Will you read this and tell me what you think thus far?

[Lovely]

Inside my large, under-furnished room a dingy girl looked out the glass walls at a world I couldn't even remember being part of. All I could see were trees. Tall, thousand year old trees, with few inhabitants. Not many animals lived here any more. They were scared, as they should have been. Here and there birds would twitter on their way out of town, leaving behind nothing but droppings and the occasional carried seed. There were no people around me, either. No early morning hunters, no search party looking for my bones. I had given up long ago that they would find me. I knew they had as well.
Not even my master was near. Everyone had gone. I felt empty - lonely. I wanted to cry. I knew it would make me feel better, but I couldn't. I began to wonder, for the millionth time, if I really did have a choice in it all. Not certianlly, but maybe, I could take control of the situation, maybe I could free myself.
"What a ridiculous thought," I scolded out loud. The voice seemed to belong to someone else, someone living inside my brain. A different version of me, perhaps. Someone more prim and proper, someone with manners. I began to imagine her. She'd look just like me, the medium height, the small build and soft features. She'd have my long brown hair, but unlike mine, always down and messy, her's would be tied in a tight bun atop her head. My green eyes would grace her face, but she'd have glasses to hid her emotions behind.
I laid on my bed, and I could see her, a reflection of me. I could see her clearly as if she was standing in front of me, close enough to count the buttons on her button-down shirt, to see the exact spot where her pencil skirt stroked the top of her knee. I could see the stern expression on her face as I considered destroying her and me alike.
I had an entire spectrum of these women, these almost-me's. One for every type of person, the worst and best kinds, but I was none of them. I didn't fit into a box, or even a label. I couldn't say who I was, or what I was like, because I didn't know. Sure I had theories, based souly on what I wanted to be true, but here in this mockery of freedom, how could theories be tested? How could I say what I was when I had never had a chance to discover it myself.
Maybe that was why I had the need to read. A need to breathe in books and words so much more desperate than my need for air, so I had someone else to become, somewhere new to go, someone to be.
Laying on my bed, I pondered this until my eyelids got heavy. I hadn't been awake long, maybe six or seven hours, but really what was the point in lying awake torturing myself with long off dreams and thoughts that didn’t even matter? Not when I could sleep and dream of him. Dream of my knight, the boy with the afro of medium-brown curls, velvet brown eyes, and white skin dotted oh-so-perfectly with brown spots. He was indeed everything I wished to be, to know, and to have. His music skills were grand, his words perfect, his rythem undeniable.

Is it too wordy? (Sorry if some words are misspelled...my spell check is messing up.) Is it understand able? Does it have nice flow.
Thanks to all constructive critics!

[bluebellbkk]

Once I reach a point where I see a writer doesn't know the difference between "lie" and "lay", I stop reading. Always.

You mean, "Lying" on my bed.
I lie, I lay, I have lain.
I lay, I laid, I have laid.
Check them in a good dictionary.

Your very first sentence is a mess because you jump from first person to third to first. And you can't call yourself "a dingy girl"; this is how someone else would perceive you.

[mintie_boy]

It doesn't appear to go anywhere. The first paragraph focuses on a setting, then abruptly stops. We are then told about her appearance and thoughts. There is no link between the first setting based paragraph and the rest.

There doesn't seem to be a point to this story either. It doesn't go anywhere or tell us enough of anything in particular.