I stood outside my school, listening to my IPOD while waiting for my parents to arrive. It was the end of the last day of school, and unlike my friends, whom were joking and having fun a few yards away from me, I was depressed. You see, I'm what's called a military brat, meaning that my parents were in the military. It also meant that we moved constantly. Sometimes this was a good thing, but this time I didn't want to move. I liked my small 300 pupil school, I liked my small, horrid smelling locker, and I especially liked being the outcast. Unlike my other schools, where everyone compared themselves to me, this school was different. New kids were considered outcasts and thrown away from the bigger, more popular groups. I never really realized how much I liked being alone, it allowed me room to think. Although I was the newest member of the 9th grade class of Winona Christian Academy, I wasn't the only outcast. I had become close friends with 3 kids, all of whom were just like me in a way.
First there was Austin Bennit. He was your medium sized build, well you could say husky for that matter. His mother always cared for him and everyday would send him a home made lunch, and ill tell you, that lady can cook. He always seemed to be bullied because of his actions, which really ticked me off. As a victim of bullying myself, I knew how he felt. Next was John Eric Burrell. He was one of those rare kind of kids that could be popular amongst the bigger groups if he wanted, but like me hated it. He was about 6 foot tall and kind hearted, as well as smart and strong. If you ask me, the perfect leader. After that was Hannah Elizabeth Ritchie. She was a very kind, warm hearted girl whom could tear your head off if you got on her nerves. Although she wasn't considered to be an outcast, she thought herself as one. Mainly because of a rare skin disorder she has had since birth. The disorder is called epidermalisisbalosa, and left her skin scabbed and bruised. Although she was more fragile than the rest of us, she was still a cool person to hang out with, and was considered a long time friend in my mind.
I on the other hand was a totally different kind of person. My name is Katlyn Russell, I am 15 years old, stand about 5'11 and am as tiny as a balled up fist. I have blond hair that goes halfway down my back, and blue eyes that my parents say sparkle like diamonds in the sun. My tastes were different than most girls my age, you could consider me as a Tom Boy. I couldn't stand being in a dress and would rather prefer a pair of lose blue jeans and worn out working boots. Although I had only been in Mississippi for a year now, I liked there way of life. How calm everyone was, how caring they all seemed. The song on my IPOD changed to "Strobe" by Deadmau5, and I began to rock my head back and forth to the beat, losing all my worries in the music. No one knew why, but music influenced me in a way like no other. Along with liking old Japanese legends, you could call me strange. You see, when I listen to music, I don't just hear a beat or a tune, but a story. The music reading itself to me like a well written book, causing me to lose myself in imagination. I often thought of the old legends I read about. How spirits of great importance could live on in the smallest of things, like a grain of sand. Or the biggest of others, like a river. My favorite story was that of the Demon of Razgreez. (Roz- Grease) The legend goes like this.
When the world turns to darkness, and losses all hope, the Razgeez will show itself. First as an evil Demon, whom brings nothing but death and desperation onto the world. But as the world itself and all the spirits begin to lose hope, Razgreez will disappear, allowing everything to recover before coming back, as a great and wonderful spirit. Its power and beauty will help everything recover, and the world will be at piece once again. After this, Razgreez will disappear, only to return when it is needed the most in the world it once called home.
Suddenly, the sound of a car horn brought me out of my thoughts. I immediately noticed my parents vehicle, a Nissan Altima, waiting in front of me. My mother leaning half way out of the window, waving at me. I turned to grab my backpack and notice that I was the only person left at school. The kids from my class had already left, leaving me alone with my thoughts. I sighed, lifted my backpack, and entered our car.
So, how was your last day?" my mother asked in her usual happy tone.
Good, I guess." I replied, removing an earphone from my ear so I could hear them clearly.
You guess? What's wrong honey?" my father asked as we pulled out of the school premises.
I sighed before replying. "Why do we have to leave again? I really liked it here. No one cared about who I was or how I acted."
"I'm sorry, but its not my decision to make." my father began. "Someone has to put food on the table and keep our household together, wherever it may be." he said as we turned down a highway marked 407.
With that I stuck my earphone back in my ear and began to search for "Scary Monsters and Nice Sprites" by Skrillex. A song that I thought told the story of my life. I found it seconds later and began to listen to it, the beat going from happy to sad, like my life. I then began to look my parents over in the rearview mirror. My father was around 6'3 with brown hair and eyes. He was currently serving in the Marines and hated being away from my mother and I. My mother was about 6 foot flat. her blond hair and blue eyes rivaling that of mine in pure beauty. She had served in the Army as a pilot, but just this year served her final term. As the song reached the breakdown, a shadow of what seemed to be a large bird caught my attention. I looked out the window, only to see nothing. Although nothing seemed to be there, I could feel someone watching over us. The feeling of which was confusing me, but I quickly shook it off as the song came to the chorus. 10 minutes later, we pulled up to our house, our small, gravel driveway causing the car to sway back and forth wildly. As we came to a stop in front of house, I pulled my earphone free and stuck them, along with my IPOD into my pocket.
"Ok Kat," my father called, using a nickname he had given me years ago. "Grab your things and we'll head out."
I sighed and walked into the house, my small Pomeranian Milo excitedly walking to my side, wishing to be pet. I smiled at him and began to stroke the top of his head. I loved dogs, especially this one. When we first moved hear, my father and I went to an animal shelter and adopted him. He was a funny little dog who had been beaten when he was a pup, so now instead of barking, he quacked. He also hated to be ignored, and would go as far as to sit on your foot to get you to notice him. Smiling at him, I stood and walked down a hall to my small room. It wasn't much, but it satisfied me. Most of my furniture had already been moved out of the house, so I now had more space to walk around in. I began to slowly scan the room, picturing everything that used to be there as I went. My dresser with the lava lamp and sketch book on top of it. My to large for the room entertainment center, where I had my laptop and TV placed. My bed, which usually lay against the wall adjacent from my entertainment center, was now nothing more than the dust that had built up underneath it. I smiled and grabbed a small puppy doll that a friend of mine had given me when I left my old school.
I placed it into a nearby bag and walked to my closet, where I once had my own private art studio, or that's what I called it. Although it was too small to fit more than one person into it, I had covered every inch with drawings. Some new, some old. My favorite drawing I made was one of Ed Elric from "The Full Metal Alchemist Series". He stood facing the person looking at it, his shirt torn reveling his Automail which was in his combat form.
"KAT!" my father called from the kitchen, at least 4 rooms away from me.
"Sir!?" I yelled back.
"Get your things and lets go. Your mother and I have a surprise for you." he replied.
I smiled and grabbed the 2 small garbage bags that held my cloths and personal items and walked to the door to my room, pausing to say one final farewell before running to our car, loading my things into it, and jumping inside. Again I felt the feeling that I was being watched, and stepped back outside of the car. I then began to scan the sky for what I thought I had seen, but saw nothing. Deciding to give up, I turned to a tree that sat in the middle of our yard, a small swing had been crafted and hung by a rope from an extending branch. Out of all the things I liked about this house, the old tree swing was of all my favorite things. When I felt sad or troubled, I would swing on the it and they would soon wash away. Smiling at the old memories of it, I walked to it and sat down. The swing dropping a few inches as I put my weight onto it.
I then began to scan a nearby field that the swing looked over. The clouds could be seen miles away from here. It fascinated me how something as magnificent as the clouds could work like they do. How you could sometimes see the rain running across the field, drenching everything around it but not reaching you. It was as If someone would place a wall of glass through the clouds, ceasing the rain from going any further. Suddenly, the tree began to shake, and I was hit in the back of the head by an acorn. I quickly glanced into the tree, to see what seemed to be eyes watching down on me. I froze at the sight of this, the golden eyes leading to a blue snout, but I was able to see no more. Suddenly it disappeared, leaving me speechless.
"What is it honey?" I heard my mother ask.
I looked to her, standing a few feet away from me, then back into the tree, searching for the beautiful eyes that were gazing down on me. "nothing." I replied before standing.
My mother then wrapped her arm around me In a loving way, as if to say 'Everything will be alright.' as she walked me to the car. Once I had entered it, I once again stuck my IPOD into my ears and began to listen to "Time" by Hans Zimmer. This song I found very relatable, as for it was slow and unsuspecting. The slow beat telling a story of sorrow among the artist whom had written it. Moments later, we began to drive away from the place I once called home. As we neared the end of my drive way, I turned around in my seat and looked at the old house for the last time before we turned and began to drive away from it.