Personal Narrative-Changing My Name

I was sitting at the red bench in the rotunda at the edge of the playground in Etoile Elementary. I remember laughing and squealing and shouting. Swings creaking and gravel crunching. The air in Leve was hot and sticky. I was alone, like usual. I was drawing, like I usually did. It was a comic book that I hoped would change the world but I couldn’t think of a name. I was busily fashioning my superheroine’s outfit when I heard that voice for that first time. It was high-pitched and almost squeaky, but comforting and friendly.