I need a beta reader, and before I post anymore I really would like to have someone, anyone proofread my story before updating. Email me if you're interested, thanks!
Ah, the age-old retelling of a tale almost always commences at the beginning, but why not the end? What if the end is the beginning and the middle the end? What if we had all the time in the world to discuss and philosophize about this? Would we still come to that same conclusion of starting at the customary beginning? I suppose not, so here we go, it all happened one dreary, gray-skied day ____
Not all fairy tales start with a bright summer's day, in fact mine (though perhaps not a fairy tale but close to a semblance of reality) starts and ends oppositely, as you shall see.
I had started the day as all my days for the past few months since the school year began, in the same way, quietly reading the next chapter in the book we were reading for my morning English class. Of course this is done in silence and when I do finish the reading early I tend not to put the book down, reason being, the moment I do, my parents immediately start talking to me and asking all these questions that get me severely annoyed.
Fortunately today when I finished early, I did not have to keep the book up and pretend to read. The radio was on to the only morning radio talk show both my parents (and on occasion myself) can withstand listening to, NPR, National Public Radio.
The topic was political as is nearly everything in my house nowadays thanks to the upcoming Presidential elections.
" . . . Senator John Kerry was approached yesterday afternoon by news reporters while standing outside a local coffee shop. He dismissed the reporters politely saying he had a schedule to keep . . ." [Volume is lowered]
"Ahg! You know what I say! ABB! ANYBODY BUT BUSH! I'd rather have a turkey run this country than that buffoon!"
My Father exclaimed while driving through the light morning traffic.
"Si, pero no me gusta Kerry, he does not seem qualified enough to run and yet there is still not a single Democratic candidate that I prefer over any one of them. They aren't as strong this year as they were during Clinton's race, we really need another President like Clinton, or at least one who can speak for himself!"
Mother was always the one to say things like that.
I sit quietly listening to the discussion, thinking to myself my own responses and wishing to pronounce them. My chapter in Hornblower having been completed I stared out at the water, we had passed through the toll plaza and were now approaching the Rickenbacker Causeway.
The view of all the buildings on Brickell Avenue is truly a sight to see and be mystified by. For some reason I am always awed by it, then a strange urge to want to wander and explore what secrets it might hold overtakes me. Each day I look out across the waters of the bay I make the same promise to myself to one day do what my feelings dictate. Hopefully that day will come sooner rather than later,
' Here's to dreams that may never take place '
I think and mentally conjure up a picture of wine glasses clinking together in that same fashion after making a toast. We came to the light that's just before the school; there is no turn light though there should be,
'I wonder how many more deaths have to occur till that small addition will transpire'
I mused as I always do when I have nothing else to think about, especially when I have to watch the vultures on the beach eating out of the trashcan.
I placed the book back into the pocket of the passenger seat's back and quickly got my things arranged to be taken out of the car promptly. As soon as the car stopped inside the circular drop-off area I opened the door and jumped out, they said something meaning 'farewell', my only response was a wave of my hand and 'bye'.
The pearlescent green Honda drove away as soon as the door was closed, leaving me in its wake of lifted leaves and gravel. I walk with my head held up in almost a snobbish fashion, looking down at those around me, at least to those whom I do not know.
Past the red double doors is the short corridor by the art room, on odd days I come back here and always get to leave early. I tread lightly on the blue-gray tiles that can be found throughout the school, over to the bathroom entrance that juts out from the wall that is also part of the auditorium. The larger stall is where I always head to because the mirror there is cleaner and actually refracts back the proper image, which is sorely needed when putting eyeliner on. Everyday it is this same ritual: black eye liner, Chap Stick and chewing gum; before even daring to step out into public.
'Who would want to love someone like me? I am hideous, and overweight, not truly meant to experience that wondrous feeling of love . . .'
This thought flashes behind my eyes as I walk past the trophy case with the reflective back paneling.
'I wish I had a hood on my coat, a long, full length coat with hood, perhaps a trench coat, whatever will do, cape even . . .'
The sound of my foot steps are muffled by Beborn Beton and whatever song happens to be playing, I pride myself on keeping a 'model's walk' or so my dearest childhood friend, Tren, has told me. Too bad she goes to another 'regular' high school, we would have been inseparable had we stayed together, but alas, my parents wanted me to become more closely acquainted with math and science than become entwined with the Humanities. By Father's standards, a Humanities occupation will not be able to keep me happy with a fast car, big house and tons of jewelry. Well here's a news flash for you old man, my ideal job would allow me to maintain my solitary cabin in the woods with only an internet capable computer and plenty of space for my numerous companions--books.
I approach the door to the Library, my one place in the entire building I feel comfortable in, and am stopped by a hand on my shoulder.
'Well I couldn't have hoped to escape detection from humans by passing the front entry now could I?'
I mused to myself as I turned to face the proprietor of that appendage I would sooner chop off than allow the chance to go free again.
"Hey, where do you think you're going missy? Trying to sneak away under your rock before saying 'Good Morning' to a friend who loves and cares for you?"
"Must you always stress out those words each and every time you speak to me? Really, by now I had hoped the entire school to realize that none are to converse with me AT ALL. But I suppose that would be quite the miracle for all to understand, as they are incapable of understanding simple thought, how might they ponder the actual meaning of my natural request?"
"I guess that is as close to a 'Good Morning' as I'll get from you, Aldallia."
"Correction--ever. Come on Liliana, you of all people should know I am not the most sociable of creatures to have walked this planet. So why does everyone want me to do something I am not willing to do?"
"Okay, you seriously need to cut the sarcasm because I am getting tired of it."
"Oh come off it and leave me to my studies. I am much happier that way."
She shakes her head and allows me free passage through the windowed double doors that are all that block my entrance to tranquility. I lay my things on the counter of the bookshelf near the door and look about me. Directly to my left are my two good friends, one of which I have made a secure bond since entering the school in the fall, and the other not quite as strong, but a deep one nonetheless; as well as her boyfriend for two years now, aww the happy couple of Jarianne and Hanson. Janley stands next to the smaller round table that is used as a display for the new books that arrive from other schools.