- - - MY OLD FRIEND Jun 6, 2012 4:57:16 GMT -5
Post by DEMIA ALEESHA PRICE on Jun 6, 2012 4:57:16 GMT -5
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open. words 460. outfit. notes; hi
Dante didn’t usually need help with homework, but everyone had their weak spots. Even someone as valiant as her brother. It was the least Demia could do to help him any way that she could, thus leading to her current position at the library. Once, not too long ago, he joined her surrounded by a pile of books and scribbling away as she read quietly to him, but he had stepped out. He needed a snack. He was a growing boy with a fast metabolism. He also needed a smoke, despite being more than smart enough to know that the things could bring him to an early grave. A chain smoker. There had been a very small debate on whether or not she should come grab a snack with him but she ended up winning due to Dante’s dire need to sustain his nicotine craving. He didn’t have the patience to deal with her stubborn lack of an appetite so Demia was left to study on her own.
Within the confines of the library Demia felt safe. She didn’t feel like she belonged at this school, or any other for that matter. She was a misfit. An ugly misfit. But within the library she felt like maybe, just maybe, there was a place for her. A place filled with knowledge and wonder and fantastical worlds where someone like her could have easily called a home. Sometimes Demia wished that like Cornelia Funke’s books she could be read into her favorite stories and live the rest of her days there. But then she would be leaving Dante behind, and she couldn’t bear to do that. He was her brother, and while she had other siblings Dante was the one who had always taken care of her. The one who protected her and make sure she was healthy and happy. She couldn’t leave him behind, even if it was to join Dustfinger and his wife and daughter. It would be tempting, but she wouldn’t get far in a fantasy land without her brother to look out for her. She couldn’t even get very far here in reality.
Hunched over her books making notes for an essay Demia was overtaken by darkness before she even had time to think about what was happening to her. Her head fell onto her notebook and auburn hair spilled onto the desk around her. One arm dangled at her side, fingertips brushing against the metal of the chair’s legs, and the other was on top of the desk having loosened her grip on her pen. Demia had fainted. For the first time in a while, actually. And then her eyes fluttered open and her head slowly lifted only to find someone standing over her.