Hi. Um, I'm Maddie and I forgot about this blog until I realized that I belonged to it and could post, and that it was a collage of short stories. Which naturally intriqued me, being as I love writing. So I'm going to write a story right now on the spot.
I knew that I couldn't just run away without planning first. I couldn't simply take off into the woods with nothing. If there was one thing I was good at, it was planning.
My name is Kate Cobbs. Okay, not really. But I'm not going to tell you my real name. Not yet. I hate my real name. If I was going to run away, I needed to sound heroic. I don't know why I thought Kate Cobbs sounded heroic, but it sure sounded better than my real name. Anyway, I'm the second-oldest out of 6 children. And they're all boys. Theres Colin--he's 9 and he's completely obsessed with robots and he's always trying to get into my room to use my stuff as parts of the robots he builds. And then theres Jack, the seven year old. He loves electronic things and he's always on his video games, but he's very funny and sweet. Trevor is 4 and he's always pretending to be a puppy. Jace is 11 and he's probably the most annoying. He's a tattle tale and a liar and he's always pranking me by putting spiders in my bed. I hate spiders. And then Simon--he's almost 15 and always making out with his stupid girlfriend. Ugh. She makes me sick. She wears tons of makeup, high heels, and skirts so short she can't bend over in them without giving us a nice view of her bright pink underwear. She has this giggle that makes me want to punch a wall--I did, once. I acheived nothing but an excruciating pain in my pinky. I advise strongly against it.
Oh, I forgot a discription of me, didn't I? Well, I'm almost 13. I'm shorter and skinnier than Colin even, and he's nine. For some reason, I was born with red hair. Like, really red. Jace's hair is kind of a really light gingery color and Simon's is auburn like Trevor's, but no, I got VERY RED hair. It's long, wavy and never stays brushed. My eyes are almost green and I have freckles across my nose and very red cheeks.
The thing is, it's not so bad here. In fact, it's fairly boring most of the time. I homeschool, and theres hardly any drama in my homeschool group. I don't have a crush on anybody--I have a best friend named Tori. I love my brothers and my parents and I have a lot of freedom--so why should I run away? I geuss it's because I'm bored with simply being me. I wanted something more, something important, something different. I'm not heroic--I cry all the time and I say stupid things impulsively. I never say the right thing at the right time--if I come up with the right thing, I miss my chance to say it. I've never done anything important, really. So thats why I decided to run away to Westboro Village. It doesn't sound like a grand place, really, but it is. It's perfect.
Theres a huge neighborhood with cookie cutter houses--they all look the same. And theres a huge grocery store--it's so big and tall that sparrows fly in the enormous doors to live in the rafters. Theres a church, a school, a movie theater, a big park with a huge pond, a big hotel, some buildings where they host yoga and dance classes, a gym, a library, a Starbucks, and lots and lots of forest. No one takes any notice of anyone there, and no one I know ever goes there. Paridise.
So then my planning began. I would stay up until after Dad goes to sleep. Our bed time is 10:30, and he goes to bed at 11:30. At 12:00, I would press my ear to the floor of my room to check for snoring. He was. Good. I quietly opened the door and crept down the creaky stairs. I jumped the last few steps and landed catlike on the carpet. I then tiptoed to the hall closet and removed the big backpack that belonged to my dad, even though he never used it. I then stuffed it with food--pita bread, a jar of peanutbutter, some strawberry breakfast bars, and some dried seaweed. Then I went back up stairs and grabbed my headlamp, my big swiss army knife, my notebook, a pen, my filled-up waterbottle, my favorite book, some underwear and socks, some black sweatpants, shorts, two light weight t-shirts, a rope with a keychain clip, some chapstick, a small metal wrench, a lighter, a bottle of cheap hairspray, an umbrella, my wallet, a map, some bandaids and neosporin. I then quietly changed out of my pajamas, stuffed them into my backpack with everything else, and changed into some clothes. My faded jeans, some brown socks and sneakers, and a forest green t-shirt. Over that I wore my brown sweatjacket with a hoodie and then braided my long red hair, pinning it up on my head so that I could cover it with my olive-green hat. I would have loved one of those pilot hats with goggles to make me more heroic looking, like the one Amelia Earheart wore, but those were hard to find.
I said a silent goodbye to my cats and my brothers and my parents,even though I was perfectly intending to come back.
I sneaked out the back door and made my way down our silent street. No cars were out, but I walked on the side of the road anyway, doing my best to stay in shadow. I pulled out my map and kept walking. I dodged streetlights and avoided cars and dogs, lest somebody alert that a child was out by herself at 12:00 at night. No one did.
The walk was more than I had anticipated. It was humid, dark, and every shadow looked liked a person. It also took close to forever. I think I must have been walking at least an hour before I decided to stop to rest. I huddled in a dark corner under a tree on the side of the road to catch my breath and drink some water. I walked for about another half an hour until I finally saw the entrance to the village. It had perfectly trimmed hedges and a big, fancy sign that said Westboro Village. All was quiet except for the soft chirping of crickets.
Continued next post :)
