All Nonfiction Bullying Books Academic Author Interviews Celebrity interviews College Articles College Essays Educator of the Year Heroes Interviews Memoir Personal Experience Sports Travel & CultureAll Opinions Bullying Current Events / Politics Discrimination Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking Entertainment / Celebrities Environment Love / Relationships Movies / Music / TV Pop Culture / Trends School / College Social Issues / Civics Spirituality / Religion Sports / Hobbies
- Summer Guide
- College Guide
- Author Interviews
- Celebrity interviews
- College Articles
- College Essays
- Educator of the Year
- Personal Experience
- Travel & Culture
- Current Events / Politics
- Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking
- Entertainment / Celebrities
- Love / Relationships
- Movies / Music / TV
- Pop Culture / Trends
- School / College
- Social Issues / Civics
- Spirituality / Religion
- Sports / Hobbies
- Community Service
- Letters to the Editor
- Pride & Prejudice
- What Matters
Dear Mr. President
I grew up hearing the idea that safety is freedom.
That was until I met Drew.
Drew taught me that safety was confinement, at least the way my father taught me to be safe. drew also taught me that seeing the world for what it had become is a test of knowledge so few possess in these fast
and computerized lives. Our souls had become our cell phones and our hearts a computer drive, the brain became a hardwired functioning device, cords that processed information without thinking.
We weren't living, we were becoming walking zombies.
Drew taught me that freedom wasn't America anymore. It wasn't the flames on our computerized furnaces. It was the wind that swooshed through the awakened hearts of the ones who stood to fight against the hell our world was slowly becoming.
I was born to a rich family with a cutting edge nursery and the newest model of Baby Nanny. I was 8 years old when dad was first elected president. 4 years later, he was elected again. Then again, and again. As the years slowly dragged on, I spent most of my life in the confines of my room. The door always shut with three body guards outside.
Freedom was not mine to grasp.
I was normal, or what my online friends had said normal was. I wore skinny jeans, converse, and oversized band t-shirts from concerts I hadn't been to. I had red hair. I never met people other than my mother, my father, my body guards(who were hardly fun company) my father's coworker's daughters and sons, and the many reporters that shoved podestic microbes in my face, yelling questions at me and the pink beam of the glareic cameras.
I had friends I mean....just never met them in person. Our school was a 3-D projection. Everything I did was in a 3-D projection or some other form of virtual state. My teachers were virtual 3-D holograms of real people, to anti-social to teach in the few face-to-face schools (so a great many were available for scanning and such.). Reason my father enjoys digital school so much...is it's safe. To safe. No bomb threats, no suicidal influences, no boys. No chance of me getting hurt.
My dad and I have a very strange relationship. He’s the power, I’m just the glass bulb that dings on and makes him look like a normal, loving father. We go on father-daughter outing together, but we just smile and pretend the world is our stage, and the cameras are the only people watching. At press conferences, I’m always standing, beaming at my father, behind him in a nice suit skirt and fitted blazer.
If the world knew how he didn't have time for me, how nobody cares that I never exit my room, if only they knew.
I changed into my blue silk dress, extremely aware of the clocks slowly moving hands as I prepared for the "wonderful" father daughter dace my father4 was pulling me off to. The night outside was warm and the sticky sweet smell of the fruit was over powering me. I could taste the sugar plums on my tongue as I fought to keep focused on my mission, to get ready as fast as possible.
My heart thudded inside my small chest as my head throbbed dully and painfully from the overpowering sweetness and the hot, summer air. The dress was far too tight and stiffening for the seasons. Even though for our fast paced world, we could not change the seasons. The earth now cracked and ugly, would forever stay with its tilting orbit.
I looked in the long, floor to ceiling mirror one last time before exiting my room and nearly running into my father’s secretary, Leona.
"Yes?" I asked the sass in my voice unquestionable.
"I just came up to see if you needed help.." she smiled, her even brilliantly white teeth flashing in the colored light.
"I’m fine. Just telling you, you’re not my mother."
"I’m no trying to be, bunny." she stopped smiling and sighed, glancing down at the huge diamond on her left hand.
"Well my mother deserted us. You’re not her. So stop trying to be." I hissed out, stepping past her. Her tall, thin figure seeming giraffe like next to my short, naturally lethargic one. My shoulder bumped her arm and I pushed on, for once not surrounded by the tall bulky body guards that smelled like cinnamon.
"Alina. wait." she called after me.
"No. I’m not going to treat you like you’re my mother. Because all you are is a beautiful girl my father thought would look gorgeous next to him and me during the next photo shoot. I am and always will be the only women in his life. Your just some useless whore my dad wants to take my mother’s place." I yelled. As soon as the ugly words were out of my mouth, I regretted their harshness.
She looked as if I slapped her in the face and dug my heel into her heart. Her beautiful features crumpled and her eyes collected water. I noticed however, that they did not spill down as tears from her brown eyes.
"Im sorry." she whispered, almost inaudibly. She turned into the hallway, walking quickly and I could still hear the sharp click of her heels on the floor as she walked away from me.
A black gut wrenching feeling filled me as I walked away from that spot. The ghost of what happened still playing in my head.
The unknown waited for me as I saw my father, smartly dressed in a black tuxedo, waiting at the bottom of the stairs, beaming up at me.
This was all a show. I noticed the video cameras in the corner of the room. I smiled my well rehearsed fake grin and walked over to dad, enveloping him in a hug. There was no love though. This was a play. His pride in seeing me, I looked far too much like my mother for him to think me beautiful, and this gracious touch...he never touched me unless there were cameras nearby.
The reality stung my heart as I realized this was a fact. He never looked at me, and when he did darkness filled his eyes to the brim. Almost as if it caused him pain to see me across the table from him.
My mother had the same small frame, the same anorexic looking body type, the same white blonde hair and the same blue almond shaped eyes. She was like my older sister. I inherited one or two things from dad, this is true. his heart shaped face, his narrow shoulders, his mole at the nape of his neck that looked like a marker for where his jugular artery is....and mostly...I have his dark, secretive presence., the kind that chases guys away. But my mother handed down my "beauty" as most people told me. To me though, I am not beautiful in the slightest. I am nothing of the sort. But I must take the word of everybody who insists the impossible.
Dad took my hand and smiled.
"We’ll talk about what happened with Leona later missy." he whispered, ducking his head and smiling, as if he was giving me a compliment.
My heart sunk as I realized he didn't think I was beautiful, or pretty. He thought I was just like my own mother.
"There’s nothing to talk about." I whispered back, looking into his eyes with a fake smile, as if I was thanking him or complimenting him.
He winced barely and began walking me towards the grand ball room, where I could hear the joyous squeals of small children and the giggling of the older girls. Every now and then, a blue flash lit the hall outside. I plastered my fake smile on my face again, and cheers surrounded me as we entered. I saw a few "friends" and let my father’s hand go, quickly walking over to the brightly colored dresses I signified as Demi, Avril, and Nelly. Demi had her red curls pulled into a high pony tail, her creamy white skin pulled tightly over her high cheekbones. Her icy eyes burning me as I walked over. Avril's brunette short pixie cut outlining her delicate face. Her "tanned" skin glowing against the bright pink of her dress. She smiled warmly at me. Nelly's dark skin stood out against her pale cream dress. She grinned and trotted over on heels high enough to break an ankle. Her gorgeous face was soon buried in my hair and she squealed.
"It’s been so long!!!" she happily bounced.
"Yes! It’s been almost.........2 months!" Avril giggled, walking into out hug and placing her small arms around our shoulders.
"Yeah...we missed u." Demi said snarkily.
"I missed u all." I smiled this one slightly more real than the one with my father.
"Now for the President and his beautiful daughter Alina to dance. Please clear the floor." the loud speakers voice sounded. I groaned and met my father halfway along the dance floor.
I could feel the weight of hundreds of eyes staring at me as I took my father's hand and placed my other one on his shoulder. His hand was on my waist.
Suddenly we were moving. Sweeping across the dance floor in steps wide enough to cover the whole floor. We smiled at each other, our eyes conversing our disdain for this. Every person in the room was staring at us as we danced to a fairly new song. 3 long minutes later the song came to an end and I looked around at all the clapping and smiling faces, an occasional pink flash blinding me.
"That was the president and his daughter, dancing to Danger Girl by RipSonicWave. Quite the dance pair huh?" the voice chuckled, the laugh echoing through the room as I made my way over to my friends.
I just hope I can make it through this nightmare as soon as possible.
The Kwuanaki and Raspberry smoothie was fruity on my tongue. The sweetness and spice of the drink dancing in my mouth. The Kwuanaki...fiery and warm...the Raspberry sweet and delicate, the two mixing together without a problem. Sweet and spicy...an old world term used to describe many foods, but now only such delicacies as this smoothie.
I frowned upon my dress, which clung to my body tightly, enhancing every puny curve and making me feel like a glamorous version my own pitiful me.
I turned and suddenly my elbow connected with somebody's arm, bringing the silver tray filled with Galahs Biomentimear glasses shattering to the floor. I yelped and slipped, landing on my butt in the stickiness of the Kwuanaki and Raspberry sludge that covered the ground. I looked up at a man, so gorgeous I swore I was staring at an angel. His thick black hair, his large, violet eyes, even more widened in shock and fear. The way his arm flexed when he helped me up.
The gorgeousness of my dress was covered in the pinkish purple gooey sludge .I spent a millisecond mourning about the ruined silk. I then glanced back at the young waiter again struck by his face. His cheeks were ruddy pink with the starting of a great blush. He glanced up at me. His face betraying a weird emotion.
"I’m so sorry miss. I can’t believe what an idiot I’ve been...” he began frantically wiping at the mess on the floor.
To hell with it! I shouted to myself, your dress is already messed up!
I bent down to help him, grabbing a rag from the counter and swiping it up.
"miss don’t help me, u shouldn’t I mean...." he stuttered.
"No use in keeping me clean now is there? That and I kind of like being dirty. It makes more of an excuse to take baths." I winked and he smiled, showing even teeth with sharper canines..Deep set dimples...
I looked away abruptly, my heart pounding around in my chest.
"I’m Alina. Who are you?"
"I’m Peter. You look just like....wait...Alina Harris? The president’s daughter?" Peter asked me, years of practice made obvious in his quick work.
"Oh. Weird you look just like her."
My response was a sigh.
"What?" he stopped cleaning and stared at me.
"I just feel sorry for Alina Harris." I sighed again, and continued cleaning
"So you don’t like the president, right?" he asked. His eyes down cast, his voice casual.
"Right. I swear sometimes I hate him." I had no clue why I was sharing this with the beautiful stranger.
He mutters something that sounded just like, "don’t we all?"
"Oh, nothing. So...you have a dress to change into? I’m awfully sorry about that, though Miss." he asked, suddenly polite.
"Now wait here a minute. You did say something, and yes. I’m sure at some point ever person in this godforsaken country does. Either that or their drooling over the newest version of technology. And quite frankly, it makes me sick. And no, I do not have a dress to change into. This was my mother’s dress. But don’t be sorry. I’m quite glad to be rid of it in honesty." I snapped. Glaring at him as he jerked his head up in surprise and shame.
"There’s someone u need to meet..."