Jin Schofield (9) – STAFF REPORTER
She was an observant young girl. Her large, glossy eyes blinked at you with curiosity and innocence, the gentle furrows of her brow displaying a glimpse into her not-so-impressionable mind. Peculiarly, she daydreamed more than she interacted with the world. You could see her unblinkingly gazing off into space every now and then, or possibly staring directly at you. Analyzing you, you were afraid. Memorizing her surroundings, assessing the situation. As she turned to peer, with what must have been longing, out of the frosted window, you could not guess what she dreamt about. She was hardly awake with her eyes open. Where was she when she slept?
She dreamed of nothing more than escape. To embark on a journey beyond her wooden world, filled with unopened doll boxes and uneaten yogurt. She dreamt of strong, broad wings. Like that on her eagle-shaped kite. She would take a running start, and then let the wind catch her. She would glide through the sky, gazing below as her house – her entire universe – flew past. She glided for what must have been hours, away from the world she knew, until she no longer recognized the ground beneath her. This freedom – it was exhilarating. But she missed her mother, she had to return home. She would grow hungry.
But where was home? She could no longer tell. She was flying above what could have been Ottawa, for all she knew. Endless houses, all identical. How could she get home?
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The panic overcame her. She would never get home. She began to hyperventilate. She would never get home. She could no longer hold her glide, huffing and puffing anxiously. She could not save herself as she fell. The ground approached her so quickly – it looked like it would hurt.
She was so close she could see the individual blades of grass now. They looked luscious, cushioning, comfortable – but they would not save her. Nothing would but morning.
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