Forks, Washington: the exact opposite of where I'd like to be, especially for a place to live. Despite its quiet charm of relatively low human population, there is little change in anything and everything from weather to food choice. The fact it rains over three quarters of the year and is cloudy majority of the rest, only ascertains instinctual exodus; that is, if the nosy people don't already. Thus the small check list of my perpetual residence is fulfilled: isolated, undesirable, and predictably not where I've been before. Although short, my rather stipulated wish list will soon be difficult to satisfy due to my itinerant lifestyle. Today, I come to Forks from Arizona. But yesterday I was going to Arizona from Mexico, and the day before I was happily settled in Brazil. Naturally, my stays have been longer than a few days, but to my people months are scarcely dissimilar from weeks and so on.
"Getting hungry?" The voice startles me. I look over to a profile of my uncle, a middle aged looking man with stubble and tired smile wrinkles around his eye and cheek. He's truthfully much older than any might guess. Our people by far outlive the short lives of humans and are not often considered middle aged until reaching our second millennium. We are a youthful seeming race. His current features only reflect as he wishes. "You know you'll have to get used to appearing to eat three meals a day," he reminds me.
"Oh, yes," I say distracted again by the obnoxious mechanics of his police vehicle. Automobiles are of the most dissatisfying engineering of humans, in my consideration. They encroach on the world; lurid to my ears as well as many other creatures, and instigate the burglary of precious resources that contain extraordinarily more potential than what most humans could possibly comprehend. Alas, I am cursed to depend on them as much a human, as I, well, assimilate into human culture. Fortunately, I realize, we've reached Forks city limits and as houses roll by my window I am comforted that the noisy thing will soon be silenced.
"I'm aware of your desire to return to the midst of battle, Lilore," he calls me by what would be considered my middle name, and how I'm referred to at home. "But, your place is here, where no harm can come to you." I nod my head once in acknowledgement as we pull in the driveway of my new establishment.
I hear movement downstairs from Charlie in the kitchen. Outside cloud cover distorts the perception of day; a new layer of snow blanketed on the ground. Today, I learn to be what humans call a "teenager". Socializing with humans is never my first choice. However, I've had too many solitary aliases to avoid suspicion. Thus, to my complete and utter disappointment, I'm to mingle with the youth of humanity; all the while feigning ignorance of the world and lacking awareness of individual insignificance.
I join Charlie downstairs after dressing; he's waiting for me at the dining table, a pair of keys in front of him. "What are those?" I ask cautiously.
"Keys to your truck." I stare at him blankly.
"My, what?"
"Your keys," he clarifies, "to your truck." When I don't respond he smiles before continuing, "how did you think you were going to get to school?"
"Must I drive?" I ask, disgusted.
"You can't walk," my uncle replies calmly. "And at your presumed age, it is not custom for a parent to act as chauffeur, particularly when he or she works at a police station as I do. Are you suggesting you are incapable of the task?"
"I am capable," I say defiantly before hesitating, "You flummox me in your ability to endure such noise." My uncle laughs at this as he stands to go put on his coat.
"You despise my cruiser," he chuckles, "I wish to take leave before experiencing your mood upon starting that truck." I glower at him before disgustedly eyeing the keys. "I find the trick," he says as he continues out the door, "is to listen to what lies under the drivel." With that, the door shuts followed by the screen.
I find the most irritating result of my uncle's fifty year stay with humans, is his apparent belief he developed a sense of humor.
My arrival at the school only reinforces my certainty I should have walked. The red contraption produces such a disorderly rumble, even the steering mechanism screeches riotously to my ears. Fortunately, I arrive early and am not plagued by any human-lings fumbling around in front of me. Though, truthfully, the misfortune would have been their own.
I park in the lot labeled "Student Parking" and begin my search for the office Charlie described to me. From what I can tell, the campus seems to be comprised of several buildings; all rather small in comparison to the institutions I remember from other cities. Naturally, Charlie's directions serve me well. The office, too, is rather petit; filled with chairs for waiting and posters relaying school events. I go directly to the desk behind which a stout woman stares through her bifocals at an old computer.
"Yes?" She has a pleasant smile as she addresses me.
"I'm Isabella Swan," I say. Her eyes grow in recognition before her smile broadens.
"Oh, yes! I have your schedule right here!" She scoops a few papers up and presents them too me: a class schedule, a campus map, and a slip of paper she expounds is to be signed by all of my teachers and returned to her.
When she finishes clarifying everything for me she goes to return to her computer, and then hesitates. She smiles kindly and says, "I hope you enjoy it here."
"I'm sure I will," I manage with a smile. I give a slight nod and depart.
Instead of returning to my humble form of transportation, or even exploring the campus, I head out to the trees just beyond the grounds. The school is mostly comprised of portables, making it easy to disappear inconspicuously. I only have a short time to spare, but as any of my kind will attest, I'd rather spend it in the trees.
Climbing around the green covered stones always fills me with a sense of familiarity. Although, these trees feel different; even the way the rain seems to fall strikes me as extraterrestrial. It's not the forest's fault, of course. My people are very particular about home. Home may be in the trees, but these are not those trees.
I've made my way up a slight hill. I stop long enough to turn and stare through trees at the little Forks high school below. Young humans have begun to arrive, making their way around excitedly, in a constant state of motion. It's something I've always found interesting about them. Their awareness of the acute amount of sand they each have stored in their individual sand glasses. They are so excited to continue the journey, see how much they can discover. Everything is a contest, how much they can possibly learn, see, experience. It's so strange to me. I've always taken in my surroundings. If I look away, all I've held dear may be gone before I remember to look back.
I return to the portables too late, I will be tardy to my first class. My duty is specifically not to build a reputation, but since I already have one, who cares if it's a little tarnished? However, as I make my way to my first class there is a familiar and distinctive scent in the air. I can't place it. Guardedly, I make my way into class, introduce myself to the instructor, and get the slip signed.
I relax in my chair the entirety of class, determined to ignore the tormenting aroma. I am so far in my own trance I hardly notice the lesson conclude. Distracted, I grab my things and attempt to leave my desk.
"Isabella Swan, right?" I glance up to find a sheepish boy in my way. He shuffles his weight uncomfortably at my silence. "Do you need any help finding your next class?" He tries again. The smell softens significantly, it's not him. I'm able to focus again.
The corner of my lip curls up into an amused half smile. I nod my head in encouragement. He sighs, relieved, and asks what class I have. I show him my schedule, not bothered to speak. I notice he's barely my height. Elves are taller than that of humans, but I credit the difference to his hair.
"Looks like you have Government with Jefferson, building six." He smiles, "That's just around the corner!" I follow him out and we are greeted by curious onlookers, and the reemergence of that smell. I'm careful not to appear bothered as my escort attempts, yet again, to converse.
"I'm Eric, by the way." I smile his way and keep walking. He allows the hiatus, before continuing his script. "May I call you Bella?" I smile and nod again, the smell growing stronger.
I see building six, but Eric doesn't give up. "You don't talk much, do you?" Humans, I forget they long for companionship. "That's alright, I tend to talk too much anyway—"
I cut him off as I step past him, "I find silence reveals those who listen," and with a final glance in his direction, I waltz into my next class.
I'm sorely disappointed when the scent dissolves inside.
Throughout my classes I find myself tracking red herons. The scent is everywhere, though stronger in some areas than in others. Clearly, whatever it belongs to has spent large amounts of time here. Like any other student…
Eric finds me again at lunch, and invites me to sit with all of his friends. I recognize several of them from throughout the day. They are all very sweet, like children, and Eric takes mind to share I don't talk much. I happily blend behind their constant chattering, only caring to smile when necessary.
We sit a table and the scent envelopes me. Even amongst these pubic human-lings, the odor is crisp. I feel them walk in behind me. Five creatures, like myself, that simply don't belong here. My heart is pounding; instincts are taking control that no one in this room can possibly understand. Nor do any of them notice.
To these students, I am calm. Nothing in my body language displays the distress I am under. It's not fear. Just an unease born from the endless deaths I've witnessed and ensured. The lifetimes of bloodbaths passed on through generations, a mighty war that has more than once threatened the very existence of life on this planet.
I turn my head slowly, looking behind me to see the culprits of my suffering. My eyes find two females and three males, all unnaturally beautiful. They sit coolly, each staring in a different direction; not talking, not looking at each other. I feel the anger rise in flames in my heart.
Vampires.
I stare at them stonily, a heart of burning coal. I can't decide if I want to slaughter them on the spot, or wait to see why they are here. I realize most of my anger manifests for how long it took me to identify what I sensed.
One of the males looks up at me, reflexively as if I've said his name. He appears younger than the rest, and has a curious glimmer in his eyes.
"Those are the Cullens." The girl next to me interrupts my thoughts. Without changing my expression I slowly take my eyes off my enemies and acknowledge what the girl said. "They moved here from Alaska or something like that. They're foster kids. Mr. Cullen works at the hospital."
"Hospital?" I repeat. This information baffles me. A vampire assimilated into human society?
"Yeah! He's the best. Or at least, that's what my dad says." I nod my head in appreciation. She seems pleased and continues her conversation with Eric. I look back as one of the female Cullens gets up. She has short black hair and seems to dance, much like an Elvish friend of mine. She empties her full plate of food into the trash just before the bell rings.
Everyone around me jumps up and once again, the human world is pushed back into motion. Eric coaxes me, saying we'll be late, and I get up to follow him. Why would a predator deliberately go out of its way to help its prey?
He is there, the younger looking vampire, when a girl named Angela escorts me to Biology. The way he looked in my direction before flashes in my memory. He must be a mind reader. They aren't difficult to recognize. I am familiar with the knowing glint in his judgment. I, myself, carry that perceptive discernment; though I prefer to keep out intruders.
I walk to the instructor with the grace of a hunter. Every movement I make is lithe and despite my intolerance I am patiently careful. The only seat available shares a table with the mind reader. He never looks at me. His body language appearing as casual as my own, I am curious. Vampires rely heavily on their predatory instincts. How can he remain in such control surrounded by his prey?
He stiffens the moment I take my seat. Strained energy waves off him as his muscles tense; he struggles for control.
It is anomalous to sit so peaceably with a vampire. My common experiences with their race are violent. All these images of slashing their limbs off with my sword, separating their bodies, fire roaring from my blade, blaze athwart my inner eye as I try to comprehend deskbound inches away from this beast in a room of adolescent humans.
I begin to remember. There was once a time…
NO.
The vampire sharply inhales. The rest of the room falls silent; dazed. The students look around the room, at each other, the teacher. No one can discern what has happened to force this quiet.
I stare calmly ahead. Slowly, my own muscles begin to relax, and the humans begin to forget. The educator takes up where he left off in his lecture, and it is as though time never stopped. The vampire's fist is clenched under the desk, his breathing harsh. I'm the only one to notice.
He is out of the room before the bell even rings. And I am quick to follow. I will stay through the last period, for the sake of my asylum, and to see what the vampire shall do next.