So, this is a story that I had randomly found on my Word program. I have no idea where it will take me, but I just wanted to put this out there. If you've any ideas on the story plot etc, comment below!

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XD

Magma Kepner

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The sun shone, just peeking through the horizon, but already there were people bustling around. Most people just strode down the sidewalks; keeping their heads low, and avoiding people’s eyes.  Those who were brave enough to peer out would hold their heads up high, viewing the entire world, and not just people’s feet. But those were the people in which when they were caught, and I must say when, not if or maybe, but when they were, they were rarely ever seen again. Those who were found or seen, most times seen, they wore a blank expression with vacant and distant eyes. But most times they were found in the stacks, where they are burned in the large incinerator at the edge of the city. They are chucked into the flames of death, paying the price of seeing the world with their deaths.

The sky was a hazy grey by the time afternoon rolled around. You never want to be outside by the time the afternoon came. It was too hot and sticky outside to do anything productive; without going into heat stroke that is. Because even though the sun isn’t out, the haze and smog is enough to kill. That’s one thing that’s certain.

A pair of eyes peeks out from the tampered glass window. They are big brown eyes, and a mop of curly blonde hair sits atop her small head. She clambers up the countertop and sits, watching the haze submerse itself into every corner and crack of the houses that line the gravel road. At the end of the road is the old stop sign, cracked and peeling, with graffiti scrawled over it, uttering obscene language and slurs. The small girl averts her attention to the house across the street- which should be noted is no different than the ones beside it.

She clambers off of the cold countertop as she hears heavy footfalls come into the kitchen.

A gruff voice asks, “Why Orillia, whatever are you doing?”

Her big eyes widen even more as she turns to face the bulk of the man that just questioned her. A large, burly man, with broad shoulders and a menacing grin, can scare even the oldest of children into behaving. Orillia is the same; completely and utterly frightened. Her eyes stare down at the chipped tiling of the floor, as to not upset the man.  She stammers out, “No-othing sir.”

The man seems satisfied with her answer, and as she turns her attention back to the sweltering humidity outside, the man’s footfalls can be heard walking out the kitchen.

The girl releases a small breath, a breath she knew not she was holding.

She dare not go back on top of the countertop, for surely another adult would come in and scold her, or worse, turn her in to the police for curiosity.

She resorted to staring out the window, longing for something to happen; anything to happen.

Her eyes scanned the street, longing for someone to pass by.

But she was not naïve, no matter how young she may be. She knew not a soul would be out in such sweltering weather, that if anyone was out, it was merely for an emergency, and even then not a soul could stand being out there for longer than a few moments.

She hurriedly scurried back to her small room, avoiding the ever present adult stares. She had seen too much for a young girl of a mere five years, and had learned the hard way the rules of this society.

She scurried through a large wooden door, supported by rusty hinges, and she cringed as the door gave out an ear-shattering squeal.

Her head turned in both directions, for surely, she knew that someone would come around the corner and bring her to the basement, or worse yet, the police station.

She once knew a boy, not much older than she was presently, who had created such a minor ruckus- not one that anyone would consider more than a mere yell, but he was dragged out of one of the houses by the ear, by a lady who was more commonly referred to as “The Witch”. Let’s just say, no one in the house had ever seen the boy again.

Many of the older children speculated that the boy was thrown in the incinerator, but the younger children were too simpleminded, simply thinking that the boy was transferred to another home. Of course, no one could say for certain what had happened to the boy- no one was allowed to fraternize with the other households.

Besides, this house was fine for company. Many a children came to the homes, starving and confused, after the war that left many of them parentless, desperate and afraid of what was to come.

Nowadays, the children were closed off from the other houses, forbidden to travel outside. The only ones who are not forbidden to travel outside are the adults, and sometimes- rarely though- the teenagers. Of course there were strict curfews to abide by as well; the only time allowed to be outside was in the early morning or late evening.

This was why, Orillia knew, she would never see a soul outside the window.