I am a very stubborn girl.
As such, I have become frozen at the idea of sharing an actual story that I've completed.
I have, though, promised to share my novel Shadow Wings as I edit it.
I shall keep my promise.
I hope to blog later on what I was concentrating on when I was working on editing it.
Without further ado
Ladies and Gentlemen,
I give to you Shadow Wings, Chapter one, part one.
The sun streams in over my pillow as the curtains slowly rise.
“Time to get up.” The electronic alarm says by my head from its place on the bedside table. I groan and turn my head as I shield my eyes with my arm.
“Time to get up.” It repeats. Eight loud beeps sound by my ear, and I fling my pillow at it as I sit up. It stops.
I groan and crumble back down, curling under my blankets.
“Time to get up.” It sounds again. I sit up and glare at it. The holographic image of an alarm clock with a cheerful face grins at me.
“Good to see your face,” It says before returning to its normal function of showing the time.
“Good to see yours too,” I snidly snap back.
I scoot off the bed and feel around with my feet for the slippers mom had bought for me last night. Finding them and slipping them on, I plod towards the bathroom that was across the hall.
I look into the mirror and groan. I look like a black haired Medusa. I angrily grab my hairbrush from the counter and attacked my hair with a vengence, ignoring the horrible sounds it is making. I need to look decent. I glare back at my image.
After completing my hygene, I return to my room and change into a pair of loose jeans and an old, faded blue t shirt.
I pause for a second outside of mom and dad's door; I can hear their uninteligible voices inside, arguing. Again.
I continue to the kitchen. What would they be fighting over this time? Staying here? Do they need to buy another car part? What could possibly be wrong again?
I open the fridge, the cool air brushing my face and sending shivers up and down my back. I grab a bowl of oatmeal that mom and I had made last night and put it on a warming plater. A touch pad pops up and I type in 'oatmeal, left over'. The pad slides down to its resting place and a glass shield, shaped like half a sphere, slides over. After a minute it rolls off revealing my oatmeal, all nice and piping hot.
Using some pot holders that were hanging by the stove, I pick up my oatmeal and place it on the table.
The muffled voices raise for a moment; I strain to hear them as I poor some milk into my bowl. They lower again, and I return to my food.
It doesn't take me long to finish eating. Standing up fast with my bowl and the carton of milk, I tip over the awkward kitchen chair. Mom's head peaks in seconds later as I try to juggle my dishes and pick up the metal chair with my foot. Her stormy eyes are giving away her excitement, even though her face is strait.
“You okay, honey?” Mom asks, obvieously hiding something behind the wall.
I nod and smile at her, all the while trying to not be obvious while glancing oddly at her.
“Okay. Can you please wash what's in the sink as well as your breakfast dishes?”
I nod again.
She turns back around and walks back down the hall. Moments later the sound of arguing once again continues.
I turn to the sink; it's full of last night's dishes; we had chinese takeout.
It takes me a moment to figure out how to use the shiny high tech sink, but I have perfect warm and sudsy water soaking the dishes pretty quickly.
I splash the washcloth down into the water.
The cool autumn sun streams through the kitchen window, gleaming off of the dishwater. Voices rise again and I rub my forehead with my sudsy right hand. Why won't they ever stop?
They stop suddenly and I hear footsteps. I hurriedly scrub at the dishes in the sink.
I turn and face Dad.
“I- Well, we are-” Dad rubs his charcoal hair; it's becoming flecked with silver.
“We've decided to give you an early birthday present.” Mom calls out from their room, saving dad from anymore stuttering.
“Wait, what?” I turn completely around, feeling with my right hand for the towel.
“Well,” Dad scratchs his neck, “ We decided to give you an early birthday present.”
This doesn't sound right. As in, what?
“What?” I stare at him with my mouth still slightly open. Mom's head pops around the corner and she takes a picture of me before coming all the way into view.
“You heard him.” She said, looking at me accusingly. “Here.” She hands me the camera that she had just used.
It's a 2014 Cannon Digital, classic black and silver. It's a bit smudged, but that's to be expected from an antique.
“Thanks.” I stare at it then back up to mom and dad, my mouth unable to close all the way.
“Well, don't just stand there holding it. Go take some pictures!” Mom's grin is finally stretching from ear to ear as she takes away the towel that I have in my hand and pushes me back to my room.
I finally grin back before I run to my room. There, I sat down on my bed and scroll through the different settings, shutter speeds, filters, on and on. I spend a blissful half an hour in blessed solitude.
An ear splitting sound, something between a classic horn honk and an angry goose, comes in through the walls. I look out the window to see a neighbor pulling into his house next door in a brand new, super shiny huver car. I groan and turn away. Why oh why did we have to leave that house in Crawford, Minnesota?
The sunlight filters in through the light, summer curtains. I stare at it as it plays patterns on the rich, plain brown rug. I look outside again and grin.
The bus stop.
Yesterday, when we'd first arived, I'd noticed that by the bus stop was a small area full of trees with a little pond and one park bench. It seemed very out of place after seeing all of the tall city buildings, but it was still very quaint, even appearing beautiful, with the changing colors of the leaves. Basically a hidden park.
After digging around for a few minutes, I find my creativity bag with my creative journal and coloring pencils and pastels. Pausing for a minute by my semi-unpacked suit case, I quickly unbury one of my favorite sweaters and hurry down the hall.
I peer into the open door of my parents room, but it's empty. The bed nicely made, and everything. After a few minutes of searching, I find mom on the porch swing fiddling with a book.
She looked up, her brow furrowing.
“I'm going down to the bus stop to take some pictures.” I grin excitedly.
Mom tries to smile, but her eyes aren't in it.
“Well, um-” For once, mom isn't giving a straight answer. She looks over my shoulder as I feel the weight of a hand on my shoulder.
“We'd like it better if you stayed within sight.”
Dad's breath makes the loose whisps of my hair move. I turn and grin at him.
“I'm always careful, dad. Besides, I have the spray.” I open the flap of my bag to reveal a can of hornet spray. “I'm prepared.”
I turn and head down the porch steps.
“Be safe.” Mom says.
I turn and shake my head as I walk backwards.
“I'm prepared, Mom!” I wave and turn around, breathing in the sharp clean air.
Oh, the beauty of Autumn! The air, the colors, the crunching leaves. I stop my musing suddenly when I almost ran into a light post. Taking out my new camera, I started to capture the beautiful mixes of golds, browns, and greens of the trees changing colors.
“NO!” Mom's scream pierces the air like a knife.
The entire chapter is ten pages long, and I only posted five.
I'll post the second half tomorrow!
Comments are gladly accepted!
Keep on Writing!