I think I'll tell you a bit about my writing and myself– I WANT TO RECIVE CONSTRUCITVE CRTISIM. Yes, I would LOVE to have your praise and comments about how much you like the story, but I also want to grow as a writer. No, writing is not necessarily a career choice for me, but it is something that I strive to hone. In all actuality, I want to be a special effects make-up artist. My father is soon buying me materials for it, so if I ever do work on it, I'll put a link up so you can critique that too. If you are a grammar nazi, please, please, please tell me where I err. I only want to improve! On with the show!
Songs of the Chapter (This may have nothing to do with it, it's just fun :3):
Help I'm Alive by Metric
S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W by My Chemical Romance
Right Before My Eyes by Cage the Elephant (LISTEN TO IT! RIGHT MEOW!)
Whatsername by Green Day
2024 by Cage the Elephant
CHAPTER ONE: IN WHICH ADRIANA FINDS A NEW HOME.
It was old.
It was horridly brown.
It was gaudy.
It was falling apart.
It was secluded.
It was infested.
It was my childhood.
It was perfect.
I gazed upon the three-story farm house in a partial awe; I knew the place as if I had just skipped out to get a carton of milk or something, like I had never left. The mundane feeling of coming here every summer lingered in the back of my mind as my eyes bore into the brown wooden paneling, but there was a new feeling to associate with – the reviving thought of a place to recuperate and start anew.
"Uh... $18.95." I spun on my heels, being wrenched from the euphoric stupor.
"What?" I somnolently replied. The middled-aged taxi driver's hand stretched out to receive payment. "Oh, um..." I dug around my pockets for the proper bills. "I hope you have change," I pulled out a crumpled $20 and offered it to the slightly withered, thinned hand. His palm clamped onto it with great haste. "So?"
"No change." He didn't bother to look at me as he placed his hand back on the wheel and sped back down the dirt road, beige dust billowing behind each wheel. I couldn't blame the man – I had forced the poor guy to drive forty miles into the middle of the Washington boondocks. Placing the lost change at the back of my mind, I turned once more to face the disaster of a fixer-upper that I found myself smiling before.
Every summer of my childhood I came here, right until the summer I turned 18. My precautionary parents, Simona and Carlo, were wary of sending me off into the world unsupervised for even a few minutes without someone nearby that was aware of me. That narrowed it down to my mother, my father, and my decrepit grandmother Maria.
I was born 1989, June 21st, 2:28 am in Biddeford, Maine – That's important. That's the summer solstice of that year. Because of the wretched sun, I was forced to hide in the shadows. No friends, no school (private or not), no concerts, no public parks, no malls, no restaurants, no movies, nothing. I was home schooled, so Simona and Carlo got sick of dealing with me all year and entrusted me to Maria during the summers. Don't get me wrong, I love the gray-haired woman to death, but she had her bouts of senility. She rambled on and on about her backyard, and how important it was to keep the garden weeded. If there was a lone blade of grass after I tended to the flower bed, she would make a scene. She claimed that she needed it proper for "company". If a man who is getting paid to drive me out here was reluctant, then I imagine that any friend the elder had would be only slightly less nettled to come out for a leisurely visit.
The house that I called home 90 days of the year was in less of a stable state. Maria was left us this February – winter, my least favorite season of course – leaving her humble abode abandoned in the woods. Some of the windows had been shattered by wind and hail, the front door hanging off the hinges, moss and ivy climbed up the westernmost wall. The medium brown paint chipped everywhere and stray shingles lay here and there, discarded off the roof. The once meticulously nurtured garden was overrun by weeds of every sort; dandelions, grasses, daises...
Pushing the uneven door inside the frame I crossed the threshold. Though the outside was the most heinous shade of brown, the inside was tranquil and bright. The walls were all painted with muted greens, blues, yellows, purples and whites - Her house kept the same color scheme as her coveted garden.
Suddenly there was a deafening crack under my right foot. "Yeep!" I shrieked as my leg plummeted four inches. The initial shock warmed my hands, glowing, setting the very tips ablaze.
"Calm..." I cooed to myself like one would a baby. The fire died out as I watched my makeshift thermometer's needle lower from 745.8 Fahrenheit down to a more 'natural' 124.3 degrees. When I was 15 I had rigged a temperature gauge to an old wristband. It had proved useful seeing as I was never sure weather or not I was out of the 'danger zone'. I had to be well under 200 degrees before settling down, or I risked spiking again. To ensure a minimum temperature, I kept myself pretty scantily clad. Today I had on white short-shorts and a red and white bandeau top that was fashioned to look like a big bow.
The room looked like it had been inhabited by odd-shaped ghosts, for all of the furniture had been covered with sheets. The space held the scent of pine and rosemary - Grandma Marie always grew it in her windowsills. I drew in the warmth of the memories of freshly made focaccia bread, gnocchi, hazelnut gelato, and espresso. The elderly Italian woman's hands produced some of my best childhood memories, most of them being at her kitchen table.
I strode over the fireplace, running a single fingertip over the mantle. It was covered in dust and pollen, drifted in from the window left open under the overhang. My hand lingered for a moment, letting my mind linger on reminiscing about the ever-present fire she burned for me, which was now reduced to nothing more than a pile of ash and debris.
Leaving the memories for another day, I turned.
Time to get to work.
I moved around the room, eyeing the sheet-veiled masses before me. I carefully stripped each piece of furniture in the expansive room, an assortment of beige couches and chairs, baby blue french tables, a towering german grandfather lock, expansive bookcases. Grandmother Maria had a passion for mythology, and the zeal had skipped me and passed onto my younger sister Tazia. I made a mental note to send the plethora of literature to her.
In Maria's will, she left my mother (her daughter) things like jewelry, dolls, pots and pans, cookbooks... To my sister she had left all her books, and to me, literally everything else. The house and everything inside now belonged to me. All that I had to do was relinquish the books to Tazia. I didn't care much - I had read each of these a thousand times over in my youth – but there was no reason not to skim them over once more before sending them to the little wannabe-necromancer.
When I was satisfied with myself, I trekked up the two flights of stairs to my old bedroom, just past guest bedroom Grandma Marie always kept around for her 'company'. Why company would need a full medical kit in the closet I never discerned.
My bedroom had not changed a bit. Yes, it was dusty and all the furniture had been covered by white canvases and spare bedsheets, but everything was exactly in place. Even my old stuffed bunny laid exactly where I had left her on my bed. That being the one thing not sheltered by cloth, it was a inviting as ever, especially after two plane rides and a long taxi ride straight after. The distended sections of the comforter deflated with a light, airy sound. I closed my eyes to rest, but soon let the darkness of dreams consume me...
A blindingly bright light cascaded into the windows, rudely stirring me from my sleep. Just a car passing, I told myself.
...Car?
I shot up like a rocket and my gauge rose accordingly to at least 220. The lazy afternoon had turned into a moonless night while I slept. If a car was here, it was either some lost passerby or an ax murderer. For their sake, I would prefer the latter.
I sat there for a few moments, waiting for anything from a vociferous bang or even the slightest of creeks from the shabby steps. Being dissatisfied after a few minutes, I gathered the courage to leave the sanctity of the sheets swaddling me. As I left the room and descended the stairs, I kept my hands ready to ignite at the slightest perception of movement.
I made my way to the ground floor without being stabbed, which was a good sign, if anything. Moving with my back against the walls, I crept towards the front door. I paused with my hand on the doorknob, fully turned. It took a good thirty seconds of deep breathing until I mustered the gall to push.
Nothing.
No car, no ax murderer, not even a bomb was left on the doorsill. I sighed at my own doltishness, closing the door and walking away. It must have been part of my dream. I nodded in agreement with myself. I was about to place my foot on the first step of the stairs until comprehension dawned upon me – My windows face the backyard.
I bolted to the back door and yanked it open to reveal the eden of tall grass and irises. No longer concerning myself with being given away, I let my left hand go fully ablaze. My eyes combed the perimeters of the monstrous garden to no avail. Which was why I blew up my other hand too. Never assume the best, Grandmother Marie warned. Her raspy, aged voice rang in my mind with great authority. I moved a few meters forward, constantly turning every which way, scanning my perimeters. A few more steps backwards...
Nothing. Again.
I lowered my arms in exasperation, waving out the fire. You let your imagination run away with you too much Adriana, my father's voice scolded. Stop that.
With a tired sigh I looked up at the old house. Peering at the roof slightly, the chimney looked like it was falling apart. Really? One more thing to fix? I took one step back to get a wider view and-
"Mmp!" I toppled over, my back hitting a rock and my calves resting on something... soft? I begrudgingly lifted my head to peer the cushy enigma.
My jaw fell and my breath caught.
A man.
A man was underneath my legs.
I scrambled to get back up on my feet, either to get away from him or to get a better look I did not know. Was he dead? His strange leather attire combined with be shade of darkness prevented me from getting a clear view of his chest.
"Nnnn..." A slight groan escaped the dark personage. Alive, I sighed with relief. So there wasn't a serial killer coming back to bury his carcass. Good. I tentatively watched him for a moment, waiting for anything to happen next. He was lean with graceful features and a scalp full of night-black hair. Good as well – a blazing fist to the face would take out my possible assailant and ignite his hair at the same time, which could buy me time to run...
But there was nothing. His eyes twitched now and then, but otherwise he remained faultlessly asleep. Internally I debated my options. I could let him sleep here until morning, but then he would undoubtedly come to the house in the morning. I could call the authorities, but if he might wake up and jump me before they could get here.
He could be completely harmless. The very thought intrigued me. I crouched down and pushed a few stray clumps of hair away from his face, revealing a rather winsome man, more beautiful than I had realized standing away from him.
Harmless, Adriana. Just a harmless man.
I hated myself sometimes. I stood and did a few precautionary stretches and stood over his head. Both arms lay at his sides, as if he simply chose that spot to nap in. I put either hand under his armpits and pulled. Fuck, he's heavy. Setting him back down gently, I pondered what could be done to ease the load.
I stripped him of his cloak (which was quite the endeavor), as well as his boots and arm... cuff... things. Placing my hands under him again, I found it only slightly easier.
"God damn it dude, what do you eat?" I groaned. We moved about 15 feet until I finally dragged him to the door. The two of us got in with little trouble, the only difficult part was getting him upstairs. Every step received two thumps of his feet, a resounding groan from myself, and an eerie creak. I had climbed all 28 steps up to the third floor guest room. Setting him down on the low bed, I took to the closet to look for the big black medical bag. After some rigorous digging, the bag initialed "M. I. D." emerged, its contents spilling out, gasping for air.
I zipped it back up, plopping myself down onto the ramshackle two foot stool next to the bed and looked over my new guest.
First came the head. With one hand I tilted his face up, down, and to the left. There were no visible contusions, but damn it was he cold. Perhaps it was my being not used to other people, but I did hold my mother's had when I was young, and she was not nearly that cold.
The touch of his icy skin was followed by a pin-drop 'plink'. My... The gauge's needle dropped all the way to the left. That meant I (or at least my wrist) was at an aberrant 100 degrees.
I withdrew my fingers from his chin and cupped them with my other hand, keeping my eyes locked on the gauge. Slowly the needle trickled up to 105, 115, 120... Then back to normal. Looking back at the anomalous figure sleeping in the bed my brow frowned with... Well I don't know what. Confusion I suppose. Fear loomed within the cocktail of emotions. And most definitely, there was the bewilderment of being cold.
The fear and confusion were far more prominent than my inquisitiveness.
He'll be fine. I reassured myself. I took down two more blankets from the closet and carefully laid it on top of the initial three.
With one last worried and indecisive look, I moved down the hall to my own room and let slumber take hold once more.
The dim sunlight shone through the trees and the window's sheer white curtains, making the light play on my eyelids. I smiled – I was always a morning person. The ever-present ball of flame in the sky came up to greet me and instantaneously gave me a revitalizing sense of warmth. As the morning gleam stirred me, the reality of the night before came to mind.
I shot up from the bed and ran to the guest room as quickly and quietly as possible, limiting my breathing. I trotted on the balls of my feet and my toes barely made contact with the cold wooden floor. Tension showed through my hans when I finally reached his door - The metal door knob started to glow under my hand.
Would my... Visitor be awake, I wondered? It might not hurt to bring in a peace offering of some sort first, like pancakes or something. Hell, for all I know, he may have just crashed in my field on purpose.
Whilst lost in my deranged ponderings, the knob had slipped my mind completely. As the intensity of my daydreams rose, so did the heat of my hands.
SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSST...
I yanked my arm away from the glowing metal clump. This house was older than me, and here I go, leaving everything in my wake a pile of rubble and molten iron. I fanned the bit of metal with my hands to no avail. I placed my hand back on the handle gingerly. Either I start learning how to control myself, or...
I shook the demons away – I tended not to think about that. Control was of the essence. That was all that needed to be said.
My eyes locked on the motionless door in front of me. Again, I found myself wondering if the man was awake. I leaned my body close to the door, pressing one ear squarely to the wooden blockade. My eyes shut to heighten my sense of hearing.
.
.
.
huffft...
.
.
.
haahss...
I smiled at my own ignorance. The man was only asleep. Out of the corner of my eye I could clearly see the needle on the gauge drop about 150 degrees. I ran a hand through my hair and turned the handle.
I budged the door open as quietly as I could, but a few squeaks still escaped the hinges. Another thing to do -oil all the hinges...
The man laid in practically the same position that I had left him a few hours before. Creeping a few feet close, I found my breath caught. He was so... perfect. Even with the few scratches on his face that I had missed in the dim the night before, he was absolutely astounding. I swallowed, focusing at the task at hand. Previously, it seems, I had overlooked a rather large cut on the right side of his forehead, as well as a few on his left hand. They all looked quite dirty.
I sat myself back down on the stool, my hands diving into the black bag. The cotton balls were conveniently atop all the other contents, but the peroxide required a bit of digging. When I finally got my hands on the brown and white bottle, I dampened a single cotton ball and hesitated for a moment before pressing the wettish clump to his face. The hydrogen peroxide fizzed at the touch of the grime, oxidizing the slash. The stranger's nose twitched in what I could only describe as mild annoyance.
I swallowed the remnants of my fear and continued along the rest of the gash. Once I was finished that one, I moved around to his left side, lifting his hand – Which swiftly clamped onto my wrist with great force.
Never wake a sleeping frost giant Adriana! With that said, this, my friends, is where I take my leave. It's late and I've made myself too many pumpkin spice lattes for my own good.
Concerning the length of the chapters – The chapter length corresponds to how much inspiration I have., and how many pages it says I have written on open office. I'll strive for a minimum of 5 pages. I'll try to make them as long as I can, but right now they will be a bit shorter than I would like. When there's more dialogue, there will be so much more writing :3
Concerning reviews – I'll try to respond to as many as I can (assuming I get any) at the end of each chapter. I have enabled anonymous reviewing, so feel free to send me your feedback!
By the way, I'm so sorry if I come out a bit too stiff... I actually don't talk with such eloquence around normal people... nor do I say the word eloquence -_-'. Please feel free to be as crazy as you can with the reviews!