A Girl Comes Over Here: A Short Story

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It was days like this that Ara would dream. Her imagination was an enjoyable interruption from the constant drone of life.
By now I would be at my desk, listening and learning with the rest of them. I wear a proper uniform, with a smart, clean shirt. My hand aches as I write down letters and numbers that for some reason make sense. “Girl, come over here!”
The sharp demand came as a surprise, and before Ara could do anything, she had lost the second of bliss satisfaction. Again, she found herself lonely and lost in the small confines of reality.
When asked, many citizens of the small town Khavel had a brief idea of the girl. Her features were recognized by the many locals, as she was often pictured doing odd jobs or shopping within the little community. As Ara quietly moved her way around the familiar streets, neighbors would recognize the small hunched figure that was constantly shrouded in thick layers of worn out sheets, dresses and skirts. Her face was plain; a stout button nose and chubby cheeks that were unnoticeable under her large, round, down set eyes.
It was a morning just like any other, the house was quiet. Everyone had gone and Ara was alone, again. “Booooong” the gong echoed an eerie mist through the grungy house; it was 10:00, time for work. Soon enough, Ara was trudging through familiar, dusty roads towards the loud commotion and spicy scents of the markets. Khavel was a small town, an old town. Run by strong, outdated beliefs; the settlement was

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