[ WP ] A world where kids dream of being accountants , cashiers , bank managers etc . In the adulthood their dreams are crushed when they have to become astronauts , cowboys , ninjas etc .

The first argument I can ever remember was with my older sister Hannah – Grandmother left her beautiful pearl necklace to Hannah and not me. Hannah argued, in her infinite wisdom as a sixteen-year-old, that a little baby six year old like me wasn ’ t mature enough to wear the necklace. I told her I hoped I would never see her again, and she left for her mission without even saying goodbye to me. 
 
 I was the one to come across Hannah in the alleyway behind our home, the jagged edges of a rival ninja ’ s throwing knife buried deep into her throat, the once white necklace bathed red, the panicked expression of her last moments alive still frozen on her face. 
 
 After that, I didn ’ t want the necklace anymore. 
 
 I didn ’ t want this life either. Danger, uncertainty, loss. I wanted one of those safe jobs where you ’ re practically guaranteed a long life and a steady income. But I was born into the wrong family. We didn ’ t have nearly enough money to ship me off to some fancy school where I could study to become an accountant and enter the world of business. 
 
 The neighborhood kids were the same way. We all dreamed of becoming something bigger than our parents – accountants, cashiers, bank managers. It must have hurt our parents to see us play those silly games, knowing all along that the world needed more astronauts to map out an escape from our dying earth, cowboys to manage the little natural resources we had left, and ninjas to defend them. Short, unglamorous lives. 
 
 A few weeks after my sixteenth birthday, I began my training as a cowgirl, condemning myself to an uncertain, demanding life. Mother dropped me off at the train station alone because my father couldn ’ t bear to watch another child walk away. Before I left, Mother reached into her pocket and slyly pulled out a strand of pearls. 
 
 “ I know how much you wanted one, so your father and I saved up, ” she whispered. The image of Hannah ’ s pearls covered in blood flashed before my eyes. My mother gently put the necklace on me, a soft smile on her face as her hands stroked the pearls. 
 
 I imagined an executioner fiddling with the noose on a hanged man and shivered. 

