Personal Poetry Club
Hello dear Reader;
This is just a little down to earth (kind of) one-shot. I've read a few fanfics taking the themes of emails and SMSs, and felt like doing one myself.
Side notes :
Narration
-Typing-
"Talking"
Disclaimer : I do not own Soul Eater
Maka
The story that you are about to read could be qualified as a 'modern fairy tale'. Of course, there was no prince charming on a white horse, no damsel in distress locked up in the highest tower of some creepy old castle, no evil witch or fire breathing dragon to fight off the hero, nor were there little singing animals to cheer on the characters when the bad guys crush their hopes and dreams. But the way it all happened, how we met and how we found each other, even if some call it fate, or just random luck, still makes me think that there must have been a little bit magic to make it all happen.
It all started during my second year in Shibusen College, right after the beginning of the first trimester. Just like every year, the different clubs were handing out inscription sheets throughout the entire school, stuffing them into our lockers, screaming out in the courtyard to join them, handing them to anyone passing by the cafeteria during lunch,... Every single students was stalked and hunted down until they had joined a club, it was crazy!
Unfortunately, some clubs didn't manage to recruit enough members by the end of the two weeks notice, and were thus disbanded. This helped regulate the number of clubs throughout the school, and held the rowdiest students in check as they were kept busy with club activities during their free periods.
Amongst the clubs that were requested to close, there was the Personal Poetry Club. The former president, and most of its members, had graduated the year before, leaving the club in the hands of Death The Kid, and its two other members, Elizabeth and Patricia Thompson. This club, like any other dying club, would have disappeared without anyone noticing... If it hadn't been for the stunt they pulled a few days after their official closing.
On that fateful day, at the beginning of the first hour, during the morning announcements, a student locked himself inside the coach's office where a microphone connected to the rest of the school's sound system was kept. He interrupted the morning pledge, startling the entire school awake, as he made his announcement:
"HYAH-HAA! It's me the Great Black*Star!"
A silence fell over the classroom as we all looked up to the speakers that were hanging next to the upper left side of the blackboard. Stein, our science teacher, paused his scalpel a few millimeters away from the still struggling frog strapped down to the table in front of him, turning in his chair to face the offending black sound box that was interrupting his morning dissection.
"My loyal subjects, earlier last night, someone entered the Dean's office and hacked all of the students' phone numbers and emails."
People around me started chatting as the obnoxiously loud voice continued to talk through the speakers.
"By the way, Lord Death, 'Shinigami-Chop' is not a very hard password to find. But fear not my subjects! Today at 8:00am, all shall be revealed! HYAHAHAHAHA!"
After that, a loud crash was heard through the school's entire sound system, right before Coach Sid's voice came from afar, yelling in the background for Black*Star to get off of his desk, and to put that microphone down.
I looked at my watch, ignoring the laughs and shouts still coming from the school's speaker, and checked the time. It was still a quarter to eight. I let out a sigh as I picked up my sketchbook, ready to note down the different body parts we had to learn for next week's quiz. I didn't really care for this Science group, being registered in the Literature program, but I had been obliged to take an extra class that wasn't in the Literature course. Last year I had taken Stein's Advanced Algebra class, and had decided that taking another one of professor Stein's course would be a good idea.
Once the noise had died down, apparently Black*Star's microphone had been unplugged, Stein went back to explaining the dissection he wanted us to execute this morning. The bored sounding professor was interrupted a few minutes later, at 8 o'clock precisely, when all of the student's cell phones started ringing. I heard my own phone ring, blushing furiously as I dived inside my bag to turn the damn thing off. I was sure that I had turned it off, or at least had it on silent mode.
Two and a half hours later, when his class had finally come to an end, Stein had announced, with that very sadistic smile of his, that since everyone's cellphones had rang during his lesson, he wanted everyone to write a full report on the frog's digestive system by the end of tomorrow.
I didn't really mind, even if a good portion of the class started groaning at his punishment. Knowing Stein, I guess it could have been worse, so I wrote down the homework, glad that I had already finished all the other assignments that I had been given for the coming week.
Picking up my things as the students filed out, I set off to the library, my lunch in hand. Ever since I enterer Shibusen University, I had made it a habit to sneak into the back of the library where the old dusty and unused books were stored. I ducked behind rows after rows of shelves filled to the brim with books, steering clear of the main alleys were the librarians could spot me, in order to reach my lunch spot. I liked eating in the library, even if I knew that students weren't allowed to eat in here, but the calm and quiet that reigned in the library was my safe haven, the books shielding me from the rest of the world. So I hid in the back, sitting sideways on the window frame that took up half of the backwall, my laptop on my knees as I ate a salmon and cream sandwich. As I started my old computer up, I took out my cellphone, turning it on to check why it had gone off during class.
I had received a text, from an unknown sender, with no title, and just an Internet address in the message. Deleting it without a second thought, I went back to my computer to check my mails, while taking a bite out of my sandwich from time to time. I had received a single email, at exactly eight this morning. And just like the SMS, it was from an unknown sender, with no title, and the message was composed of a single Internet address. The same one I had deleted not two minutes ago.
Curiosity got the best of me as I remembered Black*Star's words, and clicked on the link. The internet page that popped up looked like a Blog, and was titled 'Personal Poetry Club'. The site itself looked simple, with a black background, white topic sections rimmed in red, and a login box just under the crimson title. Since I didn't have anything to lose, and that my antivirus hadn't gone crazy yet, I entered my student ID number like asked in the first box, and wrote a nickname in the space below, before hitting the 'Enter' key.
Logging on had sent me to a page, still in the same color theme as the last one, but with three columns. The first one was titled 'Themes', and had only the word 'Symmetry' in it. The second column was titled 'My Ink and Paper', and you could click on three different options: Write a Poem, See my Poems, and Private messages. The last column to the right of the screen was titled 'Who's online?', and a few names in red on the white background could be found. I couldn't help the smirk pulling at my lips as I read the first few nicknames: Ghosts-aren't-real, Giraffe-Lover, Kid, The-Great-And-Godly-Black*Star, The-Last-Death-Scythe, and my own nickname, Grigori's-Soul.
As I explored the site, I noticed that if you clicked on the other members' names, it lead you to a page with a list of the poems they had written. For now, only Kid had posted a few poems about symmetry, and strangely, they weren't that bad.
Caught up in the mood, with still an hour to spare until my next class, I decided to try my hand at writing a poem of my own. It wasn't anything fancy or researched, just a simple drabble about a mouse in a library, eating away at books, as the cats passed by, ignoring her.
Once the poem was written and posted, I closed my computer and got ready for my next class. The rest of the day was calm, even if the entire school was abuzz. Everyone seemed to be talking about the Personal Poetry Club. Rumors were also going around that Black*Star was going to be suspended for a week for the stunt he had pulled this morning, but since the emails and text messages couldn't be traced back to anyone, and because the school had no proof that someone really HAD entered the Dean's office to hack his computer, no sanctions were given to the ex-members of the Personal Poetry Club.
When I arrived home that night, in my little two room apartment that I had moved into at the age of sixteen in order to escape my constantly drunk, and overbearing, father, I turned my computer on to start that essay Stein wanted for tomorrow. Taking out my notebook, I checked my mails before getting to work, and was surprised to see a notification from the Personal Poetry Club.
Once again, curiosity got the best of me as I connected back to the site, and saw that someone had put a comment at the end of the poem I had written earlier that day.
-I liked your poem. But isn't it sad that, even if it's a mouse surrounded by predators, it's constantly ignored? - The-Last-Death-Scythe –
A small smile tugged at my lips. Someone had actually read this little poem that I had written down without any real thought behind, and liked it! I almost felt embarrassed to have posted such a half-assed poem, but was still pleased that it wasn't bad enough to get flamed. So not wasting another minute, I replied to The-Last-Death-Scythe:
-Thank you, I'm glad to know that you have enjoyed it. I'll be honest, I was just fooling around when I wrote that poem, but even if it is sad to be ignored, isn't it better than to be chased down and eaten by the cats? - Grigori's-Soul –
I left the tab open, opening a new one to start my research for Stein's class. About ten minutes later, I heard a small bell like sound as the name on the tab of the 'Personal Poetry Club' started to flicker. Clicking on it, I saw that The-Last-Death-Scythe had answered the reply I had sent just a few minutes ago.
This exchange lasted the entire night as I altered between writing Stein's assignment, and argued and discussed with The-Last-Death-Scythe if it was better to be ignored or persecuted by all. It was interesting how, even if we both knew that we were in the same school, and hinted at personal experiences, we were both careful to not reveal any personal information, not even hinting at our genders.
It was a very interesting mind game that started between The-Last-Death-Scythe and Grigori's-Soul. The first few days, I posted quite a few poems, eager to see who would comment, but most of all, what The-Last-Death-Scythe's opinion of them was. I was always connected when I could, checking my mails ever so often, only to end up checking on the site if I had gotten a reply, even if I knew that I hadn't received any notice in my mailbox.
This, like all new things, was fun, and I felt like I would never get bored of writing poems. Every piece that I wrote down got me anxiously waiting for a comment. And every comment posted had me jumping up and down, thrilled by the idea of someone taking his or her time to give his or her point of view on what I had written.
I replied to every comment that had been left, even if it was just to say 'thank you'. Most of the times, they never replied back, but sometimes they did, and the conversations you got out of these exchanges were always interesting. I was most flattered when a member read and praised every single one of my poems, taking their time to read and review them all.
The discussions that started between me and the other members would, most often then not, be exciting. Some conversations, after a few polite exchanges, would dwindle and stop, while others didn't. A few members like Spider-Queen, Snake-Enchantress, or Chainsaw-Master didn't seem to understand my reasoning and questions, or would go around in circles by repeating the exact same ideas in every single one of their messages, which had me cringing every time I saw that they had sent me yet another message. My answers would then be shorter and vague, hoping that they wouldn't reply again.
But some other members were a lot more interesting. I had very interesting exchanges with Kid, pleasant conversations with Camellia-Blossom, borderline-depressing talks with I-Don't-Know-How-To-Deal-With-This, and of course, there was my almost daily chats with The-Last-Death-Scythe.
There was something thrilling about speaking to a total stranger that seemed to harvest the same ideals as you. We were always careful on what we said about personal information, but sometimes we let a bit of our personal life transpire. I felt apprehension as I waited to know how the other party would react in front of this new knowledge. Will The-Last-Death-Scythe comment what I had experienced, share a personal story of the same subject, or just ignore it all together? As time went by, we had a few conversations discussing very personal subjects, and even if it was nerve wrecking at first, it became easier to write as we both confided in one another.
I told The-Last-Death-Scythe about how my father went from women to women, never a day going by without him coming home drunk and yelling at the top of his lungs just how much he loved me and my mother, mother that had left when I was nine. And my new confidant would show distaste, saying just how uncool it was to cheat around like that. But as any game of give and take, The-Last-Death-Scythe told me about his dysfunctional family, with parents that despised his personality, always comparing him to his older brother, never accepting his efforts.
Even if I had started caring about a few of the members on the site, I was still known as the Goody-two-shoes in school that was too serious to be approached. So every day, during lunch, I would hide out at the library to meet with my new online friends in the Poetry Club, but what I cherished the most was the trust and deep friendship I had developed with The-Last-Death-Scythe, a.k.a. Scythe, and before I knew it, the end of the year had came around as the summer holidays had began.
Kid, the club's president, had proposed that all members of the Personal Poetry Club could meet up at the school's park, for a picnic. Of course, I had guessed most of the other members' identities, but had been careful not to reveal my true name, just like I had never asked for Scythe's identity, and him mine.
I had decided that I would not be attending the picnic tomorrow. But that didn't mean that Scythe didn't try to get me to come anyways:
-Come on Grigori, it'll be fun!-
-Sorry Scythe, I'm booked already-
-Booked? With what? It's the summer HOLIDAYS!-
-I've got stuff to do.-
-Sure... BTW, did you read Lantern-Witch's last story?-
Scythe was changing the conversation, and I was glad he knew when to let it go, even if I also knew that he would try convincing me again before the end of the night.
-Yes I did, and I felt bad for the girl in her poem.-
-Why? Because of how she's bummed out because she can't remember when her crush saved her with CPR?-
-Well, yeah, that was her first kiss.-
-No, it wasn't. It was CPR, that's hardly a kiss.-
-Scythe. What's the definition of a kiss?-
-I don't know, when your lips make contact with someone or something else?-
-Exactly. And I'm pretty sure there's some lip to lip contact during Cardiopulmonary resuscitation.-
-You really don't like to be wrong, do you?-
-Nope. :p -
-I really don't think it's the same, Grigori. There has to be feelings behind a kiss, for it to mean something, for it to count as a kiss.-
-When did you get so touchy on words? It was her first kiss since it was from her crush, Scythe.-
-You've never kissed anyone before, have you?-
I blushed behind my screen. Even if I had guessed that Scythe was a boy, he still hadn't figured out that I was a girl, but this conversation would surely be a dead giveaway of my gender. Anyways, there was no shame in a 21 year old girl that still hadn't share a kiss with a boy… right? So I went with the truth.
-No, I haven't. But if I was to loose my first kiss to some stranger just because I almost drowned, I would be pissed.-
-Then the first thing I'll do if I ever meet you, will be to kiss you senseless. Like that there'll be no chance for you to lose your first kiss by 'CPR after accidental drowning'.-
-I don't like that sarcastic tone of yours… And how can you be so sure of yourself that you won't backtrack on your offer to kiss me once you see me?-
I was blushing furiously at the direction this conversation had taken. Hoping it was a joke, and yet flattered if it wasn't.
-Wait, you're not a guy, right?-
-Lol, nope. Definitely not a guy.-
-Then I'll be the guy with the white hair tomorrow at the picnic.-
I stared at the screen, dumfounded. He wasn't serious…. Right?
By the time I gathered my thoughts and started a reply, the conversation closed, signaling Scythe's departure, much to my flustered annoyance.
The following night, I tossed and turned, thinking over the pros and cons of going to this picnic. Truthfully, they were all people that I enjoyed chatting with, and the only thing I had planned for tomorrow was to go shopping for some groceries. Meanwhile, at the picnic, Kid was going to nominate the club's best poems, and I knew that Camellia-Blossom was going to bring a vanilla and caramel cream cake that I was dying to try. The weather would be sunny, and Black*Star had said that he was going to bring a basketball to play in the courts next to where the picnic would take place… There really wasn't any good reason for me to NOT come. Then again, meeting Scythe and seeing his disappointed look when he saw that he had offered to kiss Shibusen's most boring bookworm, before runninng out on me in front of everyone, was reason enough to not go.
And he HAD said that he would be the guy with the white hair. Was he an old man? A TEACHER? Or maybe a delinquent that had bleached his hair? Great! Whatever the reason, this could not be good for my already pathetic social life.
By 9am the next morning, I was ready to leave. I set down a tray of cookies, freshly out from the oven, on the kitchen counter as I started pacing back and forth between my small kitchen and the living room. I just couldn't seem to bring myself to go to the picnic. The other members would probably be very disappointed to know that I was Grigori's-Soul, and then I would just end up reading I-Don't-Know-How-To-Deal-With-This's poems and write gloomy ones myself for the rest of the summer holidays. And maybe by then, I'll have mustered enough courage to show my face again at school when the new year started… maybe. Or I could just move out of Death City and get into another school, or finish my last classes as a homeschooled student?
I stopped my pacing and thinking when someone knocked at my door. I let out a sigh as I walked to my front door, hoping it wasn't Blair wanting to go shopping, or worse, my drunk father. Looking at the clock, I figured that since it wasn't anywhere near the afternoon, it couldn't be my father, and opened the door.
I stood there, hand frozen on the door, as a tall guy with unruly white hair and deep red eyes looked down on me with an almost bored gaze. When I was going to ask him who he was, he leaned down and pressed his lips against mine. I felt my heart speed up in my chest as butterflies invaded my stomach, and for the first time in a long time, my mind was completely and utterly blank as I stayed unmoving, eyes wide open as my lips started to tingle under the boy's soft ones.
When the teen leaned away from me, a cocky smile formed on his lips:
"So, Maka, how's that for a first kiss?"
I felt my hand twitch.
"Maka-chop!"
Looking down at the figure that was now crouching on the ground and holding his bruised skull with his hands, I felt my face heat up with embarrassment as my mind started working again.
"What. The. Hell? S-Scythe?"
He looked up at me, a bit uneasy now.
"Yeah, I figured that you were going to start overthinking the situation and not show up, so I came to get you."
"You… why… who? How, how did,… me?"
I didn't really know what I wanted to say myself, but the smile that tugged at his lips told me he did:
"I'm the one that hacked into the Dean's office at the beginning of the year. All I had to do was look your Student ID up to get your name and address, then I got here."
Rubbing his skull one last time, he got up and extended one hand towards me before adding:
"Hi, I'm Soul, Soul Eater. The stranger that gave you his first kiss."
I took his hand, shaking it as I felt my still pink cheeks cool down, unable to hold back the smile forming on my lips:
"Maka Albarn. And you stole my first kiss."
Update June 30th 2015 :
Hello! After the many reviews wanting another chapter, I've though long and hard about making this a two-shot. Unfortunately, I wasn't pleased with what I was writing down, so decided that I would just keep my first idea in mind, and keep this a short and sweet one-shot like it was supposed to be since the beginning. I apologize to all of my lovely readers who hoped for a continuation, but I refuse to post a half-assed chapter just because.
Thank you for understanding!