Hylian Lemon
Private
Posts: 94
Registered: Sep 2005 |
 Posted March 7th, 2006 06:57 PM IP   
Wow. I actually lost the url to this place and had no way to get back. But then I just remembered the url off the top of my head. Weird.
Messenger
by Hylian Lemon
Prologue
A cool ocean breeze swept Marcus Weaver's curly blond hair behind him. Weeds and blue prickly flowers sprouted through the light gray stones underneath his red tennis shoes. This was his thinking place. It was a ruined castle on a hilltop not far from town, and it ended in a jagged cliff of reddish rock, plunging into the warm, dark blue ocean far below.
Once, there had been shards of earthen pottery scattered about the courtyard, engraved with blue and green transparent pebbles. They had long since been stolen, and all that remained was a pile of lichen-covered blocks of stone.
He liked to sit near the top of the pile overlooking the ocean, on a certain rock that was actually quite comfortable. Ideas seemed to drop into his lap whenever he sat there. One had just come in on the breeze when his friend Laura found him. Marcus was hunched over a notepad scribbling away with a stubby pencil, so Laura knew to keep quiet and wait. If she interrupted his brainstorming, he usually lost his train of thought and got mad at her.
It was best to sit behind him until it looked like he was done writing. Having been a good friend of Marcus since they were very young, Laura had read a lot of his stories. Something about them always sent shivers down her spine; they were so real and so strange at the same time. Despite the abnormal settings, like a snowy forest atop a cloud, the way he wrote the story made her believe that a whole world built on clouds was completely normal.
He had paused in the middle of writing a sentence and was sitting still again. Laura held her breath and tried to see over his shoulder, but she was too far back to see what he was writing about. Suddenly his head spun around, and she ducked behind a rock. She knew it had been too late, though, so she poked her head back up into view.
"Sorry, Marc. I didn't want to interrupt you. Your mom was wondering where you were. I told her I didn't know, but I thought you were probably up here," Laura said loudly to counter the wind.
"It's ok. What did she want me for?"
"Just wanted to know if you wanted anything from the store. She's going up to Kingston later today." Laura tried to keep her black, straight hair from whipping around her and pulled a strand out of her mouth several times.
"Only thing I can think of is some more notebook paper. Another pencil would be nice too; this one's about worn out," Marcus replied, holding up the stub of wood for Laura to see. He quickly grabbed a sheet of paper before it blew out over the edge of the cliff.
"Well? Aren't you going to tell her?" Laura persisted.
"...I'm a little busy. Could you - "
"Tell her for you so you don't lose your fresh ideas or whatever?" Laura said. "Sure, fine. Just promise me that I can be the first one to read whatever it is you're writing there."
"Of course. Thanks. I think you'll really like this one," Marcus said over his shoulder, violently scribbling on the piece of paper. Laura sighed, turned around and carefully stepped down the pile of stone blocks. She could see the town of Tidesdale at the bottom of the valley below. Tidesdale was the kind of town where everyone knew each other. If anyone even knew about the town, it was either because they were relatives to one of the residents or because they were involved in the coal industry. It was just a small mining town at the base of Mt. Kearn.
Laura's grandfather, George Stone, was involved with switching the tracks for the coal trains going over the river. Her parents had disappeared long ago, and she and her younger brother had been in the care of their grandfather since before she could remember. George supposedly knew what had happened to Laura's parents, but he had never revealed the secret to her. Marcus was an only child, but he lived with both his mom and dad. It seemed more like he just lived with his mom, though; his dad's mining job took the whole day and most of the night.
The town didn't have a general store. The only things you could buy there were vegetables and gas. The residents had to travel along the forest ridge for half an hour to get to Kingston, where they could buy a wider selection of products. The town wasn't much bigger, but it rested on a well-traveled highway, unlike Tidesdale. It had a lot more business. The people of Tidesdale usually took turns driving to Kingston and doing each other's shopping.
Laura kicked a good-sized rock down the hill in front of her. She was almost at the bottom. Looking back up the hill into the blue cloudless sky, she wondered if Marcus had thought anything interesting up. What kind of characters would he create this time? How long would the story last?
I shouldn't worry about it, she thought. It'll be perfect, just like his other stories. The idea of soon reading something new sparked interest in her, since Tidesdale had no library, and she quickened her gait. There were only four streets in town; they crisscrossed to form what looked like a big tic-tac-toe game. Some of them went off to different places, like the forest ridge or the bridge over the river, and some just formed dead-ends. Marcus lived almost at the end of one of these.
Laura could see Tracy, Marcus' mom, waiting outside by their outdated pale blue car. Her sandy blond hair was pulled neatly into a ponytail and she was wearing her best jeans; they were probably the only ones without a paint stain or hole in them.
"Did you find him?" she asked.
"Yeah. He needs more paper and a new pencil; that's it."
"Oh. Ok, then. I'll be leaving now. See you later," Tracy said, pulling herself into the car and slamming the door shut.
"Bye," Laura said, watching the blue car disappear down the street. There was nothing left to do but go finish her homework and wait for Marcus to get back. She headed after the car towards her house.
~))(())(())(())((~
Marcus wrote so furiously across the paper that his hand started cramping. His thoughts didn't seem to slow down, even when he took a break to flex his fingers, so he tried not to stop often. The ideas flowed so rapidly that he felt like his brain couldn't keep up. The things he was writing about were even stranger than anything from his previous stories, and he began to wonder if they even were his ideas. There was real emotion in them, as if someone was actually telling him their life story.
There was no point in thinking about it, though. If he wanted to get it all down, he couldn't stop to think. He felt as though he was in a different world, floating amidst a thousand words, and if he lost concentration they would all be lost. If he stayed focused, this would be the best story he had ever written.
Chapter 1
Pale wisps of orange cloud streaked across the darkening sky, subtly beckoning shadows out from their hiding places. The rhythmic sound of breakers pouring over the rocks at the base of the cliff filled the salty air, and the cry of seagulls only penetrated the cycle occasionally. Cooling air rustled through the tall, dry grass, creating a barely audible swishing sound.
Marcus sat on the rock, holding his head in his hands. His notebook lay in front of him, displaying the abrupt discontinuation of his thoughts. An hour had passed, and inspiration had abandoned him. No more ideas came, try as he might to bring them back. He wondered if his mom had finished shopping. He wondered what was going on at home. Now that he realized that he was, in fact, in the real world, he could no longer think as if he were in a different world.
Swiftly, he grabbed the notebook, closed it, and stood up. Almost as soon as he put weight on his sleeping legs, they crumpled beneath him and he tumbled off the pile of rubble. Groaning from the bruises he had just won, he lay in the long grass for a few minutes, struggling to overcome his body's lethargy.
Tomorrow I'll take a break once in a while to keep myself alive, he decided. After a few more minutes of convincing himself that he had to get up, he gave his body a heave and sat up. Rubbing his head, Marcus searched for his notebook. It lay sprawled in the grass nearby, exposing his ideas to the wind. He quickly scooped it up, messily closed the papers inside, and set off down the hill in a jog.
Hopefully he hadn't missed supper. If the sun was already going down, it was probably about seven o'clock. His family usually ate around then. Well...he and his mom did. Marcus only saw his dad briefly once in a while, right when he was leaving or coming back from work. In fact, he would be at a loss for words if anyone ever asked him what exactly his dad looked like. Personally, Marcus wondered why anyone would work so long, especially a married man with a kid. He had come to the conclusion that his dad wasn't all that interested in them anymore.
Surprisingly, all the windows at his house were dark. Their car was gone, as well. I guess Mom hasn't come back yet. I wonder how long it's been since she left. He hopped up the front steps, avoiding the second one, which always felt like it would collapse. Swinging open the screen door, he grabbed the knob behind it. Locked. Sometimes the back door was left open, so he jumped off the porch, sending up a few flakes of faded green paint, and headed around the side of the house.
The sky grew to a dark blue, and the air swarmed with the sound of crickets. Behind the house, a few lightning bugs flashed, and the moon cast a soft glow on the back wall. Marcus carefully stepped up the concrete steps, making sure no gardening tools had been left there. The brass doorknob, covered in dried paint splotches, didn't budge.
"Crap," he muttered, giving the door a heavy whack with his knee. Unfortunately, it didn't help. The door wasn't simply jammed; it had been locked. Suddenly, a thump from inside grabbed his attention. Peering through a dirty glass windowpane in the door, Marcus struggled to get a good view past the curtains. Darkness filled the house, and he couldn't see anything inside.
Then a light turned on. He could see the doorway from the kitchen to the living room, where the front door rested. A bright yellow glow shone through, casting a light rectangle of light on the kitchen floor. Still no sign of movement existed. He decided to run around to the front of the house again and check it out; he hadn't seen or heard his mom's car arriving.
There, in the driveway, sat Marcus' rusty bicycle. His mom still hadn't come back. Then who's in the house? Marcus thought, wondering whether he should get the police. Cautiously he stepped toward the front porch, ducking low in case the robber was looking out the window. He had to be sure. It would be stupid to get the police's attention if nothing was going on. Maybe his mom had had car trouble and had walked the rest of the way home.
As Marcus crawled up the stairs, reaching over the second step, the answer came to him. What was wrong with him? They had the living room lights set on a timer. Every night at a set time, they turned on automatically.
He stood up, brushed the dirt off his jeans, and looked in the living room window. Everything rested right where it usually did, and there was no sign of anyone inside. Marcus turned around with the intent to ask if Laura's family still had his spare key. Suddenly there was a click and a long, slow creak behind him, and he jumped.
"Marcus?"
The heavy, gritty voice appeared to know his name, so Marcus slowly turned around. Standing in the doorway was the silhouette of a huge man wearing very baggy clothes. Marcus gawked at the black shape, trying to push his way through the rays of light coming at him. All he could do was stand there shielding his eyes.
Then the man closed the door, and Marcus got a good look at him. He was dressed in green canvas material, and it was almost impossible to tell his skin color, because he was completely covered in black smudges. His disgustingly messy brown hair had to be about seven feet above his torn-up boots, and it looked like he could break every scale he came across just by setting one foot on it. Marcus forgot how to speak, and simply stood rooted to the spot with a gaping mouth. It was his father.
~))(())(())(())((~
Tracy was the last customer in the grocery store. The "closed" sign had been put up, and an employee was waiting impatiently for Tracy to finish her shopping. As she entered the next aisle, she chanced a look at him to see that he was picking his nose and watching her. When he noticed that she saw him, he pretended to be fixing the cash register.
Tracy glanced at her list briefly as she grabbed the last package of bread from the shelf. Finally! This is the last thing. If I had put one more single thing into my car, I swear the tires would all explode. Being today's shopper, she had to buy things for several people from town. The long trip took a lot of gas, so the town had decided to combine shopping errands. Tracy hated shopping. If anything was lower on her list, it was stupid employees.
"Is this all?" the cashier asked mechanically. One hand punched numbers into the keypad and the other hand tapped its dirty fingernails rapidly against the counter.
"Uhh, yes," Tracy answered, eyeing the shopping cart chock-full of food products.
"Do you have any coupons?" he asked, adjusting the crooked name card that read "Jeremy" until it looked like he was about to tear the red and white striped shirt.
Tracy took the opportunity to fumble around with her purse for a few minutes to see how he would react. She tried to restrain herself from smiling as she searched for the nonexistent coupon she knew she had; it was just hiding somewhere. If there was anything good she could say about stupid employees, it was that they were fun to mess around with. After she was satisfied, she pulled out her wallet.
"How much?" Tracy questioned, shuffling through the contents of her wallet.
"Uhh, one hundred and seventy-four dollars and fourteen cents," replied the cashier after discontinuing the tapping and briefly glancing at the screen. Tracy rummaged around inside the wallet, counting each bill slowly. The cashier started tapping his fingers again. "Do you have a credit card?" he asked impatiently.
"Yes. Do you take Mastercard?" Tracy asked, slightly disappointed.
"Um, let me check," the employee mumbled, glancing around for the picture that displayed which credit cards the store accepted. "Yeah, we do."
Tracy handed him her card and he swiped it through the machine. "Weaver, Tracy" appeared on the screen. She's the one, Clarence thought. He reached out to hand back her card, looking up at the security cameras, hoping he had turned them off correctly.
~))(())(())(())((~
Marcus sat at the kitchen table, watching his dad on the other end. After having showered and washed up, Clayton Weaver didn't smell quite as bad, but the aroma of sweat and charcoal lingered in the house. Not even the scent of the frozen pizza Marcus had cooked while his dad showered was enough to lessen the odor.
His mom still hadn't come home, and it was nearly eight o'clock. In between staring at his reflection in the dark window and staring at the cooling pizza in front of him, he stared at his dad across the table. Without the dark stains all over Clayton's face, he actually reminded Marcus of a great white shark. His skin was unnaturally pale, probably from being underground so long. Muscles rippled everywhere every time he moved. Besides that, he was wolfing down pizza at an alarming rate.
"You gonna eat that?" Clayton asked, sucking the fingers of his left hand and motioning to Marcus' food with the right. Marcus pushed his plate over without a word and watched as the pizza disappeared within a few seconds. "Got anythin' else to eat?"
Marcus lethargically tipped his head in the general direction of the fridge. Clayton stood up, strode across the room - a mere two steps for him - and pulled open the rusty fridge door. Marcus resumed watching his reflection in the kitchen window. Was there any special reason his dad had come home so early that night? He was acting as though nothing was out of the ordinary.
"Well? Why you gotta be so quiet?" Clayton broke Marcus' concentration, slamming a bottle of ketchup and a leftover hamburger patty on the table.
"I dunno...I just...well...Mom's been gone for a while. I think she should've come back sooner."
"That's all?" Clayton asked, smirking. Marcus stared at him for a few seconds.
"Why are you home so early?" Marcus finally asked, glad at least to have gotten it off his mind.
"Now, that's what I was waitin' for. Well, I'll tell ya." There was a brief pause as Clayton chewed on a piece of ketchup-smothered ground beef. Marcus watched Clayton's Adam's apple bob up and down as he swallowed the lump. Out with it, thought Marcus. Finally Clayton opened his mouth. "I came to warn you."
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