I do plan on eventually posting my stuff in the Review Room, once I've been here a while and have done some reviewing myself. But until then, this will do.
This is the first update of what could possibly end up as quite a long story. The main character is the villain of my Sims 3 story Valley -but here he is a 15 year old sophomore.
Reading over it - I think rewrites are called for before posting it for review. I need to basically redo the scene with Caitlyn - I'm bothered by a lot of that dialogue.
The universe was white, silent, cracked. He counted ten cracks, ten faults in the perfection of time and space, before the hands on his shoulders yanked him away from the wall and sent him hurtling into the hard edge of a sink.
He wanted to be a drop of water. He wanted to fall into the basin and slip down its drain. He wanted to disappear.
One two three four. The hands closed on him again, pulling him back from the drain and its dream of deliverance. The sink fell away and space was white and time was black and the stall doors were breathing in and out, in and out or maybe it was him.
His legs refused to listen to his plea to keep him upright, to keep his pride intact, to at least avoid the puddle in front of the middle stall. He hit the floor and a thousand points of pain lit up in his knees and he could feel the water soaking through his khakis and it must be mixing with blood but he wouldn't think about that, not now.
He stared at the floor tiles. They moved and changed places and sometimes he thought he saw two floors and sometimes there wasn't a floor at all. He squinted, trying to make the tiles stay still so he could count them one two three four and then he saw a glint under the stall door to his left.
He made out the fuzzy apparition of his glasses. Vision. Sanity. A floor that would stay still and not duplicate itself. His glasses promised all these things and so he got up on his hands and knees and crawled towards them, counting all the way one two three four and he got to eight before the foot came.
The door opened.
"What the hell?”
"What are you guys doing?"
He recognized the voice. Paul Sullivan. Star student. Captain of the soccer team. All around red blooded American boy.
Nothing was real and everything was black and he couldn't take this, couldn't take someone seeing. He stood up, fought down a rush of nausea, and walked in the general direction of his glasses. He bent down and patted the floor until his fingers closed on them. He slid them on and the world came into focus.
He could count the floor tiles now. They lay white and still but his eyes were drawn to the spaces between, the gray spaces with years of dirt and soap ground into them.
He followed the lines of gray and measured the squares they made until his bookbag appeared. It stood in the corner, blue and black and solid. He walked past the three boys and picked it up. He imagined swinging the bag at their faces. He smiled at the idea of busted lips and bleeding noses.
He met Paul's eyes. The smile faded and the nausea came again. He swallowed it back, shrugged the bookbag on his shoulders, and went out the bathroom door.
He was running as he left the building.
He shoved the door open and stumbled outside. The concrete sidewalk was painfully bright in the afternoon sun.
He slung his bookbag to the ground and sat down by the wall, the bricks warm and solid behind him. He closed his eyes and fell into a half-waking dream of a boat on a still and silent sea.
"Hey Seth, you okay?"
"Dude, I know the biology quiz today was rough, but I didn't think it was that rough."
Dark clouds appeared on the horizon and a wind started up.
She was blocking out the sun and stirring up the waves.
"All right, if you say so. So...biology, huh? I bet you aced the quiz. Smart quiet guy and all."
She moved. The sun shone on him again and he tried to find that calm ocean with the gently rocking boat, but it was gone.
He opened his eyes.
"See, me, I'm not quiet."
She sat down next to him and the wind became a hurricane. He sat up and crossed his legs, suddenly very aware of the stain on the left leg of his pants.
"You're going to get into a great college. You're going to be somebody, you know? Find the cure for cancer or some ****."
Why was she talking to him? Why had she noticed him? Some response seemed to be called for. He didn't want her to think he was staring at her hair.
A red older model car pulled up to the curb. Caitlyn reached out, patted his knee, and stood up.
"Hey, don't mind those guys, all right? They're just stupid jackasses. Also, tip for the future. Sometimes it's okay to say you're not fine."
She got into the car and he watched it drive off.
Biology. Biology. He pulled his biology book out of his bookbag and slid Practical Alchemy: An Introduction from its hiding place behind the back cover. He was deep into the chapter detailing the process of a basic spagyric tincture when his mother pulled up.
He shoved the alchemy book back into hiding, zipped up his bookbag, and threw it in the backseat. He buckled himself into the passenger seat, praying that she wouldn't notice. Don't let her notice. Please don't let her notice.
"Good God Seth, what happened to you?"
His prayers were never answered.
"Nothing. I'm fine."
"Are you sure? Look, I know..."
"No, it's fine."
He stared out the window, watching the gas stations and the stores and the houses go by. He tapped his finger on the car door one two three four each time they went by a telephone pole.
He was fine. He was.
One two three four.
You need to be logged in to comment