City of IF

[BlackAmaranth]

Hello everyone, this is BlackAmaranth. I know this is pretty short, but I want to see what people think of my writing. I'll post the first chapter afterwards. This is my first ever post here, so please be nice.

Black Rivers (working title)

Prologue

It all starts with water.

Life, death, it all goes back to water. And every living thing, as I’ve come to realize, has to rejoin that dark abyss at some point. No one, not even people who study it all their lives, knows where they go after that. But one thing I know for sure is that whatever goes in isn’t supposed to come back. No matter how badly you want it, no matter what you do, you just can’t bring someone back once they’ve gone under. Nor can you bring yourself back. At least, that’s what I used to think.
My name is Anna Sinclair. I can only recall vague snippets of my childhood, but for the first seven years of my conscious life, I’ve always been captivated by water: raindrops bleeding onto my notebook, my reflection in a puddle on the schoolyard, every aspect of it fascinates me. But every time I look at water, I think of falling. Falling and drowning.
I know what you’re thinking, and no, I’m not one of those people who obsess over death. That’s a natural assumption to make, the way I’ve been going on like this. But that’s really the only way I can think of to say it; I’ve seen death, and I don’t like it. I’m terrified of it, quite frankly. At the same time, though, it’s only human nature to be fascinated by the unknown, things you simply can’t put into words. That’s why I’m going to find it so difficult to explain what happened. But I can try.
There’s really only one place where I can begin telling this story. It may seem like a strange, even crazy place to start. But, in a way, it’s where my new life really began, and where my old one ended. Like I said, it all starts with water.

It starts with my death.

[Black Hawk]

Wow it is cool I can't wait to get more

[Phantomfan]

Really nice, Amaranth.

Can't wait to read more!

[DeadManWalking]

Good Job!

Can't wait til you post the next installment.

Very vivid imagery.

[Chinaren]

A nice start there Blar. The only thing I'd say is that protocol is usually to add a line between paragraphs. For ease of online reading.

:)

[BlackAmaranth]

Okay, here's the next part...or first one, I guess.


Chapter One

Okay, so if a bus leaves Fallon Strip at 3:02, and Roxanne Austen steps onto the street in front of the school at exactly 3:06, how long before that same bus runs her over?

What?

I said if a bus leaves…

I heard you. But seriously, you’ve resorted to playing out death scenarios for entertainment?

This is an example of a typical Monday afternoon. And I hate Mondays.

I sat alone on the concrete steps to the back door of the school, my breath coming out in little white puffs. Today was particularly dismal. The sun hung austerely in the gray sky, barely visible through the steely clouds; every so often, a gust of wind would sneak up out of nowhere and chill you to the bone, only to slip away as quickly as it came. I was far enough from the tables so the others wouldn’t notice me, but still close enough to see and hear what was going on. And there I sat, shivering yet alert, watching everyone’s actions carefully.

I should probably explain exactly what it was that I was doing. Well, every person on this earth has their own interpretation of the word ‘perfection’. Philosophers, especially, just love devoting their time to coming up with things that make a world truly perfect. One recurring theme I’ve noticed is the notion of harmony, the idea that everything and everyone has a role to play, and perfection can only be achieved when everything is in its place. In all my seventeen years, I’ve seen that, even if the result isn’t necessarily harmony, every single person has some role to play in society.

My role is somewhat of an observer; as strange as it may seem, at St. Fenrir High, you could never take what someone was saying at face value. In the thoroughly middle-class, nowhere town of Trystwood Vale, there was apparently nothing better to do amongst the teenage population than to form secret alliances and cook up plots against whoever they didn’t like. Most of this, in fact, took place during the school hours, usually during lunch. My school was like a breeding ground for rumors, lies and the liars who told them. In other words, the kind of people who went on to work in the mafia, or Congress. With each passing day, there was some new drama to unfold. Like everyone else, I came to this school with a relatively clean slate, with no one to connive with as well as no one to hate my guts. But, unlike nearly everyone else, I chose to distance myself from all of the feuds and vendettas, and simply watch all of it from afar. True, I didn’t feel that way at first; in my earlier years, my lunch hours consisted entirely of moving from cherry wood table to cherry wood table, hoping dearly to find somewhere I could belong. But in this place, even the girl with the sweetest face you can imagine could have the ugliest, most spiteful inside to match; alliances could be formed and broken in a heartbeat, only to be formed again the next day.

So, after losing interest in this so-called intrigue (out of boredom or discomfort, I’m not sure which), I began to just sit there and observe. In that time, I found that you could learn a lot about a person simply by watching and listening, things you’d probably never notice just by talking to them. I learned to read every student’s unique body language, and the little quirks that hinted at what they were thinking. For example, Roxanne Austen would get this odd little half-smile and a gleam in her eye when she was about to reveal something completely incriminating, but completely true nonetheless. Likewise, Ezra Panzoni would briefly press his lips together right before blurting out a big fat-ass lie, which by the way irritated me to no end. Every so often, I would hear some big secret, which, although meaningless to me, was probably not meant for outside ears. It was these little bits of information that I would quietly store away in my mind, possibly for future use. Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t a spiteful thing; I never used anyone’s secrets against them. Actually, I really didn’t do anything with the things I learned. Just call it curiosity, or vigilance, or me being a nosy bitch that has nothing better to do with her time. Of course, should anyone give me a reason to, I could easily turn half the student body against them, with just a few simple slips of the tongue. But for the most part, I was ignored, so I had no reason to say anything.

It wasn’t until about halfway through sophomore year that these people began to notice my presence. They also noticed my unwillingness to take part in whatever vile plan they were cooking up, which led to their near-immediate distrust of me. From then on, whenever they saw me approach, everyone occupying the table would either clam up and shoot me accusing glares until I moved away, or refuse to make eye contact and talk quietly about nothing in particular. I must say, I preferred the latter. After weeks of being shunned in this way, I began to sit alone, not even attempting to speak to anyone. But this had its advantages; now, I could tune in to any conversation I wanted, without fear of being noticed. Anyone walking by would just see a skinny girl in a baggy, oversized coat, staring off into space. But I was really listening intently, for anything relatively interesting. Which is where you find me now.

A pair of approaching footsteps snapped me out of my thoughts. I didn’t bother looking to see who it was; they were probably just heading for the door behind me. But the footsteps sounded strange, like their owner was carrying something heavy. Still, I ignored them. It wasn’t until this person stopped and plunked down next to me that I finally turned my head.

“Hey, Anna.” breathed Damien Furlong, sounding slightly winded. His normally pale face was flushed with the effort of dragging along…whatever it was.

“Hi.” I murmured in response, offering a ghost of a smile. I was more interested in the thing he had slung over his shoulder--a gigantic black garbage bag, apparently holding something difficult to carry. Random images of stolen jewels and severed heads flashed through my head as I tried to imagine what could possibly be inside. A smile played across Damien’s lips.

“It’s just a few parts for the motorcycle,” he laughed, as if reading my thoughts, “I was going to take them home to work on.” A little light bulb of realization went off in my head. Of course, his latest, um…project.

“Sure it is.” I smirked, feigning skepticism. Computers or cars, you name it: Damien was probably the best seventeen-year-old mechanic I knew. Not to mention he was pretty much my only friend. Ever since I’d met him, he’d always have something to fix or take apart. Being so wrapped up in his projects, he seemed pretty much oblivious to all the drama that went on in the school. That, or he just ignored it.

“So,” I continued, “just out of curiosity…how are you going to fit that onto your bike? Unless, you feel like lugging it onto a bus and leaving your bike here overnight?” The smile slid off Damien’s face.

“Huh…I hadn’t thought of that.” He now eyed the bag forlornly, as if it were some animal he had just run over. I couldn’t help but smirk. Jeez…for someone so smart, he could be so slow sometimes. “Hey…do you think you could give me a ride home?” I gave a snort of a laugh.

“Yeah, sure. We can just…jam it in the back seat or something.” As if I didn’t have enough crud in my car.

“And…my bike?” he asked hopefully, like a little child asking for a gift. I rolled my eyes.

“Okay…we can take that too.”

“Yay.” He clapped his hands together in mock celebration. I smiled and looked back towards the tables. Like I could ever say no to him. Out of the corner of my eye I could see him staring pensively down at his hands, flexing his spidery fingers. I think that meant he had something else to say, but with him I was never really sure. “So, um…are you okay?” He asked after a small pause. I looked back at him, the question taking me off-guard. He seemed serious all of the sudden.

“What?” I raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t know, you just seemed kind of pissed off this morning. I mean…at what Tillie said about your car.” This last part came out in a rush, like he wanted to get it over with. I furrowed my brow. I’d forgotten about that--some comment Tillie had made about a bird crapping on my car, apparently thinking she was being witty. Normally I wouldn’t give a flying fuck in space what she had to say about me. But that rickety old Toyota was like, my baby; I’d started saving up since last year to help pay for it, and I sure as hell didn’t appreciate some chick (who, by the way, made her brother drive her to school every day) criticizing it. I’d briefly considered telling her boyfriend that she was cheating on him, and quickly decided against it.

“I’m fine.” I responded shortly, glaring at a nearby pebble.

“Really.” It was amazing how much he could fit into that simple word: compassion, pity, and just a hint of skepticism. I didn’t want to look at him directly; when he wants to, Damien can give the most intense stare, like he can see right through you. It also didn’t help that his eyes were like some frigid glacier. No joke—most people have weak, watery eyes or muddy brown ones. But his were the sharpest, iciest shade of blue I’d ever seen on a person.

“Yeah, it’s nothing.” I tried to force some cheer into my voice, but it came out as more of a dull monotone. I met his gaze. He was no longer staring, but he still didn’t seem convinced. I didn’t understand where he was trying to go with this.

“Anna, if there’s anything that’s bothering you…”

“I’m fine.” I repeated, for lack of anything better to say. I was starting to get the feeling that this wasn’t just about what Tillie had said. There was a long, uncomfortable pause before the bell clanged loudly above our heads, signifying the end of lunch. I quickly stood up and headed briskly into the school building. “I’ll wait for you in the parking lot.” I said over my shoulder, not even looking back to see if he had heard. I sighed as I melted into the throng of students rushing to their next class. Maybe some mediocre teaching, courtesy of Mr. Stoguer (or Stoner, as I liked to call him), would help me shake it off…
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The rest of the school day passed uneventfully. We had a math test that I hadn’t studied for (but passed nonetheless—the school’s math program was pretty weak), I dissected a pig fetus, and had my photo portfolio critiqued by a substitute photography teacher that smelled like mothballs and shoe polish. Before I knew it, I was sitting in my car in the parking lot, scanning the place for Damien. School had ended about twenty minutes ago, and he was nowhere to be found. Finally, I spotted him, black bag and bike in hand, grinning a little too widely at Mr. Teeger, the shop teacher. He seemed to be giving Damien some type of congratulations. I rolled my eyes; I knew for a fact that Damien thought he was, and I quote, “a pretentious moron who wouldn’t know an engine if it bit him in the ass.” which probably explained his blatantly fake smile. Losing my patience, I pressed down on the horn of the car. They both turned their heads. Mr. Teeger gave Damien a final smile and a quick pat on the shoulder, whilst Damien nodded and gathered up his stuff, obviously relieved to get away. As they headed in opposite directions, I rolled down the window.

“Hustle your butt or I’m going without you!” I hollered at him from across the parking lot. He didn’t bother answering, just continued hauling everything across the cement. After what seemed like forever, he finished jamming the bag and bike into the back of the car, and slammed the door behind him as he slid into the front seat. Without a word, I turned the key in the ignition and backed the car out, beginning the long, cramped ride home.

And there you have it. Hopefully I won't be so slow with posting the next one. Review please! :)

[DeadManWalking]

Awesome.

Great storytelling.

although i'm wondering a bit about the name of the school.

St. Fenrir?

Fenrir=giant wolf that eats the hand of Tyr then, at the end of the world kills some of the gods.

foreshadowing?

[BlackAmaranth]

...that hadn't really occured to me. I'm just bad at coming up with names. That's kind of a cool idea, though o-) Just a note: if anyone has suggestions for character names they're free to contribute. Cuz I don't have that many right now...

[BlackAmaranth]

*ahem* Hello again, to anyone who's reading. Yes, I'm still alive, and I'm not really sure why I stopped writing this. Just haven't had time to continue, I guess. Still, provided it's not too late, I thought I'd dust this off and give it another try. Enjoy!

Chapter Two

I clutched the steering wheel with both white-knuckled hands, my eyes trained on the moving road ahead of me. It took barely half an hour to drive from the school to Damien’s house and then back to mine, but this time it felt as if I’d been driving for hours. The grim silence that dangled like a hangman’s noose in the air might have had something to do with it.

I stole a quick sideways glance at Damien. He was drumming his fingers absently on the dashboard, his face turned towards the window, away from me. Neither of us had said a word since he’d gotten into the car. This wasn’t really unusual; I didn’t like talking much when I was driving. But somehow this was a different kind of silence, as if we both had something to say to the other. I couldn’t really think of anything I wanted to say, other than to apologize if I’d been short with him earlier. But then there was Damien, inscrutable as always. You could always tell when he was thinking about something. I could practically hear the gears working furiously in his head at that point. But you could never tell what exactly he was thinking. So it wasn’t necessarily about me, then.

I brushed off the feeling and reached forward to turn on the radio. Nothing interesting…death metal with unintelligible screaming lyrics…I could swear I’d heard that song before…some commercial about a mom who never has time to cook for her whole family (because she spends too much time doing ads, I imagine)…the latest drama of a pop singer I couldn’t stand…nothing. My car’s crappy, static-y reception didn’t help much either. Eventually I gave up and switched it off, suppressing a scowl.

A few seconds passed (or maybe minutes, I don’t know), with no sound but the rattling of metal. I cleared my throat.

“So.” I said finally, breaking the silence. Damien blinked and flicked his eyes over to me, as if he’d forgotten I was there.

“Hm?” He said quizzically. I cracked a smile.

“You look like a zombie.” When I was greeted by a blank stare, I had to chuckle, “As in your brain’s not here.”

“Oh…yeah. I was just thinking.” Thank you, Captain Obvious.

“About what?” I pressed, alternating my attention between him and the road.

“I dunno…school, life in general…why male seahorses get pregnant.” Now it was my turn to stare. He shook his head. “Nothing, just a random conversation in bio today.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

A few more painful moments crept by, and Damien’s house finally loomed over the horizon, cast into shadow by the clouded sun. I brought the car to a stop and gave him a brief parting smile.

“Thanks again.” He said, returning the smile. I watched mildly as he unloaded everything and disappeared into the shadowed house, lugging the bag along with him. At that moment, it occurred to me, for the first time really, that in all the years I’d been friends with Damien, I’d never actually been inside that house. Not that he was against my being in there, it had just never come up. He knew all about me, even if there wasn’t much to tell. But I realized just then how little I knew about him, other than his fascination with machinery. I sniffed and brought my foot down on the accelerator, beginning the drive to my own house. Oh, well.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The oak door creaked and scraped against the floor as I entered the house, the day’s newspaper in hand. The scent of the living room, woody with just a hint of dust, washed over me like a gentle wave. I passed through into the kitchen to see Mom sitting at the bare table sipping a mug of coffee, her hands trembling ever so slightly. She’d been staring into space until I dropped the paper down in front of her and proceeded to search the fridge for something to eat.

“Hello, Anna.” I heard her say faintly as I was turned away from her. My blindly scattering hands closed around an apple. Satisfied, I pulled it out.

“Hi, Mom.” I replied as I turned and sat down at the table, my teeth sinking into the fruit’s hard flesh. She drained the last dregs of her coffee before continuing.

“So what did you do today, Anna?” She asked, setting the mug down with a dull thunk. My mom has this odd habit of repeating my name after every other sentence, as if she has to remind herself who she’s talking to. I thought for a moment, pensively chewing a bit of apple skin.

“Mm, nothing much. Sorry I’m late, though. I gave Damien a ride home.” She nodded, staring absent-mindedly at the bottom of the mug. Mom wasn’t that old, but something behind her eyes suggested a much older age than what she really was.

“Yes…yes, of course you did, Anna. Such a sweet boy, you should really talk to him more often, Anna.”

“I do, Mom.” I said between bites. Apart from her, he was pretty much the only person I talked to. “In fact, we were thinking of going into the city this weekend.” Mom nodded again.

“That’s fine, Anna, just don’t leave your homework until the last minute.” I had to smile a little; that was like a mantra to her. I silently finished my apple, my tongue fishing for any pieces I might have missed. Mom was now staring past the doorway into the living room. I didn’t have to follow her gaze to know she was looking at the ancient piano that sat lonesome by the stairs. There wasn’t much else in there to look at. I couldn’t remember the last time someone played that piano; I think it was that time we had that family reunion about seven years ago, and my prodigy cousin sat there for hours, pumping out Bach faster than my eyes could follow. I didn’t recall it being a very lively reunion, though; for some reason, I remembered everyone being dressed in black…

Something pulled me back, and my attention snapped back to Mom, who was getting up to wash out the mug. I was tempted to ask her if she’d taken her medication that day. But no, she only took that when she thought I wasn’t looking. She didn’t like my being aware of things like that. She didn’t look up as I tossed out the remains of my apple, proceeding to head upstairs into my room.

“I’ve got work to do.” I said over my shoulder as I exited the kitchen.

“Alright.” I heard her murmur over the running water.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Homework. I won’t bore you with the details. Eventually I finished, massaging my hand that had cramped up from the writing. I then dropped onto my bed in exhaustion from the day, staring up at the mirrored ceiling. I don’t even know why that mirror was there; I didn’t particularly like looking at myself as I woke every morning. But still it was there, and I was too lazy to take it down. I stared, and the chalky-faced girl in the ceiling looked back down at me, her dull, dark eyes betraying no emotion. She lay spread-eagled across the mattress, parts of her skeletal frame hanging awkwardly over the edges. Her tangled molasses hair was splayed around her face like a spider’s web, albeit a web that had been abandoned for a few days. I hated her nose—long and sharp, like some bird of prey, always looking like she was staring down it at people, even when she wasn’t.

My eyelids were getting heavier by the second. I wasn’t that bad-looking, I guess I was just more critical of my own appearance than anyone else was. Then again, I had no real way of knowing that…what did people at school think about how I looked? Hmm, so not caring about that…

With that final thought, the words my consciousness formed became unintelligible. I closed my eyes and drifted off to somewhere between dreaming and reality, some place I wouldn’t remember anything about when I awoke…

And there you have it, after much delay...sorry about that. Umm...if you like it, please review. Or not... :(

[Alegria]

I've only read the prologue, but your writing is captivating and calls up vivid pictures. Keep up the good work whilst I read more. :D

[DeadManWalking]

Your style really brings up the memories of high school. (Yes, they're VERY recent memories.)

It really embodies the spirit of high school, the difficulties, the insecurities of teenagerism.

Pretty good!

Glad you started writing again!

[sheik]

Fascinating

[scissorkitty]

I love the way you write! This reads like a published novel, not just a story-in-the-making. Excellent!

The slightly maudlin teenager-y-ness of it DOES definitely remind me of the Stephanie Meyer Twilight series- and that was some addictive writing there! And I'm not even remotely a teen anymore! :P

I look forward to reading more of this.. I'm wondering when it's going to wander into the whole water aspect a little more. There's supernatural stirrings here, but I'm anxiously waiting for them to come to the surface.

[Midnight]

YES! This reminds me so much of the Twilight books. When I first started reading it, my first reaction was... hmm, I've read something like this before. Then BAM! TWILIGHT! :D

Sorry to get carried away, I just loved the way those books were written. ^^

So I guess that means I'm going to LOVE this story. I do so far. Keep up the good work, as for the delay, at least you continued. I've started a far few stories and I always get writters block halfway in =P

[Chinaren]

Well done Blaam! I've only just caught up with this, but it's very nicely written, which makes a nice change considering the (current) genre. I don't know how many 'high school' stories I've read, or at least skipped through, lately that were deadly dull to read.

Midnight's post may explain the reason these are so common atm. ~rolls eyes~

Yours, without actually adding anything to the 'school day' is still interesting to read. Keep it coming!

Oh, and how long would it take the bus* to run her over?


*This opening gave me an idea for a story as well btw, so thanks for that.