Hi! This is my first POSTED fanfiction, and, as some of you may recognize by the title, I have not come up with this by myself. This story originally comes from Pearlness4700, and she let me 'adopt' this story, and I'm very excited about continuing this! Ok, so, this chapter is still the same, I'm just changing the authors note... So, without further ado, The story of my life:
I sit all alone in the empty graveyard, tears spilling uncontrollably down my face.
"Why?" I whisper in a raspy voice.
Why did this have to happen? I knew that this was bound to happen, I just didn't think that it would happen like this, so soon.
A hand rests on my shoulder and I jump.
I look up to find a familiar face.
Anna, with her sullen face and braided pigtails, mourning for a boy she had no connection to.
I just look at her.
"I'm sorry, Elsa," she says to me.
I sob once, one heartbreaking cry, and fall into her arms.
He was just a boy! Only twelve years old! Why did this have to happen to him?
I am a queen. Why should I care?
But the little boy had changed me. Something in his heartwarming smile and fun loving freedom.
"Let's go play, Queen Elsa!" He would call, grabbing my hand in his tiny and frail one, rushing out so I could make the first snowfall, or a miniature ice rink.
Now this.
Why? I ask myself.
He was such a good little boy. He didn't deserve to have life taken away.
"You really loved that little boy," Anna mumbles, just stating a fact.
I sniff, nodding.
"He was like a younger brother?" she asks.
I think for a moment.
Not really. Did all older siblings carry this much love for their younger ones?
I knew that I loved Anna, but not like this.
No.
My love for this little boy was stronger. More like...
The bond between mother and child is unbreakable.
I may have been only twenty-four at that time, but three years ago, Arendelle had thought that I was a monster. I nearly-had!- froze Anna, for pete's sake! But this little boy... He was different. In all ways.
With his adorable chocolate eyes and ruffled brown hair and toothy smile, he was just so innocent.
"More like a mother," I murmur.
I look over her shoulder to read the grave one last time.
Jackson Overland
Died of rare and incurable disease
May he be remembered forever
Our little miracle
1854-1866
I am crying at my window sill.
He never came back.
I open my palm, letting a single snowflake out into the air.
Suddenly, the whole window frosts over.
I yelp, jumping away.
No. No, no, no, no, no.
I was losing control!
And he was never coming back.
The man had been so kind. He had the same powers as me. He taught me to have fun. He taught me that it was okay to let it go. He taught me that I wasn't a monster.
He promised that everything would be okay.
But it wasn't.
Now, I have to move out of Anna's and my room, all alone, because I couldn't control them. So what if they had been getting stronger? Anna and me, or Jack and me, we had fun with them.
But no more fun for me.
Jack is gone, Anna has to be shut out, and I am all alone.
I curl up in a ball by the window sill, shamelessly bawling my eyes out.
Jack isn't coming back. The one person who would ever be like me. But he is immortal. I was only a child. How could I ever understand anything more than the fact that he was never coming back?
How is it fair that an eight-year-old should have to go through this?
I sob harder, wishing that it would all just end.
What?
But... He had just talked to me this morning! How could he be...
No. No, Elsa, this can't be right! I know that Pippa did not just come running over to your hut and choke out that Jack was...
Oh God.
"Pippa, what?" I respond.
"Jack's...Jack's dead!" she repeats through sobs.
I gasp, taking a step back.
How can he be dead? He's only seventeen! That's too young to die!
He was my best friend, how could he leave me?
I cringe when I realize that I just referred to him in the past tense.
The whole village hosts a funeral.
I can sense the sadness as it weighs heavily upon us like a thick blanket of fog.
My eyes water as I stand next to my mother, clad in black with a black lace veil over my eyes.
I told him. I told him.
He had asked if I wanted to go skating with him and Pippa that morning. And I had told him that it was too warm to go skating.
Why hadn't he listened?
The only good thing that I can see of his death is that Pippa lived. I don't think he could have gone on knowing that Pippa had died instead of him. That is my only condolence for the time being.
Oh, Jack. Jack, I'm sorry that this had to happen to you. I'm sorry that I was the one to made you angry that one time. I'm sorry that you're not here now to hear what I'm thinking.
I'm sorry that I ran away yesterday instead of telling you that I felt the same way.
"It's just that...I love you!"
And then he had kissed me.
Kissed me.
And I slipped away, running, scared, because I was afraid of the fact that I felt the same way.
And now I can never tell him how sorry I was.
But Jack, wherever you are, can you hear me now? Because I love you. I do. I love you, and I'm sorry I never got to say those words to you. I love you, I love you, I love you.
Suddenly, I think of all of those dreams. They only started happening a few weeks ago.
All of this, it was familiar.
Not just this, but Jack's death.
Jack had died before...and I had been there. Grieving. Mourning. But always left behind.
I look up to the sky, the full moon shining down on us in all of its glory.
No matter what, Jack Frost, you are part of me. I don't know how or why, I just know that we have met before. I know that we are destined to be together, that our fates are intertwined, that this is not the last time I will see you. But I will remember the pain. Which is why I won't let it go.
Why I can't let it go.
Why I need to shut you out.
Somehow, we will meet again. I am sure of it. How, I do not know. When, I do not know. Where, I do not know. I'm not exactly sure of anything anymore. Just this morning, I was sure that you were a simple child in an aging man's body, taking his sister to skate on the warm ice. Though I had warned you it would be dangerous, I had thought that you would return. Safe. You didn't. Now my world is crashing down.
But my world had come crashing down many times.
Why now, why this lifetime, that I remember?
What was so different about this meeting?
Always, you have died. In one way or another. And I am left. How is that fair, answer me.
We will meet again, you and I.
But dare I have hope that the next time be different? Perhaps...
And then I wake up.
I'm in my bed, I'm in my pajamas, I don't have any kind of snow powers, and I'm completely soaked in sweat.
I gulp down air as I sit up in bed, grasping for my bottle of water.
I always have those dreams. Nightmares, I call them, even if they aren't scary.
But they always have him in them. Why, I do not know. But the dreams feel so real.
It's almost scary.
I look down at my clock.
4:03, it reads.
I have the dreams every night. They're always like that. And he is always there.
Sometimes it's different. Sometimes he's just a boy, and I am the Queen of Arendelle, sometimes he is an immortal spirit, and I am just a small child, trying to contain her ice powers.
The powers...
In some of the dreams, both of us have powers. Some, only I have powers. Those are the times when he has brown hair and brown eyes.
But whatever the scene, whatever the age difference, whatever the type of love, the love is always there. It feels so real it physically hurts me.
And whatever it is, it always ends with him dying.
And me left behind to grieve and move on.
It hurts so much.
I suppose I'm being rude. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Elsa Arendelle (yes, like the place occasionally in my dreams), I am sixteen years old, I am so pale I probably look like a vampire, I have blue eyes, platinum blonde hair (somehow. I don't know how, both of my parents were brunettes), and the only time I get noticed in school is when the popular kids bully me.
I don't mind, much. Papa always told me to be the bigger person, to conceal, don't feel.
It made sense then, it makes sense now.
I turn over to flip on my lamp on the nightstand.
It burns my eyes but I ignore it.
I stretch, getting up and daring to look at myself in the mirror.
My eyes are bloodshot, I have deep dark bags under my eyes, and I am absolutely horrendous looking.
Some people, like my sister, always say that I am stunningly beautiful. I don't see it. I just see a white haired freak who can't keep her life together.
My blue pajamas are wrinkled and faded, so I might as well just start getting ready for school.
Somehow, I find myself sitting down on my bed, pulling out my sketchbook, slipping on my oversized glasses, and drawing.
Okay, maybe I should say a few main things you should know about me. We've got the basics, I am an utterly un-fascinating and dull person who has dreams about the various deaths of the most popular guy in my school. Other than that, I love winter, I love to draw, I hate having my hair down in front of others (seriously, it's gotten so bad that I'll grab my hair back in a ponytail with my hand if my sister so much as knocks on the bathroom door), and I wear glasses.
But, I'm not too un-fascinating, if someone got to know me. I'm a quite confusing person, really. For instance, I bet you wouldn't guess that I will stay up all night just to see the first snowfall (even though it never snows here), or that I'm actually quite talented at drawing (though you wouldn't know based on art class), or that I actually love having my hair down, or that I have twenty-twenty vision.
I'm guessing the last one threw you for the biggest loop, so I'll explain that one.
Yes, I have perfect vision, but at school, I'm always reading or drawing and I like having the glasses. I have them so much I'll just wear them on the bridge of my nose if I'm not using them. At home, I'll even slide them on top of my head like a headband, but I would never do that at school. I'm never seen without them when I'm not swimming or showering.
The second, I guess, is also questionable.
Though I do love having my hair down, I just don't wear it down. For some reason, it twists my stomach in an aching way. It's one of those things that I never do. Like how some girls never leave the house without a pound of makeup or how some boys have a thing against jeans. No one questions them about the things they never do and yet I'm one being criticized because I never wear my hair in any other fashion.
I look down at my sketchbook, surprised to find a creepily accurate drawing of a lake surrounded with people clad in black. The wind is formed where it intertwines, forming a delicate and tiny heart in the corner of the page.
It was the last dream.
That dream was the one that was the strongest. Some of them were faded and I couldn't see them that well. But this one was so sharp, if it were a knife you would cut your hand on it just by looking at it.
Why that one was the strongest, I did not know.
I could remember the most with that one.
In that scene, Jack had had brown hair and brown eyes, he had been seventeen, and he did not have powers. I had slightly lighter hair that I kept cut just below my shoulders, and it had always been down with flowers entangled in it. That was the only time that I could think of that the kind of love that was in my dreams was in any way romantic. It also happened to be the only one where both of us had no powers.
I take a deep breath, sliding my sketchbook into my shoulder bag.
4:32, the clock reads.
It must be light outside now, so I go over to my curtains and open them for the first time in a long while.
That's strange.
The light across from my window is on.
Perhaps I should mention something.
The most popular guy in my school, the athlete, the smart guy, the bad boy, also known as the guy who haunts my dreams with his death, also known as Jack Frost, lives across from me.
Our two small but nice houses are positioned where I can see right into his bedroom, and vice versa.
I remember back in middle school, when I first moved to town, when I wasn't so terribly shy and cut off from the world, we were friends, sort of. We didn't talk much in school, but we would stay up late writing on giant sketchpads to each other from our windows. I swear, Jack had known me better than my sister. But that was before high school. That was before I stopped responding to his messages and quirky smile. Before I shut the world out with my thick drapes and cold attire.
I let the glasses slip a little, and blush heavily when I realize that Jack is sitting on his bed, face looking down...shirtless.
He must have caught the movement out of the corner of his eye.
Jack isn't embarrassed for me to see him like this. I'm not sure whether that's a good thing or not, maybe it would have made things even more awkward, but he just smiles at me, reaching up to ruffle his hair.
Thank God I sleep in a braid.
I'm pretty sure not one living soul has seen me with my hair down or without my glasses since before high school.
He gets up, leaving my viewpoint.
I wait for a second, and am about to leave when he comes back.
He has a heavy Sharpie marker in his right hand, the same large silver marker, with the same large sketchpad from before.
He turns it around with a sideways smile, and I can't help but turn the corners of my mouth up a bit.
Bad dreams? The paper says.
I glance at the abandoned sketchpad in the corner of my room.
Maybe...
Don't do it, Elsa...
I grab a regular Sharpie, a blue one, for me. I wonder if he meant to use the heavy duty silver Sharpie. Whether he did or not, I might as well keep up the old tradition and use my perfect teal blue one.
How did you know? I draw out in elegant handwriting.
Jack reads it before scribbling something down. His handwriting was always legible, but that was about it. It's the same now.
He pauses halfway through writing, staring at the paper as if he's deciding whether or not to write what he was going to write originally.
Then, he picks up his speedy scribble, turning it towards me.
I could hear you crying.
I smile with a bittersweet edge.
So what are you doing up at this hour?
I don't really know, he writes back.
Well that's reasonable.
Haha, very funny.
He smiles, turning back to his sketchpad.
Do you have any plans for anything?
I shake my head 'no' in response, but begin to write something down afterwards.
So you're not doing anything important?
No
Good. In that case, could you go put a shirt on?
I'm trying not to blush as I show this message, but either way, I'm going to be uncomfortable. Might as well get something out of being embarrassed.
I see him read the message and throw his head back in laughter.
Well great, that helps with my blush a lot.
He walks off, returning a moment later, this time with a dark grey V-Neck T-Shirt on.
Shit, when did Jack get hot? I wonder before I can brush away the thought.
I blush even harder, chasing it deep into my mind and locking those kinds of forbidden thoughts away where they belong. I don't allow myself to think about those kinds of things. What kind of boy in his right mind would be interested in a white haired freak like me?
He's smirking when he holds up his next message.
Better?
Thank you, is all I can think of to write back.
You're cute when you're flustered.
Flattery only gets you so far in life.
I see him chuckle to that right before I hide my scarlet face.
You know, most girls would die to have me as their next door neighbor and catch a sight of me shirtless.
Good thing I'm not most girls, I write back, unsure of what to really to say to that.
When I have doubts, I'll slip into a cold personality, relying heavily on sarcasm. Well, except around the popular crowd. Then, it's best to just stay quiet. But Jack was never one to join in on the bullying. Maybe he was different.
No, you most certainly are not, his paper reads when I look over at it.
I don't know what to say to that. Was it a compliment? Or was he mocking me? I don't know these things! Anna's the one who specializes in the 'boy' department of things. The closest I come to talking to boys is to tell them to leave me alone.
Well, except for Jack...
But this is the first time we've really "talked" since middle school, so I guess it doesn't really count.
I decide to just laugh it off lightly and respond with, Go get ready for school, Frost.
He laughs again, writing back, Yes ma'am, Arendelle.
I roll my eyes, but don't respond.
I stand on my tip-toes to close the curtains, shutting out the world once again. Maybe even shutting out this memory of feeling remotely wanted.
I go over to my closet and pull on a long sleeve blue sweater and some dark navy blue jeans. I slip on a pair of knee high tan pull on boots and finish it off with my signature French braid, which I sweep over my right shoulder.
At six fifty, I creep over to Anna's door for the fourth time and knock on it, slowly entering.
"Wake up, princess," I say, smiling with my arms folded and leaning against the doorway.
She snorts in a very un-graceful way, snapping up before slumping down again.
"Five more minutes, Mom," she slurs sleepily.
My heart pulls when she says that, but she's half sleeping still. I can't blame her for that.
"Sorry to wake you but it's time to get ready, I leave at seven and you only have ten minutes now," I say, hoping that allowing her to sleep in a little (okay, a lot) later than usual won't make us both late.
"What? Oh, no, I've been up for hours! Hm" -yawn- "Ready for what, exactly?"
"The...first day of school...?"
Was this the same girl who had been chattering endlessly about her first year as a freshman just last night and, oh, just about the entire freaking summer vacation?
"First...day...of school..." she smacks her lips subconsciously, cracking her eyes open a little. Suddenly, she jumps, excited and perky. "It's the first day of school!"
I have never seen her so excited and active before.
In seven minutes flat she is dressed with half of her makeup on, shoving a slice of toast into her mouth and dragging me to the car.
"Let's go, Ells!" She calls my little nickname out as she rummages through her purse for various items.
"I'm on it, sheesh," I mutter, roaring the engine to life. But I secretly smile at the memory.
When Anna was younger, she couldn't pronounce my name very well. She'd always call me 'Ells Bells' because reason one; she could say it easily and reason two; she liked it because it rhymed. She doesn't call me 'Ells Bells' anymore, but she does still skip out on my real name and just use the first half of the nickname.
I can't help but notice that Jack's car is already gone from the driveway.
Remind me again why I care?
I shift my gaze away, focusing on the road and Anna applying mascara and lip gloss in the rearview window.
As we pull into school, the bell's just about to ring.
"Got to go, have fun, Ells, let it go a little, and, uh, have fun. I should go, I need to go, I...bye!" Anna chirps, running away and slamming the door shut. Almost immediately, she runs into someone.
"Sorry!" She calls, shaking it off and dashing for the main gym where the freshmen meet.
I chuckle to myself, taking my time to head to the second auditorium where the juniors meet.
I rarely ever actually listen to what they tell us. It's all about becoming "mature adults" and "progressing for educational benefit." I have the time to manage straight A's in all AP classes. I think I deserve to zone out on the speeches.
"Alright, juniors, have fun and please go follow your schedules!"
Orientation was a couple weeks ago and we all got our schedules then. All of the kids mainly came to gossip with their friends about classes, but I had just gotten Anna to get my schedule for me and had planned on being conveniently "absent" the day of makeup photos. Nifty, right?
"What a freak," I hear some girls say loud enough for me to overhear.
"Is that natural?"
"No. She must bleach it. Hideous, if you ask me."
Well no one did, thank you very much.
I bite my tongue to keep from saying anything aloud.
I catch a flash of silver to my right.
On Jack, everyone thought it was "cute" and "hot" to have his natural white and silvery hair with the pale complexion. But on me, it was considered unnatural. Oh well. What do I care? I'd rather be alone with a pencil and a blank sheet of sketch paper anyway.
I see him watching me, but he doesn't make a move to stop his friends when they come to harass me as usual.
Though he doesn't follow or join in with them, it still stings that he doesn't do anything.
More than it normally would.
Was it maybe because we had had a conversation this morning?
I don't know, but I guess that's what I get.
I can't expect him to change just like that after three years of doing nothing before.
He didn't care then, he wouldn't care now.
And why would he?
Good question.
I hug my book closer to my chest and keep my head low as I speed to my locker before any jocks or popular girls block it.
49, 39, 25...
Click!
I dump some unneeded possessions into it before slamming it closed with my foot.
Though I just rid myself of at least half of my things, my bag is still heavy with books.
Oh well. Best to be over prepared than underprepared, right?
I see Jack again at lunch while I buy my food, but we don't interact. We don't even look at each other.
As I push the door open to the library, I sigh.
Nothing's changed.
I should be happy, right?
After all, this was what I wanted.
Even five years later, I couldn't move on from my parent's death. In fact, I had probably gotten worse.
I guess the dreams about Jack's multiple deaths only added to my stack of problems.
Just add it to the list, Elsa, I think.
I don't want my little peace to end, but the bell rings, signaling sixth period.
I open the door and step into the halls.
It's not a moment later that someone trips me and some jocks dump me in a trash can.
Welcome to my life.
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Until next time!