I have the basic plot for this story in mind, but the story itself is nowhere near complete.

Rain poured down in huge, merciless, torrents. I held a thin piece of cloth over my head in a pathetic attempt to keep myself dry. Every droplet that rained down from the sky turned the dirt it touched into mud, leaving my already mangy feet even dirtier. I sprinted, my breath coming in short, raspy gasps, to the cobblestone pathway that lead to my home. As I turned the knob, I threw the pitiful cloth on the ground and dashed inside.

Mom?" I shouted, my voice echoing through the house.

I watched as my mother loped through the back corridor and into the living room. She put a dainty hand over her mouth, hoping to hide her smirk, but her twinkling green eyes said it all.

Mom, just stop it" I said shrugging off my soggy jacket, revealing the tattered pink silk gown underneath. The dress was beautiful. Now it was torn and ripped at the hems and stained with mud. Disgusting I thought to myself. We might not be royalty, but this is just ridiculous.

My mother raised up her hands, palms facing forward, as if surrendering. "Day, sweetie, you have to learn to hurry when you're out shopping. I told you there was a storm coming, but no, you didn't want to listen".

I rolled my eyes, annoyed. How could she not see that it was besides the point, that I shouldn't have to go out at all; someone else should do it for me? I shook away the thought- we'd had that argument before. She would always resort to blaming herself, claiming that she had "Spoiled me as a child" and that I "would never grow out of it". I slumped down on the arm chair in the living room, paying no mind to the awkward 'squish' I made as I plopped down. I pulled my knees up into the cushion and turned so that I was leaning over the back of the chair, my chin resting on the head, held by my hands. I smiled to myself as I watched my mom scurry around the house, tediously cleaning what was already spotless. Slowly, my mother turned as she realized I was watching.

What?" she asked, looking suddenly self conscious.

Nothing" I replied. "I was just thinking, imagine what it would be like to live in the castle, with all the royals. We wouldn't have to worry about money, or food, or getting our dresses wet in the rain! Just think Mamma- To be waited on hand and foot, to never have to lift a finger, to wear all the pretty dresses and do anything we want!" I imagined myself as the Queen of Aden- strong, powerful, wearing dresses made of the finest silk- it was too amazing to think about.

Stop all that nonsense, Day!" exclaimed my mother. "We've got everything we need, much more than most, and Queen Zuzu does a fabulous job as queen".

Again, I rolled my eyes, a rage bubbling beneath me on the verge of supernova. "Well don't you want to have MORE ?!" I screamed, leaping up from the chair. My eyes were squinted, my fists and teeth clenched.

Now I had done it. Seething with rage, my mother was right in my face in seconds, but she kept her voice calm while speaking through clenched teeth. "Dayanidee, we are more fortunate than you could ever imagine and if you don't stop being such a brat I'll show how unfortunate you can truly be. We don't need more, we don't need to be royalty, and you surely don't need to be spoiled any more than you already are.Now go upstairs and straight up to your room and into bed. There will be no supper for you tonight. It'll do you some good to see how hungry others get, and I better not see you out of that room until morning young lady. Not another word out of you!"

I quickly turned my back and stomped up the stairs, my lower lip pushed out as I angrily pouted at my punishment. I stopped at the head of the stairs and looked down to see my mother sigh and drop her face into her hands, and then vigorously rub her temples. I opened my mouth to say something, to apologize, but decided against it and continued the trek to my room.

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I flopped down on my bed, my entire being filled with sorrow. Mother's life would just be so much easier without me I thought to myself. I felt as a salty tear traveled down my cheek and onto the bed, turning the dingy yellow spread into a muddy orange. It was then that I decided it was time for me to help her out, to move on. I can handle myself I thought. I'm 17 years old, it's about time I found my own way and got out of my mother's hair. Quickly, I fetched a large tote bag out of my closet and threw in the necessities: my favorite sparkly golden brush, a handheld mirror, a bottle of water, and a few spare dresses that were suited for comfort and long journies, but still looked fabulous. When Mother went to bed, I'd pack some food and be on my way.

I didn't want to think too much and scare myself into changing my mind, so I walked around my room completing small tasks. I braided my long, light brown hair and tied a gold ribbon at the top. I slipped on a new dress, a thin gold one that resembled a night gown and fell nicely right above my knees. After what seemed like hours, I noticed through the crack at the bottom of my door, that the hallway light had been turned off. Cautiously, I opened the door, praying it wouldn't creak. It didn't. I peaked my head around the corner to see that Mother's bedroom door was shut, the lights off. I tip toed back over to my bed to pick up my belongings and headed down the stairs to the kitchen. I silently cheered that the stairs or floor hand't creaked or made a sound as I walked. Into the kitchen I went, careful not to make a sound as I opened the refrigerator door. I grabbed one of my Mother's hand woven baskets out of the pantry and slowly packed an apple, a bag of nuts, a banana, some of the roast turkey from the previous night, and the jar of cranberries. I folded a white cloth over the food and walked to the door.

I hesitated as my hand clutched the door knob. Was this right? Was this what I wanted? Was this what mother wanted? Another tear found it's way from my eyes, then another, and another. I swiped at them furiously. Yes, yes, yes. I said to myself and turned the door to head out into the night.

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