n
Chapter 1 part 1 written by me
Chapter 1 part 2 written by me
Chapter 2 part 1 written by Dasha
Chapter 2 part 2 written by Dasha
Chapter 3 part 1 written by Edna
Chapter 3 part 2 written by Edna
Chapter 3 part 3 written by Edna

I found something!!!

Today I decided to write something again.
(Good job, Sonya! You have an English assignment due the day after tomorrow that you haven't even started! And you want to get an A in your marking period? Of course, you will!)
For inspiration I found some of my old stories and essays on my computer. I also took my old laptop that I forgot about and looked at some pieces of writing I did in 5th and 6th Grade. To my surprise I realised that I still have some of my old essays and writing assignments that I thought were good. They turned out to be horrible.... And I blamed my teacher for giving me a B-...? If I were her I would have given myself something bellow a D.
After reading my essays I started reading my creative writing stories. Holy crap those are scary! If I didn't know I wrote that I would have thought that the child who wrote that had issues! Just listen to this:
"You remember the day you left home. It was a cold November night when winter comes to power and plays with her white scarf, causing storms and hurricanes. Her hand reaches out for you to take you to a place where you feel like you’re on the other side of the mirror. You left the people you loved to love another place, without fighting.
One more sound and the ice will crack. There’s sadness in those eyes. You feel like they’re asking for something. The creature looks like an innocent child, looking for a place to hide from the big world. You think of kissing it, imagining how your lips would unite in an alliance of love. You reach out to grab the creature’s arm, but it disappears, leaving nothing behind. You turn around and find it behind you with its eyes wider than usual. It takes your arm and pulls you up."

What the hell was I thinking of back then?
My writing skills are very good, actually! How did I come up with all this stuff about winter's white scarf and the other side of the mirror? I like it, but it's just... So creepy and random!
I also realised another thing about my writing. I come up with such random names! Now I would never write a story about someone called Madeleine...
Before I had so many big writing projects. I started writing a story in 6th grade and I haven't finished it. I can't remember how I wanted to end it! It's a story about a girl who hit her head during a fire and lost her memory. She was called Sophie before and now, since she couldn't remember her name, she is called Amanda (random names strike again!). She goes back to school discovering that everyone is in love with her old self, but she doesn't remember being the girl she was before the accident. (Such a cool story line!) Here's a fragment from it:
"“Tell me more about Sophie,” I asked Lena. “I don’t remember myself being Sophie.”
            “What do you want to know about her?” Lena responded.
            “What did she like, for example,” I answered.
            “She liked to think,” Lena said, thoughtfully. “She liked to think about how things work not only in machines, but in life. She even found an answer to the hardest question in the world: What’s the purpose of living. Sophie was clever – wise. We would sometimes come to her and ask what to do. She solved our problems. She was a psychologist for all of us. Everyone liked her.”
            I thought about what Lena had told me about Sophie. It was like she was talking about someone else, not me. I’m not wise. I can’t solve problems like a psychologist. I wished I could.            “I feel sorry for myself now, really,” I pronounced my thought out loud. “I’m not like Sophie now. When I lost my memory I think I lost my wisdom too.”
            “I feel sorry for you too,” Lena replied. “You would just sit there, look at the fire and say something that would touch my heart, that would make my eyes water. You loved to look at the fire then, look at those flames disappear into the air. It made me feel joyful, but also jealous. I thought why you chose Liz to be your best friend. Why wasn’t I your favourite?”"
In fifth grade I was more into writing dialogues. Reading it, I realised that I haven't used the word "said" once. Here's an example (some more random names!):
""I'm not a little girl like you, Sue. I think I have a better idea," she whispered. "It's private. Up to my room."
The children ran to Susan's room quickly. Susan locked the door, so nobody could get through.
"Do you know, what Mum locked in the bottom floor and why?" she asked in a low whisper.
"I really want to know," Sue whispered back."Let's go to the bottom floor and see," Susan suggested.
"When?" Andrew asked. "Aunt Katy and Steffanie are always in the house."
"Not all the time," began the girl. "When Mum's away and Steffanie's at her friends' we can go down there and nobody would see us.""
In fifth grade I thought my grammar skills were good too. Nope!

I hope you enjoyed reading some of my old stories as much as I did. So the morals (I learned) are:
1. Don't blame your English teacher for giving you a bad grade! You deserve it! She knows better!
2. Read what you wrote from someone else's point of view before saying that it's amazing!
3. Don't be afraid to change your writing style!
4. Writing in first person and in past tense is too easy (and too mainstream)!
5. Avoid the word "said" when writing dialogues (because it's too mainstream)!
(6. Use random names..... No... Don't, actually... Random names are random... Don't use names...)

So I wanted to write something again...

Whenever I write something it somehow turns out to be in second person in present tense.... So here's what I wrote this morning:

You look up into the dark purple sky. Not a single light can be seen. Not a single sound can be heard. Out of the silence the sudden waves of a cold wind come out. They start slapping your cheeks, tangling your neatly braided hair. You realise that you can’t cover yourself with anything. Your feet are numb and frozen. Your arms are covered with goose bumps. Your backpack seems heavier with every step you make.

You stop and stare into the darkness of the forest in front of you. Suddenly, you can see a light. Hidden in the bushes and the tall trees it flickers as if telling you to come closer. Not thinking about the next step, you hurry to the light. As you come closer you realise that it is not a fire or a lamp. The light glows and flickers in the light shades of purple. You stop. The light is about a metre away from you. Thoughts fill your mind. Could this place be safe? Should you trust the beautiful light?

The questions cannot be answered for there’s a figure in front of you. It is too late to turn back. It is too late to think over what you have done. You stand there, frozen, as the dark figure comes closer and closer.

You see a girl, just like you, examining you with her curious eyes. There’s something unusual about her. She doesn’t seem human. She’s wearing a green, strangely textured dress and no shoes. Her eyes are deep and large. Her hair is neither curly nor straight. It is multicoloured and... It glows in the dark.

It takes you a moment to understand what is going on.

The two of you are standing in the dark forest studying each other with eyes large of astonishment. She puts her hand on your shoulder, as if testing if you’re real, and turns her head slightly. You touch her hand.

Moments after moments, you just stand there holding each other’s hands. Afraid to breath or move.

The girl is the first one to break the silence.

“Who are you?” she asks.

You don’t know how to exactly answer her question. Is she asking you for your name? Is she trying to figure out where you’re from? You decide not to say anything, but ask her another question.

“What’s your name?”

“My name?” the girl says.

“Yes,” you reply, “your name?”

“My name?”

It seemed like both of you were talking in absolutely different languages. Simple things that were normal to you were hard to understand for her. You decide to rephrase the question.

“What do people call you here?”

“There are no people here,” is the answer.

You think about what she has said, trying to bring meaning to her words.

“Sit down,” she tells you. “And tell me about your world.”

She takes your hand and forces you to the ground.

The light still glows.

“There are no people....” you whisper quietly, not able to form a proper question or sentence.

“You look so lost. What’s the matter?” The girl takes your hand. “Are you hungry? Do you want some fruit?”

You realise that you are quite hungry indeed and reply, “Thanks! I brought some food with me.”

You open your backpack, take out an orange and put it on the ground. The girl stares at it as if never seen anything like that before.

“Do you want some?” you ask politely.

Without saying anything the girl takes the orange and examines it. “Is it edible?” she asks.

You nod, thinking how strange it is that she doesn’t know what oranges are.

The girl bites the orange, without peeling it and says in disgust, “I don’t think I like it.”

“You have to peel it first,” you explain and take the orange from her. You see that the marks she left on the orange are very unusual. It doesn’t look like it has been bitten by human teeth.

Having peeled the orange you give it back to the girl. She devours it quickly.

“I never had anything like this before!” she exclaims. “It’s sweet, but kind of sour too. Where did you get it from?”

You’re not so sure what to say. Does she mean the name of the shop you got the orange from? You decide to say, “This one store near my house.”

The girl looks at you with misunderstanding. You get a feeling that she didn’t understand anything of what you have said.

“Never mind then,” you mumble.

You take out another orange and give it to her. She peels it carefully like a little child and gives a half of it to you.

“Where did you come from?” she asks. Again, her question seems strange to you. She didn’t ask “Where do you come from” or “Where are you from”. The way she phrased it is very odd.

Before you could open your mouth she suddenly decided to answer the question herself. “I know where you came from!” she exclaimed. “You’re from Nafricia!”  

You think it is better to go along with it and nod.

“I heard that people from Nafricia are very nice people!” she continued. “And that they have strange textured hair and coloured eyes like you!”

“You have coloured eyes too, do you,” you ask her, still not quite sure what she is on about.

“Yes, but they change colour,” she answered. After a long pause the girl asks another strange question. “Can I touch your hair?”

You are surprised, but seeing nothing wrong with it, you unbraid your hair and say “yes”.

***

Morning.

               The pink sky.

The dark silhouettes of tall trees trembling at the horizon.

The soft gentle wind kissing your cheek.

               The cold ground under your bare feet is still wet. As the lazy rays of sunshine touch the big drops of rain water on the leaves of a nearby tree, they reflect and shine into your eyes.  

               The sleepy sun is slowly coming out of the soft pillow-like clouds.

The early birds are singing.

 

The old, dirty fence with a broken gate.

The grass. So long it tickles your knees.

The pile of dead brown leaves under the tree’s white trunk.

The smell of fire.

 

You follow the path and open the squeaking gate. As you carry on you find yourself on a wide deserted road. The earth is soft and moist. The rocks on the ground tear up your skin, but you feel no pain. Instead, you carry on walking.

The road is endless.

The grass along it is still. The trees in the distance are motionless. The birds are silent. From far away you can hear a sound. It’s a horse.

You shiver and hold on to your robe that is made out of hard fabric. Suddenly, the wind becomes stronger. It becomes so strong, you think it’s going to lift you up, so you stop walking. Your long hair hits your face and neck. The dust is blowing into your eyes. For a moment you think you’re blind.

You close your eyes and crouch down.

As you open them everything is gone.

Just a day at school

First recess. I take out my phone to check if I missed anything from Yasmin. Nothing. I go to the Grenier and check the phone again. Terrible news. I can’t believe it at first. Staring at the screen. Speechless.

Call me

I put the volume up so I can hear her call.

First minute of German class. My phone rings. I get up and go out of class. It’s Yasmin. I lose all my strength at collapse to the bench. Full of anger. No. Fear. I get up and lean against the wall. Tears running down my face. I can’t stop them. I want to “close up” and hide from the world. My hand covering my mouth.

Kopatytch is staring at me in a weird way, walking from side to side. I sit on the stairs, focusing my eyes on the floor, phone to my cheek. I see shoes. Black ones. He taps me on the shoulder. Points at the door. Feeling-less thing. No phones allowed.

I go outside. Stand a little. Yasmin close to me. Salad Fingers walking in circles around me. Ugly, motionless face. I put my phone down. He looks at me. Emotionless voice talking to me.

Here, in reality, she’s not your Grandma. Go to your class. Test. Phone will be confiscated.

I can’t concentrate on what he’s saying. I can only hear meaningless words.

Back to German class. The longest 10 minutes of my life.

5 minute break. Run to Grenier. Feel blind without my glasses on. Buy a carambar, even though I have 2 francs left. Run back.

Lunch. Not hungry at all. Niko asks me if I’m okay. I don’t know why but sometimes such small things can cheer you up. My tears are dried up. I run to the metal stairs. No need for a jacket. I climb to the very top. Shivering. Staring at the screen of my phone, motionless.

Call mum. She will pick me up in an hour. That’s when homeroom starts.

Go to the bathroom. Stare at the mirror. Is this really me? Pale. As white as paper. Red eyes. I wash my cold hands with hot water. Carolina and Franny walk in. I say I have to go and rush out of there. Alice catches me. Pink face. Suspicious look. I talk to him with no emotions. Monotone voice, cold face.

The bell rings. Everyone rushes. I stand in front of the Mont Blanc. Not moving a muscle. Emma’s there. She gives me a hug and says she’s sorry. I see Franny. Tears running down her cheeks. She asks when did it happen and goes away.

I sit on the train. Blanc. Speechless.

Stufffff.....



            You wake up when the sun rises. The world is turning pink. You look around. You’re in a forest.

            I don’t belong here. I need to get out of here.

            You start to walk. You don’t even know where you’re walking. You don’t even know this place. It’s as if you’re in a dream, all by yourself, exploring your own mind. You notice animal foot prints on the ground and follow them as if trying to find a way out. Soon, you find yourself on a rocky beach. There’s a sea in front of you. Something tells you that it must be a lake, but you try not to believe yourself.

            Nature is too beautiful for me. I have to leave this world.

            The water is so still you can not hear the waves hit the shore. The surface of it is pink and shiny. The sun is below the horizon, but it’s not dark. The air is cool and fresh. You don’t want to breathe.

            You hear noises. You feel like someone is watching you. You go back into the forest. It’s silent.

            Let me see you! Stop hiding.

            When you turn around you see something move. You follow it, but it’s silent again. You decide to go back to the water and sit down on a rock. You feel someone’s breath and turn around.

            Who are you?

            A girl with white curly hair and a bow is behind you.

            “Leave,” she whispers. “Why are you alive if you know that you belong somewhere else?”

Mysteries...

Hi, Franny! No I definitely know that you are Camillia. Be careful when you want to stay anonymous!

Remember the story I wrote? Now listen to this. In English class we read them out and everyone gave us a grade out of 10. The story with the best grades would get a certificate (I mean the person who wrote it). Most of the class gave me a 6/10. I was about to exclaim "What?" when I saw that nobody gave me a 100%. Someone wrote that they didn't understand it and that it was too long. Come on! The maximum was 3 pages and I wrote 2 and a half. Didn't understand it? Your problem! Go back to 6th grade! Sometimes I really have a feeling that, either, all my classmates are stupid, or I'm smarter than everyone else. Yasmin got the same grade as Gabriel. I gave her 8/10 and him 5/10. Big difference!
I'm furious!

Peter! I love reading your comments!!! Thanks for cheering me up!

Fresh air!

Hi Camillia! I've seen your comment. Thanks for the advice. Since my cousin and my Grandma are coming I was thinking of something similar. Inviting the whole class is a good thing, but you would have to plan something massive! I'm just wandering where I can do it.
This is my story for English:

Karin opened a heavy brown door with papers and tiny pieces of gun stuck to it. Inside she found herself in a room with green dirty walls. There were many scratches and words written or carved out. The room seemed empty. The only furniture there was, was an old looking ugly bench and the only person was a girl who Karin didn’t recognize yet. The girl had glitter in her hair, black nailpolish and an iphone in her hands. You could barely see the apple sign on the back because it was all covered with stickers. The girl was texting someone.

            “Excuse me,” Karin reached out to touch her shoulder, but as the girl looked up to her with heavy eyes (that surely did not belong to a child), Karin moved her hand away. “No nothing,” her lips said silently.

She realized that there was another door, opposite the one that she had just entered.  Karin pulled the door knob, but the door wouldn’t open. She tried once more, but the door stood still.

“It’s locked,” the voice behind her said. It was the girl, Karin wanted to ask before. “It will open at 12,” the girl continued in her tired voice. “But I know the way out. Come with me.”

Karin and the girl were walking side by side. It was raining and the ground under them was dirty. The leaves on the bushes were about to fall.

“What’s your name?” Karin wanted to start a conversation.

“Anisa,” the girl answered roughly.

“And your age?”

“I’m 12.”

“So, you’re in 6^th grade?” Karin wanted to make sure.

“No,” Anisa replied. “I’m still in 2^nd grade.”

“How come?”

“I’m not the only one,” she began. “You know, we live in an undeveloped suckish country with the worst education in the world. Our people are stupid and so are the teachers here. Many people in my grade are older than me because we don’t agree with the rules they have here.”

It was silent again. Karin looked at Anisa who seemed like she didn’t want to talk.

“Why don’t you want to just follow the rules?” Karin continued. “Isn’t it possible? Don’t you want to graduate school, marry a man and… live happily ever after?”

Anisa sighed. “Marry someone from this country? You wish!”

“You have an awkward mind,” Karin smiled and laughed.

“Are you OK?” the girl asked, staring at her with astonishment. Karin showed misunderstanding. “They say laugher is a sign of stupidity.”

Nobody wanted to start a conversation again.

            When Karin opened the door to the teaching room she no more felt enthusiastic about her new place of work. As she entered everyone in the room stared at her with heavy eyes. Karin didn’t feel sure. It looked as if all these people were laughing at her, even though none of them was grinning. One woman looked different from everyone else. She was smiling and had blond curly hair. For some reason, Karin knew, she was the right person to ask for help.

            At lunch time, Karin and Lilia (that’s how the woman was called) sat together.

            “Where do you come from?” Karin asked her new friend.

“It’s very far from here,” Lilia explained. “I left my country because I loved one man. We lived together and were very happy, but when he found out that I was going to have a child, he left me. And I had to stay here.”

            “Does your child go to this school?”

            “No. I don’t want my daughter to live here,” she sighed. “She doesn’t have a passport yet, so she can go wherever she likes while I’m stuck here.”

            “So you’re used to this place?”

            “Don’t worry, you will be too. I know it’s hard, but since you’re much younger than me you will adopt to this place better.”

            Lilia’s words gave Karin a lot of hope. She no longer remembered Anisa with her mature eyes. She knew she was going to make it.

            When Anisa came home, she dropped her school bag on the floor, shut the windows and closed the shutters and fell on her bed with tears in her eyes.

“Why was I born in this country? Why?” she screamed and cried. “Why couldn’t I be born somewhere else?”

Shouts of horror, agony and pain were heard. Anisa didn’t even hear her friend open the door and come into her room.

“What’s all this fuss about, Anisa?” she asked.

“Leave me alone! Go back were you came from!”

“I can’t leave you,” the girl insisted. She sat next to her friend and gave her a hug. “What’s the matter?”

She let Anisa dry her tears out and let her talk, watching out for people who might be hearing this.

“You won’t understand, Wendy!” the girl began. “Today a new teacher came to our school. She’s from another place, I’m certain of it. Everything was new to her. She allowed herself to smile and even to laugh. She sees positive things everywhere! Do you? Do any of us? No! Because we know that we were born here and that we’ll die here. We’re stuck there like we’re prisoners. We’re prisoners of our own house! They don’t allow us to laugh or cry or… show any emotions about… anything! We have to be identical!”

At this point Anisa stood up, opened the window and jumped out. Before Wendy could know it, her friend was dead.

The next day Wendy got accused for killing Anisa. Her whole family was taken to prison and nobody saw them ever again.

At school nobody realized that the two girls were missing. All the teachers were told what happened, but none of them were shocked except Karin.

“Lilia!” she exclaimed when she saw her friend in the morning. “Save me! Get me out of here! Please!”

“What?” Lilia got confused. “How can I help you?”

Karin began to whisper. Hot air was coming out of her mouth. “Have you heard of Anisa and Wendy?”

“Yes,” Lilia answered showing no emotions.

“You don’t care?”

“Why should I?”

“I have to tell you something,” Karin continued to whisper. “It’s…”

“No whispering, please,” she heard a voice behind her. It was a tall woman with long black hair, wearing high-heals.

“What if I don’t want to?” Karin was becoming annoyed. She looked the woman in the eyes. “What if I don’t want to be here at all? What if… I’ve heard many stories, many wonderful ones, about this place. That’s why I came here to work. I wanted to see all the wise people in this amazing country with great history. What do I see? Nobody enjoys themselves. Everyone just… Uh! All you do is walk around and say that this is forbidden, that’s forbidden and so on. I have the right to say and do what I want! Understand?”

The whole school was now staring at Karin whose eyes were full of anger.

“Anyone wants to swap nationalities?” she spoke with a quieter voice since everyone was paying attention to her. “I want to make this place better.”

One person raised their hand, then a few more. Soon the whole crowd had their hand raised.

“I don’t think that’s possible yet, but we will see,” Karin remarked and turned to walk away.

“What were you doing?” Lilia asked her friend, still looking surprised. “Do you know who that lady was?”

“I don’t care!” she answered with anger.

Someone, quickly, put a note in Karin’s hand. She did not even realize if it was a girl or a boy. When she turned there was nobody. She opened the note and read it out loud to Lilia.

 “‘We will give you a chance, but next time you’ll be fired.’ I wander what that means,” she laughed and threw the note away.

Suddenly, Lilia turned around and began to walk away. When Karin called for her she just said with tears in her voice, “Don’t get me into trouble.”

The next day Karin went back to the country she came from.