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Alright. Here it is. Chapter One. Well, most of it. Haven't finished. But you're free to send it to anyone you want.
Oh. And try to give me some suggestions, okay? ANYTHING. But I suppose you don't have to if you don't want to...... emo

Chapter One~

I tried to force my breath to slow, but it only seemed to quicken. Crumbling under pressure was an unwanted habit of mine, and somehow had stuck with me through the years. I glanced up at the English clock again; the third time in a minute. 2:13. Only two more sixty second intervals, then I’d be out of this hell hole...

Nevertheless, the slimmer hand refused to speed. It rotated calmly past the black marks, ignorant to my desperation. I wanted to break it. Badly.

“One more minute,” Mr. Larsen droned in that nasally, annoying voice of his. He didn’t even set down the morning paper or slide his polished, ugly brown shoes off the table. It wasn’t as if the Times Record would sprout legs and run away. Obviously he was just too caught up in his freshly printed literature to care much about his job anymore. That fact was unmistakably shown from the numerous stacks of yet-to-be-graded papers perched unevenly along his desk. I doubted he had corrected one over the weekend. That meant this weekend would be a dud also. Maybe if he left the test papers there, I could look up the answers after school and slip the copied test in tomorrow...

Another glance at the clock sent me in a flurry. Something about one of Shakespeare's plays. I wasn’t sure which. We probably hadn’t even covered it yet. Even so, I bit my lip and jotted down questionable answers in the tiny lines provided. It didn’t matter what I got. It wasn’t as if school grades mattered to a being like me. So as soon as the bell rang I shoved my papers at my partner, some girl who didn’t particularly stand out on my radar, and hurried out of the emptying classroom with the rest of the flood. I wasn’t about to complain about the chivalry from passing in my papers.

I followed the swarms of bodies half heartedly, depressed at the mountain of homework I’d ignore tonight. A stop at the sticking locker of mine was only a hiccup in my course, and I was back in the flow armed with a black shoulder back pack in little time. Being pushed and pulled through the hall no longer bothered me: although I hated physical contact, it had become bearable. I didn’t have to wear gloves anymore.


“Holly!” I turned at the call. There was only one that would bother. I spied her small frame behind two large and bulky jock figures. It would be impossible for a tiny person as her to fight through the crowd, so I planted my feet down to the scuffed white linoleum. My face softened at her smile. The people around me muttered and hissed for me to move, but they swerved past without waiting for an answer.

“Hi, Marlow.” She reached for my outstretched hand and I pulled her out of the flow. Such tiny fingers she had. I could clamp them easily in my own. She was the only human I didn’t mind to touch.

She was breathless. “Did you do well on your R&J exam?” Her mousy brown hair whipped around her face and large round glasses in front of round almond eyes. I began to lead her out so she wouldn’t be overtaken again.

“Possibly,” I answered .

She started to chastise, but it was harder to concentrate on her when so many others chattered as well. “You really should try harder. I mean, how are you going to get into a good college?...” Eh. Just the regular speech after a D graded test. She wasn’t even waiting for the results anymore.

A hot wave of heat hit us about ten feet from the outside doors, and I regretted wearing a blue turtleneck and jeans. Marlow’s speech abruptly ended. She hated the summer. It made her quiet and forgetful; so unlike her. It might have something to do with her mother, whom she never mentioned. But I was reluctant to ask.

“So the sleepover is still on for Friday, right?” she said somewhat forcibly. A glance at her face showed a now strained looking smile. Hollow. Yes. Summer definitely held painful memories for fragile, little Marlow.

I nodded, grinning. Anything for her not to dwell on things. “I’ll be here.”

I let go of her hand. She drifted to the left, down the more deserted part of Main Street, which broke off to that Chestnut Ave. Her home. Nice and small, like her. I liked it better than mine. It had bits of homey feelings swirling in it.

I hesitated only for a second before starting off in the opposite direction, into the heart of town. I didn’t care much for the transportation of theirs. Such pollution! On bad days they made the moon hazy at night.

I pulled on the neck of my shirt. Human fabrics were always so heavy. My step was quiet, and only a few boys and girls were walking ahead of me. They eventually turned off on to their respective streets, and I was left alone. Vehicles whizzed past, blowing my long coffee-colored hair into a hurricane. I impatiently raised a hand to grapple it down to my head, but was, for the most part, unsuccessful.

The city of ........ wasn’t very large compared to others. Mediocre in pollution as well, though it never seemed that way to my lungs. I was creeping down to the most populated section of the city. Small shops and stores selling anything ranging from clothes to cds and books were crammed together, lining the fume stained tar. I tried to keep breathing to a minimal in order to spare myself the coughing fits. I felt one coming on anyway. It was a good thing the afternoon traffic didn’t start for another hour or so. By then I’d be safely inside.

I paused and crossed to the left of the street where it ended suddenly in a T. Once there I had to wait for the white light shadow to come up and replace the red hand before crossing again. At the end of the road, slightly off the center, was a brick building that blended explendingly well into the surroundings. Two stories. Seven windows facing front, all drawn shut by white linen curtains. My living space. All mine.

I hopped up on the sidewalk and to the steps. Shrugging my bag off my shoulder and down on to solid gray stone, I threw open the flap and rummaged around in it, finding a silver key after a while. I slid it into the hole of the rustic door knob resting in a heavy duty coal colored door that was unbearably hot, but I cringed and coughed into the bend of my arm. The first of many shuddered horribly through my body. I quickly returned my hand to the inserted key, turned, and pulled it out hastily. I pushed the door open, but stopped on the doorstep with my bag in hand.

I turned slowly, analyzing the people on the streets and in moving cars. My more acute senses had felt eyes on my back, attention. But as another cough threatened to make itself known, I gave up and hurried inside, shutting the door numbly behind. It could have been anyone. Curious eyes attracted by a sound, even in the city where people were trained to ignore. It was the same as capturing interest with shiny objects. Predictable, simple humans.

Technically, my house used to be two apartments. The bottom had had a modern feel. White walls, white furniture, shining white countertops. It was much more classier than I had been used to, but I loved it. Therefore I had flashed a little additional currency at the old landlord and had him alter the entire second floor from cozy brown tones to the gleaming snow theme.

I coughed again, quieter. The ceiling was tall, and in turn, seemed to elongate the whole building. On the right, various pieces of furniture somewhat pulled into a rough semi circle that faced the kitchen, located to the left. I kicked off my heavy sneakers and climbed over a pure white chair to pull the curtains open and get some light. It was instantly brighter. The tinted yellow light of the sun blared on my skin, warming it.

Climbing down, I then went to the kitchen and released the hold of curtains on the light from the huge window over the sink. The countertops shone brilliantly. I grabbed a crystal glass from one of the cabinets lining the space above, filling it with filtered water from the tap. I sipped at it nonchalantly and curled up in a chair. Marlow had been laying off the questioning, but it was sure to return with a vengeance if she was huddled safely inside my flat on Friday. Where are your parents? What do they do for a living? Tell me again why you don’t drive a car...

The liquid was calming. On the other hand, she could tell when the questions made me uncomfortable. Maybe the curiosity lingering from past years had dwindled, and she would accept the facts I had fed her even if she suspected they were lies. How else could one explain why they were left alone constantly in a large, expensive building with parents that never visited from their London home? Stocks, I had explained, was what had given birth to our fortune. Grandfather invested wisely, Father taking over the mound of assets when he had finally sold and passed. He met my Mother in France where she had been touring as one of the employed laborers for a popular Abercrombie & Fitch expedition -the special summer wear. They eloped. Two years later they shared a white Cinderella dream wedding and conceived myself.

That was the story that I had woven for her. The telling of my fake, perfect life.

The lie wasn’t very thought out. I had passed the store on my tour of the town, with its shirtless male models looking up through thick eyelashes hanging in the windows. The place had been full of them. And stocks were generally a gray area for teenagers: I didn’t think she’d bother to investigate, even if I gave her a name and stock symbol. So I was secure in that part. But she worried. Parents that never visit their daughter in the states. Leaving her alone without a maid or nanny, even if they could well afford it. I knew she thought of them as cold-hearted, cruel people.

There was nothing I could do about that. To elaborate would mean more lies that made me want to shift my weight from foot to foot. Or throw up.

The doorbell rang elegantly through the halls, vibrating in my head. I peeked past a fold of curtain, so soft and light, and spied someone at the door. Paperboy, already having rang, opened the door cautiously. I sprang from my seat and slowly made my way to the door. This was what I waited for every single day.

“Hello,” he greeted me cheerfully, holding out the rolled up print. I took it gratefully in my free hand.

“Thanks, Brickham.” His name was actually David, but it didn’t suit his tall stature and curly blonde hair. The neighborhood called him “That Brickham Boy,” and he never seemed to mind. I was just passing down the favor.

“’Tomorrow?” he promised. It was a normal parting phrase for him. He readjusted the thin strap of tan fabric over his chest that held his paper gold mine before turning. I closed the door, almost running back to the chair. I slammed the glass down on the coffee table at my feet, flipping it open.

Don’t get your hopes up, don’t get your hopes up, that voice chanted in my head - as it had for an entire years worth of papers. But the adrenaline and slight excitement of jerking it open to the briefing column couldn’t be suppressed. I ran my finger down the lines quickly. Murder, suicide, homicide. I was looking for anything.

Page B11.

A mugging right off of Green Street. Victim shot in the leg by an unidentified man dressed in black and a ski mask. Critical condition. Name yet to be released to the public.

Page B4.

Woman attacked by neighbor’s German Shepherd. Treated in Main Medical Hospital. Not far from here, I thought absently. Dog ran off, found dead in the woods with rabies a good 48 hours later. Local mammal specialists say it was the work of bats and raccoons that are currently carrying. The police are investigating as to why the neighbors did not notice their dog’s strange behaviors due to it being in the late stages of the disease.

I looked, disappointed, over the rest of the local news. Nothing more depressing was held in their contents except the Obituaries and politics. I set it down wearily by the resilient glass and rubbed my temples.

Of course I should be grateful that this particular day in the city held little conflict, that normal people were safe from the clutches of darkness. But I had been hoping for all this time...

Was it a lost cause? Would he never come back?


The next day was gloom incrusted. Water fell like bullets from an angry God hidden by steel clouds, determined to give me a headache from trauma. An umbrella didn’t help much. If I held it above my head, the winds whipped the rain around it, dousing my jeans and sneakers. If I held it to the side, it was ripped out of my hands and turned inside out with a jerk of ferociousness. The bus didn’t drive students to school if they lived nearby, even in disgusting weather. So by the time I ran up the stairs of the school I resembled more of a cross between a human and drowning cat.

I dragged my squelching shoes over the drenched carpet, pulling a strand of dark, wet hair out of my face. Everyone was squeaking on the tile, a parade of irritating cries.

I made my way to my locker. She was waiting patiently there, as wet as I. I jiggled patiently at the lock. “Hey.”

“Nice weather we’re having, huh?” she answered, voice laced with sarcasm. I laughed softly. I liked her answers.

I got my locker open and rubbed my hands together diabolically. “So, what do we have on our plate today?”

“There’s second period History.” I groaned. “And then Geometry for you.”

“Great.” I shoved my bag in the miniscule space provided by school funding and slid out the needed materials. Text books, pathetic sheets of notes. There was a test in Geometry scheduled for Friday, wasn’t there...?

I planted a hand on her damp head which she instantly swatted at. “Good luck on the test today!” I called, breaking down the hall.

“W-what test?!” she screamed after me. A few heads turned. I could almost feel her blush from the staircase. I looked and grinned before starting up the steps.


Hm. I use 'I' too much. I need to break out a thesaurus..
Where did all of the tabs go....? Oh well..
There. You likey? 3nodding