Our last period class was cancelled because that teacher was sick. As we waited outside for our parents, Becca and I relayed the story to our friends to find out what exactly was going on.
“You saw WHAT?” Erica asked.
“You heard WHAT?” Hannah asked.
“You got a WHAT?” Angel asked.
“The IM said WHAT?” Allison asked.
“Haha, that’s funny.” Nestor laughed.
I kicked him hard in the shin. “No, it not. I’m being freaking serious here, all right? Are you the one who sent that message?”
He rubbed his leg. “No! How could I, I don’t know Rebecca’s password! I mean, I know how to hack into computers, because I learned when I was eight, and I’m pretty good at—“’
I kicked him in the shin again, to get him to stop bragging.
“Ow! What was that for?”
“Did you send that message or did you not?”
“I didn’t. Gosh, even though I have Sociology with you, I left early and didn’t even stick around for passing period. How could I even have heard your guys’ conversation, much less typed it out word for word?”
I sighed. “I know. But that’s the thing, you know? The only people with laptops that have laptops that have both of those classes with us are Angel, Patricia, Becca, and me. Angel and Pat were in different parts of the room, so they couldn’t have heard us talk about it. And anyway, the only one who knows Becca’s Gmail password besides her is me!”
Our friends sat on the bench, silent and at a loss of what to say.
“Maybe you should go tell someone,” Vanessa suggested. “I mean, that’s just pretty… scary.”
At though on cue, my mom’s car drove up in the parking lot and honked.
“Yeah, no kidding,” Becca said as we gathered our stuff.
The characters in the story (so far) are all real, but I changed their names (keeping only the first initial the same) except for my sister and I.
‡[Click for link to mibba]‡
Showing posts with label story. Show all posts
Showing posts with label story. Show all posts
Monday, May 16, 2011
The Day I Went Crazy 01: A "Perfectly Normal" Day
It felt like it was going to be a normal day. It really did. I got up at 7 am, cursed myself for not finishing all of my homework, and got ready for school. I left at around 7:30, arrived at school at 7:40, and went through English and Pre-Calculus. During lunch, I rushed to finish all of my homework, typing furiously on my laptop and shouting in frustration at any unfortunate friend who happened to be a little too loud for me to keep my concentration.
Really, a perfectly normal day.
The first freakish occurrence occurred in the last fifteen minutes of lunch.
I went to the bathroom, and was washing my hands when I noticed something very peculiar in the mirror. That is, I saw (in the reflection) someone’s purple backpack hanging from a hook in the wall. I looked back—not only was there no backpack, there wasn’t even a hook.
I looked back into the mirror. Nothing.
I stood there in bewilderment for a moment before shrugging it off. Perhaps the all-nighters really were starting to get to me, and I was going crazy. Good, because then maybe I could get a few days out of school.
We had a test in my next class. I hadn’t studied, but I paid attention in class to the material was pretty easy. I finished within a half hour, turned my exam into the professor, and returned to my seat. It seemed a while before anyone else would finish their test. I stretched my arms and yawned, bored at having nothing to do. I stared into space for a while, listening to my classmates turn the pages of the test, gradually getting sleepy.
Hey, Sarah. Get up.
My head jerked up in response. What fool was retarded enough to talk this clearly during a test? My eyes sought the speaker but found none: the professor still read his book with a bored, disinterested look on his face and all of my classmates seemed focused on their test.
I frowned. Was I imagining things? I must be, since no one seems to have heard the voice.
I slumped in my chair. Maybe I really was going crazy.
I told my sister, sitting next to me, what had happened during passing period.
“Hey, Becca, did you slip LSD into my food during lunch or something?”
Becca, sketching in the margins of her binder paper, laughed. “Why, you on a trip?” she joked.
“Pretty much,” I replied seriously. I told her about the backpack in the mirror and the voice during the test.
Becca stopped sketching. Her eyes widened and the smile fell from her face. “Sarah. The Matrix has you.”
I stared at her.
“I’m kidding.” She said, in the same tone of voice.
I stared at her.
And then I punched her arm.
My older sister laughed. “Ow! Ow! All right, I get it! Not funny!” she cried, rubbing her arm.
I sighed. “I’m not kidding, Becca. I really saw something in the mirror, and I really did hear that voice during Sociology.”
Becca chewed the eraser of her pencil. “For real? You’re not just screwing with me?”
I shot her a death glare. “Does it look like I’m kidding with you?”
Becca looked up for a moment, as though pondering over the answer. She apparently decided I must not be joking this time around. “So, who did it sound like?” she asked.
“What?”
“The voice. Who did it sound like?”
“I don’t know! A human?”
“Yeah, but was it someone we know?”
“If I could tell that, I would’ve told you.”
“Then, at least, what gender was it? How old do you think it was?”
I thought about it for a second. “A young-ish guy. Like, our age. Maybe older?”
Becca chuckled to herself.
“What? What’s funny?” I asked.
“Was he British?” she smiled.
I sighed in exasperation again. “Oh my God, Becca. Really? Really? How could you think like that?” I asked in disbelief, astounded that she would allude to my boy-craziness, even at this time. “All right, whatever then! Don’t believe me! I’ll just go on hearing voices and seeing things, and then I’ll go crazy, and then I’ll kill myself, and then you won’t have me around anymore.” I half-joked.
Becca laughed a bit. “But really, though. Did he have an accent?”
Remembering the voice for a moment, I replied, “No….”
“So he had a Nor Cal accent?”
“I don’t know.”
“What do you mean, ‘you don’t know’?”
“I mean, I don’t know!”
“What do you mean, ‘you mean you don’t know’?”
“Oh, forget it!”
“Whatever you say, crazy. You probably just didn’t get enough sleep.”
“Like you’re one to talk. Besides, this is different. I’ve been pulling all-nighters since freshman year, and I’ve never heard crap and whatever crazy sh—“
“Yeah, yeah, okay. We’ll talk about it later. The teacher’s here.”
I pouted, hurt that she was so disinterested.
Throughout class, I slumped in my chair and took notes from the PowerPoint on my laptop, only half-listening to the lecture (even though Mr. Samson’s lessons are usually hilarious, with jokes that send the class roaring with laughter). I checked my e-mails online between slides, deleting the spam and Facebook notifications while starring college offers for future browsing.
And then Weird Event Number Three happened.
I got an IM (instant message) from Becca.
I nudged Becca, mouthing “WTF?”
She looked at my screen.
The IM wrote “Why, you on a trip? Sarah. The Matrix has you. I’m kidding. Ow! Ow! All right, I get it! Not funny! For real? You’re not just screwing with me? So, who did it sound like? The voice. Who did it sound like? Yeah, but was it someone we know? Then, at least, what gender was it? How old do you think it was? Was he British? But really, though. Did he have an accent? So he had a Nor Cal accent? What do you mean, ‘you don’t know’? What do you mean, ‘you mean you don’t know’? Whatever you say, crazy. You probably just didn’t get enough sleep. Yeah, yeah, okay. We’ll talk about it later. The teacher’s here.”
Becca screamed. It was then that I realized that her laptop wasn’t even open.
The professor, Mr. Samson, looked our way. “What’s wrong? Is she looking at pornography or something?” he joked.
I laughed nervously. “No, um, it’s nothing.”
Mr. Samson gave us a weird look, as though wondering what these two usually on-task sisters were on about. After a moment, he made another joke and continued on with the lesson.
I looked at Becca. She was logging into her laptop. Her face was pale.
I decided to respond to the IM. “Who is this? Erica? Did you hack into Becca’s account or something?”
No response.
The voice would have a Nor Cal accent because that's where we're from. Just FYI.
‡[Click for link to Mibba]‡
Really, a perfectly normal day.
The first freakish occurrence occurred in the last fifteen minutes of lunch.
I went to the bathroom, and was washing my hands when I noticed something very peculiar in the mirror. That is, I saw (in the reflection) someone’s purple backpack hanging from a hook in the wall. I looked back—not only was there no backpack, there wasn’t even a hook.
I looked back into the mirror. Nothing.
I stood there in bewilderment for a moment before shrugging it off. Perhaps the all-nighters really were starting to get to me, and I was going crazy. Good, because then maybe I could get a few days out of school.
We had a test in my next class. I hadn’t studied, but I paid attention in class to the material was pretty easy. I finished within a half hour, turned my exam into the professor, and returned to my seat. It seemed a while before anyone else would finish their test. I stretched my arms and yawned, bored at having nothing to do. I stared into space for a while, listening to my classmates turn the pages of the test, gradually getting sleepy.
Hey, Sarah. Get up.
My head jerked up in response. What fool was retarded enough to talk this clearly during a test? My eyes sought the speaker but found none: the professor still read his book with a bored, disinterested look on his face and all of my classmates seemed focused on their test.
I frowned. Was I imagining things? I must be, since no one seems to have heard the voice.
I slumped in my chair. Maybe I really was going crazy.
I told my sister, sitting next to me, what had happened during passing period.
“Hey, Becca, did you slip LSD into my food during lunch or something?”
Becca, sketching in the margins of her binder paper, laughed. “Why, you on a trip?” she joked.
“Pretty much,” I replied seriously. I told her about the backpack in the mirror and the voice during the test.
Becca stopped sketching. Her eyes widened and the smile fell from her face. “Sarah. The Matrix has you.”
I stared at her.
“I’m kidding.” She said, in the same tone of voice.
I stared at her.
And then I punched her arm.
My older sister laughed. “Ow! Ow! All right, I get it! Not funny!” she cried, rubbing her arm.
I sighed. “I’m not kidding, Becca. I really saw something in the mirror, and I really did hear that voice during Sociology.”
Becca chewed the eraser of her pencil. “For real? You’re not just screwing with me?”
I shot her a death glare. “Does it look like I’m kidding with you?”
Becca looked up for a moment, as though pondering over the answer. She apparently decided I must not be joking this time around. “So, who did it sound like?” she asked.
“What?”
“The voice. Who did it sound like?”
“I don’t know! A human?”
“Yeah, but was it someone we know?”
“If I could tell that, I would’ve told you.”
“Then, at least, what gender was it? How old do you think it was?”
I thought about it for a second. “A young-ish guy. Like, our age. Maybe older?”
Becca chuckled to herself.
“What? What’s funny?” I asked.
“Was he British?” she smiled.
I sighed in exasperation again. “Oh my God, Becca. Really? Really? How could you think like that?” I asked in disbelief, astounded that she would allude to my boy-craziness, even at this time. “All right, whatever then! Don’t believe me! I’ll just go on hearing voices and seeing things, and then I’ll go crazy, and then I’ll kill myself, and then you won’t have me around anymore.” I half-joked.
Becca laughed a bit. “But really, though. Did he have an accent?”
Remembering the voice for a moment, I replied, “No….”
“So he had a Nor Cal accent?”
“I don’t know.”
“What do you mean, ‘you don’t know’?”
“I mean, I don’t know!”
“What do you mean, ‘you mean you don’t know’?”
“Oh, forget it!”
“Whatever you say, crazy. You probably just didn’t get enough sleep.”
“Like you’re one to talk. Besides, this is different. I’ve been pulling all-nighters since freshman year, and I’ve never heard crap and whatever crazy sh—“
“Yeah, yeah, okay. We’ll talk about it later. The teacher’s here.”
I pouted, hurt that she was so disinterested.
Throughout class, I slumped in my chair and took notes from the PowerPoint on my laptop, only half-listening to the lecture (even though Mr. Samson’s lessons are usually hilarious, with jokes that send the class roaring with laughter). I checked my e-mails online between slides, deleting the spam and Facebook notifications while starring college offers for future browsing.
And then Weird Event Number Three happened.
I got an IM (instant message) from Becca.
I nudged Becca, mouthing “WTF?”
She looked at my screen.
The IM wrote “Why, you on a trip? Sarah. The Matrix has you. I’m kidding. Ow! Ow! All right, I get it! Not funny! For real? You’re not just screwing with me? So, who did it sound like? The voice. Who did it sound like? Yeah, but was it someone we know? Then, at least, what gender was it? How old do you think it was? Was he British? But really, though. Did he have an accent? So he had a Nor Cal accent? What do you mean, ‘you don’t know’? What do you mean, ‘you mean you don’t know’? Whatever you say, crazy. You probably just didn’t get enough sleep. Yeah, yeah, okay. We’ll talk about it later. The teacher’s here.”
Becca screamed. It was then that I realized that her laptop wasn’t even open.
The professor, Mr. Samson, looked our way. “What’s wrong? Is she looking at pornography or something?” he joked.
I laughed nervously. “No, um, it’s nothing.”
Mr. Samson gave us a weird look, as though wondering what these two usually on-task sisters were on about. After a moment, he made another joke and continued on with the lesson.
I looked at Becca. She was logging into her laptop. Her face was pale.
I decided to respond to the IM. “Who is this? Erica? Did you hack into Becca’s account or something?”
No response.
The voice would have a Nor Cal accent because that's where we're from. Just FYI.
‡[Click for link to Mibba]‡
Mona 00: Introduction
"Erasing all memories of the past, looking only to the future."
I wonder if such a thing is really true?
Everything is boring. The things that define our existence are extremely dull. School. Home. Friends. Family. The news. Shows on TV. Politics. Music. All of it. "God's painting" is flat gray. The ticking of the clock is faint. Nothing is original. Nothing is beautiful. Nothing is stimulating. Everything is one big pointless facade. But I don't know what disgusts me more: this life, or me?
My name is Mona. "Hajimemashite."
I feel the sweet taste of irony in the lack of originality of this beginning.
I wonder if Mona agrees with me.
I wonder if such a thing is really true?
Everything is boring. The things that define our existence are extremely dull. School. Home. Friends. Family. The news. Shows on TV. Politics. Music. All of it. "God's painting" is flat gray. The ticking of the clock is faint. Nothing is original. Nothing is beautiful. Nothing is stimulating. Everything is one big pointless facade. But I don't know what disgusts me more: this life, or me?
†_†_†_†_†_†_†_†_†_†_†_†_†_†_†_†_†_†_†_†_†_†_†_†_†_†_†
Hajimemashite- Jap- "Pleased to make your acquaintance"
I feel the sweet taste of irony in the lack of originality of this beginning.
I wonder if Mona agrees with me.
-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-
So here's the first chapter I've been hiding from everyone. Updates will be slow in order to protect my friends from any and all hurt feelings that may and will result from reading Mona.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Realm- Chapter 1
“Ray, wake up!”
I realized what happened before I even opened my eyes. How? How could I fall asleep on a day like this? I shot up straight as a board, eyes fixed on my desk. The people around me laughed, already standing in the formal greeting our class practiced over and over for the last 2 weeks. Janelle, who woke me up, sighed. I could feel everyone’s gaze on me—the students’, the professor’s, the headmaster’s,… the Prime Minister’s.
“Excuse me, Dr. von Trappe,” I mumbled to my teacher.
“Miss Raven,” came a very icy reply. “Please wait for me in my office.”
I gathered my things: a well-used mechanical pencil, a sea green spiral notebook with loose papers shuffled inside, a torn pink Pearl eraser with hearts inked all over it, and serving as a back pack, my floral handbag decorated with pins, buttons, ribbons, and key chains. I walked to the door, closer to the front, to the glaring eyes. I kept my own gaze fixed to the floor, studying its shiny wooden gleam. In the corner of my eye I made out the legs of the desks and chairs, the cleanness of everyone’s polished shoes.
Once I passed through the door, what would happen? Would I ever pass through that door again? I was scared beyond fathomable imagination. Did I, fifteen-year-old Raven Shampine, scholarship student at the prestigious Eclaire Academy, just ruin my future by falling asleep in class on the day that the Prime Minister—the Prime Minister, for God’s sake—would visit the school? How could I even entertain the idea that I wouldn’t be expelled for daring to humiliate this school of elites and their perfect classmates? I was a nobody, and compared to those around me, mediocre at the best of my subjects. The dismissal of someone like me wouldn’t make any difference. In fact, what I just did would surely condemn me to—
As all these thoughts raced through my mind, I had nearly reached the front of the classroom. By now, I was walking very quickly, eager to disappear from the still feet that seemed to be mocking me and the glaring eyes that seemed to whisper “Really, what an eyesore. Is she really a student here at Eclaire?” I kept my eyes on the floor, walking faster with each step, and like the idiot that I am, I bumped into someone.
Shocked, I screamed and dropped my notebook, sending papers flying. I scrambled to pick them up immediately. The room remained eerily silent, I think, except for a few muffled giggles in the back and Dr. von Trappe’s very annoyed “Miss Raven.”
I am worthless. I am less than worthless. I am a nuisance. Parasitic crap. Each paper I picked up, I gave myself another insult. At the last, I looked up to see who I bumped into. Dr. von Trappe? Headmaster? Oh God, please don’t let it be the Prime Minister—
A boy. More precisely, a guy. With jet black hair. Dressed in a black—was this Armani?—suit, he towered high above the squatting me.
I rose, apologizing. “ UM! I’M S-SO SORRY! I—!”
I looked into his eyes, searching for his reaction, and was stunned. They were the most brilliant shade of blue you’d ever seen, the kind that tempted you to pluck them out and sell them as jewels. Even the sky on the clearest, brightest day couldn’t compare to such a pure, radiant blue.
It took me a second to realize that he must be looking back at me if I could see his eyes in such detail. I stepped back. Was he, too, glaring at me? But he wasn’t. Instead, those awe-inspiring eyes were ice cold, staring indifferently right through me, as though I didn’t even exist.
I burst through the door crying, not noticing one of the papers as it floated out of my notebook onto a very bewildered pair of feet just a few meters away.
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