To her it was torture; she felt as if she was in an aslyum.
Trapped. Alone. Miserable.
The only colours that she could see was in her mind. Only to sleep, to dream about a lifelong adventure filled with happiness.
Her master, thought white was the perfect colour; the colour of simplicity. Her master, thought black was the colour of wrongs; of evils; of bad.
"It is easier to see the bad when everything is good. How can you see bad if the good was mixed with drinking habits, smoking habits, and gambling habits?"
Her master would question her whenever she complained about white.
This little girl couldn't take it anymore. Her eyes were in vain, and the only way to calm them was to sleep. The act of sleeping, the acting of dreaming was the act of relaxing. Relaxing was a kind of paradise for her, but the perfect paradise would be an island of colour.
Why? An island was perfect for her. The outdoors, the sound of the wind flowing through her hair, the great feel of the touch on great yellow soft sand falling through her fingers and hiding her little toes. The sunset had the center of colours. Because, every morning, bright and beautiful colours filled the sky, and enlightening the day. She would want to see such a picture of perfection only to be capture by photographs, but with misfortune, it would such difficulty to imagine the perfection clearly in her mind. Her dreams of life were determined and was soon to be accomplish, only. if. her. master. would. let. her. go.
Then one day, this little girl asked her master, "Mommy? Can we paint my room pink?"
The harsh reply almost made the girl go insane, "It will only stay white. It will be easier to see the dirty."
"But white is boring."
"You can't have everything your way."
She kept her mouth shut, not to push her mother into punishing her for talking back.
Flashbacks of her elementary school popped into her mind. "America is free. You can whatever you want. A new life; this is America." "People come to the land to look forward to something new."
She questioned that, "This is America. The land of the free. Then, why is it, that I feel so trapped and controlled?"
She knew the answers. "Because of laws; of rules; of restrictions."
All she had ever wanted was freedom.
A wish made just soon enough, the girl turned 14 and found something special called the Internet.
My name is special. Especially on the Internet.
Just call me Nessa, or MissBonBons.
As you can tell, I'm from America.
I am a race of the teenage girls way too protected by those who gave life to them.
My past originated from Asia.
Therefore, I am asian.
Obviously right?
I like to write; as I have found out a few years ago.
I like to read.
I'm made for FanFictions.
I have a sense of humour.
But it's hard to capture when I'm SERIOUSLY writing.
Seriously.
My first blog; My first post. I should be happy. I guess I am, on the inside of course. School ended about a month ago for me, and I am about to leave for Thieu Nhi Thanh The Camp for Nghia Si on June 26-29. Anyone going?
Here I am,
beginning to ramble.
Well I just post my foreword on my one-shot series called, "A Sweet One-Shot."
I think I should start writing the requests now. Eh?
Love, Nessa.
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