• The small girl’s fingertips brushed again the top of the old wooden chest, sending dust flying free in the air. She ran her hands over its various screws and metal strips. Then she held the lock in her hand, and gave it a tug. It was of course, locked. She felt curious, and so her little finger tucked a blonde lock of hair behind her ear and went to work.
    First, she looked into the small hole where the key should go. Then she went to work sifting through the long forgotten boxes. A moth eaten sweater here, a trophy there, and countless childhood memories were stuffed into the boxes to rot in the attic. The girl thought this was so much of a waste, why keep useless things just because they remind you of something? In addition, if you want to keep them, why not put them downstairs instead of useless vases and store-bought nick-knacks? Anyway, still no key to be found. The girl’s curiosity was growing stronger with every box opened.
    However, her operation was futile. No key, no opening the chest. She wondered what was in it, but over the years, it faded from her memory, everyone’s memory, and was forgotten in the world of ancient boxes in the attic.



    Years later, the small girl’s fingers aren’t as curious; her hair now lost its shining blonde and was growing streaks of brown. Of course, she’s not small anymore, her legs long and her face less round. With the years, comes change. The only true constant is change. And everything changed. Her appearance of course, her mind changed the most. She knows what the world is like now. She knows who to trust and who to avoid. Her mind was being shaped, molded, over the years. Influenced by her aristocratic parents more than her rebellious sister, she had become come some sort of a well rounded teen. But, with being a teenager, problems surfaced. Her sister was gone all night, sometimes not coming back till the next day, with dark circles and greasy hair. For her parents, socializing was a must, and a constant. All night dinner parties, brunches starting from eight and ending around three o’clock. And with no one to care for her, the girl explored the massive home her family didn’t deserve.
    The seemingly never-ending stairs were the paths, the beautiful wooden doors openings to new adventures, and the tremendously huge windows had scope for imagination. As she grew, the adventures did as well. More complex and imaginative. While her neighbors lingered around the refrigerator and television, she was discovering new worlds and figuring out murders. The most important object she owned, a simple sketchbook. It was huge, and the vast array of creativity inside helped the girl escape. Weird, strange, a freak. To everyone else she was simply that. However, her mind was an enormous castle, guarded by twenty-foot thick walls. No silly comment could break her. She played up in the towers of her castle, isolated but free. She excelled in school. Not that she listened. It was so easy for her, for her it was just common sense. That sketchbook of hers was the best thing in the world. All her ideas and memorizing thoughts all in one place, organized and beautiful. Her universe was her own perfect world. Nevertheless, eventually it was bound to come crashing down.