Eana awoke with a start and hit her head on something hard. She couldn't see anything, but something stank horribly. She felt for her backpack and dug through it until she found her flashlight. The only things that made it obvious to her whereabouts were the eggshells, banana peals, half eaten hamburgers, and sticky wrappers.
She sent a hard kick to the lid of the dumpster and it clattered open. She climbed out, slammed it shut, and sat on top of it. “Hm.” She scowled. The Rattlesnakes, the gang that tossed her in there, were nowhere to be seen.
Eana may have looked like a normal girl on the outside, albeit abnormally long hair, but on the inside she harbored a pain that forced her to be tough. She had lived her life without her parents for eleven years, ever since her father vanished when she was four and her mother died from cancer soon after.
She was sent to a foster family, where she shared a room with four other girls who insulted her day and night. She ran away when she was six to the streets of
, and spent her nights either in an abandoned firehouse or with a man named Carlos Vazquez. Cheney, Washington
Eana sat, caught up in the rosy sunset. Darkness, however, closed in quickly and she slapped herself. She had tried, and thought she had succeeded, to teach herself to be inside before dark. She groped in the darkness for her backpack and slid it on over her shoulders. The wide, soft straps did wonders for her shoulders, but not necessarily for her back.
The very large backpack held almost everything she owned; her pocket knife, her flute, her sound recorder, her notebooks, matches, compass, fishing line, first aid kit, hand sanitizer, she even had tin foil in it. And every now and then it held her kittens: PrettyPaws, Puffball, and Panther.
Eana hopped off the dumpster and headed down Presley Drive to the firehouse. It had once been a vivid red, but time had reduced it to a dusty brown shade. She looked both ways to make sure no one was watching before she entered and flipped the deadbolt. She ran up the spiraled stairs and leapt onto her bed.
Immediately, her kittens pounced on top of her. Puffball climbed onto her shoulder and started chewing on her hair. Panther sleekly pushed under and around her hand like his namesake. PrettyPaws, a prissy little girl, perched on her knee and stuck her nose in the air, as if to say, ‘How dare you leave me.’
Eana returned the look. “Listen, missy, I don’t bow to your wishes and do what you say. You’re a cat, I’m the human. And just to prove it, we’re gonna go to Carlos’s tomorrow and it’s gonna be bath day.”
Sometimes she could have sworn the kittens could understand her. PrettyPaws jumped off her knee and licked a white sock that inspired her name. The rest of her was black as soot like her brother, Panther, the runt. Puffball also fit his name; his fur was a poofy gray.
“Honestly, PrettyPaws, I don’t understand why you don’t like Carlos. He’s the reason I can feed you!”
Carlos sort of took the place of the father who abandoned Eana. He came over from
Spain in 1962 for a fencing match and liked so much that he never went back. Then, as a seventy year old, he passed his love for the sword down to Eana. Anyway, I’m boring you. Back to the story… America