The elemental kingdom of Cryptine is a land torn apart by centuries of war and strife. The new queen of Cryptine has taken power and has ruled with an iron fist for decades. Under her rule, the people are subjected to numerous laws and decrees each...
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Today is my tenth birthday.
I woke up at dawn, feeling a strange mixture of anticipation and dread. Every other year, I've been disappointed by my family's lack of effort. The worst was when I was eight, and my mother laughed when I asked her where my presents were. She then threw an apple at me and went back to her conversation on the phone. I didn't even bother with my father. I used to care, back when I was five or six. I used to think that maybe they just forgot. But now, at ten, I know better. They just didn't care about me.
I trudge down the hallway, making my way to my room. The walls are a dull beige, the carpet a faded blue. There's a small window at the end, covered by a floral curtain. It's the only source of light in here, casting a soft glow over my worn-out posters of bands and movies I used to like. My ratty old stuffed animal, Mr. Whiskers, sits on my pillow, watching me with one beady eye. I toss him aside, annoyed.
I lay in my bed, staring hard at the ceiling until it moved and turned into little blobs. This was all I had to entertain myself with. My parents didn't bother buying me any books no matter how much I begged them. I could go outside but I only did that when my mother was in one of those moods.
I crane my head and look outside my window. I could see a couple of boys playing football, all of them running around and laughing. How did other people find it so easy? I couldn't even get people to talk to me let alone become my friend. Everybody at school was convinced I was a weirdo and in a way, I do agree. If I was in their shoes and I saw someone muttering to themselves constantly, I would find them weird too.
It's a bit pathetic really. I've been alive for a decade and haven't made one friend yet. Maybe that should be my new years resolution. I grab my notebook and title a page, New Years Resolution.
Make new friends. I cross that out and correct the statement. Make a friend.
My mother's footsteps grow closer, and I quickly shove my latest journal under my pillow. I can't afford to lose this one too. My mom has a habit of finding my notebooks and tearing out pages, telling me my writing is inappropriate or disturbing. The truth is she's scared someone might see my writing and report my father.
She pushes the door open and steps into my room, her eyes darting around as if she's looking for something. Her hair is pulled back into a messy bun, her face scrunched up in disapproval. "Maya," she says, her voice laced with annoyance. "Why do you always have to make things so difficult?"
