[ it's hard to believe in something good. Emma knows, because she's tried. she listened to her friend who told her not to give up on finding a better home than her last one, but sometimes she thinks they're all the same. she's eight years old now, and eight years is long enough to know that she's getting too old to find a family who might want to adopt her. this is her third group home and it's just like her first (but maybe slightly better than her second), maybe they're all the same. maybe this is her life now, and she just needs to get used to it.
she's glad it's quiet for now, while the other kids are at the park. Emma decided to stay here and read instead, since it's the only time there's any silence to be found here. most of the time it takes a pair of headphones and a tape recorder to block out the noise of everyone else fighting, so she has an hour, maybe an hour and a half, to get through as many chapters as she can. she probably won't finish the book, but it's due back at the library in a few days and she's set her mind to getting through it.
for a while everything is the way she expects it to be, while works her way through the pages of Andersen's Fairytales. no one bothers to check on her when it's quiet, so she does her best to make herself comfortable on a bed that's a little too hard for her liking. it's better than sleeping on the ground, especially when it's cold out, and it's not like she's gonna complain. she's been on her best behavior here, trying to change; wanting to transform the way her friend told her to.
in the end, it's her closet that transforms instead of Emma. one moment her room is silent, and the next there's a crash and the shuffle of a person moving through the clothes in her closet. her headphones fly off and she swings her feet over the edge of the bed, staring up at the space with her mouth hanging open. not a person, people. two voices first, and then they step forward and she jumps up, hands up defensively - like she's the one who's gotten caught instead of them.]
How the hell did you do that?
[ honestly, Emma knows better. they've talked to her about language before - about how it doesn't sound good, and the little kids might learn it, but she's scared and she'd rather sound tough than terrified, so a word that's not too bad might just cover the fact that her eyes are as big as saucers and she looks ready to run or scream or both.]
taketheswanandrun.au
she's glad it's quiet for now, while the other kids are at the park. Emma decided to stay here and read instead, since it's the only time there's any silence to be found here. most of the time it takes a pair of headphones and a tape recorder to block out the noise of everyone else fighting, so she has an hour, maybe an hour and a half, to get through as many chapters as she can. she probably won't finish the book, but it's due back at the library in a few days and she's set her mind to getting through it.
for a while everything is the way she expects it to be, while works her way through the pages of Andersen's Fairytales. no one bothers to check on her when it's quiet, so she does her best to make herself comfortable on a bed that's a little too hard for her liking. it's better than sleeping on the ground, especially when it's cold out, and it's not like she's gonna complain. she's been on her best behavior here, trying to change; wanting to transform the way her friend told her to.
in the end, it's her closet that transforms instead of Emma. one moment her room is silent, and the next there's a crash and the shuffle of a person moving through the clothes in her closet. her headphones fly off and she swings her feet over the edge of the bed, staring up at the space with her mouth hanging open. not a person, people. two voices first, and then they step forward and she jumps up, hands up defensively - like she's the one who's gotten caught instead of them.]
How the hell did you do that?
[ honestly, Emma knows better. they've talked to her about language before - about how it doesn't sound good, and the little kids might learn it, but she's scared and she'd rather sound tough than terrified, so a word that's not too bad might just cover the fact that her eyes are as big as saucers and she looks ready to run or scream or both.]