I wake up on the hard wood floor of my bedroom.

I must have fallen off the bed in my sleep again. It's more common than rare in my life. Most mornings I find myself on the floor for unknown reasons.

It's just weird; like my body takes control in the middle of the night and decides it doesn't like being in the bed, so it decides to fall off in the most painful way for me in the morning.

I groan as I roll off of my left arm. I must have fallen onto it in the middle of the night.

Wait.

I sit up a little and look at my clock on my, well, in daylight, white end table to the left of my bed. It's glowing numbers read one twenty three am.

It is the middle of the night.

Well, actually really early in the morning.

Eh. It's close enough to the middle of the night.

I stand up, a little unbalanced from laying down for a few hours and being somewhat asleep. I see those white-ish stars jumping in my eyes through the darkness of my room. My father once told me that they come because of blood pressure change. I fix my blankets that came with me to the floor with me as I remember all my father has taught me.

My parents are very loving for the most part.

They give me a nice house, food, a room to my own, care, anything I could really ask for.

I'm luckier than most eleven year olds living during this time in Milwaukee, Wisconsin.

We are recovering from a war eleven years ago when they found out that we all were being used as an experiment for the Bureau of Genetic Welfare.

This is what happens to failed experiments I guess; they are damaged almost beyond repair, but take a long time to fix up. We aren't so bad here... But there still is the city's bad and worse parts.

That's all I've learnt so far from my parents.

I've never gone to school.

There isn't a school here.

I don't know if there ever was one. I depend on my parents, well my father mainly now a days to teach me things.

He said my mother suffers from this thing called post-traumatic stress; from the war.

I've only really ever heard her talk a handful of times in my life. My father says it's because of that post-traumatic stress and the only way it can be fixed is with hope and time.

Other people my age tease and say she's too stupid to talk, or she's gone insane.

I know she hasn't.

She never has been insane.

I just ignore all of those people.

They don't even know who they are talking about.

I may only be eleven, but I can totally see how she's reacted the way she does.

The war was ten years ago, and I'm eleven. My father told me that my mother and him were one day captured by an enemy. That was the day I was born.

My mother got stressed and that ended up causing her to go into labor. Once I was born, the enemy group almost took me away from my mother and father; my father said that if they did I probably wouldn't be here right now. Luckily, they escaped before I was taken.

By the time I was one year old, the war finally ended. It was mainly just a civil war; half caused by the Bureau of Genetic Welfare, the other half being caused by if we should side with the Bureau of Genetic Welfare.

Clearly I am not going to bed anytime soon. I blindly walk through the darkness of my room to my dresser. On top of it is my notebook.

The dark grey covered notebook was given to me by my parents quite a few years ago for my birthday. On the front it reads Happy Birthday Natalie! Love Mom and Dad. I've yet to write in it though I got it so long ago.

My father said it was for me to write down all of my experiences and amazing journeys that I go on or have had.

My father has an active imagination. I could say I'm a little bit like him; but that just wouldn't be the truth. I'm more down to earth and in reality more than he is sometimes.

I grab a pencil and turn on the light by the clock on my end table. I lay on my stomach propped up on my elbows on my bed and then I begin to write.

My name is Natalie Wright.

I live a not so amazing; not so special; not so extraordinary life.

But that's perfectly okay with me.