A/N: I’m really just writing this story for the heck of it, so don’t expect it to be my best writing. It will probably end up fairly cheesy. And when I say Indian, I mean Indian, not Native American. Enjoy! :)
It was the wind rattling my shutters that woke me. I sat up and yawned, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. Perfect. This was exactly the kind of weather I had been hoping for for my sixteenth birthday: cold and cloudy.
Grumbling, I dragged myself from the warmth of my sheets to begin another boring November day.
I rifled through my few clothes, trying to throw something together that looked at least somewhat festive, and coming up with nothing. In the end, I decided on a dreary gray shirt and a pair of dreary gray ripped jeans to go with my dreary mood.
No, I wasn’t looking forward to this birthday.
“Perla, get your a*s down here! I’m hungry!” my aunt’s voice flew up the stairs, her Indian accent as thick as ever.
Of course. I hadn’t expected her to remember.
“Today’s my birthday,” I mentioned casually as I cooked her eggs.
She grunted, barely looking up from the New York Times she was buried in.
I gave a small sigh and finished making her breakfast. Then, having nothing better to do and not wanting to spend time with my aunt, I returned to my room to work on my weekend homework. Being top of the class, I found it fairly easy and finished it in less than an hour. But don’t get me wrong. Being smart isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Because of my 4.0 GPA, everyone at my tiny school shunned me because some bozo decided that being stupid was cool. Beats me how that idea caught on.
Bored, I surveyed my miniscule room which comprised of a bed, a closet, a mirror, and a nightstand with a lamp and a clock on it. My parents had been far from wealthy, and my aunt fared even worse, so once they drowned on that river rafting trip all those years ago and I was sent to live with her, my life basically went downhill from there.
I stood and walked over to my mirror, staring at myself. My hair was a conundrum in itself. At one point in time it had been entirely pitch black, as any girl of Indian descent’s hair should be, but on that fateful day that my parents died, the first streak appeared. More soon accompanied the first, each one a deep, dark periwinkle that just so happened to be my favorite color.
I tilted my head so my hair caught the light.
Yup. Still there.
I lay down on my bed and stared at the ceiling, at a loss for what to do.
“Happy birthday to me. Happy birthday to me. Happy birthday dear Perla. Happy birthday to me,” I sang softly.
Rain began to pelt against the windowpane, adding insult to injury.
I wondered if this girl would ever get to spread her wings and ride the wind as so many others seemed to do.
Later that afternoon found me sitting on my bedroom floor, staring at my clock and counting down the seconds until I would truly be sixteen.
I had been born at 6:00 on the dot, just in time for dinner, as my parents used to say, though I can barely even recall their voices now.
Ten seconds.
Nine.
Eight.
Seven.
Six.
Would being sixteen feel any different than fifteen?
Five.
Four.
Three.
Two.
One.
A searing pain ripped through my back, and I opened my mouth in a soundless scream.
What’s happening to me? I thought wildly.
Then everything went white.
A/N: Oooh! Cliffhanger! If you liked it and want to find out what happens, please read the next chapter, which should be coming soon! :D |
