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To be labeled "Super"

172 posts
Page 3. :P
Metropal
Metropal
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Yays! I did awesome.
Metropal
Metropal
ModLevel 32
5,891 Posts
I was bored today. So I added to my story that I have been thinking about a lot more recently. There will be only one more part of Chapter two I'll add then, I'll post the entire thing like the first one. Then I'm debating if I should continue posting anymore after that. Seeing as I am getting more serious with this. AJ, the character that I modeled after you is more turning into a rough interpretion and taking its own qualities. So it might not be like you. My character is nothing like me anymore. So here it is:

"I suppose not, but I like to see people's reactions." The tip of his lips edged a little higher and he walked up beside them, slinging an arm over her shoulders like they had been friends forever. Dante visibly stiffened and looked at her anxiously, the meaning of his worry shining through his eyes.
"It's alright. It only happens around crowds where I feel trapped. I could easily dispatch him if I wished." She joked.
"Now hold on there--"
"Good," Dante interrupted Joel and a smile covered his face again. Willow was glad for Joel's arm, because her knees would probably given out right there. "the place is just up here."
He led all of them around the back of the cabin on a old gravel path that led into the forest. She looked back to see if anyone was watching them enter the forest, but all the people were in the courtyard or she supposed in the cabin that had no windows in the back. It only took a couple of seconds for the path to lead to a flat clearing. Patches of yellowing grass were spread out sparsely, but overall the it was mostly dirt and rocks. In the center sat a short weathered grave stone with markings illegible. For anyone normal, this may have been creepy, but she was far from normal. She looked up to the Dante who had been studying her reaction. Joel walked over and plopped right down next to the grave and flipped his hood back on so his face was concealed under its dark shade.
"Who is that?" She asked, still standing where she was while absentmindedly fiddling with the bottom of her jacket.
"We're not sure. No one is sure. The name is long gone." Dante had said the words she guessed he would, but she still was curious. She stepped closer, carefully avoiding the soil in front of it and kneeled down so she could trace her fingers over the indentations that had once been letters. The stone was cold and smooth for the most part. Dante crouched down next to her and placed his hand on the rounded top of the grave marker. She tried very hard to make sure not to show his proximity was affecting her as much as it actually was.
"Kinda sad." She murmured.
"What is?" He asked. Joel laid back with his arms behind his head and hood covering his eyes.
"Just that this grave was put here so he or she would be remember forever. But nature took even that away from them. Like their life wasn't enough." She hated death. She always had. Her mother had died at childbirth. She remember when her father had first told her. The sorrow on his face still struck her heart like a cannonball. She remember that when she first heard, she blamed herself for his misery. It was a foolish thing to do, but she was young and it was the only reason she could come up with that made sense. But now that she was older she had reasoned with herself that it wasn't her fault. It was just some cruel twist of fate. Therefore, she hated fate and death and anything that went with it. It had caused her father's pain. Not her.
"That's deep." Joel interrupted her thoughts from lingering on the memory and when she looked up to see his clenched jaw, she knew his words weren't just directed to what she had said.
"Yeah." She said awkwardly and cast a glance at Dante; thinking for a moment that she had heard her thoughts as well. One person was embarrassing enough. His face was unreadable, but it was clear enough he didn't catch anything deeper. She searched desperately through her mind for something to change the subject. "So why do you guys hang out back here?"
"It started out being just for Joel, because of the amount of people in such a small area. Then it just kind of started being the place we hung out."
"I have a twisted version of your actual claustrophobia. Except for me it's more of a headache than fear." Dante shot a glare at Joel, but he didn't do anything to acknowledge it.
"So how did you see me if you were back there?"
"Cause I was just loading off my bus when you changed into a bird. I saw your face just before and figured something was wrong, so I followed you." Dante actually sounded embarrassed, like he a little boy caught doing something he shouldn't.
"Oh."
"Would you have preferred I didn't follow you?"His eyebrows scrunched together and lines formed between them.
"No, no. It's fine. I like being here a lot more."
"Good," He smiled in relief, "I like you here too."
"And he said I was a flirt." Joel muttered from his laying place and Willow worked to stifle her laugh.
"Excuse me?" Dante retorted.
"You heard."
"I just wanted to see if you had the balls to say it again."
"You wouldn't punch your poor little brother, would you?" Joel leaned up and over so his hood fell off and his fake puppy dog eyes looked at his brother through his long black bangs. His lower lip stuck out rather too far to make the whole act believable.
"I should." Dante said with an edge of laughter inching into his voice. Willow, having watch this all, couldn't hold in her giggles any longer and had to hold on to the grave stone as support till she finished. She had missed whether they had argued any more.
"See. She thinks I'm funny." Joel bragged as he got to his feet and brushed off his jeans and shook his jacket to remove any debris that wished to cling to him. The other two mimicked his movements to get up.
"Both of you. Both of you are funny." She put in, before it got to his head.
"You don't need to pretend darling. You know I will always be your favorite." Joel winked at her and stuck his hands in his black jeans' pockets.
"How could I ever think different?" She asked rhetorically, but very conscious of a certain person with them that she did think she like even more than Joel.
"Well now, don't I feel forgotten." Dante joked, bringing himself back into the conversation. "Speaking of the forgotten; it's about time we head back. The orientation speech is about to come if I'm right."
"How do you know? Is your power always knowing the time?" Willow asked, half-kidding, half-serious.
"He didn't tell you his power yet?!" Joel ask in what she guessed was shock. "You practically begged me on the bus."
"I didn't beg. You told me. And what is your power Dante?"
"I, uh, have super strength. Corny right?" His cheeks were actually blushed and his hand ran through his hair again.
"Name one thing in this school that isn't corny." She assured him, but otherwise impressed. No wonder why he didn't punch Joel earlier.
"True."
Mostafox
Mostafox
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1,978 Posts
Fit me in somewhere!
Metropal
Metropal
ModLevel 32
5,891 Posts
Have you read the entire story?
Lost
Lost
Level 28
3,052 Posts
I was thinking that my charecter could talk to the person in the grave, who culd be my ex-girlfriend. Like even though shes dead Joel has a small conection with her and can talk to her and she can talk back. That why he goes there everyday and just sits down.
No! Don't stop!
Metropal
Metropal
ModLevel 32
5,891 Posts
I'll fit something like that in. It sounds good. Though its gonna be a little different.

I'm still considering on it. Maybe I'l add one more chapter in or just bits of each chapter that ya'll might like.
*it's *I'll
Metropal
Metropal
ModLevel 32
5,891 Posts
I swear...
:D
Im sure this is a very nice story, im just 2 lazy 2 read it. LOL
Lost
Lost
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3,052 Posts
Do the next part.
Metropal
Metropal
ModLevel 32
5,891 Posts
I might be unbelievably lazy.
Lost
Lost
Level 28
3,052 Posts
As am I.
Metropal
Metropal
ModLevel 32
5,891 Posts
So I'll get to it tomorrow. I have a lot of time tomorrow.
:D
Metropal
Metropal
ModLevel 32
5,891 Posts
I f*cking roach kept me from sleeping. Now he's disappeared, which makes me even more anxious and unable to sleep. Rrrrgggh. *Simmers in a corner.*
Lolz.
Metropal
Metropal
ModLevel 32
5,891 Posts
Sooooo, I'm considering rewriting the entire thing....
Alan93
Alan93
Level 2
47 Posts
never
Maybe...
Metropal
Metropal
ModLevel 32
5,891 Posts
I feel I wrote it kind of bad and want to improve it.
Meh.
Metropal
Metropal
ModLevel 32
5,891 Posts
You and your freakin' one word answers.
Indeed.
Mostafox
Mostafox
ModLevel 20
1,978 Posts
You should write about estrogen-induced cranial photo-magnetism!
Metropal
Metropal
ModLevel 32
5,891 Posts
No. Sorry.
revive (ur welcome0
Metropal
Metropal
ModLevel 32
5,891 Posts
I'd thank you. But, I hardly have a reason for this forum anymore. I'm completely revising the story and I never have anytime to write, so this forum is pointless. Maybe it can be for anything I write and want to share...
Hmm.
True.
Indeed.
Metropal
Metropal
ModLevel 32
5,891 Posts
Look at this unbelievable hot mess I've been workin on for the last two days. You won't get all the references if you haven't read Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury:

Fahrenheit 451: The Sequel
By:
Torrey Martinez & (My partner's name)
Period 5
~~~
How was someone that knew nothing about the world supposed to be thrown into it and expected to survive? Was it planned that some distant instinct from the days that their barbarian ancestors roamed the earth for wild shrubs and hunted for untamed beasts, to return to their domesticated and pampered kinfolk when times became dire? Montag felt alien in this strange planet of rushing, clear water and grass of multiple yellows and browns. No rustle of push from the bowels of his mind told him how to live in this climate. The rusted heavy steel rails and occasional rotted wooden beams that held them up, represented to him the only proof that humans had once trekked these grounds before. Probably for the same reason as him; to find a new life ahead.
They must have experienced similar hopelessness as well. Lost to what was ahead of them. They couldn't really know for sure what was hiding behind each tree. Whether the grass its self would bring some God-forbidden curse of sickness that their foreign immunities would bow under like coiled-over slaves to the work master's black leather lash. Surely this struck the same fear in their hearts as did in Montag's. This fear was demobilizing and electrifying, freezing and burning; turning his feet to lead too heavy to lift and all his courage into a liquid, sticky sweat that dripped from his brow and seeped into the dry soil. How did they push on though? Were their lives burning in a skeletal heap behind them or was there something edging them forward with hopes of new prosperity? A quote from an old government document he had once read in school a long, long time ago bloomed like a bright flower in the dark mist of his mind.
"We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness."* The words slipped over his lips in a light murmur as he remembered them. He had no idea where this quote was from, or its significance; but all the same it seemed important, so he would remember it. Add it to this universal traveling library of people Granger was rambling about. It seemed all a good idea. So, he decided to play along. He still didn't know what he would do in between it all. The only real goal he had now was to meet with Faber.
The rhythmic crunch of pebbles under his feet, off-handedly reminded him that he was still walking, proceeding forward; following the path of rails and beams. Every so often he would look back to see if anyone was following him, only to be reminded he was alone. Apparently the city where he was supposed to meet up with Faber was only a half-day's walk more on the railroad tracks until he would see it on a hazy horizon; so the group had left him walk the way himself while they ventured a different path to another place. Luckily, they had provided him an old kitchen knife with a nearly worn-out leather sheath, connected to a strip of faded moth-eaten cloth so he could tie it to his belt-loop. He would be able to protect himself partially. A small hope of survival against a trained natural predator.
Just as the noon sun's blistering heat beat down on him the hardest, he had managed to find that the track led into a forest of higher underbrush and the thick trunked trees they fought for water for. The track he was following resembled less of a human structure and more of a forgotten, overgrown hiking path. Muted colors began to appear around him in peculiar places. Flashing red splashed here, muted blues gathered there, purples in the creases of rough bark, oranges in dancing in the flashes of the leaves as they fluttered in any light breeze, and of course the greens. Emeralds and pastels, bright and muddled, invaded the land of yellows and browns; taking it as its own. With every step, the rich color slipped forward with him into the wilderness. Was it following him? Or was he following it? To what or where were they going?
Almost in a moment too quick to notice, a gasp interrupted the sound of Montag's feet crunching, followed by a whoosh of air and a muddled thump! A swaying tree branch indicated that whatever the source of the noise was, it had fallen from its perch. His hand immediately went to grip at the handle of his blade and his attention turned to whatever creature was in the tall grass. How could he really think he had the slightest chance against an edgy, unpredictable predator? It had as much care about him as he did of it. Fear sunk his hopelessness down to a whole new level. All the colors and scents and sounds drained from his surroundings and poured forward to create one image of surreal clarity. A nest of long black fur rose up from the vegetation, followed by a white oval that reminded him of a clock's face, on which sat two reflecting onyx eyes filled with curiosity.
Clarisse!


Eyes jolting open, Montag struggled with a sudden intake of air that rushed through his throat and into his lungs. His heart pumped heavily and fast in his ears, spreading the new oxygen throughout his body. Wild thoughts ran through his head, trying to come to reality with the sudden change of atmosphere of his dimly lit room. It was just a dream! Calm down, it was just a dream. The wait for his beat to slow to normal and his panting to lighten was nearly five minutes by his mental count. It wasn't until after did he finally remove his eyes from looking at the ceiling and over to the digital clock on the bedside table. Just past seven. He only got five hours of sleep. The dream seemed so much longer.
A strong aroma slinked under the door and drifted over to his nostrils, tempting him to get out of bed and start the day. After a series of cries and moans of his old metal cot, he lifted himself to his feet and shuffled out of the room. The path to the kitchen was already well memorized in his head from the past few months he had lived there, but the fragrant scent was a helpful guide as well. He was met by a much lighter scene with pushed backed curtains let light shine on the performance of a young woman preparing breakfast. How smoothly she moved from one task to the next reminded him of a ballerina. When her dance came to an end, plates of bacon and eggs with glasses of orange juice sat in front of them both on their little table. He would have smiled, but his was still off.
"Something wrong Guy?" She asked, pushing her sheets of black hair behind her ears and stabbing her fork into some fluffy scrambled eggs.
"Dreams. Memories, really. The one where we found each other on the railroad tracks." He grabbed his bacon and bit into it, savoring the taste and enjoying the crunch. His eyes watched her reaction though.
"Again?" Clarisse remarked, her eyebrows knitting together.
"Clearer. And I actually got to see you this time."
She thought for a moment, her right index finger tapping the side of her plate, "It's been five years. Funny how it keeps getting clearer."
"Right. Do you think it's because of the exercises I've been working on to remember the books?"
"Could be. But, why this memory so much?" Her questions were intuitive as always, making him consider to a further extent. After a few moments of thinking and quiet eating noises, he finally answered.
"I think it was because it was a important moment. I thought you were dead. And when you weren't...It just kind of unhinged a few things." When she had popped out from the grass like some alert prairie dog, he had just stood there starring at her speechless. He hadn't known why, just that he was utterly shocked to see her. It hadn't been till she had come over and poked his forehead that he was knocked out of his daze. He remembered noticing how worn and beaten she looked, but how her eyes still shone the same way as they did the first time he had met her.
"Unhinged..." Montag could see from her face expressions that she was trying to come up with a proper educated response; one that would probably draw the conversation on to the greatest length. "You mean like a change in perception about something?"
"More or less."
"I think it was because everything was still new to you back then. Gosh, you were about to stab me with a kitchen knife."
"I thought you were an animal!"
"No animal would fall out of the tree that easily." Clarisse laughed at his foolishness and he joined her only after a moment of hesitation.
"True. But you have to admit you sort of looked like a animal at that point." He joked.
"Hey! That's rude." She couldn't hold up her faux offended expression and it collapsed in a waterfall of giggles. The conversation continued on to a lighter subject from then on. They finished their breakfast and cleaned off their plates, but during the entire time his mind stayed on their discussion.

For the last three months that they had been in Chicago, Montag had been searching for memories of his past. The only original clue he had had was that he had met Millie here. So, at several occasions in the last five years since he had escaped the city, whose explosion symbolized the end of a brutal eight year World War, he had returned to find any clues from the collapsed part of his mental history. It was a tedious process. Not only did he have to unravel information about himself from nearly nothing, he had to work to become accustomed to his new life.
The world wasn't the same at all as in the city. He read once, while studying at Faber's new literature university in Hartford, the land where he lived used to be part of a country call the United States of America. It was a hard concept to consume that one the many territories and people of America managed to settle their differences enough to unite. The country had a very unique history, with it being the most influential empire of all history. Eventually it collapsed as they all do, when the government changed some rules and a civil war erupted.
The world was different now. Many of the major cities had been bombed as his had and others destroyed in other manners. Foreign countries owned large territories, while newly sprouted civilizations owned others. There were in-between lands of no-ownership and cities, towns, or villages who obeyed only themselves. There were only a few, scarce places that one might hear through rumor that still had book bans. You were more likely to find places where parlors were completely forbidden, or allowed with well-supervised restrictions. Chicago, having fought out of its own book ban at the beginning of the war was a place where people preferred radios generally, in fear that they may once again get lost in the "families inside". Him and Clarisse only owned a small radio that hooked to whatever bag they wished to carry. It was one of her few family relics she had left of her family. They had disappeared in the explosion, trapped in an asylum. That's how he found her actually. She had managed to escape and was on her way to find someone to help her get her family out when the bombers came. Being too depressed to know what to do, she followed the railroad tracks and fell asleep in a tree. Even now, he sympathized for her situation. Gladly agreeing with her to travel with him till she found where she was supposed to go and what she was supposed to do. Over time, they just formed a sort of team; questioning and challenging each other. Montag found it hard to imagine life without her.
So, it was together they traveled in a six-wheeled multi-terrain taxi toward the library as they did every Saturday. People walked the sideways in crowds, avoiding slow-paced cars swerving each other in traffic. They made a game of pointing out signs and measuring their length with their thumbnails, seeing who found the longest. The driver dropped them off at a tall marble building then skidded down the street with a new passenger aboard. Walking past the guards with no words, Montag and Clarisse walked over to the first window available. A stout bulky woman was on the other side of the glass, typing some notes into her computer. She looked up at them, smiled, then asked in a polite voice, "How long will you be staying today?"
"Only a couple hours. Guy Montag and Clarisse McClellan. Our files are already on record."
Tap. Tap. Tap. "Ah, yes. Here you two are. The documents you requested have been place in Study Room 42. Here are your passes."
Two plastic cards with their pictures, names, and bar codes were passed under the glass, which they proceeded to grab. They both gave their thanks and walked over to the security entrance giving their cards to be checked and walked through the safety scanners. A lot of libraries had established intense security systems to protect the books that poured in from the country side. Montag worked as a scribe during the week and Clarisse as a librarian organizing the texts. The systems protected the books, but made a hassle in order to get to them. But, due to their special positions, they were able to reserve some of the more guarded documents for their search of Montag's history.
Getting to the small room labeled "Study Room 42" only took a few moments of quiet walking. They flashed their cards at the scanner by the door and the lock popped open. Inside was nothing but a average wooden table with a matching set of four chairs and several old newspapers. Taking their seats, Clarisse was the first to grab for the top newspaper and read the head line.
"Date August 4th, 2070. The Last Rebellion officially declares war against the Reformists. This was the beginning of the war. Thirteen years ago. Can you think of where you were then?"
Montag concentrated on the date and headline, pulling the names and trying to see if he recognized them in his memory bank. Nothing. Nothing at all. "I think I was in the city by that time. Try the next one."
"Alright..Hmm, this one is a little later, but it's on Chicago." She cleared her throat before reading aloud, "Chicago was effectively captured by the Rebels last night, January 8th, 2071, but the test subjects were nowhere to be found. Assumptions have been made that the Reformists moved them to a new unknown location sometime during the last 72 hours. Rebels take over the control of the city, obliging the mayor to remove the book ban and..."
"Test subjects?" Montag interrupted after a short delay for thought. "What would the Reformists need test subjects for?"
"You didn't notice? Montag did you ever wonder why in the city so many people looked and acted the same? Sure it wasn't perfect, just look at you or me. But compared to all the people we've met since than...it was just unnatural."
In fact, he remembered a thought like that occurring to him one day when he sat at the firehouse playing to cards. "So...they were breeding us? When did you know this?"
"Well I had my suspicions all along, but I didn't know till I heard through discussions at the coffee shop. No one told you?" Clarisse looked very curious on how he could have gone so long without knowing.
"No." Montag answered, beginning to worry if other things were being held back from him. It worried and irritated him that the answers to his questions could be staring him right in the face waiting for him to open his eyes. But, that was beside the point. He needed to focus on what he had now. "Do you think Mildred and I were one of those test subjects moved out of Chicago?"
Flashes of realization glazed over her dark eyes. "That has to be it! How you and your wife met. They moved you, her, and who knows else in order for you to be kept in the same lost condition. Can you think of any memories now that you know that?"
In fact, several flashes and memories were lighting up in the empty region of Montag's brain that he spent so much time probing and found nothing. "I remember...flashing colors, the televisions...we had been put in the same parlor several times. Occasionally we talked. When it was done, I went off for firemen training. I can't remember anything of my parents. Maybe they didn't know me. I wonder if they were like me....Clarisse, I'm from Chicago!"
The realization that there was so much involved in his life was jaw-dropping. Finally an answer to what had happen. A hard concise bit of information that he could really leap from. The relief he had been expecting wasn't there. Instead was a sort of reassuring eagerness for more. His purpose since he left the city wasn't finished either. Just revised and refreshed. He needed to know more and he felt that the true information behind it all wasn't hiding in the fragile pages of these newspapers. Information needed to be uncovered on why the Reformists treated humans like lab rats, breeding them and poking them with needles till they burst so that they could create a better version of that person later.
"I think we finally have a good lead here."Clarisse noted with a smile, watching Montag's collage of reactions.
"Me too. Now just to make the right appointments."
|FBG$| VeKo
|FBG$| VeKo
ModLevel 33
2,229 Posts
Eyes: Hey brain, you seeing this? That's a lot of words
Brain: Don't worry bros, I got this *shuts down*
Lolz.
Metropal
Metropal
ModLevel 32
5,891 Posts
*Silently straps you down and lights your ass on fire.* Read.
But I won't get the references.
Lost
Lost
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3,052 Posts
I couldn't handle the magnitude of words. Powering off.
Metropal
Metropal
ModLevel 32
5,891 Posts
*Twitches in frustration.*
I can handle it, but I won't get it.
Metropal
Metropal
ModLevel 32
5,891 Posts
Still...I didn't even get to finish reading it to the class because it was too long. The only person other than myself that has read it is my teacher. Not even my partner read it all.
Metropal
Metropal
ModLevel 32
5,891 Posts
Heheh. Working on a new story. Want you guys to read the first chapter.

The Favored Path

Chapter 1:
Today officially made it a month. A month since she had woken up to a laughing smile and the smell of waffles. Since she had arrived in Tampa International Airport with just two bags and struggled to step into the arms of her bawling grandmother. Since she could still remember being completely happy and she was able to go a day without wanting to tear out her eyes in hope that maybe they would stop crying. A month since her father had went tumbling down their rocky driveway in a old blue pick-up and off the side of a cliff he had driven by every day of her life.
This month made so little sense, but Aven couldn't think about that. Right now, she had to focus on another obstacle. Her first day at a high school. Millions of kids had done it before and done fine, so why was she still nervous? Would they be able to read from her face how much it hurt to move along like nothing happened? Surely she wasn't the only orphan in the system. Though she was probably the only one that would end up flying away when she couldn't handle a lesson. She would have to be sure to control that, just for today at least.
Sliding through the process of getting out of bed, going to the bathroom, and then descending down the stairs to the small kitchen was slow and tedious. The little bit of morning light that peeked over the horizon somewhat filled the room through the tall, wide sliding glass doors. It was enough for her to see, so she didn't bother with flipping a switch. Casting a glance at the oven clock, the red numbers told her it was precisely 6:19. Her mind wasn't yet in the state of calculating the time she had until she had to catch the bus, so she poured a quick bowl of Cheerios and a glass of Tropicana. Moments later, the slowly measured crunches of her meal were interrupted by the flip of a light switch in the hallway and the shuffling of a shirtless old man clearly wishing he was back in bed as well. His groggy voice led the way into the kitchen, "Mornin' Flower."
"Morning Papa." Aven couldn't remember when her grandfather started calling her 'Flower,' but it had to be around the time when she started calling him 'Papa.' It had mutually worked all the years they had known each other, so there was no way it was stopping any time soon.
"Nervous?" He asked, looking over his shoulder at her with a searching expression while gathering his morning coffee. He looked back down to the pot when he saw there was no emotion to be traced from her face.
"Yeah."
"Well, good. You might not make a fool of yourself then." He chuckled and brought the steaming cup to the table and then went to the glass door to fetch the newspaper outside. She didn't laugh or even attempt to smile and he knew she wouldn't. The significance of the day was laying on all of their shoulders; he just had a unique ability of making something out of it. That was probably what she admired him most for. "Why don't you clean that up and go ahead and get dressed?"
Aven looked down and realized that her food and drink were all gone. She really needed to wake up already. "Kay."

Fingers tapping against the strap of her bag and lips mouthing out the fast words of the song pouring from her right earbud, Aven attempted to distract herself from the nervousness building at the bottom of her gut. When she lived in the mountains, the road up to her house was too swerving and long for the bus to maneuver, so her father just taught her lessons to her when he got home from work at the end of the day. This whole school thing was foreign and strange to her already. It would probably be hell by the time she actually stepped in a classroom.
Eventually the large obnoxiously yellow vehicle trudged down the street on its path to her stop. Seeing as her grandparents lived in a community of older people, she was the only one that climbed the steps and stood awkwardly holding out her schedule to the driver. She was a short lady with a bulbous red hairdo that looked as if it would pop if she stuck it with a pin. With barely a glance, she waved Aven back to the rows behind her and closed the doors to take off down the road. It wasn't hard to find an empty seat and no one seemed to pay her any mind as she walked past. They all actually looked about half dead, either leaning against window panes or staring at their phones' light like flies.
After sitting down, she turned her music a little louder so that she didn't have to think about what was coming for her today. What she would have to face. It worked for a while until someone plopped down in the seat beside her, jousting her a little with his bag as if he didn't see her.
"Oh, sorry about that." The boy apologized, turning to look in her direction with some bulbous black aviators that hid away his eyes. Only a second later he lifted his bright red walking stick into sight and pulled it apart into a collapsible version. "Nobody usually sits here, so I just presume..."
"No, no. I should have been paying attention." Aven interjected, immediately taking the blame herself.
"That's sweet and all, but it's my fault darlin'." His voice was warm and inviting. He didn't bother looking in her direction anymore and instead turned his head in some direction ahead. "I forget there are people who don't know I'm blind. Are you new around here?"
"Yeah." Aven replied, not quite prepared for the sudden conversation.
"Well that explains why you didn't know, but I'm going to need more than just one-word answers. Did you come from out of state or somewhere closer?" He asked with a smirk forming on his face. A second later, he knocked his hand against his forehead. "Wait, first--how rude of me to forget--what's your name? Mine's Nick Greek."
"My name is Aven...Nilo. I'm from out of state." She answered, probably as awkwardly as humanly possible. Was her response normal enough? Was any of this normal?
"No need to be nervous, darlin'. I only bite the boys." Nick replied in the most clearly faked flamboyant voice ever. She couldn't help but laugh a little. It sounded hollow, but it was the first time she had laughed in a month. It took her a moment to register what had just happened. Did that just happen?
"You sound sick. Is something wrong?" He was clearly concerned and it surprised her that he was able to pick up something so easily. Was it that obvious? Almost immediately her stomach felt like it dropped and suddenly she felt very claustrophobic and in need of some air.
"I'm fi-"
"Nick, who you bothering now?" Another boy in front of them turned around and looked at the both of them. He had a striking resemblance to Nick that instantly suggested to her that they were brothers. That is except that he had considerably larger muscles on his arms and neck. Also, his brown hair was barely an inch off his head, unlike his brother, whose long curls hung over his sightless eyes.
"Always assuming I'm a bother. I think my dear friend here actually likes me. Even made her laugh." Nick retorted as if it was a big accomplishment. Her eyes widened a little when he called her his friend. She barely knew this kid.
"I have a feeling there was torture involved somewhere." The boy jested with a jocky smirk that was very similar to his brother's.
"Not quite." Aven finally responded.
"Oh, she speaks." He commented back.
"She is Aven." Nick inputted for good measure.
"And I am Dante." He added, his voice slightly with a sarcastic tone. "I think that covers the awkward introduction phase."
"Don't mind him Aven. He's got nothing better to do." Nick said, leaning over to Aven's ear. She reflexively cringed back a little, not used to someone being this close.
"Well, pretty much." Dante retorted matter-of-factly.
"It's fine." She answered lowly. Her mind was racing and her nerves were on end. She was definitely not fine. She was wrong. She wasn't ready for this yet. All these people with vibrant attitudes were expecting her to say things properly, like this was normal for her. But it wasn't and it would only make her frantic to try when she couldn't handle the world. She needed to get out of this chunk of metal and go back to the house now.
"Damn, you look sick. Do me a favor and throw up out the window." Dante said these words as if it were still a joke and she imagined to him it still was. But right now, the idea of empting her breakfast out onto the road was a very tempting idea.
"It's the heat." She said. Maybe the sweat on her brow would make her excuse believable.
"You need me to sit with Dante, hun? You're claustrophobic, aren't ya?" Before she could respond, Nick tossed his stuff into the seat in front of him. Next, he slowly pushed himself to his feet, keeping balance while the bus bounced down the road. He nearly made it to the seat when all the sudden a scream pierced through the air and crashing jolt with a loud screech of tearing metal sent them all flying around the bus. The last thing Aven saw was the disturbing sight of the road turning upside-down in the front window and then a sickening thump made the world go black.

Wow.

That's a big wall of text. :P
Metropal
Metropal
ModLevel 32
5,891 Posts
I write a bit.
Originally posted by MetropalI write a bit.


You write well. :)
Metropal
Metropal
ModLevel 32
5,891 Posts
Gracias senorita!
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ModLevel 34
6,708 Posts
No! No gracias!
What about Jeff?
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ModLevel 34
6,708 Posts
Hola, Jeff! Como estas?
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