Waiting on the World

Prologue

I’ve spent seventeen years of my life waiting for it to start. If I were to live to a hundred, that’s almost a fifth of my life gone, waiting for something magnificent, something heart-stopping, something that should be read in novels to be imprinted onto others’ souls for eternity. I’m still waiting. When your life consists of revising for the next test, researching for a school assignment, and counting down the days until the weekend, there isn’t much room for a novel of epic proportions to burst forth. I’ve finished school, and it occurs to me that now I don’t have to worry about Pythagoras’ Theorem and the relationship between Hamlet and its context, my life can start. Bring on the adventure, baby! I’m only seventeen, but I’ve figured out that life doesn’t work that way. I can already see university life unfolding at my feet- political science will replace Hamlet. The best thing about Friday will be that the next day is Saturday. I’m terrified that I’m going to let another fifth of my life slip into mundanity, and one day I’ll find myself living in the same suburb, grey-haired and with false teeth, wishing that I had brushed my teeth properly and spent more time living, not waiting.

I think back on the seventeen years I’ve already covered. Moments float onto the screen of my mind- feelings, impressions that are embroidered into significance each time I wrap myself in a quilt of memories. If all I have left of life is memories, what if I wind up grey-haired and golden-toothed, with a fading, patchy quilt of memories falling apart at the seams? If I remember nothing, will I have lived?

I think that’s why I’ve decided to pen my last year of school- so, pending the arrival of that grey-haired, golden-toothed day, I’ll have a tangible record beyond my memories, a way to remember forgotten dreams and emotions and moments of clarity.

I like to think of the events of my life as letters safely stowed away in a letter box. Some days are electricity bills, mundane but necessary, others are exotic post-cards, days of change and dreams, others are letters from friends, days that you treasure and leave you changed in ways that cannot be limited to words. I’m going to sort through those letters, now, and write you a story. I can’t promise a poignant and poetic drama in the style of Hamlet. I am still waiting for my life to begin. But so much has happened in the past year, that maybe it’s worth remembering, and hoping that I’ve ventured down the path of life, after all.

A/N Sorry this is so short, there’s more coming.

Thank you so much for reading. Please review and let me know if you have a story you’d like me to check out!

(The next bit is for any old reader of mine.)

First of all, if you’re a reader of Caught in the Rain, I am so sorry for disappearing into oblivion. This past year has been completely insane. I haven’t had a spare moment to think let alone write. But I’m back, and trust me I’ve thought long and hard about it. But at the end of the day I love writing, and I love even more knowing that there’s someone out there reading my stuff. So I’m back for another crack.

This story is actually a revamped version of Caught in the Rain. All your favourite characters will be back (Noel, Noah, Tyler, ahaha, Kendall.) But I’ve completely ditched the Lady Fate and switched at birth scenario. I started that story when I was fourteen, and I’ve changed so much since then, that I really just cannot continue it. Plus, I don’t believe in fate anymore. Haha. :D But I’ll leave it up here, just to remind me where I’ve started from.

I’m not going to make promises that will just be broken, but believe me, I will try my utmost to see this story to its conclusion. I’ve had these characters in my head since I was…fourteen. I’ve got to get their story out to avoid schizophrenia. ;) Plus, I actually have a general plan for this story. I know, freak out. That should prevent me from meandering away after four chapters.

Oh, and yes, the title is totally ripped off John Mayer’s song. (Waiting on the World to Change).

Snippet from Chapter One

“Damsel in distress?” The voice is smooth, with an undercurrent of condescension. There is only one boy I know who speaks like that. Tyler Durton. Everything about Tyler Durton is calculated to intimidate. He has piercing jade eyes framed by eyebrows that can lift at any moment to depress pretension. His response to anything and everything is a slight curl of his lips- a smirk that never fails to make me want to slap him. Restraining that urge now, I continue doggedly on my path, and stare straight ahead.

“Now that I’ve seen you, sure I’m distressed.”

“Noel, you wound me. Almost, I am persuaded to ignore my better self and leave you be.”

“You don’t have a better self.”

“A gentleman never argues with a lady.”

“Assuming you’re the gentleman.”

“And you the lady.”