Sorry to have left JE off so abruptly and for such a long amount of time. I swear I'm still writing it, and I swear that I will post Chapter Two for JE in the near future, because I almost have it typed out completely. I'm revising a little, so it's slow-going. What can I say? Welcome to the writer in progress.

THIS piece of writing was something that just hit me. Literally. Not because I fell out of bed (haha), but because I've been in a bad mood, when my creative brain started working again. I hope it's not too confusing, and it's a little shorter than I wanted it to be, but that's because there are a lot of characters to introduce and I want each of them to have their own chapter. So, enjoy this one as much as humanely possible, and thank you for diligently waiting for my return. /AN

ABBY.

There are two central questions that civilizations have been inclined to ask during their particular eras. The first goes comething like this: "Where can I find food?" The second, more philosophical question is: "What is out there?" Both questions have sparked conflict, wars and in some extreme cases, martydom. If you don't believe it, look in any history textbook, or ask a historian. It's there, in black and white bones.

But anyway, The first question is something simple that satisfies our immediate needs. The second is less superficial and promotes intellectual growth. It actually causes our brains to do a little stretching, away from the boxes of organization and into the infinite worlds of chaos. Fortunately for our generation, we've achieved some of the out-of-the-box thinking that has made it possible for us to get some understanding of the vastness of our question. So, the question is now posed to you, as the reader, to figure out for yourself.

What's out there?

Abby pondered the question as she sat at her desk near the window, staring out onto the familiar streetlamps and dewy landscapes. "What do you think?" she asked her very dearest friend, Thom. "I don't," was his reply. She sighed. That was Thom--short and to the point, always.

"Why not? It's just geometry." The question that Abby was pondering was in fact a very lengthy proof, and she was getting lost in the overlapping triangles. "Where I come from, none of this means anything anyway. You'd be speaking some kind of weird language," he said curtly. Thom always got irritated when Abby did her homework while he was around. He would always remark how the nasty "torture," as he called it, was set up to deprive Abby of her freedom to get out and have fun. Abby couldn't help but agree with him on that front.

"Abby!" came a voice from downstairs."Coming, mom!"she replied. Abby turned her attention to Thom, who was currently sitting on her bed, his face very unhappy. For he could only hate one thing more than homework--Abby's mother. "It's dinnertime, Thom. You know I have to at least make an appearance." Soothing him was never an easy task. "Geometry's got nothing on your mom," he muttered, holding his thin hands up in a defeated fashion. Abby hated to upset Thom's delicate balance, but she had to be social to her family sometimes--they got worried about her very quickly.

"I'll be back before you could ever miss me!" Abby called as she made her way out the door. Once he was sure she was gone, Thom flopped down on her bed and sighed deeply. "Then why aren't you back yet?"

At that exact moment, Abby had reached the dining room and was just sitting down to eat. Her mother appeared with a larger than life bowl of steaming pasta. Abby's stepfather, secretly nicknamed Dweeb by Abby and Thom, was sitting at the head of the small table, ardently praising Abby's mother for her most "spectacular mound of al dente pasta." In truth, pasta with store bought tomato sauce was all that her mother was particularly good at making, because everything had directions on it and was non perishable.

Dweeb smiled hugely in Abby's direction, revealing his long pearly white teeth. Not a one was out of place, but Abby secretly thought that Dweeb wore dentures or something, because no one had teeth that remarkable. Dweeb insisted that it was his dentistry career that made him so teeth-conscious, but Abby knew that Dweeb rarely brushed his teeth. His rank breath could clear a room easily.

Abby's mother sat down across from Abby and doled out a ridiculous amount of pasta onto her plate. There was literally pasta oodling over the sides of the tacky fake china. Abby piced up her fork--which matched the cat-covered china-- and attempted to spear a few stray rotini. After a few moments of perplexing effort, she managed to get some. It tasted alright, although it was overcooked by about ten minutes and had enough salt to rival the Dead Sea. Abby tried to concentrate on finishing the plate and consequently getting back to poor Thom, who was all alone upstairs. But of course, Dweeb had to pretend that he was being a good stepfather and start up a conversation.

"So, Abs, how was your day at school today? You must have had a lot of homework. When I got home you were still locked up in your room," he said cheerily, displaying his white teeth, which were now slightly stained by the cheap pasta sauce. "It was fine. I did have a lot of math homework," she replied monotonously, concentrating on the salty pasta. "That's good. I was wondering though..." Abby rolled her eyes and prepared for the worst. They had this conversation everytime Abby had to actually sit for dinner. She was getting really sick of always answering the same questions.

"...Who was it that you were talking to upstairs? Math homework driving you crazy?" Dweeb chuckled lightly, but Abby could tell that he and her mother were watching her carefully for an answer.

"You know who I was talking to."

Dweeb and Abby's mother exchanged glances, and he took her hand. Abby rolled her eyes. She really hated when they got all worked up about this stuff.

"Well, I thought that maybe you might be talking to yourself. All the pressure that they put on young kids these days, you know?"

"I'm not crazy. I was talking to Thom. Why don't you ever believe me?"

It was Abby's mother's turn to speak. "Honey, no one named Thom has ever been here. Unless you sneak him in through a window or something. I know that you never walk in with him."

"That's because you don't want to see him, mother. You're content with thinking that he doesn't exist!"

"And who told you that? You think I don't look to see if he's with you?"

"Thom told me! He told me that you can't see him because you don't believe in him!"

By now, Abby was standing up and so was her mother. The two faced each other like warring wolves. Dweeb sat calmly in his chair, like he always did. He never liked to get into fights, he just liked to start them. He's what you would call and instigator.

"You're really getting out of hand with these silly delusions, Abby!"

"Would you stop it! Just because you don't want to see--"

"I can see very clearly, Abby. You need help! I'm going to call a doctor!"

The fights always ended in this manner--Abby's mother in hysterics, dialing away for some psychiatrist, and Dweeb sitting, eating calmly. That's the way that it always was.

Abby knew, though, that Thom was a very real person. Someone she could touch and hear and see. But ever since he showed up, when Abby was still very young, they had had these fights about him.

Several psychiatrists had come and gone, and none could see anything wrong at all with Abby. She always kept Thom away when the doctors came, so she was always telling the truth when they asked if Thom was in the room. Because Abby's mother always brought new doctors, Thom hated Abby's mother. He made no secret of it, and Abby couldn't blame him. Her mother was certainly a nice person on all counts, but she was just the worst worrier in the world. And Dweeb, who was the real root of the evil, egged her on.

Abby turned and looked at Dweeb, who was eating his pasta passively, and for some reason, it made her burst into tears. She didn't want yet another boring, smelly doctor, and she hated fighting with her mother. It was all Dweeb. It would always be Dweeb.

So she knocked over his half-eaten plate of pasta and ran out of the room before he could say anything to her. Before anyone could say another hurtful word to her.

As with most nights, she ran into her room--even though her vision was blurred, she could still see the bright pink door-- and right into Thom's arms. Walls were thin, and he could hear the entire arguement without even trying. "You'll be alright," he whispered into her chestnut hair. "Thanks,Thom," Abby sniffled, "It's just so frustrating sometimes." He squeezed her gently before letting her go. "I think you're doing a splendid job," he said, giving her a warm, crooked grin that made his blue eyes twinkle. "I hope so," Abby said, smiling through her haze of tears. "I'm not going to lose you to Dweeb or mom." Thom smiled even more at her conviction. "I wasn't going anywhere no matter what they did or said. You're my best friend, Abs. There's no way I'd leave you alone like that, ever." Abby could only smile a little more; Thom was being unusually serious and she didn't know what to say in reply.

"One day," he continued, "When I figure out how to get back, I'll take you to my world, where there are no Dweebs and Psychiatrists and Worry-Wart Moms. I swear that I will take you there, someday." Abby smiled and nodded, letting silence settle around them. She went to her desk and picked up her geometry again. "I hate this math," she muttered. Thom chuckled, and things were back to the way they had been before dinner.

They sat for hours and just talked, about philosophy and every-day common sense, the latter of which Abby was lacking considerably. Finally, it was time for Abby to sleep, as she was a terrible morning person who needed at least eight hours.

That night was Abby's turn on the bed, and Thom took a sleeping bag and some pillows on the floor. When Thom had first arrived in Abby's room, they had both been very young and sleeping together in Abby's bed had been entirely acceptable to them. But once they had grown on into their teenage years, a sort of awkwardness descended and it had become an unwritten law that one person slept in Abby's bed while the other slept in the the sleeping bag. They alternated, every other day. Besides, Abby's twin sized bed could not hold two--not easily at least.

Abby scurried out of the room quietly and washed up in the bathroom down the hall as quickly as humanely possible. She brushed her teeth for much longer than necessary; however, just to show up Dweeb. At least her breath would not smell like dead animals.

Once in her room again, she flicked her desk lamp on and shut the lights. In her absense, Thom had made himself comfortable, and was resting contentedly in his pajamas. Abby had no clue where he got them from, but he always managed to have clean pajamas and clothes. He also showered somewhere while she was washing up, because when she entered the room, he smelled pleasantly perfumed and his dark hair was slick on his head. Abby hated when his hair was like that, because it made him look really old. So it became tradition for her to tousle it the second she walked in. And he always let her, laughing amusedly.

Sometimes if they were both in really good moods, they would wrestle a little because they were like brother and sister. Unfortunately, they were both not as happy as they ought to have been, and Abby was emotionally exhausted. Sleeping was her only reprieve at that point, with the exception of Thom.

"Ready to sleep?" she asked over the edge of her fluffy pillow. "Quite," he replied. "Goodnight, Thom." "Dream well, Abs." She flicked the desk lamp off, and left all of her worries to the darkness.