I do not own SM's characters/story, etc, etc.
I don't really own the OC's my Fanfic friends have created.
I do own my OC's.
That's about it.
Yeah.
I'm poor.
:)
This is for all of the wonderful people I have met on here.
I love you.
I wanna see miracles
To see the world change
Wrestled the angel for more than a name
For more than a feeling
For more than a cause
I'm singing 'Spirit, take me up in arms with You'
And you're raising the dead in me
-Twenty Four by Switchfoot
I'd rather feel pain than nothing at all. The numbness that surrounds you, like a gray fog. It hovers and follows but never exits, never takes a break. It's like your unwanted shadow.
Unfortunately I don't feel pain. I'm completely lost in a world that does not accept what I believe, what I desire, or even what I feel. It labels me as an outcast and throws me into the depths of the rejected of humanity. That isn't where you want to be. But it's reality for me.
My brother Daniel died when I was at the raw age of fourteen. He felt numb, too; at the time I didn't realize it, I didn't understand the emptiness that was all to familiar to him. He shot himself in his room when he was supposed to be watching Pretty Woman with me. It's my favorite movie. Our parents had told him to be nice and watch over me. They didn't need to; Daniel was the best older brother any girl could have. He was seventeen at the time of his death, and he was so kind and wise. He used to walk me into the woods behind our house and play hide-and-go-seek.
The sound of the shot from upstairs seemed to rip through my heart.
I never watched Pretty Woman again. Or went into his room.
After Daniel's suicide, the numbness welcomed me into it's ghostly embrace. It wasn't a nice, warm one like Daniel's; it was cold.
The emptiness is what has driven me to move to La Push, Washington. I found it on Google when I entered "home" into the search bar. The description sounded just like home: woodsy, small, beaches, not hot yet not exactly freezing, and it's a Reservation. However what I like best about La Push is that it's the home of a tribe, and that intrigues me the most. I'm not sure why. I guess I'll have to find that out for myself.
Even though I knew no one would be waiting for me as I entered the Seattle airport after my flight, but still, the disappointment poked at my sore girly emotions. I so desired to see a few girlfriends of mine (if I had one) and perhaps a lovely, special guy, all smiling brightly with a huge homemade sign that exclaimed: "WELCOME HOME IZZIE!". But this isn't The Secret Life of the Traveling Pants. I don't have any friends, or boyfriends. Honestly, I don't have anyone.
My grip tightened on my messenger bag as I made my way to the luggage claim. Finding my three bags was definitely stressful, since people never care about the 21 year-old-girl who was all by herself, probably due to the unintentional instinctive judgement that all young girls that seem to be on their own are in this situation because a) some idiot impregnated us without planning to do so or b) we are gay punks who ran away from home and dropped out of school. In either of the two false situations that do no apply to me, we are labeled as the lower class. The invisible.
Fortunately, once I had escaped the impolite, not so very thoughtful crowd, the fresh air welcomed me along with the sounds of the city. This was homey to me due to the fact that my parents used to take Daniel and me to the biggest cities in the USA. That made us very educated on numerous topics and other sorts of things, including hobos. But mostly it meant that I was exposed and quite fond of the city, and therefore the environment I stepped into was a deep relief.
The last part of my trip to La Push was delightfully uneventful. I was at peace and able to take the scenery in and think for the first time since I entered the airport. Even better, the drive was quick and harmless.
I paid my taxi driver, gathered up my things, and was left on the side of the road, in front of my new home.
It was absolutely perfect; just as I had thought when I saw the picture on the Internet.
The house was small but not trashy, it was a lovely deep, warm red and it screamed my name. The sight of my new home tempted me to burst into joyous tears; I could barely contain my happiness. Nearly sprinting towards the house, I carelessly kept dropping my countless bags and tripping like a drunken klutz. But at this fine moment, I didn't care. I couldn't even if there was paparazzi following me, snapping numerous embarrassing pictures. I was finally home.
La Push was my home.
Author's End Note:
Short opening, I know, but this was just for you to get a sweet taste of Izzie. And I deeply apologize if some of my attempts at being humors and clever were confusing. I honestly just spilled everything in my head out for you to see, so some of it may suck and may make you to stare at the screen with a nice, delicious string of drool dropping from your wide open mouth. :) Man, am I a character or what?
Anyway, for all of my RP friends reading this: the people Izzie was hinting at were indeed YOUR characters...(*cough* finna and twilightxorxhp! *cough*) She doesn't know them yet obviously, but they will become the people she desired to see at the airport.
I hope you enjoyed the first chapter of my story.
Xoxoxoxo
-FI