World of Her Own

Kat had sat there so long. Too long maybe. Her back ached in that little arch area right above her ass and right below her shoulders. Her fingers hurt from typing and there was a sweaty indent from her watch on her arm.

There was no one to talk to. Home alone, left with the echoes. Left with the TV on full-blast and the rap music blaring. She was afraid. Not so much of robbers or her neighbors persay, but of things scarier then that. Of the echoes.

She cut herself a piece of cheese. It was sort of sickning at 2:41 in the morning, but relieving in the fact that cheese was familiar. It was also a dairy product, but that is another story.

Comtemplating many things, all except going to bed, Kat decided she was pulling an all-night-er. She got comfortable in the uncomfortable wooden chair. This would be a long night.

Sometimes it seemed like that. Just dragging-on time. Always living for the weekends, then wasting them, then living for the weekends again. It seemed her whole life would be wasted waiting for something she would waste.

And yet she was only a grain of sand in the desert. On a planet far beyond the likes of things we have come to know and understand. She sat at the desk all alone on a Saterday night, while her mom drank and partied and her sister slept on the other side of town and she was still.

And she was, and always has been in a world of her own.