Going through all of my old things, I found bits and pieces of works that I started and never completed, chapters for started works that I didn't like, and other such nonsense. The title kind of explains it all.
This first one is from Out of the Blue, a fic I will be working on this July, along with Stages of Life and a Danny Phantom circus… thing. Most of it sounds like it's editing and rewriting the chapters at this point, but soon I will be doing new things to them. So watch for updates on those.
Anyway, you'll notice the many differences between the actual posted stuff and this. It was rather painful, I remember, to write this piece. Something about the wording or along those lines. You'll actually see why I changed it.
So, yeah… have fun.
Disclaimer: I do not hold any legal rights to Soul Eater.
Scraps and Other Dismissals
by iOc
Out of the Blue: Prologue
There are memories
as far as a
fantasy
A castle of sand near a shore of the ocean
Days of one gone summer
One gone summer
The days of the summer when love began
There was an old hotel
on some lonely
beach
Where we felt as the prince and the mermaid
And only the moon saw our secret kiss
Days of one gone summer
One gone summer
Dreams were born and future was new
The summer when love
was young
And again I felt your smile
on some days no
sun shone
Again I died for a kiss one night I was alone
And I never dare to forget
the tender kiss
of the little
mermaid
— "The Mermaid" by Michael Andreas Trimmel
Her soft, chubby feet padded along the hardwood flooring of the hallway as she tip-toed back up the stairs to her room. She had needed a drink after waking up dehydrated from the heat of the oncoming summer and the chilling nightmare that had startled her into consciousness. Normally a child of her age would try and snuggle next to her parents, but their door had been locked leaving the six-year old to try and calm herself down.
She did not really remember the dream. She remembered the woman in it, who was terribly frightening and quite malicious.
Shuddering and pausing on the stairs, she opened her large eyes to try and peer in the enveloping darkness that seemed to suffocate the whitewashed walls and chocolate brown wood floors. She clung to the railing to steady her heavy breathing.
Why did that woman in her dreams frighten her so? What about her made her scary, exactly? The girl had not seen her face, nor had she seen much of the woman. It puzzled her to try and understand the fear that had come from her dreams.
It's probably because it was a nightmare, she told herself. That woman as just a figment of my imagination. She doesn't exist outside my mind.
Her mother had told her to repeat those words, well not those words exactly, but words close to them whenever she woke up from a bad dream and wanted to cry. After she repeated those words, she was to take a healthy gulp of water (which she had already done) and think happy thoughts as she went back to sleep.
She winced as her door creaked when she opened it. She slid back into her room and closed her door as gingerly as a six-year old could.
Her bedroom was quite stuffy and needed to air out. She made her way over to the balcony doors and unlocked them. She pushed one of them open and was instantly relieved by a cool, ocean breeze. She sighed and sat with her legs hanging over the edge and her cheeks resting on the wood of the balcony railing. Her mind started to go fuzzy and blank, and she began to doze off when the sound of someone calling her name shook her from the daze.
She immediately stood up, with a bit of bumping and shuffling, and peered out to the beach. A bit of a fog had settled in and it would only get worse until the sun burned it away.
Her squinted eyes spotted a moving form moving along the sand. She swore that whoever it was looked back and called to her.
She pouted her lips and made a quick decision. She would go and find out who was on the beach at this hour.
She climbed down the outside stairs, knowing they would have to be repainted soon. Very soon. She would have to tall her father in the morning. The ocean had taken its toll on them this past year.
She trotted along the sandy beach, shivering when the cool waves lapped her legs.
The being on the beach had moved to the tide pools.
She made her way, guided by the light of the overcast moon, to the being who had stopped as if waiting for the girl.
"Come on, darling." the being cooed with a crackly voice. "Come to me."
A clawed hand reached out from under the folds of the black fabric that shrouded the being. It was beckoning the girl, luring her, to something unknown. The voice, though frightening, held unspoken promises on the unseen lips that called out to her.
Curious, the girl walked forward, watching her footing.
"Yes, come on, darling. Come on."
"No!"
The girl looked over her shoulder to see who had cried out. She could make out figures running towards them, one far ahead of the rest.
"Mama." the girl said, watching as the woman tackled the being into the ocean before it could lay on finger on her. She watched as the two sank down into the dark depths.
"Maka, get away from there!" a man called. She looked to see her father and the two others following him. She stepped back and cried out in a shrill voice. "Mama!"
Her father scooped her up and held her close to his chest. The two other men dove gracefully into the water, as if they were Olympic swimmers.
The girl vaguely remembered what happened after that. She recalled how the two men found nothing. She recalled how the police came and asked questions. She recalled being woken up several times and told to go back to sleep. She recalled her father talking on the phone. She recalled the two men checking on her at various times. She recalled not going to school for days. She recalled little of the funeral service.
They had no body for the casket, so it was empty. People came and pinched her cheeks and called her a "poor dear," but to her all their comfort was wasted.
Something was off about the whole thing for her. Her mother had jumped into the ocean to save her, yet no body was found. That did not mean her mother was dead. She could be off somewhere, found my some Chinese fishermen and thought to be a mermaid (if such being actually existed). She could be a mermaid herself, all the daughter knew.
In her mind, as in many child's minds, her mother was a goddess, a saint. She could never die. Anything mother did was good and kind and pure. Her mother made everything better. Mothers just don't go off somewhere and leave their daughters behind.
"She has to be hiding somewhere." the girl said to herself as assurance that her mother was indeed out there someplace in the world. "I'll find her when I'm big and strong and Papa can't hold me back."
This was a vow she planned on keeping.
Several months passed and people still talked. She never really would have minded, had the talking not been about her. It was painful but she tried to ignore them and focused on her schoolwork. Lunch was the only time she ever really had to deal with the gossipers.
"Hey, did you hear?" a boy stated to his friend.
"Yeah?" the friend asked.
"See that girl over there, the one with the ponytails?" He pointed to the petite blonde sipping her milk out of the carton with a straw as they were instructed to do by the lunch ladies. They didn't want children putting their mouths on cartons. Who knew where they'd been.
"What about her?"
"She's got no mom."
"So who's taking care of her?"
"Don't know."
"Let's ask. Hey, blondie!" He tugged one of her ponytails. Her head snapped towards him.
"What?" she asked.
"Who's taking care of you? You got no mom right? Is your grandma being your mom?"
"No, my Memaw lives in Texas and my Granny lives in Chicago."
"So who's taking care of you, then?"
"My Papa."
"Your dad? That's not a dad's job. A dad is supposed to work."
"He does work. He owns a big hotel. You can see it from the window. It's all the way down at the end on the street. See it? We live there. I'm going to live there until I'm big and strong so I can look for my Mama on my own. Papa won't do it. He's too busy looking for a new mama for me but only Mama can be my mama."
"I heard about your dad. He's nothing but a lying, cheating scamp who will kiss any woman that he wants." said the first boy.
"Papa's not like that!" she cried, standing up. People looked over at her. She squeezed her eyes and her fists to try and stop herself from crying. She had promised that she would be strong and never cry. "My Papa wouldn't do such thing! Don't say stupid lies, you liar!"
"I'm not lying, I'm just saying what my mom told me. You're the one who's lying, liar. You don't even know your own dad."
She shrieked and lunged at him. Now, she wasn't very strong, but her nails were sharp and she could bite. But she had been literally pried off the poor boy and taken to the principle's office where she was scolded.
The boy's parents and her father had been informed. She wasn't given any punishment, but the principle suggested to her father that she see a child psychiatrist. She didn't question it, she perked up. She was also told to apologize to the boy. She did so grudgingly.
"I'm sorry." she said to him, the words rancid on her tongue as she said them.
"It's okay, I guess." he said. "I mean, I think that if I lost my mom, I'd be pretty mad too. Mom's can do everything. My mom's Superwoman. What about your mom, what was she like?"
"My mama? She was... pretty and very nice. Everybody liked her, especially Papa. He's more sad that she went away than I am."
"My mom said your mom died."
"She's not dead." the girl said, slightly startled that anyone could say such a thing of her mother. "She's not. I know she's not. She's hiding, waiting until it's safe to see me again. I just know she is."
"I'm Ox, by the way. Want to be friends?"
"Sure. I'm Maka."
To help her cope, her father sent her to a psychiatrist. Over the years, she would see a different one until she settled on a particular individual she liked.
Her first psychiatrist was a lanky man with orange hair and thick-rimmed glasses. He was a Star Trek fan and attempted to get her involved in things that a child her age would consider fun. She was more amused by these attempts than anything. To her, he was almost as comical as her father.
"So, Maka, do you want to play a game?" the male psychiatrist asked.
"No." the girl answered.
"Do you want to talk about school?"
"No."
"How about a puzzle? Puzzles are fun."
"No. What are those books for?"
"Them?" The psychiatrist looked over to his wall. "Those books are for grown ups like me and your Papa and your teacher. They tell us about different things that might be wrong with a person."
"Oh. Mama used to read me stories with thick covers like those. They were really old."
"Do you want to walk about your Mama?"
She shrugged.
"What was your favorite thing about her?"
"She is..." the girl said, trying to think of the words. "She is Mama. Mama is Mama. She is the most beautiful person in the whole, wide world. You can ask Papa and he'll agree. Everyone liked her. They all keep saying that she's dead, but you want to know what?"
"What?" the psychiatrist asked in a whisper, as if they were sharing the biggest secret in the world.
"Mama's not dead. She's far, far away in hiding. I know you think it's ridiculous, all adults do. You all say that no one can survive being drowned, but I read in a book that you can. She's not dead, they just couldn't find her. What are you writing down?"
"Oh, nothing really. You act quite mature for your age."
She inflated a tad bit at that news. Mature for her age? Maybe she could test up to another grade. Perhaps the same grade as Ox? He was a whole year older than she was and she had made plenty of friends with his friends. They all seemed to like her.
"Can I borrow one of your books?" she asked. "I'm interested in the neuro... neuro... neuro..."
"Neurological?"
"Yes, I'm interested in the neurological sequence in which the brain receive messages from the sensitive sensors on the skin."
"Alright. Let's see if we have one you might be able to understand."
He walked over the shelf and eventually picked one out, handing it to her.
It was on that day from that book that she discovered that she loved to learn. She tested up to the next grade and was placed in Ox's class. The two of them quickly became competitors for the highest grade in class and that lasted until their junior year of high school.
See what I meant with it being painful? Well, it was painful at parts. I'm not sure what will be added to this next, but we'll see. I'm sure I have something laying around that could be posted or typed up.