Patty Pan




Thursday, November 17, 2011: 11:38 a.m.

Escape
There were bars on the window. It kept her from jumping 5 stories down and running east to freedom. The walls and ceiling were stone cold. They kept her hot in the summer and reminded her of the cold in the long winter season. The bed was a cheap pine barely larger then her length, but much higher off the ground then necessary for any bed. She watched the sun reach toward its apex through her cool glass bared window. As time grew near she neatly threw her worn red quilt over her “bed” and pulled the side closest the door down to touch the wood floor. Her hands bid a hopeful farewell to her quilt. Slowly, nearly silently she moved behind the door hinges and waited for the heavy door to open.

- - [The first floor] - -

Wednesday, September 14, 2011: 02:08 p.m.

Plotting
The wooden floors within view’s room slowly changed from a dim purple to a bright and vivid shade of gold. Her mind now slowly climbed its way out of complete disparity. She stood up from the floor. Her slender pink tail wrapped around her left thigh, then fell behind her in exhaust and habit. It was that habit that had her locked away. Her inability to change who she was had her trapped. She was told to choose between freedom and her birth right. Her tail was her downfall. Inevitability, it was also the source of her strength. Without it she would not grow, nor would she inherit the throne. Every day, she hopped someone else would set her free. As the months and years had passed it became more evident that this burden was hers alone. As she watched the dawns gray sky sleep out of her window thoughts of deception crept into her mind.

- - [The first floor] - -

Saturday, August 20, 2011: 12:28 a.m.

Watching
Outside her deep, wooden door stood a man. He was tall, his shoulders were broad and his hair was a thick untamed mess on top of his head. He was assigned to be her guard from dusk until dawn each night for the last 4 years. They were never friends; she had never heard his voice. He was not even sure if she knew his name. He only did his duty. He was loyal to his king and his kingdom. He never questioned the reason she was kept inside that room. He never tried to reason with the authority that bound her there. He offered her freedom each night as the king requested and he stood watch when she refused. He was cold standing in that hall in the warm wool cloak given to him by the priest. “She must be cold.” He thought.

- - [The first floor] - -

Thursday, August 11, 2011: 07:38 p.m.

Trembling
She let out a thick, exhausted sigh. Her whole body felt heavy. She trembled slightly, she thought, not from fear of what my come, but rather fear of what she had done. The young woman began to overanalyze the entire encounter with her captor. She wondered how she was expected to react, what she looked liked when she refused freedom and how that made the man in the doorway feel. Her soul slumped to the floor, weak, from using every drop of her will to stay inside this frigid room. She pulled a thin, red quilt off the nearby bed and curled up on the floor to sleep. She would not sleep though, for it was far too cold now and her mind was racing. The only window in the room shook as the wind blew hard against it.

- - [The first floor] - -

Wednesday, July 27, 2011: 01:58 a.m.

Waiting
The heavy door opened without a sound. A dark, familiar figure entered and watched her a long moment. Slowly, carefully she turned to meet his gaze. The two looked on at one another as thought waiting for something intense to begin. The clouds moved slowly past the window, the moon the only light for the small room. She waited to hear his voice, but knew it would never come. He motioned to the door and she took a step back. The floor was ice cold, almost as cold as his eyes. The air from the hall began to curl around her scared cheeks. It was warm, inviting even. She would not let this tempt her. He waited a moment longer, solemn and then left. The huge wooden door shifted closed along with her heart.

- - [The first floor] - -

Friday, July 15, 2011: 02:28 a.m.

Dreaming
Snow was falling swiftly from the sky that brought the moon. As view opened her eyes she could not help but reanimate the things she had done and seen in a world that was not hers to visit freely. Dreams which we make and dreams which are a part of us are two separate lovers entirely. She sat up. Her feel dangled a moment and then her toes gently touched the cool wooden floor of her cell. She brought her head up to meet the gaze of the moon, now softly peering through the clouds. Silent as a tear drop she moved to the window. Her hand pressed against the cold, cold glass. Her soul yearned, but her heart had lost all hope. She yearned for peace of mind, green grass and above all, sustenance. Her stomach growled and her eyes lit up. Swift, steady footsteps now motioned toward her room.

- - [The first floor] - -
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Which narrative point of view do you prefer to read?
First-person view: Relayed by a narrator who is also a character within the story
Second-person view: Choose Your Own Adventure
Third-person view: Unspecified entity or uninvolved person that conveys the story
Alternating person view: Alternate between the 1st, 2nd or 3rd person view
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