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 Posted: Fri Nov 27, 2009 8:50 pm
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Arrien rolled 1 100-sided dice:
100
Total: 100 (1-100)
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Posted: Fri Nov 27, 2009 8:53 pm
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 Sue Gottschalk this school is sort of freaking me out a bit now.
Nov 27 at 11:59 pm · Comment · Like
Quote:  Kathleen Gottschalk HONEY YOU SHOULD BE ASLEEP, DON'T YOU HAVE REHEARSALS TOMORROW OR SOMETHING? GO TO BED Nov 28 at 12:24 amSue Gottschalk you aren't even gonna ask me why i'm still up? maybe something's bugging me, you know Nov 28 at 12:38 amKathleen Gottschalk IS EVERYTHING OKAY SUE?? Nov 28 at 12:42 am
Sue had been trying to draft his answer for quite some time, now. But it didn't want to be written.
There was so much that was just wrong. And it was this place, Sue was beginning to think - this school or this city, he didn't know which for sure. But things were happening. People were getting hurt, and dying. Not anyone he really cared about, but it still happened close enough that it made him wonder, who was next.
But he just couldn't write it. In the room lit only by the light of his laptop, Sue pressed his hands to his face. His chest felt tight, his hands were sweaty. He must have re-written his reply at least a dozen times by now, but the latest attempt was no better, and he deleted it in disgust once more.
I'm scared, he wanted to say. I think we need help. But it just wasn't coming out.
What could his mother do about it, anyway? She didn't take him seriously at the best of times. "IT'S ALL RIGHT SUE NOW GO TO BED," she'd probably reply. Better that he give up now. That way, he'd feel complacent, like he'd tried his best.
But that wasn't his way. He had to try something, and this was all he knew to do. Frustrated, Sue hit CTRL-Z, bringing up his last post again. It wasn't perfect, but at least it was something. Ignoring a pressing, choking feeling that could only be anxiety, he reached out to tap the post button.
It clicked. The data began to send. The deed was done. And yet, Sue couldn't relax - he felt his breath caught in his throat still, and he watched the screen intently, waiting... waiting for....
This page could not be displayed.
Wh... what?
The internet had dropped, it seemed. Not just that - the laptop was going off of battery power, he saw now. Reaching out to the lamp near his desk, Sue tried to click it on. It didn't go. The power must be out....
He got his first good whiff of air since he had started drafting the message. It was reeking of smoke.
Sue abandoned his laptop instantly, running for the door. He hadn't noticed the dim lights flickering under it, but he was lucky - the knob was cool, and the conflagration was not so close as to rush in when he opened his door. He was in the main room of the first floor - and already, the fire were spreading quickly.
Sue had one thing that was of use in a situation like this, at least: A really good set of lungs. "FIRE!" |
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x_Nata_x rolled 1 100-sided dice:
32
Total: 32 (1-100)
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Interesting Conversationalist
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Posted: Fri Nov 27, 2009 8:55 pm
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Molten Tigrex rolled 1 100-sided dice:
9
Total: 9 (1-100)
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Posted: Fri Nov 27, 2009 8:57 pm
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kotaline rolled 1 100-sided dice:
30
Total: 30 (1-100)
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Posted: Fri Nov 27, 2009 8:57 pm
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Giselle woke up crying.
The last time she had cried, she had been ten, and it had been because a boy had confessed to her and tried to kiss her. She hadn't known what to do at all, so she thought she had failed. She ran away as fast as she could, not looking back, and not looking up at him in school the next day, even though her mother had told her she hadn't failed at all. She hadn't looked at him again for the rest of the school year. He was something that she didn't know how to succeed at, and she loathed him for it, loathed him in a passive-aggressive sort of way that she couldn't explain if she tried, which frustrated her even more.
This time, the crying was simpler. It was because of the smoke seeping in through the crack in the door, and it took Giselle a moment to figure it out, but once she had, she didn't stay in bed long.
She opened the door and then closed it as quickly at she could. Fire, the school was on fire, and she didn't know when it had started, or when her room had stopped being safe, but she had to get out as soon as possible. Her eyes scanned the room, and she reached out to grab the things that meant something to her or might be useful, her favourite history textbook and her father's old jacket for when she got outside, For a moment she wished she believed in bottled water, right now anything liquid (save, perhaps, alcohol and gasoline) would be useful.
She looked at the room again as her hands fumbled to put her hair up and out of her face. She needed to feel in control right now. Biting her lip she stared at the room, all the things that she was so attached to sat there innocuously, awaiting destruction. She had a history with each of them, but she had the most important things she could carry. The urgency had yet to hit her. The conquerors she admired did not die in fires. Barren Pines had offered her a war, with its 'meningitis' and its sad casualties, but despite historical fires, Giselle could not believe one could actually kill her. Giselle, in the too-big overcoat, clutching at her book, still thought she was going to survive.
Giselle gritted her teeth and opened the door, dropping to the floor so the smoke wouldn't suffocate her. She needed to find Elke. She needed to find Elke and get out of the school. She began to crawl, coughing and sweating as the heat roared at her from all sides. Two flights of stairs to go.
The first thing she had to discard was the book, because it was obvious that though history was useful for many things, crawling on the floor with a book in her arms was simply not efficient. She tried, honestly tried for a few painful moments, because inside that book were notes from her father, that careful hand writing in the margins, leaving notes for Giselle to find like letters from the past. But the book was heavy and leatherbound, and it poked at her skinny chest as she moved, its dry old pages crackling in the dry atmosphere. She pushed it forward inch by painful inch, because seventeen years of opening that book, falling asleep on its pages, and reading it aloud had to count for something. But as she reached the stairs, she pushed it down, where it tumbled to the second floor and suddenly there was a horrible smell below.
Burning leather. Giselle realized that floor three was not the only one on fire, and a small bubble of panic rose in her. She clambered down the stairs, but there was no relief from the heat, and she almost took off her father's coat but paused and hugged it closer to her. It would be cold outside, she reasoned with herself. Cold.
She began looking for Elke, but there was panic all around. Screams, even, and then she whipped around as she heard a familiar sounding one following a crash, and she, too, was hoarsely screaming. "ELKE! ELKE!" Getting up from her crawl and coughing immediately, she bent over, running down the stairs to where she thought she had heard the scream.
At this point, Giselle still thought she would make it out alive, protected by the invincible shield that was her father's coat. She was Nestor Petrova's daughter, she would make it out alive. And Elke would borrow her invincibility, because she was responsible for Elke, she would shield her and they would get out all right. Her hair was coming out of its tight bun, unravelling and getting into her watering eyes, but she swiped at it furiously. Failure was not an option in the Petrova household. Failure and tears were not acceptable.
Giselle smelled the burning flesh before she saw the hole, more pungent than before.
She smelled the burning flesh, saw the hole, remembered the crash, and as she scrabbled madly to the gap, hands and knees burning as they touched the hot ground, she forced herself to look.
Elke April Arma could not be loaned any invincibility. Giselle watched her, unable to look away, unable even to shout because she was already hoarse from calling her name. She could only watch as Elke burned, and the bottom fell out of her world, because seeing it finally made it click for the A student.
Giselle could die.
Or perhaps she already had. Was the girl with the watering, hollow blue eyes and the wild blonde hair still Giselle Petrova? Was the girl who had left behind her textbook still Giselle Petrova, the girl who no longer had schedules or timetables or papers? The girl who was watching Elke burn stepped to the edge of the gap, and had a mad, terrifying impulse to join her. But as she did so, the coat rustled and she looked at it, half hypnotized. Even in the smoke, it still smelled a bit like her father, and she clutched it tighter, because that was right, she wasn't some empty girl, she had the coat, and as long as she had the coat, she was Nestor Petrova's daughter. She wasn't sure if she was Giselle anymore, but she was Nestor Petrova's daughter.
It was good enough to push her away, crying, coughing, but running. As long as she was moving, she was alive, and she was on the first floor, so she was almost out-
It was cruel circumstance that the coat itself was what she tripped over, landing face first in the flames. The pain was at first nothing, and then Nestor Petrova's daughter let out a scream of agony as the flames licked at her, jumping away. She couldn't move. All her limbs burned now, more fiercely than they ever had before. She realized it wasn't just them though and looked at herself.
The coat was on fire. And Nestor Petrova's daughter hugged it closer to her anyway, because if she took it off, she would see Elke again, she would become that hollow girl teetering on the edge of the gap again. The history book was gone, her hair was wild, her mind was in disarray. All her schedules and plans were burning two floors above her, and all she had left was the vague bundle of expectations and pride that Nestor Petrova had shoved on her with his too-big overcoat. His expectations were what she had lived to meet all these years, what she had pushed everything else aside for. All she could picture was him, because he pushed away all the other images she didn't want to think about, and without his coat, she would be hollow again. She cried and beat uselessly at the flames with her hands because it was like the boy. There was no success. She could not put out the fire, but she could not discard the coat. Giselle Petrova was truly gone, the plans and organization and history that made her burned away until all that was left was what her father had laid upon her shoulders, scrabbling to get out while the fire began to reach her skin and hair...
In the overcoat then, Nestor Petrova's daughter burned.
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LadyNozomi rolled 1 100-sided dice:
33
Total: 33 (1-100)
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Posted: Fri Nov 27, 2009 8:58 pm
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Calintha Johnson woke up in her bed with a start, the smell of acrid smoke filling her lungs. Her room was filled with the dark hazy fog.
It filled her heart with terror. Absolute terror. Ever since it had happened, she couldn't stand the smell of smoke. It... even thinking back to the event made Cali cringe and clutch her stomach, where the scars sometimes still hurt. They were why she never wore anything more revealing than a one piece bathing suit. As she sat there coughing in bed, she remembered.
The same smell of smoke had filled her childhood room, a hot summer night about 8 years ago, when Cali had just begun gardening strange and exotic things. Her mother had bought her a small greenhouse that year, with the intention that her daughter was going to fill it with lovely flowers.
Calintha's mother had never understood. She could never grasp why her daughter couldn't grow 'normal' things- lovely things. In actuality, she couldn't understand why her daughter had not grown up to be lovely like her. To be a beauty queen. To be normal.
Calintha had protested feverishly at the stipulation, had flat out told her that she couldn't garden normal plants, but her mother had insisted she just needed the proper space.
And so the blonde girl had tried and tried with all her might to grow the roses that her mother liked. To grow her daisy's, lilies, orchids, and even carnations. And every single time they had withered, curled their leaves up away from the sun and died a horrible plant-y death.
In her desperation to please her mother and keep her greenhouse (the back of which was filled with her carnivorous plants, gifts from her little sister and uncle), Calintha had spent every last penny she owned on the most realistic silk flowers that she could find. The girl even spent hours painting them up, making them smell like flowers, and potting them in soil.
And her mother had bought it. She was so proud of the perfect flowers that her daughter had grown. So proud. It had been the happiest week of her miserable life; the week she had her mother's approval. The young Calintha had not thought everything through though. she hadn't planned on her mother attempting to harvest the flowers for her friends.
Now, her mother wasn't the smartest women alive, and she hadn't noticed that the plants were fake. However, the first friend she had given them to had. Her mother was FURIOUS, she'd felt humiliated by the fact that her daughter was a freakish fake.
Curious to the slight smell of smoke wafting in through her windows, Cali stood up in her panda bear pajamas and looked out the window.
Fire.
Her greenhouse was on fire, and her mother was standing there, basking in the flames. She didn't think, she just ran. Ran down the stairs, her bare feet barely touching the carpeted stairs. They also barely touched the cold dewy grass as she bolted for the flaming building. Past her mother, the young blonde dove into the flames.
They licked at her pajamas, and after they had eaten through those, they licked at her skin. It burned, it burned so much, but Cali didn't care. She only cared about the single potted plant in the very back. Her little sister had given her the venus fly trap last week, and the blonde girl couldn't survive without it, just like she couldn't survive without her sister. After grabbing the the plant she ran back out, burned and bleeding, collapsed onto the grass at the feet of her mother.
Her mother had said nothing, nothing at all. She simply just walked away, back into the house, and closed the door behind her and went to bed.
Calintha's terror at the smoke filled her brain, and in her stupor she had simply moved numbly out her door and into the hallway, making it all the way to the stairs before she had remembered.
Her sister's plant. Her baby sisters plant was sitting on the girls desk. She'd brought it up because she had missed her sister so much. Without a second thought Cali turned on her heels and sprinted to her room. It felt like before. She ran through her door and grabbed the poor plant from its smokey doom, turning again to escape.
She'd gotten about halfway to the stairs again when the ceiling started to burn. Burning ash and pieces of wood fell around her, a few getting close enough to singe her hair and skin.
After flying down the stairs, she'd almost gotten to the door when the wooden beams in front of her fell, blocking her path with a flaming wall. Cali fell flat on her face in fear, curling into a ball protectively around her plant. Poor Susanne. What would she think with her big sister gone?
Calintha's tears stung as they fell down her face and onto the floor, but otherwise she couldn't feel much. The smoke had choked her to a point where there were black dots swimming in her eyes.
Fire was a plants worst enemy.
And therefore Calintha's too.
"Goodbye, Susanne. I love you." And with her last whispered farewell, Cali curled her limbs in away from the flames and died a horrible plant-y death.
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Chibi Sheepcat rolled 1 100-sided dice:
43
Total: 43 (1-100)
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Posted: Fri Nov 27, 2009 8:58 pm
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LizzyMoo rolled 1 100-sided dice:
18
Total: 18 (1-100)
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Posted: Fri Nov 27, 2009 8:58 pm
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It has been such a trying day for Yvette. Her emotions had gone everywhere possible for one day, from fear, to sadness, to sheer joy. After all of it, she felt a mildly renewed sense of hope. Her friend had asked her to the prom. It would be her first school dance ever, even if it was a bit laughable at the age of 18 years.
She had been so exhausted that she practically passed out on her bed at the early time of 9pm. She hadn't even changed into her pajamas and had been sprawled out along the bed.
The poor dark haired girl had slept so soundly, practically sleeping like the dead. She had dreamed. In her hazy dream she was sitting under a tree during a sunny afternoon. The light which ran past the leaves in the tree speckled across her face. Occasionally, the girl would glance over to the boy keeping her company. He looked quite familiar, with his blue hair, but the haze of the dream made it hard for her to tell who it specifically was. All she knew was he seemed kind and gentle. The girl glanced back to the light as it gently kissed their skin. It was so bright, she had to lift her arm up to keep it out of her eyes. The sunlight was so warm.
So warm...
The girl's dream grew dim, even the light from the sun seeming to turn gray before everything faded to black.
Yvette Weaver had died before the flames had even come to claim her carcass. Cause of death: Smoke poisoning. Her lifeless body and all of her precious work soon enough was consumed by the flame, reducing everything into ash.
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Hopefolly rolled 1 100-sided dice:
25
Total: 25 (1-100)
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Posted: Fri Nov 27, 2009 8:59 pm
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DivineSaturn rolled 1 100-sided dice:
77
Total: 77 (1-100)
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Posted: Fri Nov 27, 2009 9:01 pm
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The ancient sewing machine whirred noisily, blocking out every other noise, even the classical music that was playing in the background. One of Joanne's old sketchpads was open on the machine, with the first ten or so pages torn out. There was no expression on her face as she ran the perimeter of the notebook under the machine's needle, fastening the cover to the fabric she had wrapped around it.
No matter what Yvette said, Joanne was sure she had offended her. Since she hadn't offered a way to make preparations, this was all she could think of. The new cover fabric was embroidered with violets and lilacs, chosen in hopes that they would somehow compliment the older girl's hair. Or compliment her in general. This was the closest Joanne had come to finding someone who might understand her, and even though she wasn't sure it was the right thing to do, she wanted to give it one more try.
As she neared the final corner of the book, the light on the sewing machine went out. Tat-tat-tat it went, slowly grinding to a halt. Frowning, Joanne flicked the switch, but the machine remained dead. Silence flooded the room; her CD player had lost power as well. Aside from the moon and stars outside, the room was dark, and she was alone.
It was then that she smelled the smoke. She felt the floorboards beneath her heat up. Somewhere, something was very wrong indeed.
Joanne did not panic, even though she could now hear the fire alarm blaring. She did not move. Instead she thought about her conversation with Mr. Azzo. It was not a very comforting talk they had had, even though she knew he was trying to be helpful. But he'd sounded like he knew something dangerous. Like he was trying to tell her something, but couldn't. Not that she really had wanted to know.
Now, she was a bit bothered by the fact that she hadn't pressed the issue further. There were more imminent concerns, but Joanne could only deal with one at a time. First, the pressing issue that something was wrong and she had ignored it. Then, the more pressing issue that the school was on fire and if she didn't do something, she would almost certainly die.
Was that something to be worried about?
Miss Abeline had already died. So had Mr. Grayson, and a number of other students Joanne vaguely recognized. It wouldn't be fair if they died and she lived. Her life was already filled with so much unfairness. The closest people she had to friends were dead. There was more she wanted to know about them, more to their stories that would never be written. Yet hers would, despite not deserving it at all.
Her mother's story ended fifteen years ago, and it was all Joanne's fault.
"That's not true, sweetheart." Jacob Bard wiped the tears from nine-year-old Joanne's face with the sleeve of his overpriced shirt. He knew he had made mistakes in raising his daughter- or rather, in working too much and leaving the raising to his mother-in-law. It was funny how moments like this made it clear. "Your mother isn't gone, you know."
This was news to Joanne, who abruptly stopped crying. "Where?" she asked. She had never known her mother. She didn't even know what mothers were like, since she was quiet and rarely went on playdates. So for all she knew, her father could be right. Maybe her mother was out there somewhere. "Where is she?"
Jacob took Joanne's hand and rested it on her chest. "Right here," he said softly. "In your heart. She'll always be there." Still holding her hand, he put it over his own heart. "And in mine. And in your Grandmama's. And in the hearts of everyone who knew and loved her."
"But-" Tearing her hand away, Joanne clenched her fingers into a fist. "I never got to know her. I can't... I can't see her. She's not here for me!" And the tears came again, bitter this time. Her father and grandmother got to know her mother, but not her! And she was the one who took her mother away from them, another part of her brain reminded her. It was only fair.
A bit at a loss, Jacob wrapped his long arms around Joanne. "Does that mean you don't love her?" he asked, hoping it was the right question.
It wasn't a question that required thinking. Of course she loved her mother. She loved that her mother and father loved each other so much. She loved the stories he would tell about her. She loved that her mother had wanted her, even when nobody else would. "No," she said slowly. "I love her."
"Then she'll always be right there in your heart, as long as you live."
"As long as I live," Joanne murmured. She could faintly hear students screaming now, as her father's words echoed into silence. She knew what she had to do now. She couldn't let her mother die again. She had to live, if only to protect the precious few memories that remained.
In the corner of the room was a wooden box, large for a hope chest, small for a clothes chest. With all of her effort, Joanne picked it up, carted it over to the window, and pushed it out. It opened as it fell, revealing the treasure inside. A couple of baby dresses. A photo album, as well as a few loose photos that fluttered in the smoky wind. A leatherbound notebook. A business suit. And that was all.
From the bed Joanne grabbed an oversized knitted blanket in shades of white and pink, wrapping it around herself, bunching it especially around her head. As a last thought, she snatched the notebook she had been working on from the sewing machine and held it close to herself as, legs trembling, she climbed onto the windowsill.
Without a moment of hesitation she leaped, trying to get as far away from the building as possible. Feet first, don't land on your head, roll to the side-
It happened quickly. Joanne's feet slammed into the lawn under her window. Her knees buckled automatically, and she fell onto her side, the wind knocked out of her. Her head was pounding, her legs were throbbing, and she could feel the fire uncomfortably close behind her.
But that didn't matter yet. In several minutes, Joanne would try to rescue the contents of the chest from the nearby flames, and manage to save a few pieces. She would limp away, eventually stumbling on other students. She would share their fears, their pain, and lose what little life affirmation she had found for herself.
For the moment, as she lay breathing heavily on the scorched grass, she was alive. She had saved her mother from dying again. For the moment, that was all that mattered.
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shibrogane rolled 1 100-sided dice:
14
Total: 14 (1-100)
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Posted: Fri Nov 27, 2009 9:01 pm
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[Elke]
Awareness was slow to come; when she finally woke up, she wished she hadn't.
The room was filled with smoke. She knew what that meant from years and years of fire safety lessons and endless drills: Something was burning. Elke rubbed her eyes, sat up and looked around; she hadn't lit any fires. She didn't even have a candle in her room. Her pajamas were even non-flammable, even though that was a little bit dorky. So she pulled the collar of her top over her mouth--you were supposed to do that, right?--and slid off her bed. The floor was disturbingly warm, not burning, but warm. She tried to ignore it as she put on her boots.
Didn't the warm floor mean that the source was below her?
No, she assured herself, it didn't. It didn't; Fallon had just left something in the oven, and everything would be fine once she got outside. Elke laced up her boots, but didn't bother to tie them. She wasn't going far. Just down to the first floor to get Avery and then outside. Giselle would be waiting; everyone would be safe, even warm, because if the dorms were burning that was a big warm fire, wasn't it? Of course everything would be fine. It always was.
She stood up, wiggled her feet better into her boots, brushed her hair behind her ears and looked around. It wasn't smart to stay, but... All of her things were here, and for a moment she paused, staring at her things. The laptop, her stuffed animals, her coat thrown sloppily over the back of her chair. Oh. It was cold out, wasn't it? She couldn't quite remember --
Elke stepped out into the hallway, hissing at the heat on her hand. The doorknob burned her palm, but there would be firemen outside. They could take care of things like burns, easy. She'd be fine. Maybe have an interesting scar to tell stories about at home - Yeah, Voirrey, I escaped a burning building!
Oh, it would be so nice to go home...
She was standing on the first floor, in the hallway. Really she had to get to Avery, and then she'd go. It'd be fine. But she couldn't quite make herself move. Her head felt... foggy. Strange. And it was hard to breathe. Underneath her feet, the floor creaked, a slow and cavernous moan. That should mean something to her, Elke knew, but what? What--
Her stomach dropped into her feet as the floor beneath her gave way, one startled scream wrenching its way out of her before she crashed into one of the dining hall tables, one searing pain through her right leg. Elke looked down, utterly confused, at the broken limb. What was happening? This wasn't right, she was supposed to be fine. Everyone was. She continued to stare as the leather of her boot began, slowly, to blacken. To curl in on itself, and then... It felt like someone was tickling her, and she laughed, choking on the air she kept trying to breathe. The gentle feeling turned to pain; the pain was agonizing; she couldn't breathe, and the hurt kept traveling. She could see her exposed skin, her hand where she was trying to protect the broken bone, bubbling.
Elke began to scream.
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Kaze Taco rolled 1 100-sided dice:
55
Total: 55 (1-100)
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Posted: Fri Nov 27, 2009 9:03 pm
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Molten Tigrex rolled 1 100-sided dice:
99
Total: 99 (1-100)
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Posted: Fri Nov 27, 2009 9:04 pm
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Posted: Fri Nov 27, 2009 9:05 pm
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Orestae rolled 1 100-sided dice:
71
Total: 71 (1-100)
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Posted: Fri Nov 27, 2009 9:06 pm
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Reply
