Creations, Leah [best young adult book series txt] 📗

behind me.
"What was that?" Dad said nervously.
"The door!" the woman shouted in a panic.
I ran passed the plants and dived for the window. My dad burst into the room, "Sound the alarm, I’m going to go and check on Leah."
That was when I knew my time was short. I closed the window behind me and began to climb.
"Leah!"
"Dad? What time is it?"
"Sorry Leah, I didn’t mean to wake you. Go back to sleep."
"Okay." I mumbled the words and turn over facing my rose. Behind me I heard the door slowly shut and lock. I waited a few minuets before leaping out of bed. Good thing Dad didn’t notice the rope tied to the edge of my widow and the empty vase that now sat under my desk.
I pushed open the window and brought up the rope. Then put my rose into the vase and set it on the desk. What was Dad trying to do? Why did he need me out of the way? What was the little problem?
I looked into a small mirror behind the door. Some of my stitching had been undone and needed repairing. I sat on my bed and sighed. What ever this was it could wait till the morning.
I clutched my silver key hanging just over my heart. What happened to the man I new as the creator? I sat and thought back to the day my little incident happened and a single tear trickled down my face, wetting the fabric.


Mummy Who?

You could say I'm a million years old, and you would be right. When I was three I was wrapped alive, yet hundreds of years later I was found alive.
I was found in southern Egypt and taken to England where I was raised by my "parents" until I was eight.
A merchant came into town one day and told me I was beyond beautiful. He offered my parents a deal; I'll give you five hundred pounds if you give me the girl. Like any good parent they took the money and happily shipped me off to no man's land.
I continued to work for the rich merchant and his house keeper, Helga. She was like a mother to me and was the only one who really understood me. She had hair as orange as carrots. Gray hairs stood out on the top of her head, a sign of her real age.
I would follow her, help her make dinner, and clean the house. I would do anything just to be around her and away from the merchant.
At night Helga would brush my short brown hair and sing to me.

"You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy, when skies are gray. You'll never know dear, how much I love you. Please don't take my sunshine away."

I would sigh and say, "You have a beautiful voice."
She would smile and say, "Oh my Ruu, you are becoming more and more beautiful by the days." She would set the brush on my night stand and kiss my forehead goodnight.

Five years passed and Helga passed away. I didn't know a thing about it until two days later.
"Why didn't you tell me earlier!?" I yelled. Behind his desk, the merchant looked at me with slicing green eyes.
"You didn't need to know." He stated flatly. "Besides, your going to have to replace her as my house keeper."
I slammed my hands on his desk. "I am not your slave!" I screamed furiously.
He stared at me, icy calm. "Yes, you are. I bought you from your parents." I was speechless, he was right.
I whipped around and kicked the trash can over on my way out.
"You'll pay for that." He shouted. I screeched in fury. He has no right to do such a thing! I needed to escape.
I turned down a narrow hallway covered in old, fancy, wall paper. A small, white door sat at the end of the hallway. I turned the golden knob and entered the room. The inside would have surprised any ordinary human, but I wasn't human.
It was a very elegant room used to house guests, now it looked like garbage. The wallpaper, bedding and the single picture was torn. Splotches of gray carpet were scattered around the floor. It looked like the beast's room from Beauty and the Beast, except there was no beauty here.
I looked into the shattered mirror that once hung beautifully on the wall, oops. I stared at myself; my dark brown hair sprouted out of wrappings that covered half my face and my right eye. My hair stopped at my shoulders, curling a bit at the tips. I wore the same thing every day: mummy wrappings. I was sure mine where far to old and small, but I wore them anyway. They wrapped delicately around my body forming a short dress. I wrapped my hands, arms, legs and neck, to cover up a few ugly scares.
I wiped my eye hating to find a single tear had found it’s way down my cheek. I sighed at sat on the edge of the bed. I knew I was different from the day my “family” found me. They had screamed and called me a corps, a zombie, a mummy. I hated them and the merchant. Some day I would leave here, and I would never come back.

“Ruu! Wake up! You’re supposed to be making breakfast.” I groaned and rolled off my bed landing with a thud.
“Ruu!”
“Alright, I’m coming.” I shouted. I ran to my closet to fix my dress and comb my hair.
“Ruu lets go!”
“I’ll be out in a minute!” I threw my brush on the bed and ran to the door to find the merchant standing right outside.
“Good morning.” I mumbled.
“What?” he said holding his hand to his ear as if he hadn’t heard.
“Good morning.” I yelled.
“Why aren’t you ready?”
“I didn’t know I was to be making breakfast.”
“You didn’t? Well then I’ll let this one slide,” He motioned for me to walk with him. “This will be one of you’re daily chores. You are to make breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I assume you have an alarm clock.”
“Broke.” I kept my voice even and steady, never looking at the merchant.
“Shame,” he sighed, and then continued, “I can not and will not be your alarm clock. Get it fixed.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Yes sir.” I shouted.
“Good, meet me for lunch and we will discuss your further duties.” He smiled as I turned into the kitchen. Was this man crazy? It had to be about six in the morning, I was exhausted.
I slouched over to the sink to wash my hands and face, only to fine I was being blocked by an old woman wearing a hairnet and apron.
“Hello.” She frowned and mumbled, “This is the replacement? Lord help me.”
“Um, hi.” I tried to smile, but was hopelessly failing.
“Okay then,” she sounded unsure and afraid, “My name is Simone, I’m the head chef.”
“My name is Ruu.”
“Rue? What kind of name is that?”
“It is spelled r-u-u. It is a nickname.” So far I wasn’t too fond of Simone.
“Okay then. Let’s get to work.”

I set down the silver platters piled with hot cakes, eggs and bacon in front of the merchant and his son.
“Can I get another glass of orange juice?” the merchant’s son asked.
“Why?”
“This one smells weird.”
"You have got to be kinding me." I mumbled. I leaned in to smell the orange juice. “It smells fine to me.”
"No it is not, trust me!"
I sighed and took a sip, “It tastes like regular orange juice. What are you talking about?” I set the glass down in front of him.
“Eww! I can’t drink from this! Get it away!”
“What’s wrong now?”