part one...

A few hours later a young girl, whose name I found out later was Cheia, scuffled in with a blue bucket of soapy water and a few ragged, moth eaten rags. Nonchalantly, she kneeled beside me and began to scrub away the years of rat poop and dust. Absent mindedly she began to hum a tune, a tune with no particular rhythm to it but pleasant all the same. Out of boredom and shear interest, for this was the first human contact I had had since I was finished being put together, I began to study her and try to psycho analyze her like only a couch could do. She was thin, a little too thin if you ask me, and she was tall for her age. I guessed her to be roughly 19 years old. Her hair had been cut shorter than her shoulders and it was dyed pink and blue with bright, sun yellow streaks running through it.     ((yes Mrs. Weekman, i have revised this part. i hope you count it!!))