I have just come to Oria from the outer provinces. My life isn't going too well, not only did I have to move, my parents are both dead and I'm in this strange new land where everything is different. We do not have the freedom that I had in the outer provinces. There isn't a lake to swim in, no one is being artistic like my mother was and it seems that only people over a certain age can be in love. Aunt Aida and Uncle Patrick say that I'm not to get in any trouble and that I should try really hard to fit in or the officials may send me back to the outer provinces where no one will look after me. I miss mother's art it was brilliant even though the water only stayed on the rock for a few seconds. Beautiful, blue water. Mother always said it was the same colour as my eyes but my father says that my eyes are the same shade of brown as in the canyon. Aida disagrees with both of them and says that my eyes are as green as the grass outside the house. Patrick disagrees with everyone and says that my eyes are beautiful swirls of each colour.
I really wish that I could go swimming… I wonder if there is somewhere I can swim nearby.
"Aunt Aida?" I say, quite loudly, but not too loudly, down the cream painted stairs. Everything in this place seems really plain and boring. I can't see all of the different colours I used to see.
"Yes, Ky dear?" She answers back in her friendly tone of voice that she always has.
"Is there a place I could go swimming, somewhere nearby?" I ask hoping for a yes to follow but there was a long pause with lots of murmuring coming from Patrick and Aida's direction.
"Yes dear. Patrick says he'll take on his way to work. There's a pair of swimming trunks and a towel in a bag upstairs. You can use them!"
"Thank-you" I say as I skip back upstairs.
When I come back down, Patrick is waiting for me at the door.
"Ready?" he asks. I say nothing. Just nod happily.
We walk to a station (that's nothing like we had in the outer provinces) and get on board something he calls an 'air train'. Whatever that is. In side there is no difference in the way people dress. Everyone wears brown plainclothes and sit on the –once again boring!- beige seats or hold onto the black handles. I stare out the window looking for animals but I am yet to see a single one.
We pull up to the black station, I can almost feel the cold iron steps on my feet, despite the fact that I have the same, awful, boring, brown shoes as everyone else. I stare down at my feet and I wish that my feet could melt into the sand. Like they used to, Back then.
Suddenly I find myself remembering one day many years ago. It was the day that it happened. Mother was painting her rocks with the paintbrush father had found her the day before. It had a beautiful handle, it was golden with a white stripe on the underneath. The bristles were black and there wasn't many bristles which meant she could put lots of detail into the picture that she only let me see for a second before it disappeared deep into the rock.
"Ky, don't cry please. You're drawing attention to us. People are staring and the officials told you to be very wary and make people forget you're here!" He whispers, almost silently in my ear.
I hadn't realised I was crying but I was never told off for crying at home… my old home. I need to forget, to move on. But I know I never can, all I can do is pretend and act that I belong here. I will be fine. I put my head up and watch some more of the journey out of the window.