Okay . . . So, I was writing this for a long time with the intention of finishing it and publishing it -like, for real, with a publishing house and stuff - as a full length novel . . . But I got majorly sick of it before it was even fifty pages long ^_^. Thankfully, I finished the first chapter and some different pieces of later chapters before abandoning it completely. If you'd like, I could post the rest, but personally, I don't like any of it. ^_^ I'm just posting this because I found it and was fawning over its complete stupidity . . . If you want the rest, comment or PM me or something. ^_^ if enough people comment/PM, I'll put the rest of it up. Let's make it . . . Hmm . . . Nine people? Maybe ten . . . Okay, ten. If ten people ask, I'll put it up. It'll be like a cool little game ^_^. So, without further rambling, the first chapter of The Cure. Enjoy!!
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Chapter One; School
This is going to be just like a normal day, I told myself as I tried to blend in with the crowd. Nothing unusual is going to happen today. I kept my head down and let my hair shroud my face. I didn't want to take any chances, not yet.
No one came too close to me while we all bustled through the double doors that locked the outside world away from us. It was probably better that they did; I was dying to run and hide from them all anyway. If not for Erek, I wouldn't have been there at all.
My heart skipped. Erek. Eyes the color of the sky at noontime in the summer; hair dark as chocolate; skin pale as the full, white moon hanging amongst diamond stars; grins that melt your heart; a voice that put Sinatra to shame. Besides his looks, he was the nicest, sweetest person you would ever meet. My pace quickened at the thought of him, and I slowly smiled to myself. He was to me what Red Bull was to exhausted fitness junkies — a jolt of sweet energy. Of course, he was more than that. Much more. He was everything.
I envisioned him, smiling at me, his eyes lighting up. And as they lit up, everything I'd done made sense. It was all okay. As he smiled and greeted me, as everything fell into routine, as my world righted itself, all of my pain melted away.
When I reluctantly drifted out of my daydreams, I realized that I was walking with my face tilted towards the ceiling. My eyes suddenly registered the harsh florescent lighting and sent shockwaves of firey pain all the way through to the back of my head. More importantly, everyone was staring at me. I quickly — a little too quickly — bowed my head again, though there was no point. My retinas still burned and I could still feel their eyes on me.
I pursed my lips. I'd been inside the school for less than five minutes and I'd already made a stupid mistake. How could I have been so careless? Now, I would be lucky to make it past the main hall without being noticed. Someone was sure to comment on how different I was, now that I'd let them see what I looked like.
"Anna?" that someone called from behind me. "Anna, is that really you?"
'Speak of the Devil, and the Devil shall appear,' was the adage that came to mind. Barreling in for a close second was Murphy's law — 'Everything that can go wrong, will go wrong.' My plan was officially ruined.
I whipped around — again, much too fast. Through the neon dots that clouded my vision, I saw the source of my imminent demise - a pixie-like girl with long, flowing blond hair who was openly gawking at me. I had no clue who she was, and even less of an idea at how she knew my name. Act natural, I reprimanded, Even if you don't know her, act natural!
"Yeah," I laughed, rubbing at my eyes, "It's really me."
She laughed too, a nervous little trill, and stared some more. We took a few steps toward each other so we wouldn't have to yell across the hall to talk, and I even added a casual slouch and a swagger to my brisk steps. Neither of us started talking immediately, so I slid my hands into my pockets, too. Emulating humans is more fun than you would normally think.
She broke the silence first. Slowly and awkwardly, she attempted to be casual. "What did you do to your makeup? It looks awesome by the way."
Makeup? She thought I was wearing new makeup? Had I really been that naïve when I was like her? No matter, I couldn't complain. It saved my skin and my plans. I scrambled for appropriate answers.
"I . . . bought all new makeup. I absolutely love it."
The more I talked to this inconsequential, unnamable girl, the more I learned to act normal through imitation. Our little two-minute conversation was turning into the equivalent of intense field research.
"What line is it?" the pixie girl quietly inquired.
She sounded excited, and I was suddenly hit with the realization that my looking different wasn't a dead giveaway, it was a good thing. I was instantaneously flattered.
And petrified. If they really thought I was still normal, I would have to know the answer to that question. So what in the world was 'a line', and how many were there? I would have killed to go back in time and pay attention to my mother's tired speeches about makeup and not just purchased whatever was on sale . . .
Pixie seemed to sense my distress and rephrased her question. "What company is it by?"
{BREAK]
Relief flooded through me. I defintely knew what companies were. "It's by, uh . . ." There was one I knew; it started with 'May', I remembered that much . . . Mayflag? Mayberry? No . . . "It's by Maybelline. I don't know exactly what it's called, but it's amazing."
She nodded, a little disappointed with my answer, and left with a simple wave goodbye. I watched after her, drawing more attention to myself, but it didn't worry me. Apparently, attention was a good thing. See how much you learn when you consider lesser life forms?
Assuring myself that the girl was gone for good, I went safely back into my evasive position and slunk down a sparsely-populated corridor.
There was only one possible time that I could talk to Erek without much speculation, and that was during his lunch wave. Unfortunately, that was also nearly four hours away. Having realized all of this before I even stepped into the building, I walked with the intention of finding somewhere recluse to hide out for the time being.
My memory of the school's layout was hazy, but I still managed to locate a janitor's closet that seemed to be in a state of disuse. I broke the lock without much effort and stepped inside, then immediately stepped back out.
The small, gray room was only gray because of the layers of fust and grime that had accumulated on the walls and floor. Old, decaying mops and brooms inhabited most of the neater space. It wasn't exactly the cleanest area — or the most spacious — but it would have to do for the time being. I couldn't risk trying to seek out a bigger closet and getting caught, and I couldn't exactly break out the Lysol to clean, so I had no option but to deal with it. I reluctantly walked back in, closed the door behind me and sat down on the dingy floor.
It was considerably more comfortable than I would have thought, and I found myself rather enjoying it. From a cobwebbed corner I retrieved a yellow plastic mop bucket, and used it as a headrest. Then, I stared blankly into nothing, trying not to concentrate on how disgusting it looked and smelled.
The more I stared into the grayness of the room, waiting for the bell to ring, the more I felt my eyelids drooping. I smiled. At least I was still human enough to sleep. I closed my eyes and surrendered to the familiar black waves of rest.
The calm didn't last for long. Soon I was surrounded by swirling colors, eerily comparable to hippie tie-dyes. Pastel greens, blues, pinks, and oranges engulfed the entire space of my mind. Everything was spinning, and I even had the notion of sea-sickness.
Just as quickly as the colors had started, they stopped and were replaced with a scene in somber gray tones. Moments before I was sucked into the stoic action, I realized that I must have been dreaming. There was no other explanation for something so —
Someone was holding my arms behind my back, but I was fighting them. Cold metal bit into the flesh of my wrist. Handcuffs. To keep me from struggling against them, the same someone who was holding me slapped me across the back of my head. It was hard enough for my eyes to prickle, but not much else. Whoever was holding me managed to get me a few more steps forward before I started trying to break free again.
As I fought, I realized that the tiling below my kicking feet was bright blood red. It was in between two rows of iron-looking bars. Jail cells, colonized by faceless people, padlocked and chained to their secondhand bunks. I was in a prison, and I wasn't just visiting.
Sure enough, the person behind me forced me over to an empty cell and took out his keys. The bars were slammed over to the other end of the opening with a deafening clang, and I was shoved into the small stone-walled room. The door was slid shut behind me. I jumped up and shot over to the bars, looking at the man who had imprisoned me.
He was older, with deep lines around his watery brown eyes and mouth, and, fortunately, was wearing a nametag. His name was Lieutenant Commander Allen Westmore, and the look on his face told me that he didn't like me at all.
"Well, turn around if y'all want them cuffs off," he spat at me with a Southern drawl. "Are ya stupid or somthin?"
I turned around and thrust my hands through the bars. The restraints were unlocked and slipped off, and I gladly took my hands back. I examined my wrists. There were red rings where the handcuffs had been, and they were gushing blood. For some reason, I didn't worry about them and dropped my arms at my sides.
I looked up to see the Lieutenant glaring into the cell across from mine.
"Why dontcha introduce yourself, Yankee? New meat 'cross the hall."
