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 Posted: Tue Mar 13, 2007 8:41 pm
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"Come on, you can't possibly believe that garbage."
"Actually, I can. And I do. So there."
"But why? It's stupid!"
"You're stupid, stupid."
"That wasn't fair."
"Your mom wasn't fair last night."
I glared at the girl slouching on the couch beside me. "Tabitha, I should smack you for being a totally pretentious and obnoxious fool."
"Mary, I don't care," Tabitha sniffed, throwing her green hair over one shoulder. But it was all an act. Both our eyes gleamed with the joy of playacting arguments, and especially with the joy of insulting one another.
"Hey, any more brownies?" Tabitha asked me, suddenly leaning forward and peeking around my head. She reached out and pushed me back, snatching a blue and red brownie from the platter. I sputtered as she greedily stuffed it in her mouth, regardless of the many crumbs that fell on her Roman style green toga.
"Jerk!" I sputtered, and, sighing, grabbed a brownie for myself. Nibbling on its silver corner, I realized it was my favorite flavor; cherry.
The television, long ignored, laughed at us and continued to act out a scene from Hamlet. Stupid television pansies. Always laughing and sneering... Well, the Shakespear channel was always a bit more pompous than the rest. The History channel was humble, so I clicked my fingers and happily saw that they were going over the Dark Ages.
"Bah! I've seen enough of those times!" Tabitha cried, throwing her tan arms in the air. Clicking her own fingers, she changed it to the Music channel.
"Hey!" I shrilled, more upset of my authority as Supreme Creator and Controller of This Damn Mind than of the change. I pulled out the simple gold circlet from Tabitha's bright hair and leapt to my feet, charging out the door. She roared in surprise and gave chase, her sandaled feet making strange slapping sounds against the tiles.
I ran through the living room into the garden, weaving in and out of the wild tangle of plants and bushes. Knowing this was Tabitha's one true weakness, I smiled to myself and hid behind a rose bush, the circlet clasped in my hand.
She slowed to a trot, then stopped completely when she saw I had dissapeared. Turning on the spot, she raised a hand to her eyes and tried to see through the thick plant life. Instead, she saw a little strugging lavender plant that was in the shadow of a great sunflower. Cooing, Tabitha bent down and began to help it grow, sliding her hands into the loose rich earth and near the roots.
I left her to her work, sneaking through the garden and through a doorway. It led to a kitchen, one of many in this sprawling mansion.
The Dragon was already there, turning on the gas stove and setting it alight with his hot breath. When I came in he started and whirled about, waving a spatula. His teeth were bared; Dragon was very protective of his beloved kitchens.
"Oh, it's you, Mary," he said, lowering the deadly spatula and going back to his work. "How's it going?" He smiled at me. No one else besides him was allowed to work in this particular kitchen, and no one else besides me was allowed to taste his work first.
I peered around his side- he was too tall for me to look over his shoulder- and watched Dragon deftly break an egg with one claw and let its contents spill out onto the hot pan.
"Good. Just running from Tabitha." Remembering the circlet, I jammed it on my head and went on through the kitchen, making sure to snitch an apple on my way past.
Ambling through the rest of the mansion, I ate my nicely crisp apple and waved to any creature who greeted me. Sea Monster was trying hard to drag a dresser into the Water Dorm. Gladly, I helped him. The Monster had helped me last summer with a particularly nasty group of fish, so it was the least I could do.
As usual, the Rambling Mansion was alive with the bustle of activity. Besides Sea Monster, several other humans and creatures were getting ready for the great feast that would be on the first day of summer. Octopus were maticulously hanging up decorations, birds were flitting here and there with messages, and the Magical folk were putting their whole souls into it. If Tabitha had been here, she would've been helping the Gnomes with their task of the floral decoration. She hated fake, fabric plants, so all had to be real. After all, she was my first Creation, and as good as second in command.
My second Creation, however, was tapping my arm with an impaitent look on his face.
"What is it Sam?" I asked, aware that the red line tattoos spread along his arms were writhing in aggitation, many turning into fighting people. I guessed a disturbance.
"The Fergellis are at it again," he sighed wearily, and, taking my hand, led me to the two-headed sheep.
The size of a horse at the shoulder and with wool that changed color according to moods, the Fergellis were definately out there. It didn't help that one head always disagreed with the other, and therefore, their color changing fur would explode with contradicting and eye pricking colors.
Right now, they were circled by wincing but fancinated creatures as they dueled out their latest brawl.
"You're an empty headed fool, Brother Tempest!" Brother Calmmes bawled out, swiveling his head around in an attemp to butt his brother.
"I see no reason to get upset," replied Brother Tempest calmly, "Other than you're wrong, I'm right, and we better stop this now because Mary is here."
The creatures, many slacking Dwarves who found their duty to be finished, slunk away as I came into the ballroom. Sam was at my side, somehow making his simple knee-length red toga seem like the finest cloth. I was proud of my Sam, liking his tattoos and his high cheekbones, dark skin taunt and youthful. But, in reality, he was a magical creature and way beyond my fourteen years. Or, whatever reality there could be.
"Brother Tempest, Brother Calmmes, explain yourselves," I said coldly.
The giant sheeps looked sheepish, shuffling their hooves and looking every where except to me.
"Brother Tempest said that you wanted orange punch for the feast," Brother Calmmes said sulkily. He glared at his brother and nipped his ear.
"Ow! Brother Calmmes said that orange punch was pathetic and mango was better," Brother Tempest said in a whining voice, nipping his brother back.
When their voices started to rise, I shouted, "HEY!"
They looked to me.
"Orange is good, and mango is good... So why not orange-mango?"
The Fergellis looked astonished at this. "Really?" Brother Tempest sputtered. "Together like that? But what if-"
"At the winter feast we had strawberry-kiwi. Didn't that taste good? Orange-mango is a delicious combination, so get to stepping. And I forbid you two to argue until after the feast."
The Fergellis changing wool turned gray with embarassment. "Yes, Mary," they muttered together, and shuffled away.
Sam sighed. "I say," he drawled, "What an opinionated pair."
"That's how I made them," I replied with a smile. Reluctant to continue working, as they had liked their break, severl octupi slunk across the floor to work on the mantle of the fireplace.
"MARY!" someone shouted, making Sam and I turn. It was Tabitha, the knees of her deep green toga stained with dirt and her hair tossed by the wind. There was dirt up to her elbow, and she looked a bit pleased despite her sour expression. "You give me back my-" Then she noticed Sam was there.
"Oh. Hello. How're you, Sam?" she asked, blushing like any soft maiden and holding a hand up to her lips. Like a proper nobleman's child. But, realizing that her hands were dirty, she clasped them behind her back.
"I am very well, thank you, Tabitha," Sam replied, bowing. Tabitha blushed further, her tan cheeks turning slightly green as is befitting of all minor Earth goddesses.
She and Sam continued to talk, and, smiling, I took the circlet off my head and left it on hers. She barely noticed that it was crooked, choosing to smile with what I imagined she hoped to be charming, seductive, and innocent at the same time.
I wandered outside to a ballroom balcony that over looked the grounds. The wind made my own blue toga flap around my ankles; the fine clothing and it's matching red shawl was made by Runner and her boyfriend, the Biker Knight. Never tell him I said that, though. The Knight would denounce it thoroughly, to be sure.
The Dwarves were back to their work, different clans spotted by their different colors of pointed hats. Their cousins, the Gnomes, helped them set up tables and long benches, as the first part of the feast was to be held outside. Already servants and volunteers- mainly the Wood Sprites, they're so helpful- were beginning to spread cloth over the tables. I could see the shimmer of the multi-colored thread from here, two stories above.
I looked to the sky. It was flawlessly blue, with the deep tinges of sapphire, and the sun and moon were out. They were coming to rest beside each other as they did every turn of seasons.
As I cheered on a foot race against a Wolf and his friend Snow Lepoard, I was aware of a strange feeling. Ah! There it is again!
"Mary!" someone called. "Mary!"
No! Not now! Never! You shall never take me alive, you no good dirty rotten-
***************************************************
Mary awoke with a start, so startled that she slipped off her bed and onto the floor. Realitively speaking, it wasn't so far, seeing as she had been hanging half off the double wide bed in the first place.
She groaned and rolled over, pressing her face to the cool, comforting carpet.
"Mary," someone said sharply. She felt them dig their foot into her back. "It's time for school. Get up."
A door opening and then closing. Mary was alone.
She waited there for a few minutes, her red pajama top damp against her back from sweat. Sweat from what? She couldn't exactly remember her dream, but it was good. Not like the nightmares she sometimes had.
Finally, Mary stood, groaning again and stretching. Turning to the closet, she exchanged her red pajama shirt and her blue pajama pants for a simple pair of jeans and a T-shirt. It wasn't till she was tying up her shoelaces that everything came back to her.
She sat back, musing. Strange dream, but good nonetheless. Then did she spy an empty notebook thrown carelessly in her closet. Smiling, Mary took up a pen and began to write.
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Posted: Wed Mar 14, 2007 7:57 pm
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Posted: Thu Mar 15, 2007 2:06 pm
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Posted: Thu Mar 15, 2007 8:28 pm
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WildWildWindWhisperer Vice Captain
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Posted: Mon Mar 19, 2007 5:58 pm
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Posted: Tue Mar 20, 2007 4:30 pm
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Whatever the teacher was saying, it was lost on two girls as they looked toward the back of the classroom and giggled. The two were a complete match, both with blonde hair and blue eyes and not even related. They were also best friends and the tyrants of any female at Harbor High School.
They giggled again.
The one on the right, Jessica, turned to her classmate and hissed, "What's she doing?"
"Damned if I know," her classmate, Samantha, hissed back. They both turned and stared at Mary Catherine Richards, holding back laughs.
Mary was oblivious. Furiously for the past two days she had been writing in her notebook, the different inks and pens of the many hours blending together in a sort of blur to her. Her fingers were even stained with the ink of several pens and the lead of pencils. But, again, all of this went unnoticed. Her dream and getting it down as fast as possible was more important.
For a halting moment, the racing images in her mind's eye stopped; Mary sat back and examined her work, letting out a loud sigh.
"So far I'm done," she murmured. It was only then that Mary noticed the drone of the teacher was gone. She looked up, her green eyes as wide as a deer in the headlights.
Mrs. Walbrick was staring right back at her, along with the rest of the class.
"Ms. Richards," she purred, the mole above her lip twitching, "care to share with the class what the main economy of America was during the 1900s?" Her lip curled, dark eyes growing hard with contempt. The two things Mrs. Walbrick hated most were slackers and hippies. Seeing as hippies have been on the decline, slackers were more often than not at the attention of the ninth grade history teacher.
Mary's mind drew a blank.
Trying to keep her face from burning, she shrugged. Her notebook was closed as discreetly as possible and slid under the desk. But, unfortunately, Mrs. Walbrick noticed the blue cover slipping out of sight.
"Give me that!" she cried, moving forward with her hand out reached. The very sight of it made Mary's heart ache.
She shook her head.
"Mary, give me that notebook!"
She shook her head again. Give up her notebook? No way! Mary clutched it to her chest. Her heart seemed to be beating a little fast.
Samantha Williams jumped up, her blonde hair bouncing on her back. Her blue eyes radiated with cruel joy.
"I'll get it!" she trilled, and, lunging forward, snatched the book out of Mary's hands.
"Give that back!" Mary cried, standing awkwardly. But she felt helpless as Samantha scurried away and handed the precious treasure over to the teacher. Samantha turned to her and grinned like a vixen who just got the prized chicken.
Mrs. Walbrick flipped through the filled pages, occasionally stopping and reading a passage. One she read aloud to the class.
"'The Dragon was already there, turning on the gas stove and setting it alight with his hot breath. When I came in he started and whirled about, waving a spatula. His sharp teeth were bared; Dragon was very protective of his beloved kitchen. While several servants moved in and out of the little room with supplies, none touched his equipment or messed with his recipes. To do so would mean a very harsh treatment.'"
She left off and looked up, her lips twisted in a mirthless smile.
"Splendid, Mary," Mrs. Walbrick said, closing the notebook with as much a snap as it would allow, "That you've taken the time to write about dragons and their love for cooking. It's absolutely delightful. In fact, I believe the principal would love it even more."
She slammed the book on the desk.
"No!" Mary cried. She raised a hand to her lips when Mrs. Walbrick glared.
"Yes," the teacher growled. "Get your things."
Mary gathered her books and papers slowly, stuffing everything in her school bag and straightening her denim jacket. Walking to the front, she held up her chin and tried to remain with as much dignity as possible. The class was silent. Richards never got in trouble. She was the one to sit in the back and doodle all day and still get straight A's. Not detentions. Wait till the rest of the school hears.
Just as she passed Jessica and Samantha's desk, one of the two stuck out their leg in the isle. With her head held high for dignity, Mary hadn't noticed and promptly tripped.
She barely caught herself on the edge of the teacher's desk, throwing off a few papers and the styrofoam cup that held the cold remains of Mrs. Walbrick's coffee. It splashed against the floor and, unfortunately, a good amount made it on the back of her jacket. It seeped through the supposedly thick material and made Mary's simple T-shirt stick to her back.
Jessica and Samantha were beside themselves. While the rest of the class refused to laugh, they rolled in their seats with absolute joy. Jessica even began to snort uncontrolably. Mrs. Walbrick did nothing except bark at Mary for making a mess.
She straightened and snatched up her notebook, whirling around to give the loudest laugher- Jessica- a good punch in the nose. Jessica screamed while Mary ran out the door, her bag bouncing against her hip and her green eyes streaming with tears.
"Goddamnit, why'd you have to go and do a thing like that?" Mary muttered to herself, kicking a pebble viciously. Her dark hair had fallen out of it's customary single braid and she had done nothing to replace it. Her face, tear stained, was screwed up in a mask of self contempt.
"Damn Jessica and Samantha. Now they're going to go cry to their daddies and the principal will get on in it, and, damn Mary, you'll just get in trouble on a bigger scale."
She kicked another pebble. It skittered off the sidewalk into the street.
After punching Jessica and running out of the school- a few students in the hall just gave her an odd look- Mary ran for a good five blocks towards the south part of town. On the sixth block, she sat in the shadow of an abandoned house's porch and panted, catching her breath, before getting up and starting to walk west. (Luckily she hadn't run east; that was the bad part of town.) As her town was set in a grid pattern, it was actually quite easy to follow. But Mary had no intentions of being reasonable. Instead, she ran and walked in short bursts, cursing loudly- though in her mind- and kicking anything that came under foot.
She kicked another pebble, a pinecone, and a skittering candy wrapper. While trying to successfully kick the last object, Mary lost her balance and fell on her bottom. It hurt quite a lot. She fell back the rest of the way, her arms and legs spread out like the Virtuvian man. Her bag was bunched uncomfortably at her side. She didn't want to move it.
She lay on her back for a good five minutes, staring up at the sky and staying silent. Everything had to go wrong, didn't it? Just when she thought life was getting better after her father went away...
Her stomach gave protest to the lack of food.
"Had to run out before lunch, too," she growled.
But at least there was a single bit of luck today. Seeing as it was pizza day at school- and both Mary and her mother knew that the school pizza wasn't fit for dogs- Mary had brought her own lunch. Though probably squashed, a sandwhich, a small bag of pretzels, and a juice box were in her school bag. She sat up now and looked around for a good place to eat.
Her frantic running and angered walking had brought Mary to the town park. As it was still during school hours, the park was lonely. The swings creaked in the breeze and the slide shivered, and the teeter-totter groaned in reply. What more, the town park had a thick wood nearby. Despite the warm, bright day, they remained menacing in the daylight. There was a strange wooden fence before to discourage anyone from going inside, as many a child had no camping skills and couldn't get their way out. There were several breaks in the fence, though. Useless, in Mary's mind.
Well, something is better than nothing.
Mary stood- groaning a little- and trotted over to the jungle gym. Chaotic and sprawling, the brightly colored metal and plastic of the jungle gym gave plenty of room for a lone girl's meal.
She had climbed up a twisting ladder, tramped over rising platforms, and crawled through three shaking tubes before Mary was satisfied with her position. At the very top of the jungle gym under the hood of the biggest slide. Letting her legs rest on the slide itself, Mary took her meager lunch out of her bag and began to eat.
Her spot also made sure she faced the woods. Staring into the deep depths and the terrifying trees, Mary chewed mechanically and thought about her situation.
Mother was a sweet lady, but the one thing to bring about her rage was disobediance. Mary had learned long ago to do what Mom said and ask questions later. But what would Mom do when she heard about Mary running out of the school?
Flip out.
The principal of Harbor High was a mustached-macho-hairy chest kind of guy. He used to be the school's football coach, way back in the Dark Ages. Now he stomps around the halls and barks at people. What would he do when presented with Mischief Mary?
Flip out.
Mary was a creative sort of girl, with a mind for the impossible and a tendency to screw up homework with doodles (but still get a good grade). What would she do when she realized what trouble she was in?
Flip out.
She glanced at her bag- the strap still around her shoulders- and glared at the notebook she knew was inside. If she hadn't had that damned dream she wouldn't be here huddled at the top of a bloody slide and wolfing down a lunch. No, she'd be at school like a good little girl and making sure her Mommy didn't think she was a stupid idiot. Mary was beginning to hate that dream, despite the amazing feeling she had while in it.
What more, she felt herself becoming more than a little obsessed with the dream. She would run it over and over in her mind until ever little detail- from the aruging sheep to the tall, silent boy at her side- was burned into her brain. At night she found herself thinking hard and begging any god that cared to listen to make that dream real or, at least, let her dream it again. It was better than the boredom she had to live with here.
Mary groaned and began to bang her head against the side of the slide. Finding that to be most unpleasant, she stopped. But, from her position of being sprawled at the top of the slide in dispair, something caught her eye. It was a police car, the lights on top flashing but the siren off, with a woman hanging out the passenger seat window and hollering into a megaphone.
"Mary!" she kept calling with a note of boredom in her voice. "Mary! Mary! Mary!"
Good God! They sent out the police on her!
It was temperarily forgotten that the slide probably would've hid her. Mary stuffed the rest of her sandwich and the rest of her untouched meal in the plastic bag it came in. Sliding down, she reached the bottom of the slide and took off running, her bag once more bouncing against her back and her lunch threatening to escape her grasp.
The woman yelped and got in the car and the sirens were on. The driver hit the accelerator and sped towards the park, the woman bouncing in her seat. While handcuffs weren't anticipated in the first place, they might be needed now judging by the way Mary was running.
But Mary was heading for a place they couldn't get the squad car through.
She darted between a gap in the supposedly protective fence. Reaching the line of trees, Mary crashed through, running as fast as her tired legs could manage. She kept glancing over her shoulder, catching faint glimpses of the two policepeople getting out of their car and running after her. She ran harder.
It escaped her notice that the undergrowth jumped aside before she reached it and slunk back into place once she was past, or that tree branches lifted themselves above her head and never sought to catch at her jacket, bag, or nearly horizontal hair. She only ran, feeling like a deer in the midst of a hunt.
When Mary saw that the trees before her were beginning to thin out, she cried out in joy. Yes! The street! The otherside! She could go home! Maybe. Depending.
But when Mary reached the edge, finally stumbled, and fell to the ground, what she saw wasn't Century Avenue with its bustling traffic and several fast food joints with their fatty fast food food. Instead, she saw a sprawling mansion that must have been at least seven stories tall and a mile wide. It had a faintly Roman feel to it, as it was made almost like a bunch of Colleseums stacked on top of one another. Towers towering, fountains splashed, birds trilled in the forest-like gardens, and creatures of all shapes, all sizes, all sorts of beings strode about the yards and talked and laughed and sparred and gave chase to comrades.
A girl was walking towards Mary, looking to be about the same age. Her green hair was long and hanging to her knees, her Roman style toga a darker shade of green, rose vines and their blossoms twined around her arms and through her hair and shivering with the joy of being picked for the minor Earth goddess's plant pet for the day. Honey bees buzzed lazily about her hair, where the plants grew in abundance, and she batted them away with her face with a gentle paitence.
Tabitha grinned. "Hello," she said. "How's it going, Mary?"
All of this was lost on Mary. She had fainted.
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Posted: Tue Mar 20, 2007 5:07 pm
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Posted: Thu Mar 22, 2007 12:37 pm
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This next installment is great. I have a few critiques, however.
First:
I like your inclusion of a section from the previous chapter. However, I think it's a little long. If the people that are going to be reading this bit have already read the last bit, they don't need to read several paragraphs over. You should shorten it down a bit.
Second:
A few paragraph after this, you tell about MAry knocking coffee off Mrs. Walbrick's desk. You state, "It splashed against the floor and against Mary." This sentence isn't worded as well as it could be. First of all, I've never heard "splashed against" so the words don't seem to flow well together. Second, using "against" twice there is repetitive.
Third:
Later you say: "Mary had only the faintest clue where she was, but I'll tell you on a more informed level." Never refer to yourself as the author as "I" unless you plan on doing it consistently and making the author figure a part of the story (example: Lemony Snicket). The sentence is unnecessary, really, because after that, you only describe the immediate area that Mary can see. I suggest taking it out entirely.
Fourth:
After, you say, "Mary lost her balance and fell right on her a**." Maybe it's just me, but this doesn't sound very professional.
Fifth:
Later, you describe the slide in one paragraph aas being made of brightly colored plastic. Then you go on to call it "bloody" with out ever have given an explanation as to why it was bloody. That threw me off a bit.
Sixth:
I'm not sure how realistic sending the police out to find a truant student is . . . Prove me wrong if it happens. I really know nothing about it.
I love your ending. It was wonderful. All in all, it was great. I'm very interested to hear more.
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Posted: Thu Mar 22, 2007 5:31 pm
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Merenwen99
Fifth:
Later, you describe the slide in one paragraph aas being made of brightly colored plastic. Then you go on to call it "bloody" with out ever have given an explanation as to why it was bloody. That threw me off a bit.
Sixth:
I'm not sure how realistic sending the police out to find a truant student is . . . Prove me wrong if it happens. I really know nothing about it.
I love your ending. It was wonderful. All in all, it was great. I'm very interested to hear more.
The first four I shall follow accordingly. (The a** thing threw me off a little, as I did not know how to word it exactly.) I have to admit that you're right and that you probably know a lot more about this stuff than I do. I think that maybe some day I may be an English major- or minor, meybe- in college, but until then I think I may have to learn a few things.
But for the fifth, I have a thing with saying bloody instead of any curse word. sweatdrop I don't like cursing that often, and find the improvised cultural word is a great life saver. That is, if a teacher hears you say, "Well, what the f*** was that?" you get in trouble. "What bloody well was that" however, tends to be let slide. It's an old habit. I should probably kick it.
And for the last critique, I only took that from my own school. There's an officer that more often than not slides on in the school and hangs about. In fact, I see her in the office nearly every day when I go by to sixth hour. She's hardcore, too. Has a Glock by her side everyday- though no taser- and sometimes drifts into classrooms to give lectures during odd periods about being a good citizen.
Once a student skipped out of class and a teacher had the pleasure of seeing him. She told Officer G and the officer got in her cop car and found the fellow. I was shocked to hear about it, but, hey, the school may be small but it's serious. O.o Scared me a little, too.
~Knowledge |
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Posted: Thu Mar 22, 2007 6:00 pm
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Posted: Thu Mar 22, 2007 7:03 pm
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Have you ever had a hangover? You know, when your head is pounding so hard that when you blink you scream in pain and then scream louder, because the first scream hurt your suddenly sensitive ears?
Well, that's the total opposite of how I'm feeling.
I felt almost reluctant to open my eyes. I was warm, but not unpleasantly so, and I was comfortable, but not so that I fidgeted for being still so long. My shoes were gone and my jacket too, and I wanted nothing more than to just lie there the rest of the day and dream.
But, unfortunately, no one else cared about my wishes.
Someone began to poke my side repeatedly, sticking an unusually sharp finger into my liver and stomach. Ow.
"Get up! Mary! Get up!" they droned, like it was some sort of a demented mantra.
I grunted and rolled over.
"Get up!" Now they were slapping my back. Something sharp caught on my shirt and I shrieked, turned over again, and fell off the bed.
"Good job, Tabitha," a very soft voice drawled. "I bet she's feeling terrific now."
"How was I supposed to know it would catch? Silly rose, you stay on my arm and don't seek to go anywhere else than the garden, okay? Mary is not good to grow on. She's not cool like me."
My eyes were definately open now. I sat straight up and peered over the top of the bed, which required me to stand on my knees. It was a very high bed. My back hurts the more for it.
Staring back at me was a tall- very tall- black skinned boy and a green haired girl. They sat on the other side of the gigantic bed, looking very suspicious. Who were they? I saw tattoos on the boy's arms and a few peeking over the high collar of his robe. They seemed to move before my eyes. I blinked and looked at the girl. She was covered in plants.
The room was a dream, to be sure. The bed fit comfortably in it, seeing as it was huge, and mosiacs covered the walls. Depicting scenes from legends and several Greek and Roman gods were all sorts of stones and, I think, even a few precious jewels. There seemed to be no other furniture, but a foutain was on the wall opposite the bed. It was also covered in the precious gemstone mosaics, although it seemed to be more water-legend baised.
The boy and girl- simultaneously- smiled.
"Hi..."
"Hello!" the girl chirped.
"Hello." The boy seemed to be more reserved.
"Where am I?"
"In the Platypus House."
"What?"
The girl shrugged. "I don't know, you made it."
My vision tilted; realizing that I was about to faint, I sat down hard on my bottom and stuck my head between my knees, breathing as deep as I could. After a while, the black spots went away and I didin't feel like I was in a tipping room.
"This cannot be real," I groaned from my position.
The girl stood and then leaped to land on the bed like a diver attempting a belly flop. She bounced over to me and lay with her head over the edge, smirking.
"And why not? Sam and I are real enough, so why can't the Platypus House be real? Because it is."
I looked up at her and glared. "Why not? Why not! Why not, she asks! Well, I'll tell you why why not, even though that probably isn't really a correct sentence and my English teacher would chew me out. The reason this can't be real is because there are plants living on you, you seem to have greenish skin, his tattoos are moving, and this is just too unreal to be real!" I finished the last of my words in a shout, standing on shaky feet and waving my fists in the air. For good measure, I tried to kick at the wall but luckily missed- bare feet, you know- and caught my balance on the bed.
What angered me even more is that the girl just grinned.
"I'm Tabitha, your first Creation," she purred, and gestured behind her. "That's Sam, your second Creation. This whole place, the strangely named Platypus house, was made by your imagination along with every single creature in it. Although some mated and made their own..." She left off and shrugged, sitting up on the bed. A few leaves fell off of her arms and a bud twitched, opening a little.
I blinked. How did I create them? I can draw and doodle, but I'm pretty sure I've never created anything alive.
Sam stood, his tall figure not at all awkward. In fact, he seemed almost like a sleek panther, though without the scary teeth and carnivore part.
"Come, Madame Mary," he said, bowing deep, "and let's get you properly clothed. The Summer Feast is in a few hours." Tabitha sighed when I just stood there and, getting off the bed, she shoved me towards a door I hadn't noticed before.
This people- creatures, things, whatever- are a real stickler for appearances.
Sam demanded that I wear a specially made blue toga. It was a blue like the finest of oceans, the gold embroidery moving about much like Sam's tattoos. But, instead of showing whatever the seemingly calm Sam was thinking, they repeated a simple scene of the oceans and underwater creatures.
I watched a gold dolphin leap up higher on the blue cloth while tying up the leather sandals I had been given. Apparently my theme was water tonight, because Sam draped a shawl about my shoulders that had the feel of water without being wet- that just blew my mind- and moved about as such, though a bit more restricted.
"The Biker Knight made this especially for today," Sam told me, smiling like a proud parent as he examined me and made sure I was fit. "He took the dew from a thousand daisies and the tears of a whale and weaved them together to make it." Ignoring the fact that what he just said was very, very strange, he combed out my hair till it was silky smooth and tucked a lily behind one ear. He seemed to enjoy being a personal butler, although I'm pretty sure that most seemingly fifteen year old boys would not.
How am I not freaking out, you may ask? Well, I'm not sure. It finally sinked in, though, that maybe this place was born out of my subconcious because everything single being we passed seemed to know my name and aknowledged my prescence.
After a creature similar to a veloceraptor bowed to me, very elegant in his frock coat and tricorn hat, I realized that maybe this wasn't just a dream that happened to be very specific and very detailed.
"How did this all come about?" I whispered to Sam. He was guiding me to the Courtyard, as he called it, and stepped with an almost inhuman grace. It made me feel a little foolish, occasionally tripping on the flowing folds of my toga and fiddling with a simple gold chain necklace that Sam had also forced me to wear.
"You made it," he answered simply.
I glared.
He sighed, exasperated. "Do you remember that dream that you had? I certainly do. With the Fergellis and Tabitha and the silver brownie? They were made by Dragon, by the way, and he said he made an extra big batch just for the feast. A platter of silver brownies will be sent up to our dais."
"I remember," I growled, made impaitent by the useless chatter. More important things here! Like maybe I'm going crazy? No way a dream could be reality... Or maybe the patient god that listened actually made it so. Oh, I'm so confused.
"That wasn't a dream. Do you remember any other like it?"
"No."
"Exactly. You've been here before."
Oh, Lord, now I'm definately confused. His logic makes no sense what so ever.
"Well, when someone is around six, five years old, their imagination is very wild. Kids love to vent it by drawing on walls, making play-believe games, and the like. Yours, however, was exceptional, and couldn't be simply relieved by a game of house. Eventually the energies created from your mind were formed into a world in itself. When you sleep, sometimes after that, your subconcious would come and visit and govern the house in the short time you had. But you would never remember. The last dream, though, that you had of Platypus House, was more than real, yes? It's because you're old enough now to come live here and rule the House as you were meant to do. Forever."
We stopped in the long, wide, echoing corridor that Sam had explained earlier to run to every major part of the House. I turned to him, my eyes wide.
"What? I can't live here!"
He looked puzzled. "But you have to."
"I can't! I'm only fifteen! I can't drive, let alone 'rule' a place I didn't even know I made! What did you expect? I live in the twenty-first century, dear Sam, and it would be kind of hard for me just to pack my bags and say goodbye to my dear mummy and stroll on in here! Come on, dude! I have a life and, again, I'M ONLY FIFTEEN!"
The shawl, sensing my agitation, swirled around my shoulders. I glared at the strangely made material, though it was oddly comforting. Maybe it was some sort of special quality of the shawl, charmed there especially by the Biker Knight. Whoever he was.
Sam's dark blue eyes softened. "Mary, this place was made for you. Why else would you live here?" Suddenly- strangely- his nostrils flared and he looked up. He frowned. Taking my arm, he led me down the hall once more, though at a faster pace. "Come on, the feast is about to start."
"What is this Summer Feast anyway? What-"
"Every change of seasons there's a feast," he cut me off. I wondered at his curt tone. His eyes flickered back and forth, and his once softly smiling mouth was now drawn into a hard line.
Something was wrong here, and it's not the fact that a unicorn just neighed at me and gave me an apple. I politely bit into the rosy flesh, unnerved.
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Posted: Fri Mar 23, 2007 12:20 pm
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DryIceKnowledge Merenwen99
Fifth:
Later, you describe the slide in one paragraph aas being made of brightly colored plastic. Then you go on to call it "bloody" with out ever have given an explanation as to why it was bloody. That threw me off a bit.
Sixth:
I'm not sure how realistic sending the police out to find a truant student is . . . Prove me wrong if it happens. I really know nothing about it.
I love your ending. It was wonderful. All in all, it was great. I'm very interested to hear more.
But for the fifth, I have a thing with saying bloody instead of any curse word. sweatdrop I don't like cursing that often, and find the improvised cultural word is a great life saver. That is, if a teacher hears you say, "Well, what the f*** was that?" you get in trouble. "What bloody well was that" however, tends to be let slide. It's an old habit. I should probably kick it.
And for the last critique, I only took that from my own school. There's an officer that more often than not slides on in the school and hangs about. In fact, I see her in the office nearly every day when I go by to sixth hour. She's hardcore, too. Has a Glock by her side everyday- though no taser- and sometimes drifts into classrooms to give lectures during odd periods about being a good citizen.
Once a student skipped out of class and a teacher had the pleasure of seeing him. She told Officer G and the officer got in her cop car and found the fellow. I was shocked to hear about it, but, hey, the school may be small but it's serious. O.o Scared me a little, too.~Knowledge
Okay. You must have a pretty strict school. Or perhaps mine is too lenient.
I'm about to read your third installment now. |
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Posted: Fri Mar 23, 2007 12:35 pm
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Posted: Sat Mar 24, 2007 12:48 pm
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Posted: Sat Mar 24, 2007 12:50 pm
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