I apparently had this story up under my file since middle school and I though I would revive it and share it with others. Though here is the first chapter, I am going to go back and do more changes on it . . . cause I personally don't like it . . . and I think I'm going to have the story in third person limited . . . or somewhat like that . . .
Anyhow, I think I'm going to use name variations and cognates for the Chipmunks and Chipettes in this story. For instance, instead of "Simon," I may call him "Simeon" or another variation or cognate name. So you the reader get to decide which name variant of "Alvin" you wish me to call him under my wall! :) Oh, please ignore the Anglo-Saxon variants, I thought those two were the only variants or cognate forms of "Alvin" before I came across another site about first names . . . unless someone votes for either one I don't care.
DISCLAIMER!
Formally Bagdasarian Film Corporation, Alvin Seville rightfully belongs to both Ross Bagdasarian Sr. and Ross Bagdasarian Jr. as well as Janice Karman under Bagdasarian Productions.
Ian Hawke is the main antagonist played by David Cross in the live action/CGI Alvin and the Chipmunks and its sequels, Alvin and the Chipmunks: The Squeakquel and the upcoming Alvin and the Chipmunks: CHIPWRECKEDU.
Claudia Vorstein is a fictional European diamond smuggler in the 1987 American animated film The Chipmunk Adventure directed by Janice Karman from a screenplay by Ross Bagdasarian Jr.
A Caucasian man of five foot nine in his late thirties and early forties exited out of the large white mansion with fluted columns and a broad porch. The man wore a black eye wear, the single lens held in place under the ridge of his right eyebrow and a deep jet black tuft of hair on his chin. A viridian colored frock rested on his wide broad shoulders unbuttoned, revealing a vest was over a white shirt with ruffles and a top hat rested neatly on his head. A cord wrapped through the belt loops around his narrow waist, holding his pantaloons up. Placing his top hat neatly back on his thinning bald head, the man turns to face the blonde woman in a Thulian pink bulky, utilitarian garment now standing in the doorframe. Her blue eyes connecting with his brown ones.
"I wish to thank you again for allowing me to stay overnight my dear," he amiably began, bringing her hand closer to his face and plants a kiss on the back. The woman's boney cheeks turned a hue of pinkish-red, watching the man turn on his heels and made his way down the steps of the porch and onto the cobblestone walkway. He looked back at her.
"I shall see you soon, Miss Vorstein," he added. Two or three yards down, he instantly turned right on the adjacent narrow dirt path that curves to the side of the house, leading up to a dilapidated, windowless shack sitting out of place in front of the oak trees. The man opened the wooden door, rotting with age. It's rusted hinges creaks as the man swings the door open and closes it behind him.
Rays of sunlight shone through the crevices between the logs, admitting sufficient light for the man to see. The floor of the shack a miry pigsty, a putrid smell of diarrhea and vomit lingered in the air and a sole lantern dangled in the center of the shack, broken. Thrown down in the far corner was a makeshift bed of collected straw and old rags. On top of the pile rested a young anthropomorphic peachy-furred male chipmunk, a thinly stroud blanket covered his body, his feet and ankles peeped from under the cloth. An authentic hand-forged three quarters of an inch thick, two-pound, six-ounce iron collar wrapped around his neck, a spear like shape on each side of the collar rested on his shoulders. A silent moan escaped the chipmunk's parched lips as his stomach twisted, emitting a low growl.
Looking around, the slave trader saw a rusted steel bucket filled with putrid water near the door. Without hesitation, the man grasped the bucket and headed to the slave.
"Get up," the man snapped, his voice changing to a controlling demeanor, splashing the water on the slave. The chipmunk instantly jolted awake. Before his mind could process any information, the slave trader took hold of a rope ten feet long connected to the link of the manacles bounding the young slave's wrists.
Once outside, the chipmunk took in a deep breath of fresh spring air, his chest puffing out. The strong odors in the shack as well as the collar made his night stay unsettling. Meters from the awaiting horse and coach, the slave instantly hissed as he felt a sharp pain like a needle stabbing him in the arch of his foot followed by a dull thudding. The chipmunk felt a single tear trek down his cheek and off his chin, watching a bee buzz past his peripheral view. The slave let out a hoarse scream as another hidden bee sent its stinger through the thin cloth wrapped around his foot and into his other arch, this one painful from the first sting. He forced himself to keep walking, trying to ignore the pain, which proved unbearable as he collapsed to his side. The wind instantly knocked out of him as he felt a boot kicking into his chest.
"Get up ya scut!" The slave trader kicked him again. Spittle of saliva sprayed the young chipmunk's face as he quickly scrambled to his feet once again. In front of the plantation, the horse neighed, seemingly laughing at the slave's misfortune.
"Get one step out of line and I'll give ya a whippin' Alvyn!" the slave trader warned. Alvyn nimbly nodded a yes, his vision fuzzy gray and his mind mentally unclear.
Alvyn and the slave trader went behind the coach and the slave trader tied the rope through the hasp on the coach. The bald man stepped into the coach and took hold of the reigns. Alvyn soon trailed behind the coach as he began his long journey on foot.