NOTE FROM PLUMS: I wrote this one for my creative writing class project in September, and we had to attempt to write in the style of Anne Micheals, the author of the novel Fugitive Pieces (mentioned below). Anyway, CnC is welcome especially since I'm thinking about entering it in a local writing contest :'D Oh, and there are pronunciation guides next to some of the made-up names. EDIT: Ohhey MS Word indents don't work on KHV. “We must carry each other. If we don’t have this, what are we?” -Athos, Fugitive Pieces. “We were the blinds of a dark room, the telegraph in a modern world,a typewriter in a computer store – obsolete. Worthless. Nothing. Nothing was all we knew and possibly ever will...” “Do you ever wonder if there’s something out there for us?” “No.” “Do you ever wonder what could have been?” “No.” “…Do you even wonder about anything?” “Things? Yes. I think about dinner, when I should fall asleep and all those sort of things. As for the matters of ‘life’ and ‘humanity’, I don’t. I figure, if I don’t understand what it’s like to be alive, why bother the effort to put it into context for myself?” “That’s quite the positive outlook you have there.” “And this is quite the awkward questionnaire. Really Adrianne, you’ve been down the past few days. Are you okay?” Adrianne shrugged. Her gaze fell towards the ground, sprinkled with cinnamon sand. Trees danced with the shadows, each movement continuing on for seemingly forever. Water brushed the grayish-green rocks, Adrianne’s foot being tickled with the liquid prankster. Next to her, a boy of about fifteen sighed sharply. She didn’t have to look over to describe the look on his face. His short, brown hair stood neatly on his head. His eyes, a golden-brown color, pierced the nighttime sky. She could feel him staring off into the distant woods, his hand rising to touch the tanned “birthmark”, as he called it, under his eye. She never did ask about the birthmark. The day they met in fact, he simply told her “‘This is a birthmark’”. Not threateningly. Not worried. Just simple and to the point. That is how it always was with him, Alé. He always gave his answer with a simple reply, no emotion whatsoever. Just like he did the very first day she arrived. “Alé…” “Yeah Adrianne?” “Do you remember the day we met?” Alé now turned to Adrianne. He smirked, flicking her in the head. “Hey!” Adrianne said, attempting to flick him back. “As a matter of fact I do. It was that day when you first joined up with us.” “Yep. It was the first time we came down here to the beach.” “It seems like so long ago, but if I remember correctly...” Adrianne was now smiling, splashing the water with her toes. “It was just a week ago”. “The walls are high.” That was the first thing she noticed about this place. The walls of the hall spawned overhead, staring down at her. She was walking slowly, wrapped in a black cloak. The hood was down, her fiery red hair hugging the back of her neck. Her gray-blue eyes stared straight ahead, looking for the end of the hall. A girl, about her own age, obscured her view. “Yes, our walls are quite high Adrianne” the girl replied, not looking back. Adrianne frowned. The entire time they had been walking, the girl never turned around. Never looked at her. It was as if she were just a mere shadow of this girl, a mere memory that lingered behind as the girl walked into a mysterious future. Adrianne wanted the girl to turn around. She wanted her to look her in the face, the lingering memory in the face, and force it to accept her, to accept it. The girl stopped walking. Adrianne also stopped. The girl turned to face her. Her hair was black; the edges dyed an emerald green. Her eyes were the same color, an endless green chasm of enigma. Adrianne could feel herself falling into the green, forcing her to look away. She could still feel the girl’s gaze lingering upon her. “I hope you are aware that not meeting a person in the eyes is slightly offensive.” Her voice seemed to embrace the walls, constrict the air. The soft, simple, nonchalant tone made Adrianne cringe. It was as though the girl’s voice permeated through her skin, twisting her insides into the same demented grip that embraced everything in the hall. Adrianne’s eyes turned toward hers. The girl’s mouth rose into a half-smile. She turned back around, walking slowly ahead. Adrianne rubbed her temples, returning to her place as the silent shadowed memory, lingering behind the green-eyed girl. “How much longer will this take?” “Excuse me?” The girl turned to Adrianne. They had been walking for, what appeared to Adrianne, days. Her legs were stone, dragging against the floor. Her arms were fire hoses, moist with enough sweat to put out a fire. Her face was as red as her hair, her entire head looking like a misshapen tomato. The girl, on the other hand, was perfectly fine; no sweat, no sore limbs. Just perfection. Adrianne’s face contorted into a glare. “I said, how much longer will this take?” “You don’t want to walk with me anymore?” The girl’s face looked somber, like a turtle that’s lost their way to the ocean. Adrianne wanted to feel bad; she wanted to gather the small child in her arms and give it a triple scoop of ice cream. But she just couldn’t. Some part of her knew, subliminally, that the girl was just feigning it in an effort to gain her trust, to force her to open up and stand idle as the girl did whatever she saw fit. “I already know you’re faking, so why don’t you cut the hoopla and tell me what you really want.” The girl’s face lifted into a painted-on clown smile. Her hand stroked the wall. The fingers of the hand seemed to glide over the rough texture, like a breeze over a field of leaves. The girl’s hand found its way onto a metal keypad. Adrianne’s eyes widened as her fingers quickly pressed the keys, a square shaped piece of the wall detaching itself. After a few seconds, the piece was completely removed from the wall, a bright opening left in its place. Adrianne stood dumbfounded as the girl stepped into the door. “Coming Adrianne?” the girl asked with a smug smirk on her face as she disappeared into the light. Without saying a word, Adrianne stepped through behind the girl, only one sole thought in her mind: “Hoopla of all things to say. Next thing you know I'll be getting ready for the Great Restoration.” “What took you so long?” “Florence, you’d be quiet if you had any sort of respect.” Voices came from the void of light. They seemed to filter through the light like sand in a sieve. Adrianne had closed her eyes at this point, the light having caused her eyes to tear up. A hand clutched her arm, cold and unflinching. It had a strong enough grip that Adrianne winced. She could feel it drag her forward. Her foot hit a hard, plaster surface - a step for a stage. The hand pushed her forward, enough that she tumbled onto the stage. She opened her eyes. The bright light faded, revealing an array of seven seats on the ground. Three were occupied, two were empty. The last two, the third and fourth seats, were heavily damaged, cracks running throughout the backs. A fat bald man in the fifth seat caught her stare, shrugging. “Eh, they didn’t matter too much.” “They?” “They. T-H-E-Y. You do know your personal pronouns, correct?” he said, grinning. His teeth were the cleanest she’d ever seen. Running up the side of his face was a tattoo of an eagle, the eyes full of hunger, desperation and fear. His nose was filled with piercings; enough that she thought it was anomaly that he was still able to breathe properly. “Adrianne, this is Dia.” Adrianne turned her head, the green-eyed girl standing next to her. Adrianne eyed her foot, red from the hit against the step of the stage. It only made sense that she was the one that threw me. “He’s our personal...grammar stickler.” the girl said with a sigh. “You better believe it. Grammar’s my hammer when it comes to those who refuse to wield it.” Dia said content with his introduction. Adrianne could feel her head pounding against her eyes. A grammar stickler with tattoos running down his face and a fist full of piercings in his nose. What a joy. She turned as the girl motioned toward the next occupied seat. A young boy looked up at her, with eyes of brownies and other assortments of sweets. Adrianne could feel an “Aww” about to force itself from her throat, wanting to embrace the boy in a hug. “Adrianne, this is Florence.” “Like I even care.” The “Aww” threatening to come out of her throat vanished. The boy looked at them both with a tired expression, as if he were forced to come to the “greeting”. “Why are we even doing this? We’re better off by ourselves. We lost those two dead weights last year; we don’t need more losers messing up our group. Especially this Powerpuff Girl.” Adrianne could feel her face burning as the boy began to play with his fingers. She wanted nothing better than to strangle Florence. She could feel the girl walking away from her side. The girl stepped down stage, walking up to Florence. He continued to play with his fingers even as she approached him. She grabbed his fingers, causing him to look up at her with the typical what-did-I-do face. Florence and the girl stared at each other. Adrianne felt a shiver run down her spine. She could see sweat forming on Dia’s brow. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the person in the sixth chair sitting perfectly fine. They waved their hand towards Florence, her eyes following the path. The girl and Florence still stared at each other, Florence’s eyes shaking, and the girl’s emerald eyes calm and unmoving. “Now then,” the girl said, inching slowly away from Florence. “Give our newest friend a proper welcome.” The girl gestured toward Adrianne – a movement full of such terror that even Adrianne shook, chills dancing a limbo across her spine. “W-welcome to our group Adrianne. And, s-sorry for my insulting tone, Alea [UH-LAY-UH].” So her name is Alea. It’s a fitting name for Ms. Multi Faces, seeing as it means dice in Latin. “Now then Florence, why don’t you go tidy up our friend’s room.” Alea suggested, Florence running off into the distance. Adrianne watched him run; thinking of how the Trojans fled when the Greeks took Troy. In this case, Florence — and perhaps all of them — was the Trojans. And Alea was the Greeks. “And here is the last of us. Adrianne, meet Aléjandro.” “It’s Alé. Aléjandro’s too formal for me.” Alea chuckled, the person in the last seat rising from his dormancy. He was about two inches shorter than Adrianne, with short brown hair and golden brown eyes. He looked not even a day over fourteen, making him two years younger than her. He bowed slightly, eyes focused on the floor. “Nice to meet you Alé.” “Nice to meet you as well, Adry [AY-DREE].” “Adry?” Adrianne asked, the chuckles of Alea and Dia ringing in her ears. Alé stood up completely now, his face adorned with genuine surprise. “You don’t like it?” “No, no. I was just wondering, why did you give me a nickname?” Adrianne said, a guilty feeling tapping itself on her shoulders like la miniature dancer. Alé merely shrugged, looking around at the seats. “I give everyone a nickname. Dia and Alea didn’t get one, since their names were too short. Florence has always been Ren the Scamp, and,” he paused as his gaze passed the two cracked seats, “those two — Aquilla and Vasperen — were always Quite Vexing Company, or QVC to me.” Adrianne allowed her eyes to sweep over him. As she caught a brown mark etched upon his face, he raised his hand over the mark. “This is a birthmark.” Alea stepped onto the stage, her hand grasping Adrianne’s shoulder. Try to throw me again and see what happens to that hand. Her eyes shone in the light. “Now that we are all acquainted, I’d personally like to welcome Adrianne into our fold. She is one of us, and together, we shall build a better world not only for us, but for all just like us.” Us? There are more? What are they? What am I? Adrianne felt like speaking up, to shed light into the darkness of ignorance. Alea’s hand gripped tighter, as if she knew what Adrianne was thinking, and then returned to her speech. “I expect everyone to get a good night of rest for tomorrow morning. That is when we begin our mission once more, the mission to reclaim the identities stolen from us by those apathetic fools.” My identity? Apathetic fools? What’s she rambling about? Adrianne felt the hand leave her shoulder as Alea walked off the stage. Beside Alé, Dia was bubbling over with anticipation like one of the makeshift vinegar volcanoes from fourth grade. “This will be a most exuberant time. Our lives shall be mended together at last” he said, following Alea’s lead. Even Alé had a smile of sorts etched upon his face, eyes turned to Adrianne. “Yo Adry. I was about to walk down to the beach. I know you’re new and should find your way about this place and stuff, but why waste a night on the trivial basics you’re bound to learn anyway? You should come and let me give you the grand tour of one of the least depressing places here.” He has a point. I mean, there’s no use getting completely lost at night — at least I think its night — anyway. Adrianne jumped off the stage. She and Alé began to walk, leaving the stage behind. The stage is the center of a performance. Although one may leave the stage, the stage never leaves the individual. “It never occurred to me that John Mayer was a pig face. And here I thought the guy seemed cool for dating Jen Aniston.” They had been sitting on the beach for an hour. Alé and Adrianne’s laughs rebounded off of the sea, plummeting into the woods all around them. Stars were dashed across the sky like toys on a blue carpet. The moon was the one toy that stood out from all the others, the centerpiece of play time. The water stood still, only moving from the rocking of Adrianne’s stubbed foot in the waves. “Yet he also thought that his pants were too good for all non-white women. ‘Like a Nazi or the KKK’, apparently. I guess it’s no wonder why Jen dumped him after all.” Adrianne said, splashing water into the sky. “Then only redeeming part of him is his music.” “More like the only part I take a guilty pleasure in.” Adrianne and Alé laughed. Looking down in the water, Adrianne saw her own reflection, her red hair standing out amidst the gray waters. “The mission to reclaim the identities stolen from us by those apathetic fools.” The words have been playing over and over in her head ever since Alea left. The words had a bitter taste to them, the kind that sticks around your breath worse than garlic. “Alé, what did Alea mean by ‘the mission to reclaim the identities stolen from us’?” Alé’s face twisted up as if he had been shot. “You…don’t know?” “Seeing as how I’m dreadfully new to all of this,” Adrianne motioned her right arm across the air, “no, I do not.” “Adrianne…we…you…” “Me, us, what?” “Don’t mock me, Adry. All of us are special.” Alé’s voice trailed off as he stared at the sea. Adrianne could feel the waves pushing at her foot, almost a gentle nudge for her to stop asking. “I’m taking it you mean special in the bad sense.” Alé nodded. “Adrianne, what I’m about to tell you may seem…impossible.” “’Nothing’s impossible for a Possible!’” “Adry. You, me, Dia, Ren and even Alea…we’re all dead. ...Kim Possible reference, right?” “You know, it would have been nice if Alea had told me I was dead during the greeting.” Adrianne said, staring at the waves. She pulled her foot back in long ago, the wrinkles already having been set in. She could hear Alé sigh. Turning around, she flicked him in the head; payback for his earlier flick. “It also would have been nice if you didn’t just do that.” Alé replied, rubbing the spot where he was flicked. “And here I thought dying would be painful. I’ve only been dead a week and I don’t feel like a rotting corpse of the undead.” “Excuse me, but not all undead rot. Vampires don’t. Neither does a werewolf.” “Werewolf’s are still alive genius. Hence why they can bleed.” “Just like you, Adry.” Adrianne brought her hand up to her face. Three days before, she cut herself while running to meet Alé at the beach. It was a deep gash, blood gushing out of her hand like candy from a piñata. But that’s what she didn’t understand; How could she bleed if she’s dead? No one had an answer for it, except for Alea probably. And Alé. “…Alé.” Adrianne said, eyes still transfixed on her hand. “Yes Adry?” “We’re not really dead. Are we?” Alé was silent for two seconds, then responded in a low voice; “No.” “Then…what are we?” “We are the puppets without a ventriloquist. The grass without water. We are anomalies. We lack the thing that makes each and every person unique and living. We are without souls. We live a life without life. We exist outside of the boundaries of regular life. We are Abvita [AB-VIH-TAH].”
I couldn't help imagining something like Destiny Islands when they're sitting on the beach (excuse my KH fan-ness). XD My goshness, Plumar, this is quite good so far. :=D: I like how you put the pop-culture references in there to establish that it's in the present-ish time. Mysterious characters, yet you've effectively developped them enough so far for them to be believable. You will keep going, yes? : D
It made me sad, just a little bit. xD I enjoyed it though! Very good imagery, it was really easy to envision everything clearly. I'm a little sad, also, because it's a one-shot. But I really like your writing style! You have excellent voice. c: I mentioned this previously on a story on here, but it messes with my OCD when the quotes are so close together. There should be a space after the quotes, and I know sometimes the forum takes out formatting and screws it up, but it was a little hard to get through for me solely for that reason. But besides that! Very good, good luck!
