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 Posted: Sun Jun 10, 2007 8:59 am
I spent an hour an a half yesterday, writing this. You'd better like it...
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Posted: Sun Jun 10, 2007 10:13 am
Prologue
In the basement of Holman High School sit two girls and two boys. They sit reminiscing, of days gone past, before the trouble started. Of memories they shouldn't have- memories of other people. Outside, a clock strikes midnight. One of the girls says, "only nineteen minutes to go," and they go back to talking. The room is lit by a single light bulb hanging from the ceiling. The rest of the concrete-walled room lurks out of sight, shrouded in shadow. The time passes slowly, and finally the girl who had spoken already stood and turned out the light. After that comes darkness and silence. Then, a sound rings out. Someone is lighting a match. With a second scrape on the box, the match lights with a brilliant flare that dazzles the kids. Then it is touched to the wick of a candle. The candle is red. It was one of the boys who lit it. He has black hair. The next match is lit by a girl, and touched to the wick of a dark blue candle. She has reddish- blond hair. A third match is lit and a green candle is lit from that. Again, it's a boy, with light brown hair. Finally, the last girl lights the last match to in turn light the last candle. This candle is a thick purple candle. They all light a fifth match and use those ones together to light a silver and black candle. It looks like that candle was once a black candle and a silver one, but they combined them. Their names were carved down each of their own candles, James for the first boy, Marion for the first girl. Steven and Renee were on the other two candles. The black candle had the name Dana and the silver one was plain.
The blond, Renee, stood up.
"For the last three years, we have come here to tell our stories, and that of Dana. For the last five, our lives have been intertwined. We have much to tell before we are done, so we should probably get going. We all vowed that on this date each year, we will come here, no matter where we are, and we will offer the best thing we can to Dana.
Chapter 1: Renee Vanderman
All of those stories, the ones about damsels in distress, little girls waiting for their prince after being Kidnapped as infants from their parents, (the king and queen, of course) none of those are true. We have lived them all. None of us really know how we lived them, and none of us lived the same ones, but we did. Although, I think the prince in one of mine was Steven...
Ever since I was born, I could remember everything. And most of it never happened to me. I might have thought that it was because of those princess stories everyone's parents read to them, if my parents had done the same. Actually, I was ten before I even heard one told. But anyway, I remembered other people's lives. Lands I had never heard of, siblings I never had, and so many others. I even remember getting kicked out of a castle by "my" evil stepmother.
I always thought I was alone, so I guess I pitted myself too much. As a result, I lost most of my friends, and my grades went down, and I felt myself spiraling down into a deep black hole, where I was perfectly happy to be, so long as my parents didn't bother me. But they were worried about me getting into a good college, so when I was twelve, they sent me to a psychiatrist. She told them I needed boarding school, that I was just a spoiled kid. So, when I turned thirteen, my gift was a plane ticket to Florida, to go to a top-notch boarding school there. Now, most people would start thinking, "she probably met someone there just like her and they went on lots of adventures, and then they finally figured out what was wrong with them and lived happily ever after. Sheesh, so typical." Then you'd probably walk away and find a better story. Keep thinking that, toots.
Anyway, I got kicked out of that one, and four others. Finally, when I was almost fifteen, my parents got fed up. My mom made arrangements with some distant cousin to live in England with them, and go to a strict school. I was to "have no fun what so ever while in England. School, Home. Nothing in between." That's exactly what my mom wrote in a letter to my cousin.
I thought it would be the worst time in my life. I imagined my cousin to be like that strict old English lady down the street, always yelling at me. The kids at school would be like "eew! A new leper kid!" and I'd be left out. I would have no friends, and yatta yatta yatta...
The day I got on that plane, I cried for the first time since I was six, when I broke my thumb. Just like then, I only had quiet tears rolling down my cheeks. As I sat there, I remember one of those weird memories when I pricked my finger and went into some coma thing.
When the plane got into London International at four pm, a guy holding a sign that said "Renee Vanderman" was waiting at the gate. I walked over to him with my carry-on bag. That was all of my luggage I needed, since they said they could find me clothes. In my carry-on bag, there were little things I couldn't do without, like a couple of my stuffed animals, my toothbrush, and my favorite picture of my family. So, we just walked out of the airport.
We took one of those bus- things to where he parked the car. When we got off, I took one look at the car and gasped for the first time that day. It was a black short limo. The man walked ahead of me, and opened the back door, ushering me inside. The air-conditioning in the car was like a breath of fresh air, compared to the stifling heat of summer outside. My cousin was sitting inside. To my surprise, she was around my age.
"I'm your cousin Marion, dear. Marion Love. I hope you’re not too tired. I want to go shopping now, and get it over with as soon as possible. We could go get dinner while we’re at it." She said in her strange accent. “Nope, I ate on the plane. It was long and boring.” I replied. “I’d be happy to come with you.” “Well, that’s great. I guess we’d better get started then. James, it seems we have a need to go into the city.” She said to the driver.
Now, I should probably fill you in on some things. I have blue eyes and blond hair. I’m strong, I swim a lot, and I’m good at performing, like singing and acting. I’ve been to many schools, and at each since I was twelve, there has been at least one guy trying to get my number. Most of them are prone to disappointment. At most of the schools I’ve been to, I haven’t had many friends. I’m now fifteen, born March thirty-first, 1992.I grew up in a tiny old-fashioned town in Baltimore County, Md. My parents were typical Arbutians, old-fashioned just like the town they grew up and lived in. They never understood me. I have a younger brother, but he’s adopted and only younger by a few months. My parents adopted him from a lady who was pregnant a month and a half later then my mom. I was a pre-me, and my bro was late. It’s funny, he’s blond and blue-eyed too, and people think we’re twins.
Marion was a red-head, and she had green eyes. She looked like some fairy maiden, from one of those Scottish stories my social studies teacher told us. She was, as I said earlier, around my age. Guys were probably trying to get her number, too.
The chauffer, James, was sort of oriental looking, like one of his parents was Chinese. Black hair and eyes and all. I didn’t notice much more, since he was only the chauffer.
* * * * *
To be continued...
Actually, I already have it written, I just don't feel like typing it up...
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Posted: Mon Jul 07, 2008 8:09 am
We pulled up in front of a line of designer shops, around twenty minutes later. By that time, the sun was setting, and the sight of all of the lights against the sky was a truly beautiful sight, sort of like New York, just smaller. People were starting to go home, so the street was crowded. James managed to get a good spot in front of one shop that had some gorgeous dresses in the window.
James ushered us out of the car, and when Marion stepped out, all of the shoppers tried to move out of her way, and created a back up, as well as smashing me against the car. A sales lady and what I guessed was her assistant, by the alarmed and twitchy look on her face, came out of the shop. The lady quickly led Marion in, and I followed uncertainly. Marion said, “is Martin in?” and the lady walked away into a back room. A thin man in a pinstripe suit with a silvery tie, which was probably made of silk, embraced Marion, kissed her on both cheeks, and said in a distinctly French accent, “It’s been too long, Marion, darling. What can I do to make your day a bit more Fabulous?” holding both her hands. Marion led him over to where I hovered by the door, struck by all of the amazing clothing. “This is my cousin. She needs some clothing, and make it Fab!” She told him. “Simply gorgeous! Well, we’ll need some measurements and some pointers as to what the lady looks for in her amazing wardrobe, then we’ll be off. I’ll be sure to give you some of our stock clothing, ‘till we can get her something custom! She will be the envy of every fashionista in the city!” Martin exclaimed, then clapped his hands. The sales lady appeared with a notebook, pen, and two tape measures. She handed the writing materials and a tape to Martin. They both proceeded to take my measurements. When Martin was done, he wrote the measurements in the little book. He then took notes about my coloring, hair, and eyes, then asked me what I looked for in clothes. “Comfortable, I guess.” I said, uncertainly. “Well, what do you love to do?” He hinted. “Swim mostly. I act and sing a lot too. I’m really active, so it has to be practical. But I love dancing, and clubs. I used to sneak into them a lot. Then my friend’s mom bought one, and gave me a job. So, it all has to look cute, but anything for night has to be extra cute.” I said, remembering all of the times I snuck out of my house at night.
When we were all through, Marion said, “I think we’ll leave you for now. We have some other things to do. We’ll come back and pick up the stock clothing soon. And, don’t forget, she needs a dress for my Mom’s wedding anniversary party. Make it…FABULOUS!” Martin and Marion said in unison.
We walked to a beauty parlor where my nails were done and I was given beauty lessons. I knew two things about beauty: Pass the brush and shake the liquid eyeliner.
Afterwards, we went to three other clothing shops. I suspect Marion got copies of the notes Martin took, because she handed slips of paper to each shopkeeper. By the time we were through, Marion and I both had bags of clothes and beauty products, and my stomach was growling again.
We deposited the bags in the car and walked to a little restaurant with a long line. I figured it would take hours to get to the front, but Marion just pulled me to the front of the line. We were given a table immediately. A cheeseburger and dessert later, we were walking back to the first store. The “Closed” sign was on the door, but again, Marion just walked in. heart
Again, TBC. I have more written, just not typed.
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