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Yin-Yang Series: Surviving Highschool & Dragons

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Yin-Yang Series: Surviving Highschool & Dragons Empty Yin-Yang Series: Surviving Highschool & Dragons

Post by Rain February 6th 2011, 10:14 pm

Okay, so I'm hoping that I might be the world's youngest author. :D Just kiddin, but I am hopeful at getting this book at least finished. Possibly viewed by a professional. I have about 50-60 pages down on loose leaf paper, but this is about 15-20 typed and revised. I threw in the words of wisdom thing caus that's gonna be on the first page. If it ever does get printed out.

*Warning: Does contain profane language. I rate this to be PG-13*

Broken upon Stone shall arrive Two
Change of Heart, Change of Mind
With all Hardships they Pass through
Desperate for Past they will find

Full of Vengeance, Full of Pride
Sore and sour with great Hate
Water shall Find the River, full and wide
And air destined to Open the heavenly Gate
Leading away from the betrayal and Lies
Which Run so Rampid in the state
Of the foolish and the Blind
And into Life that proves so Great




January 3, Wednesday Age 16
This is so relaxing. Seriously, you have no idea. I've got not a care in the world. I'm barely even thinkg. It's like my mind took a vacation and I'm left with just a clean, empty slate. Nothing to write, nothing to look at. There's just nothing. Just the way I like it.
ISS does that you, I guess. But its nice and I never get sick of it. And, if you're the kind of kid that never gets in to trouble and has no clue what ISS stands for, get a life you teacher's pet freak. Anyway, it stands for In-School Suspension. I'll even explain what it is, just so you can understand me a bit better. How's that? Don't like it? Too bad.
So this is what it is. They lock you up in this little tidy room, with all snowy white walls. For hours. Usually eight, or the whole day that school goes on. Nothing to stare at but big blank walls and a huge clock that looks like its mocking you if you stare it for too long. I tend to sneak a piece of paper in, for boredom purposes. When I finally feel like I'm about to loose it, I crumple the sheet up and drop it around on my little cubicle for a while. For a few hours, you've got something to do. Of course, that is until Ms. Syanders takes it away.
But don't let her fool you. She couldn't even catch a cold to save her life. The desks(three in total) all have writing scribbled all over them, with profane words and insults against teachers. Mind you, over half of every word on these desks were left by my talented hands and creative mind. I text practically all day when I do find the so called "Punishment" boring. Usually to my mom, to discuss home matters or tasks to be completed when I reach my homebase. Or to Colt.
Good ol' Colt. Poor guy, sap like him stuck with a friend like me. I don't get him, he's so much different than everyone else. For starts, why would he be best friends with a complete loser like me? I mean sure, I've got a great personality. Or at least that's what he tells me. But its not like I'm the prettiest face ever. Or the brightest bulb in the chandelier. I always thought that when dudes hang out with a girl, it meant they liked each other. But I sure as hell don't like Colt like that, so get it outta your head. And I'm pretty sure his thoughts are likewise.
I slumped back further in my uncomfortable wooden chair, secretly sucking on a piece of a Snickers bar. Yummy.
It was so quiet I could hear the vibration of power running through my cellphone as I texted mom. Pull out hamburger and make meatloaf? she'd texted me. Well, what else would I expect from my mom? Ugh. My mom was obsessed with meatloaf way too much. I'm to consider sending her to some shrink for some help. Or intervention. Would rehab really let her in? See, her meatloaf is good. Really, it is. But she makes it every other day. And after about three years of the meatloaf therapy, I'm really getting sick of it.
I let my fingers go to work along my keyboard. Hb sum pizza? I crossed my fingers so much I thought they might snap off. Pizza was such a rarity in my house, and I was practically dying to smell melted cheese again. The phone buzzed as a new text message window popped up. New Message: Will you open? Yes. No.
I rolled my eyes. "Nah, I'll just leave it there. What the hell do you think, asshole?" I muttered to myself.
Oh yeah, forgot to mention. I'm pretty big on cursing. So if you don't like it, get out of this book. I ain't forcin' ya to keep going.
Clicking Yes, I opened the message. Scanning the words, I sighed, feeling down and depressed. No money. the message read, the two letters popping out at me like white on black. (Actually, it was black on white, but same difference. Right?) Money. Great. When weren't we broke anyway?
Once again, I sighed, closing the keyboard on my phone. It clicked shut, signalling its departure. I wouldn't answer, better to let mom just make her meatloaf. As I placed the black machine on my desk, an iron grip grabbed onto my wrist. I gasped, jolting slightly and looked to see who was holding my wrist.
Now, before I go on, I must stress the seriosness of the situation of Ms. Syander's gaze. Seeing her brown eyes when they were angry was just plain scary. End of story. I don't care how brave you are, how many horror movies you've seen. You haven't felt fear until you've seen this chick's death stare. It was like that of a viper, or a python. About to make their last strike, the one that brings you to your grave. Those two eyes cut through you like steel knives, sharpened over and over and over again. It turned your insides icy cold and you could actually feel yourself shiver.
Of course, by now, I'm used to it. So, the part about shivering, and the part about feeling real fear, for me, those go right out the window. I was so used to Ms. Syander's stare by now I could smile at her without a problem. I almost did one time, almost laughed right in her face. Anyway, this is what she said. "To the office, Avira." she said, almost ominously, as if she were sending me to my death. And I kinda wondered if she really was.
I ripped my hand out of her hard grip and stood up, shoulders tensed and squared, eyes as icy as iron, and twice as hard(I'm assuming). With the strength of my hand coming out of hers and the time she had to brace herself, (None) she practically fell. I tried my best not to crack up laughing right then and there and replied, "Fine." Now, when I did this, I put as much anger, as much hate as I could possibly manage, forcing my grin back. I really tried to make it seem like I was pissed.
Right then, as I turned to the door, I felt the jolt of electricity run through my cellphone (The stolen one), as I carried it in my hand. Quickly, I decided right now was definatly not the time for text messages and slipped into my pocket, where it'd be safe and sound.
Opening the pale, pine wood door, I stomped two steps out of the room, slamming the door behind me as hard as I could. I swear on my life that I heard a crack, but that could have just been me. Plus, I was just a bit too worked up to turn around and look.

Five Minutes Later

Jaws gritted so tight my teeth hurt, I slumped down in the soft, plush chair in the office (What a great chair) and looked down at my ratty sneakers. (These black things were pretty worn, but they worked great. I've had them for five years and they're still holding up. I'll never, ever get rid of them. Not these skater sneaks.) Now, I had plenty of time to think about how I screwed up. Again.
My phone. I closed it too quick, too hard. I shouldn't have let it make noise. It would have never alerted Ms. Syanders if I did. Well, it's too late for this now, but it'll come in handy next time. Because there won't be a next time. I'll make sure my phone's as quiet as a mouse, even quieter. If it's possible. Ms. Syanders will never know.
As I thought of the woman, I grinned to remember her face. When I tugged her off of me, the expression she pulled was just as good as a Hallmark moment for me. If not better. No, definately better. I don't do Hallmark moments. Sorry. But now, the more I think about it, the more I remember of it. She stumbled, (Well, she definatly stumbled, to say the least) waved her arms about, flailing to try and find some balance, and swore. Oh yeah, she swore alright. I heard it. Clear as crystal. Well, you could imagine any and every word you want to, but I heard her say "Shit." Not the best word ever, no, but I guess in her case, it fit well. Well enough.
"Ms. O'Reily? Mr. Roy will see you now."
Wow. Hey, thanks again Mrs. Johnson! I glared at her. She knows I hate my last name, yet she still insists on using it. And, I've noticed, I'm the only kid she calls by their last name. But hey, I guess it doesn't matter. She knew my anger weakness. (One of my many) Just as Ms. Syander knew I hated my first name.
I knew she hated me, (I could tell by the dark vibe I got, like the all of the world's evil shoved and pushed themselves into the aura, just when I was there) and I think I gave her the impression that I hated her. Or at least I hoped I did.. I wanted to, anyway.
Whatever. I got up out of my comfy seat and stalked over to Mr. Roy's office, my head held high and chin raised, arms neatly held at my sides, without even a glance at the secretarian I hated so much. I'm glad I didn't look over, I swear to God I would have punched her dead in her face if I did. And that wasn't exactly the best option for me right now. (But I could still feel her glaring at me.)
Stepping inside the small office, I stood in front of yet another soft chair, tempted to take a seat. These things look really comfortable. Instead, I only stared at the short, stalky man in front of me. He typed at his desk, not even taking notice of me. I glimpsed the monitor slightly, wanting to see just what was more important then me. Big mistake. I almost puked.
On the monitor I only caught a few words, but it was enough to put someone in a coma, from shock and disgust. I don't even want to put them down, but if I don't, you'll miss some signfigance that happens to me later, so I have to. Here's what they said:

StudMan465: Hey Babe.
UserA: What's up my big man?
StudMan465: Just missing you. What are you wearing?
UserA: Lolz, Nothing. :P
StudMan465: I was hoping you'd say that. Lolz.

I couldn't go on. It was too gross. Too utterly disgusting. Really, I almost gasped, almost screamed at him. Didn't the school block stuff like this from happening? He shouldn't be allowed to get on that site. I shook it off pretty quick, the fat man turned to look at me, simotaneously turning off his monitor.
The door of the office shut, signalling the fact that I was now alone in a room with this perv.
"You may take a seat."
I stood there. How smart of me. I guess I had an attitude., (I probably did.) because I just glared at the sick, twisted man.
Studman465 didn't even notice he was too busy looking into some big notebook. Hopefully full of schoolwork. Important, dumb, and boring stuff that was to be done in this crappy building they call a school.
He was writing something down when he finally sighed.. I could practically smell the frustration and utter defeat coming off of him. (I tried to block out the feeling that I could smell his lust.)
He didn't look up. "Cellphones, property vandalation, insulting teachers, fighting daily..." his voice drained, drifting off to some distant land far, far away. Wish I was there now. I almost felt sorry for the guy, really. I guess he was running out of options and ISS was getting old.
Mr. Roy looked up at me, despair and seriousness swimming in his hazel gaze. "I don't know why you do what you do, but I can't help you if you don't tell me your reasons. You need to talk to me."
I stared back at him blankly. Like I was going to tell him what I was going through, why I fought. He wouldn't understand. I just got so sick of being pushed around, being messed with, I took things into my own hands. I decided to go with violence. I'm a natural, really.
Once again, he let out a raspy sigh, the balding man did. "Alright O'Reily, one more false move, one more slip up, and you're going to have to find a new school. I'll have you expelled from Wilson High." His tawny eyes turned hard, like steel. Just as Ms. Syander's had.
Well, at least now I knew I screwed up.

Chapter 2: I Get To Eat Some Meatloaf
January 3, Wednesday
Age: 16
Once again, there I was. Seating on a seat. A really, really crappy, cheap, fake leather seat. God I hate being on the bus. I tried getting burried into my Artemis Fowl book again, but quickly gave up on it. I know those books are pretty childish, especially for a 16-year-old. But I think they're funny. However much lil' Arty tries, his feelings always irrationalize his desicions. And if he does follow logic, he feels guilty about it.
It was almost as Eoin Colfoer was tring to teach me not to let the soft feelings show. And I knew this lesson even before starting this silly series. Fear, grief, worry, disgust, mercy, not even happiness. I didn't let any of these little feelings show.(Well, maybe not disgust, 'cause I really do find some people gross in their own little way). For a young, cheery person to pull this off would prove an impossible feat. Until I came along. Dark clothes and a badass attitude, with guts to back it up of course, was all I needed.
I remember when I was a kid, still a little 6-year-old. I used to feel like nothing could stop me. Not even the fact that my stepmom was a drunk that loved to get high on meth. I didn't realize it then, but now I can put two and two together.
I was fast and stealthy, my skinny form and long legs making me move faster than any kid on the block. It was an awesome feeling. Or being curious about everything: What made glass? How'd they make TV's work? Why use money when you could just trade stuff? That's only some of the questions, but I don't want to go and recite my whole head.
Avira O'Reily used to be one bright kid, energetic and spritely. She got honor roll in every grade, and would practically cry when she didn't get something right, then go back and figure it out herself instead of asking for guidance. Her parents loved her dearly, and her pet Molly seemed to be the best teddy bear she had when she felt lonely or sad or had some bad dream.
Now she was close to being a dumbass dropout, expelled from school, forbidden to get a chance for a real life. A good life. She was failing every grade, in ISS or OSS(Out-Of-School Suspenison) every other day, bullied by almost every other kid she knew, and growing even more distant with her mother, father, and step mom alike. (Not that I actually like Marian anyway.)
She grew in to sleeping problems, put on some bulk (the type that might make her look menacing), and the bright, cunning look in her icy steel gray eyes faded, only to come back when she stole.
Okay, so now you know a little bit about me. And as you can figure, I'm a loner. Alright fine, let's not sugar coat it. I'm a loser, plain and simple. They treat me like I'm some sort of freak, because I wear boyish clothes and I somewhat resemble Frakenstein's creation. I tend to keep to myself, unless someone does try to challenge me. Then I move into action.
Hense this new attitude and wardrobe, along with my own words of wisdom that don't really go beyond this: Trust No One.
Great thoughts for a ninth grader, eh? Especially when she's supposed to be in eleventh.
I sighed and looked up to see that the bus was nearing my home. Great. Home. I frowned bitterly. 1 nice, rundown apartment with peeling, white walls, leaky faucets, and a slight roden issue.
But I had to struggle to keep back a slight smile. My mom would be home, trying to find something to cook, something from the food pantry that could actually be put to use. She didn't care about my grades, how I looked. She loved me no matter what, and I knew it. As long as I was healthy and not crying, she didn't show the slightest sign of shame or misery, dispite her only daughter's awful reputation.
I stood from my seat, grabbing the back of the false leather bus seat in front of me for leverage as the yellow automobile began to brake. I stepped forward into the aisle, refusing to meet any of the eyes staring up at me as I glided down the bus like water sliding over ice. By the time the driver had the door open, I managed to half grunt, half mutter, an empty "Thanks." and jumped down the three stars onto solid ground.
Well, it might not have been necessary, but I still rose up my right hand and put up my favorite finger, teaching my peers a bit of sign language.

As I was saying, we're pretty poor. Now more than ever since my Daddy'o left my mom. He was an architect or something. I don't know exactly, it's been four years since I've seen him, and I don't care if I live the rest of my life without seeing him.
See, he decided my mom wasn't worth the trouble. Decided life and a family based on love and trust just wasn't for him. He left me when I was 5, a month before my sixth birthday. (What a B-Day present, eh?) My mom had just gotten over from being in the hospital with a broken arm and was still recovering. I can't remember how it broke, but it was something big. Maybe I have Post-Traumatic Stress or something.
Anyway, he joined up with some tramp blondie and had a couple of rowdy, rough boys, tossing me and Old Ma aside. We were old news.
Me? I'm not too thrilled he left. I could've used a father to help me learn to fight better, some new tactics. But I don't let it get to me. It's not like I have abadonment issues. Depression doesn't and didn't occur, not about him. Not until the dreams came about, and I wake up a dozen times a night. It's annoying, yes, but it scares me to death.
One time, I woke up holding my throat, as if some one were choking me to death. (Actually, I have a lot of dreams like that) I think I fight in my sleep since I wake up with big bruises and nasty cuts. In my nightmares, I fight a lot. I mean, a lot. And just when I'm about to find out whether I win or loose, I wake up in my bed, in a cold sweat gasping for air to fill my empty lungs.
I love my nose. It's not my best sense, but it works. It's almost as bad as my ears, really. Maybe some kid damaged it in a fight or something, but now I kind of toss my sense of smell right out the window. Regardless, I could pick up the mouthwatering scent of my mom's meathloaf. Garic, parsley, basil, possibly some salt, and definately bread crumbs. Okay, so maybe my nose isn't that bad.
Then it hit me. My mom.
What was I going to tell her? I know Mrs. Johnson had made an extra effort to make sure she called my mom. She knew. I was an eyelash's length away from being expelled from Wilson High. Then I'd have no where to go, and I'd bring Mom down with me.
I lost my appetite as soon as I hit the door. Grimfaced and shaken, I took a really, really deep breathe and forced myself to wrap my trembling fingers around the ice-cold metal of the door knob and gripped it hard, trying to anchor myself back to Earth.
Alright, I'll stop here for a second. Let's get things straight, shall we? I may sound like some drama queen trying to make everyone feel sorry for her, but that's only because you've only heard about my life. You've never actually experienced it. You've never had to do the things I did. You have no right to judge.
Like I was saying, I opened the door and stepped inside. It was a lot warmer in my small little home, so it made my chilled fingers, ears, and nose burn quite a bit. You know, like putting a cold foot into warm water. With a back pack strung upon my shoulders, I finally realized how drained I felt, and how tired my limbs and eyelids were. School always tired me out. It was mostly due to the dumbest lessons ever that bored you out of your mind and left you absolutely exhausted. Every fricken day.
So I slipped my bag off and let it hit the cheaply-tiled floor like a deadweight, giving up my chance for stealth. Stupid me. Mom would know I'm home now.

"Avira?"

Hey, what do you know? Am I good or what?
I sighed, feeling even worse. My mom was just getting over the flu, but she refused to leave work. So she sounded just and exhausted as I was, but slightly worse.

"Hey Mom." I called to her, coming out slightly louder than a whisper. I tried to conceil the guilt from my voice, not ready to tell her the bad news. Not yet. I didn't need to worry her, she had enough problems on her plate already.
But if she was worried, she didn't show it. Not the slightest bit. (She never does.) "How was school?"

Yep. Same old mom.

"Great." I said, sounding a little enthusiastic. I should be an actor when I grow up.
"Good. Dinner's almost done, I hope you're hungry. Can you set the table for me, please?" she asked, leaning her head from behind a wall in the kitchen so she could see me, a wide smile on her smooth cheeks, hazel eyes glistening with pain and happiness. What a horrible combination.
"Sure, no prob." I answered.
Steam billowed, shuffling followed, and I could guess mom was pulling out dinner from the old oven we had to call our own. Or, rather, the landlord's own.
I pulled out some plastic plates and cups from a book case on the east wall, only two of each and plain in color, and put them down on the table. The ply wood one, with two stools on either side. I took out some silver ware from a drawer in the book case and put a fork and knife down by each plate, a pair for both of us. They gleamed in the dim light, and I was happy that even this metal could gleam like ice. Not everything had to be precious to be seen as precious.
As I headed to my own stool, I watched as a great mass of fur stalked under the table. A Bobcat. A big brown one, with fine soft fur with not a single marking on its coat. Well, except the ankle collars it's black stripe made, and the neat little pattern on its neck. I can't really explain it, I'd have to show you a picture. It hissed as it probably went to get its own dinner, in this rodent-infested house, it couldn't be hard.
"Molly, knock it off." I scolded her, chasing her away by threatening her with my worn out sneakers. I wasn't exactly keen on hearing squealing noises while I ate. Just like I wasn't keen on throwing up on the table.
My mom has this uncanny sense of timing, she can come in at the right moment any time she wished to. And sometimes, even when she didn't want to. It was amazing, and it still is. I wonder if all mom's have that sixth sense. You'll have to get back to me on that one.
As soon as the two plates were set down, and the silverware sat beside the dishes, Mom was catering out our meal. She popped into the room, carrying a cuttingboard of sliced meatloaf and peeled, baked potatoes. Yum.
"Hungry?" she repeated, a faint smile on her face. I guess she just had to make sure that I actually was hungry.
I stared up at her, hiding my confusion. See, before I was ready to shovel a whole cow down my throat and then go for seconds, possibly top it all off with a big glass of milk. But that was earlier, now I wasn't sure if I wanted anything to warm up my cold belly. I didn't know how to answer. But years of lying automatically did.
"You bet." I replied, not even thinking.
She smiled a little wider and put the hot tray of food down on our plywood table, right in front of me as she sat down in her own chair, getting comfortable. "Good."
I followed her pristine example and sat my butt right down at the table, on my own plastic lawn chair and pushing my chair in. I sat up straight, just as she'd taught me to and bowed my head, closing my eyes as I left my hands in my lap. I wated for a nice little prayer to start.
Mom was real religous. She believed in God, Jeseus, the whole nine yards. Well, nine and half when we're talking about my mom. She takes the Bible as her personal history textbook, as if the whole thing was real. It's my belief that if she read that Moses had jumped off a cliff, she'd do the same. Without a parachute, mind you. She always prays before meals, before bed, and whenever else she feels it necessary. Even when she claims she feels "lost". If I prayed when I felt lost, I'd be praying 24/7.
She never lost faith, not even when we've sank past rock bottom. The worse things get, the more she prays. I really do think its sad. I want to go up to her and scream in her ear, "God's got nothing to do with this!", but she'd probably just smile at me and pray for me. I never told her I didn't believe in God, because I thought she might actually kill me if I did. (But then again, maybe not since it's against the Ten Commandments.)
So, I waited, and waited. But I got nothing but silence in return. What gives?
I peeked open an eye to look at my mom, only to meet those hazel eyes, feeling them claw against my skin. Is she telepathic too? God, she scares me.
I almost jumped back as she contined to stare at me, evilly. Like I did something wrong. I met her gaze, looking on with confusion.
I finally gave in. "What?" I cried out, so lost at the moment. Should I pray? Nah, I'll pass. Come back next week.
"You know better than to have your headphones at the table, young lady. It's rude and disrespectful." she growled at me, her eyes narrowing and eyebrows furrowing.
That's when I realized how her voice was muffled and my ears felt all stuffed up and sweaty. Duh! My earphones! I still had my MP3 player going, as it played California Dani by Red Hot Chilli Peppers. (Good song if you have no clue what I'm talking about. YouTube it.) I yanked out the black cord, cold air hitting my ears and my throat started itching. I ignored it and fumbled to shove my electronic deep into my hoodie pocket, shutting the little machine off in the process.
"That's better." she closed her eyes and bowed her eyes, I knew enough to do the same.
Then, I did my best to trying to block out the noise my mother was about to make.
"Dear Lord our savior, we thank you for the beautiful feast you have blessed us with. And we thank you for all the blessings to come, Amen."
"Amen." I played along, just as I always had. Then, it was time to eat. But I still wasn't hungry, my belly seemed cluttered and nauscious. I was reluctant to eat. Very reluctant.
My mom, on the other hand, had no trouble getting her mouth full. She picked up the fork with such fast reflexes, she made Spider-Man look like he had down syndrome. Meat went flying at the speed of light into her mouth and potatoes weren't far behind. She was already going for seconds by the time I had hesitantly picked up my fork. You'd be surprised to know that she was as thin as a toothpick, thinner probably.
I shoveled my food around, trying to have a little fun, though I failed miserabley. I held my chin up, my back straight against the chair, desperate not to look miserable. I even forced a couple of potatoes down every few minutes. Time seemed to be going in slow-mo though.
"What's wrong?" Mom picks up negativity pretty damn quick. Try her, just don't be surprised when not even a second goes by that she asks you this very same question.
"Nothing." I answered quickly, looking down at my plate. God, this sucks.
But she didn't pressure me.
Five long, boring minutes dragged on ever so slowly before I got bored enough to hear my cellphone buzzing. I was somewhat shocked, yet again, since it was one silent. Yet I knew I had a message. Don't ask me how, but if I was bored enough, I could hear a mouse nibbling on pudding a hundred yards away. No lie.
I pulled out my handy dandy cellphone and slid the keyboard out, the phone instantly coming to life with light. A screen popped up and told me I had a new message. I took no hesitation in opening it. My day couldn't get worse.
Cat's Den at 7. See you there.
My jaw practically dropped and I looked at my watch. 6:50. I could still make it if I hauled ass. I didn't want to leave Colt waiting.
As I looked up, I saw Mom looking down at me and knew she had caught the urgency in my own gaze. I guess. I couldn't bear to let a second at the Cat's Den slip away. Hell no, not my haven. It was my only sanctuary, the one my mom had no clue about it.
"Going somewhere?"
I was shuffling through my dishes, not even knowing, piling everything up so I could bring it out to the sink.
"Budd y of mine is going to help me with some tricky Algebra. Really important I get this stuff down." I lied, still putting things away, but no intentionally.
"Constantine?"
As I looked at her, I could see the big grin on her face as she crossed her arms over her chest, and the room seemed to warm up ten degrees. I hope I wasn't blushing. I had no reason to.
"Yeah, he's helpin' me out. Can I go?"
Now she was hesistant, keeping her smile as I waited for her answer.
"Please?" I pushed.
She nodded and I could have hugged her. Yes! Cat's Den! "Go on. I'll leave the door unlocked for when you get back."
"Thanks Ma." I gave her a quick, gentle pat on the shoulder and headed back out of the house, leaving my backpack by the door. So much for homework. Like I was gonna do it anyway! Ha!
It was pretty damn cold out tonight, even for winter. Snow was caked on the ground eight inches thick, trying to infiltrate my sneakers with icy slush each step I took. Every tree I passed was bare, its limbs sticking out like dried up, shriveled arms, long past their expiration dates. Even the pine trees seemed to have lost their green spirit in the frigid cold. I didn't blame them. Besides the fact that snow was everywhere, the sky ceased to let anything else fall. It was snow, snow, snow. No hail, no rain, just snow. It was really, really, boring. Skies must be saving all the crap for later, so that they still had a way to make our lives miserable. Possibly for a day I was actually beginning to enjoy.
Now, for someone in a thin hoodie four years old like me, its pretty easy to say you'll freeze your ass off. Two blocks in the winter makes twenty miles in the summer look like a fun walk in the park, one with italian ice and dogs chasing frisbees. But I didn't care, not much. I didn't really have to take notice until the last ten, twenty yards to the Cat's Den.
Shaking off the cold was probably the hardest task.
Glancing up at the old, run down building, I grinned. This was why I was here. This dump, so to speak, had become a second home to me, somewhere I could gather my thoughts and pull myself together. Anything was possibly at the Cat's Den.
Placing a hand on the wall, I ran my fingers down the white, chipping paint that had become coated with ivy (Now dead.) and some spots of rotted mold that I had become so familiar with. I pushed when I felt a single crack in the wall, a vertical one. A secret entrance, Colt himself had installed, opened up and gave me access to my underground heaven. I crouched slightly, so I could move through the three foot tall space and into the dark of the abandoned bakery.
Old cash registers, broken, cracked display cases, and really, really old furniture littered the ground, broken pieces of glass and wood filled every other bare spot of the floor. Maroon used to color the walls and snowy white claimed the trimmings, but it was so faded the maroon looked like a soft pastel pink and the white, well, you couldn't fade white. When the place was open, I could guess it was beautiful. Especially the cherry wood floors, I loved their dark, rich colors. It's too dull to know what I'm talking about now, but still, you wouldn't believe it.
I already cracked open the register, and boy did that $250 help. (Oh yeah, I forgot to mention on pretty big on thieving, so watch out.) One time I came in here, when it was all abandoned, and I smashed in the display case with kicks and various punches. Took me a while to calm down. I forgot what really ticked me off that time, but I get that way when something really pisses me off. So it's probably a good thing I'm in here today.
Besides the fact that glass littered the floor, I silently moved over to the display case and pushed it out of the way.
Yet another opening showed itslef, along with a long coil of rope snaking down to the dark abyss below. A dim light shone, hitting the stone formation and making the light turn a murky brown. Musky smells came and bit at my nose, but instead of recoiling, I leaned in and inhaled. Yup. Cat's Den.
Grasping the rope in my hands, I took one last breah of the surface world. Here, I'll even name what I smelled: sewer, dumpsters, car exhaustion, and even some gun power. One of the homeboys must have gotten on someone's bad side. Here in this city, we've got a few gangs. But hey, who cares right? I can tell you the cops sure as hell don't.
So I tightened my grip and wrapped my legs around the long snake of rope and slid down into the dimlit darkness. it wasn't hard, I mean the first time it was torture. But, as they say, practice makes perfect. Eventually, it became as easy as climbing down a flight of stairs. Easier, even.
As soon as I felt moist soil underneath my feet, I let go. I was safe, on solid ground. Ilooked up and saw the small opening from which I came, now about twenty feet above me. Hense the need for a rope. Stifling a sigh, I ignored the fact that anyone that could find our secret entrance (The one I had carefully replaced after entering) could easily find this and get a little curious. And then I could kiss this place away. They'd discover my secret home. My personal sanctuary. it was not a happy thought.
"I know, I'm not sure what to do about it."
I didn't even jump. I knew who it was. Voice as smooth as honey, yet strong and full of humor. Yeah, I knew who that prick was.
I didn't turn yet, but replied to him anyway as I continued to look up at the hole in the ceiling. "Stop doing that Colt, you freak me out when you do that."
I couldn't help but grin though, there's my buddyboy. My good ol' pal, my right hand.
Turning around, I met his gaze. Momentarily freezing, I blamed it on the cold frost in the air and kept moving. Unfortunately, he was still staring. And laughing. He was laughing pretty hard, actually. He had some sense of humor, that guy. Time I ended it.
"Yeah, yeah, funny boy. Why don't you shut up and keep those moss eyes of your on the pole. You gotta bite." I broke up his party.
That made him jump and he whipped around to see his pole whipping around, the tip twitching and flicking. I would've laughed harder if he or the pole fell in the water. They didnt' though, so I was just chuckling. But it was funny anyway. That bite of his was still jerking his grip about though, and he was struggling. I hoped it didn't take his pole. Because then I'd have to share mine, and sharing wasn't exactly my thing.



It's all I got so far, there's a lot more down on paper, but I just haven't got that much time to type and write all at the same time.
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Post by Celeste~ February 7th 2011, 1:35 am

Wow that is long O.o
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Post by Rain February 7th 2011, 4:36 pm

Um.. yeah. I kinda write a lot.
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Post by Bee February 7th 2011, 6:21 pm

Cool story. :D I thought Avira was a guy at first. xD

You should type up the rest and then continue writing. :3
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Post by - Wolvine - February 8th 2011, 12:34 pm

You suck Golden D: I was gonna post my Yin/Yang story, but now it'll just look like I copied you, despite that there is nothing the same DX

EDIT Keh you know what. Stuff what people think. Its about.. cat things anyway :D
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Post by Rain February 8th 2011, 2:41 pm

xD. Sorreh Wolv, didn't think anyone was gonna copy that name.

And thanks Bee, that's kinda what I wanted with Avira. She's the more tom-boyish character in the story. I wish I could type more, things really get actiony later on. But.... that's a lot of typing. Eventually I'll get that far.
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Post by Bee February 8th 2011, 4:58 pm

And you say it many times in the text. I think that it would be better if you let the reader figure out these things about Avira themselves. Obviously, she is indifferent to profane language, so there's really no need for her to tell us. Stuff like that.

Oh, and you might want to spell-check. :P

But yeah, type more! :D
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Post by Rain February 8th 2011, 9:47 pm

Right, right. I'll make note of that stuff. I luv critcism, it helps me out more. And I haz only windows Notepad or whatever the hell that thing is, so it's easy for me to loose track of spelling. I'll see if I can get a chapter done tonight.
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