A Good Story

Ayita held it tightly against her chest, though she was taking care not to damage it. There was a binder in her arms. It was pink, and the label on it said: Science, but it hadn't been used for science in a little over a year. It has been used for something far more precious. She was standing out in the darkened hallway of her house. Her dad was in his home office. He almost always was, though she knew full well that he didn't like it that way.

The plain crème walls were adorned in family photos, but she had passed them so often that they didn't even register in her mind anymore. The rest of the house was asleep. It was about eleven o'clock. Ayita had wanted to wait until morning to show her father, but she couldn't sleep, the binder constantly hovering on the edge of her mind.

The office door was open a crack, bathing her right eye in yellow light. She could see her father's back,  and heard the quick tapping of laptop keys. She had always envied her father's ability to type so swiftly, but her loyalties lied with the purple pen on her desk. The purple pen that provided its ink onto the paper she was holding.

She watched, with bated breath, contemplating what she was about to do. Surely, it could wait until the next day. Much to her dismay, her thoughts strayed back to where she was several minutes ago. How she tossed and turned nervously in her bed, like that binder that had been floating tantalizingly around her mind was trying to burst out and be shown to the world.

But the other part of her mind stopped this memory. It told her that perhaps her father wouldn't like it. He was so experienced, he was published for crying out loud! How would he feel about this pamphlet of a novel?  She decided that it wasn't worth it. She couldn't possibly show him. He wouldn't care about this stuff. She took a step back, and heard the tapping cease. She drew in a sharp breath.

"Is anyone out there?" He asked.

Ayita contemplated her choices. She could either abandon her quest, or show her father the only thing that had plagued her mind for this entire year. She barely finished wondering this when the door opened.

"Ayita, what are you doing awake?" Her father asked. He looked older than he was. Silver hairs poked out of his closely-cropped black hair. He had a couple wrinkles on his forehead.

"Um... I was just going to get a glass of water." Ayita lied.

Her father raised an eyebrow. "With a folder?"

"Uh... I- I have something I want to show you." Ayita blurted out.

"Really?"

"That is... if you're not too busy, I mean..." Ayita peered over her dad's shoulder to his computer screen. Chapter Sixteen, it said.

"No, I've got some time." Her father said, looking quite confused."

"Okay," She thrust the folder into her father's chest. "I've been writing this all year."

"What is it?"

"It's a story that I wrote. A novel, really. Well, goodnight." Ayita then abandoned the quest, walking down the hallway and retreating into her room.

For the next several weeks, there was no word from Ayita's father. He never mentioned it once. Ayita began to wonder if he even remembered her novel. She was quite saddened by this, she had put all of herself into the novel. She could remember the initial idea. She could remember planning the novel, writing down the chapters, the pain and embarrassment of editing, and the pride when she finally finished. She could remember wanting to show her friends desperately, but she decided that her dad should see it first. Five weeks later, she walked into her room, wanting to read. She picked up a book, and went to flop on her bed.

The only problem was, something was already sitting on it. A familiar pink folder. On it, was a sticky note that said:

A good story.