Magazine, website & books written by teens since 1989

If Freedom Could Walk This work is considered exceptional by our editorial staff.

Her arms were embellished with the inky tendrils of faded tattoos. Her hair was piled on top of her head, streaked, bleached, and dyed a wide spectrum of auburns and reds. Her petite frame was clothed in black leggings, which looked unbearably uncomfortable in the dry Austin heat, and a threadbare band t-shirt with a fraying hem hung on her bony shoulders.

I sat, gawking at her, my ice cream cone being obliterated by the afternoon sun.

The girl held in her hands a thick volume of Game of Thrones, her face completely buried in the black and white print, never raising her eyes once to watch where she was going. She was much too cool for that. For consideration. She was free from restrictions and rules, societal and legal alike.

I imagined her t-shirt was some thrift store find, or the first thing she picked up off the floor when making her speedy getaway from home. She hitchhiked, I'm sure, from some small town like NoOneCares, Oklahoma. Or maybe she traveled here with her friends in the back of a Volts Wagon van on some cross country road trip. Days spent exploring every little town they passed through with nights consisting of fire-side chats and lying under the stars.

I mean, what other ways are there to travel when you're young, wild, and free?

Free.

From her parents?
From the suffocating presence of her small town community?
From him?

Her tattoos and piercings screamed of some wounded past, sculpting her into a strong, self-reliant individual. The kind of girl who worked two jobs and returned home to her shoebox apartment where she lived with no one except her record player and laptop. But the way her eyes glowed excitedly as they scanned the words on the page, oblivious to the raging traffic around her, enticed and aroused my curiosity. I wanted to know her.

I imagined her strong yet kind. Care-free yet intellectual.

Independent.

But the way she walked, the way she dressed, the way she didn't care...

If "freedom" was a person this stranger was it.

And I wanted nothing more than to be her.



Join the Discussion


This article has 6 comments. Post your own!

. said...
Apr. 18 at 3:18 am:
This was a lovely piece. It was as poetic as an essay could be, especially with lines like "If "freedom" was a person, this stranger was it.".  
 
Reply to this comment Post a new comment
 
Vicky11 said...
Mar. 15 at 3:44 am:
Ahh I liked this piece very much! The description of her was especially vivid, and I really got the feeling like I knew her, which in some ways is absurd since even you do not know her. Loved it :)
 
DaniJo519 replied...
Mar. 15 at 8:46 pm :
Thank you so much for talking the time to read and comment :) I'm so glad you liked it
 
Reply to this comment Post a new comment
 
Makala said...
Feb. 14 at 8:32 pm:
You provided a great describtion of your definition of freedom. I liked how it was short and to the point as well!  
 
Wondering_About_InfinityThis teenager is a 'regular' and has contributed a lot of work, comments and/or forum posts, and has received many votes and high ratings over a long period of time. replied...
Feb. 16 at 4:45 pm :
This is really cool. I love the way you see this total stranger and come up with a life story- I'm not the only one who does it, I know, but somehow it's still weird to find out everybody else does it too.
 
DaniJo519 replied...
Feb. 16 at 6:55 pm :
Thank you. This individual really struck me. It is nice to know you're not the only crazy one out there making stories :) thank you for reading.
 
Reply to this comment Post a new comment
 
Site Feedback