*** This is my story, the story of a girl named King. I am just starting to write and I am writing this because I need to practice. So I am writing down some of my earliest memories. If anyone should be reading this then please excuse my informalities since I am new to all this. Thank you. ***
My first memory as a child was when I lived in Tech City. I remember getting lost in the city's streets because I was so sad, numb, confused. My mother left me behind for the protection of some man, scared that the earthquakes would crumble the city's walls and let the exiled crazies back in to kill everyone. The police found me and took me to the police station. Everything felt so cold. I felt like a peace of meat. No one was nice there. I was ordered around and everyone just kept looking at me like I was dumb. I was stripped out of all my clothes and I had to take a shower in front of this little old lady. She was kinda frumpy. Then she looked at me all over to see if I had any noticeable diseases or possible hidden weapons. After that I was given a white paper jumpsuit to put on and was finally placed in a holding cell. All that was in there was a cold metal bench, a metal toilet and a metal sink. Then, within a few minutes I heard the door unlock and a giant guard appeared; he was to escort me to administration for further processing.
As I entered a small square office I could see an old leathery-faced man sitting at a small desk. He asked me, "Do you know why you are here?" I said no.
"You are here because you were wondering the streets alone and that is not allowed for children in Tech City. Where are your parents little girl?" I told him I didn't have any.
"That's nonsense; everyone has a mother and a father. What is your name?"
Frustrated I just stood there in front of this desk and stared at the ground in silence. Just then the floor rumbled with a low tremor. He said, "Well then it looks like we will just have to detain you here until we can find a suitable place for you," ignoring the tremor. From there I was shoved back into my holding cell by the giant guard. All I could do was wait.
Then I remember being in a home for troubled girls. I worked the kitchen scrubbing pots and pans. I didn't mind it that much. In fact I loved having something to do. Sometimes I would sing to myself or dance around with a broom. But most often I was made to shut-up by one of the other girls. They didn't like me that much and tried to make my life miserable. Sometimes I would hide in the room full of books. One of the bigger girls had her eye on me and caught me one day holding a book for kids. She snatched it out of my hand, "What's this, a baby book? What are you, a baby?" And she started to laugh. Then as she threw the book at my back the other girls also laughed. When I cried out the girl said, "Look at the baby cry. Cry baby, cry baby!" Then all other girls started to chant, "Cry-baby!"
Not knowing what to do I got up and ran out of the room and into a nearby bathroom. I just sat down on the toilet huddling my knees. I was scared that the other girls might follow me in there but they didn't. Why they liked to pick on me I did not know. I knew that I did not belong there so I began to think of ways on how to make and escape.
I was careful not to tell anyone about what I was thinking. I did not trust anyone! When I worked in the kitchen I looked at the windows to see where I could get out from. There it was, right in the pantry of the kitchen, it was a small window high up above the shelves but just big enough for me to fit through. I then decided that the only way for me to make a clean getaway would be in the middle of the night while everyone was sleeping.