"I don't think I have anything to tell you," she shrugged, looking at me.
"Actually, you do." He stuck his tongue out.
He was sitting on the floor, his head against the cold hard cement wall. He was cutting off some of the loose threads on his cropped pants with a pocket knife.
"And why is that?" She eyed her curiously.
"Because I already told you," he rolled his eyes, "Everyone has a story."
She pondered for a moment if she should tell this stranger the deepest, darkest corners of her mind. But he is only a stranger. It's not like it would mean anything. It's only a one time thing.
I sighed, "Okay."
He smiled and even in the dark, I could tell his smile was pretty.
"Well, I'm probably 16-"
"Probably? What does that mean?"
"Umm...I am an orphan? So I am not so sure what my age is?" I said, more of asked.
"Wait, so you're living with your foster parents?"
"No," I shook my head, "This is an orphanage."
"Oh," he bit his lip, "Continue."
"Okay, well. I am probably 16 or 17-I'm not so sure about that-I've been bullied for the past 10 years of my life. My mom died in a car crash and my dad killed himself. The worst part was, I was there to watch them die. I was always there. I was with my mom in the car accident and I was there to see my father shoot himself in the head. I couldn't stop them. So now here I am, 10 or something years later." She gave him a small taunting smile. By now, you might think that she was used to telling people her story. But, you're wrong. She's a really great pretender. After all these years of people asking her, she was able to memorize this little script of hers to tell people.
"Wow," Michael breathed out, "I'm sorry."
"Don't be," She shrugged nonchalantly, "It's nothing."
"But still, that was tough. Though, I am not a big fan of mothers and fathers." Michael said proudly as if not liking parents is a cool thing to say.
The room fell quiet for a moment; both of them felt like it was wrong to say anything. But soon enough, Malaya decided to speak up.
"What's your name, boy?"
"M," He shrugged. "What's yours?"
"M?" She looked at him in confusion, "Is that even a name?"
"I kinda gave it to myself. I don't know my name." He repeated, "What's yours?"
"Malaya," She smiled.
"That's weird," he crinkled up his nose, "What does it mean?"
She smiled, "It means 'free'."
That gave him an idea.
"Do you want to be free?"
"More than anything," she sighed.
"Well then Malaya," he stood up, "Come with me."
"Where?"
"To run from all things ugly and ordinary."
Of course he would say that. He ran from all things ordinary as well.
a/n
michael fEels bYE
I hope u liked this chapter
this is a short story so the chapters are short unlike my other works
comment vote and share
-athena
