Katie B.

United States

Hi! My name is Katie. I am a sixteen years old, and I really enjoy reading and writing. When I'm not daydreaming or playing my violin, you can find me sketching, baking, wake boarding, swimming or skiing.

Message from Writer

Hi! I love reading and writing, and I can't wait to keep improving my creative writing skills! In my free time, I like to play the violin, cook, ski, wakeboard, swim, and do art projects.


November 23, 2015

    The sky was dark and heavy, as if a giant's breath was hanging in the heavens. I stared straight ahead, my brain turned to pulp under the flourecent lights. The calculations on the board made absolutely no sense to me; it was all simply lines, lines and more lines. Why am I even trying? 

    Suddenly, a switch fipped on in my mind. I needed to read. Now. As if driven by an invisible force, my hand reached into my backpack and pulled out a thick stack of pages wrapped in a soft leather cover.

    I began to read. My eyes soaked up the words like a dry sponge deprived of water; my heart's hunger ebbed with each sentence. It was all so perfect, so beautiful, so much better than real life. In here, I could live with the creatures and the monsters and the magic, without having to worry about my scrambled family.

    "Miss Carter. Would you please tell me what exactly you are doing?" Mr. Green stared down at me, his icy grey eyes boring holes in the text.

    "I... umm... was doing my homework?" My breathing quickened. This was bad.

    "Hand it over." Trembling, I closed the cover and put the book in his waiting hands. 

    "How Mature. Fairy Tales from Around the World. This is not an appropriate book for geometry class, Ava. You should know better." The whole eighth grade bursts out laughing. 

    "What a baby! Come on, loser. Even you should be able to do better than that."

    Horrified, I grab my backpack, jump to my feet, and sprint out the classroom door.

     I have nowhere to go, I think to myself, my feet echoing against the empty tiles like a racing heartbeat. Mom is somewhere across the country, in Omaha, I think. As for daddy, he turned to the bar just a year after she left. I keep running anyway.

   I run through those ugly glass doors, reflecting my cowardly moves for my soul to view. I run down the cracked grey sidewalk, tripping and losing my balance when a perticularly large crack decides to nip at my feet. I run through the crosswalks, not bothering to stop for traffic. I run and I run and I run all the way to the creaky black door of our house. 

    I throw the door open and launch myself into the hallway. My breath rattles in my chest as I close the door and walk up the stairs. Everything is eerily silent. Not a sound is to be heard except for my own, and only the cold seeping through the cracks in the walls reaches out its' bony fingers to comfort me. 

    The ringing doorbell breaks the silence, almost making me fall down the stairs in shock.

    Who could it be? It's like ten in the morning. Terrified, I grab the dictionary on my desk to use as a defensive weapon, and slowly creep down the stairs.

    I reach the door. Big, black, imposing. Cautiously, I peer through the keyhole. A woman stands on our front step, suit perfectly pressed, hair done neatly on a bun. As I scan her appearance, my eyes meet hers. I know those eyes. I look closer, frantically contemplating the worst. Same nose. Same mouth. Same jawline. I know that face. It's my mother's.

    I let out a small scream, my whole mind overcome with the reality of the situation I am in. I never want to see her again. She doesn't deserve me. 

    I grab my backpack, shove her with all of my might, and run as fast as I can.


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