The Coming of DaiZ
One dreamer, one chance to change everything
You know that moment when you get an idea and its a bad idea... but you do it anyways?
Chapter 1: Wake Up Dialla
The girl walked down the isle of pews to the front where a large rainbow stain-glass window shown down on her. She looked down at the huge book, expecting a bible but it wasn't. Curious, she flipped the golden pages, then stopping at the marked section.
At the top, in English read: "The Ideya". It had a picture of the five ideya and a very detailed description of each orb, but also a mention of something else. She looked at the other page, to her confusion it was on a completely different topic. Lifting up the ribbon marker she sighed in disappointment. Someone had torn the page out.
She walked up the stair to the stone mural on the wall. It was a picture of a union. The dreams and nightmares on one side, reality on another, and in the center, joining them together, was symbol of their perfect harmony. The symbol of an ideya inside an upside-down triangle, inside a sun.
Reaching out she pressed the ideya and the stain-glass window fell apart forming an endless crystal bridge of many colors, stretching out into the cosmos. The girl stepped forward on the rainbow bridge. She was careful not to slip. For if she fell; it would be forever in the starry depths.
Suddenly a faint violet light glowed a distance from her.
"There it is again; that light. Where is it coming from? What is it coming from?"
She walked toward it, wanting, no; needing to discover what the source of the light was. But with every step, the light got further and further away from her.
"No! Stop! Wait! Come back!" She shouted, quickening her pace into full on sprint.
Just when it seemed like she was catching up, a figure appeared before her, blocking her path. The other was wearing a cloak, its face hidden in shadow.
"You shall not pass!" the voice from the darkness ordered.
"W-why not?" Was all she could ask.
"You are hardly the chosen one to wield its power."
"Chosen one? Wield what? What was that thing?" She asked.
Suddenly a there was a defying shriek in her ears. She pressed her hands against the sides of her head to block the noise. The bridge shook and cracked, shattering into thousands of pieces.
As she fell she never took her eyes off the stranger. "No! Tell me! Why am I not the one? Tell me! TELL ME!" she screamed over the ringing sound.
Wait. Ringing sound?
Dialla sat up, gasping for the much needed oxygen as her alarm clock dinged furiously at her, demanding that she'd wake up and turn off the alarm. Her violet eyes glared at the clock, grabbing it with both hands and shook it furiously.
"Stupid clock, I was about to get answers to that stupid dream! You stupid, obnoxious clock!" On 'clock' she threw the offensive item against the wall, on impact the dinging ceased and a clock shaped dent had been added to the wall's decor.
She stared at the hole for a moment before moaning and holding her head in her hands. "Mom's going to kill me."
Dialla Ramsey tumbled out of her comfortable bed on to the hard cold floor. Sitting up and rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, she looked around her pale yellow room and her eyes fell on the Nights calendar hanging on the wall with a day circled in purple which happened to be the last day of school.
Today.
Last day of school?
"LAST DAY OF SCHOOL!" She exclaimed, scrambling to get ready for school.
She pulled off her night shirt and snapped on a white A-cup bra and pulled on her favorite tee, a purple t-shirt with a 'D' made out of bright yellow rhinestones she had punched on the front. She jumped into a pair of bold fuchsia shorts, and grabbed her brush, running it through her razor-cut magenta hair till it didn't stand up like cactus needles. She had insisted on this haircut even though her mother said it was too short and made her look like a boy.
Slipping on a pair of white socks and white and purple tennis shoes, she clipped her crescent moon choker around her neck, then began to fill her backpack with the necessities of school.
Okay. Books, pencils, wallet, keys, folder of NiGHTS fan art, i-pod, and my notebook. There, now I'm ready. She zipped up her pack and checked herself in the full-length mirror handing on her door.
Being 5.2 and weighing 107 lbs. she was a tiny girl for sixteen, but her dad had said that she was as strong a diamond and as precious as a ruby.
Speaking of Dad. She rummaged through the bottom draw beneath her socks and pulled out an old picture frame, the glass was cracked slightly but the picture beneath it was luckily undamaged. A young man had posed for the picture; sapphire blue eyes that sparkled with laughter and a confident smile gave her hope. She ran a hand through her dark pink hair, wishing she had inherited her father's royal blue. She had asked her mom into dying it that color but the woman wouldn't have it.
"I don't want to look at you and be reminded of him!" Her mother would say, then would always add with a bitter voice. "You act like him enough as it is."
To which Dialla would retort in her mind. 'As apposed to being be a trollop like you, that can't hold a relationship for more than a month? No thank you!' But of course she would never says this out loud. She couldn't stand to be slapped again. A punch was one thing but slaps just stung and were humiliating.
Dialla shook her head of the bad memories and gave the picture a kiss. "Wish me luck, Daddy. I wish you were still here." she smiled sadly for a moment, and then hid the picture again then got to her feet. "Okay! I'm ready!" she cheered, then zoomed down stairs to the kitchen.
"Morning Mom..." she stopped short and almost gagged at the sight in front of her. God, can't they get a room!?
Victoria Ramsey, also known as 'Vicky' by everyone, was up on the counter, arms and legs wrapped around the waist of Stan Jenkins, her mom's newest boyfriend— Dialla had lost count after one year since the divorce. Her mother was a magnet for losers. Her dad had been the best thing that had happened to her and then she went and cheated on him. Dialla could remember the fight and the only reason her dad had stayed was to get custody of their daughter, but the stupid courts gave it to Vicky.
Her father would come to visit when it was his time but Vicky would drag Dialla out for an all-day trip and get back when he had left. And then he stopped visiting. Vicky assumed that he had 'gotten the message', but Dialla still cling to the hope that he would come for her.
The following years resembled the stories in fairy tale books about wicked stepmothers. Dialla would find herself home alone most of the time but in the moments her mother was home she would find an excuse to yell at her even if she had to make one up. Dialla would fall asleep waiting up for her to come home but quickly learned not to do that as Vicky started bringing home strange men. Sometimes it would be the same guy but by the next month he was gone and her mother's happiness went with him. Dialla hated the breakups and learned to avoid the wrathful mother at all costs till she brought home another loser.
Speaking of losers, Stan was the worst as they came. With the others, they had ignored her but she had started noticing Stan taking a particular interest in her. Even asked Vicky to meet her daughter; and would ask her questions like where she went to school, if she was in any after school events. Dialla at first found him refreshing until the way he looked at her made her guts twist into a knot.
Dialla was jarred from her thoughts by her name being used. "Dialla! What are you still doing here?! You'll be late for school!" her mother pretended to care about her daughter as she was in the presence of Stan.
"I-I was just going..." Dialla said quietly, glancing at Stan who had zeroed his cold gray eyes on her. That look again. She fought back the shiver and slowly backed away to the door.
Once she was outside she did what she called a 'shudder dance', which involved a shudder that went throughout the body, flailing of the arms, occasional jumping, and most importantly sticking your tongue out and say the word 'gross' repeatedly.