Innocence Lost
"Oi Snake." Said some half drunk fool. I resented my nickname; I was given it halfway through grade 11 at Sir Carchiel High school. If you could call it a school! More like 4 years of a constant slog of essays and uppercuts, projects and pimples and still only obtaining a C- average. Not to mention the constant beat down of the "cool" kids at school, not forgetting every snide remark, beat down and trash bombs being put into my locker. As you can tell by now my life is a personal hell. But back to my nickname. It may have been a number of things related to my nickname, such as my love of snakes, or on Grade Ten prom some Grade Twelve bastards dumped a bucket of garden snakes on me. But I believe the last nail in my coffin was what immature jocks recalled with tears of laughter, which even teachers would crack a quick smile then turn back to there usual grimace. The incident began when like any other day I was late for English and Mrs. Jalunski (a wizened old hag, who drank in school and hated every kid except those that would suck up to that flabby wrinkly teacher. I was in an unusually rage filled mood after I had to walk because I missed my bus and watched many other classmates whiz by in cars not once paying me more then a glance. So I gave an evil glance to Mrs. Jalunski. "Is there something wrong Jack?" she asked in her wheezy voice. " Ya." I responded. " Where's your rant". "I beg your pardon" Every day for the past 2 years every time I show up late you launch a five minute rant at me! Her eyes snapped up at me. She mouthed noiselessly at me. Then she began a tirade against me. Yelling at me for every shortcoming I possessed. She ended her speech with a voice of deadly calm. Jack Harris you are nothing more then a Snake! After that everyone began laughing. Rolling on the floor. I dashed out of the classroom and left the school. I learned later she was going to tutor me, which she normally didn't do. I attacked her when she was vulnerable. After that incident we both maintained a cool hatred towards me, and Snake I was crowned. "Snake!" the thug grunted louder. "Ya" I replied. "Pass the dip." Knowing that this was merely a jab at politeness for if I refused my face would be in the dip. I silently handed over the dip. I glanced at the clock 12:05; I'd been standing here for the past hour. I decided to go try and strike up a meaningless conversation with somebody I don't know. Seeing one weedy looking boy, sitting on a beanbag; I quickly grabbed a can of Dr. Sprique and walked over. "Hi." I said. Rather awkwardly. "Mind if I?" "Sure." He said. I sat down on a light green bag and opened my drink. "Mark." He said and offered his hand. I shook it and then replied. "Jack." "So graduating, or should I say graduated high school." Mark said. Breaking into a toothy grin. "Ya." I responded awkwardly. " So what are you going to do over the summer?" I asked. "I'm going up to Carmicla Lake for a few weeks, then staying here till college." Mark responded. "You?" He asked. "I'll hang out, then I'll maybe visit my grandpa, he owns this farm on this island, I only went there ounce when I was three, my mom and my dad were both 18 and had decided to spend there long overdue honeymoon at a beach resort. Everyday I'd wake up and run around, and I met this girl and we would go to the peak of the Mountain and sing. It was the happiest I've ever been." I ended my story with a long drink of my Dr.Sprique. " Sounds good." Said Mark. " So, see any hot chicks?" Brent asked. The conversation continued in this vein for some time, culminating in a long and lurid story by the now extremely intoxicated Mark on why to never to bring up pets to a girl. I glanced at the clock, 2:20. "Listen Mark." He continued talking. " Mark I'm going to go now." I said. He nodded slowly then promptly passed out. I sat up, downed the rest of my drink and left the crowded house. I walked home quickly, anticipating my letter from school. I was visiting my aunt on Graduation Day and got lost and missed it. The school promised to send a letter to me regarding graduation. "How was the Party dear."? I looked up, startled. And realized I was already at my house. My mom had snow-white hair and was in her late forties, a homemaker. She was wearing her usual pink bathrobe and a look of concern on her face. "Fine mom." I responded. "Good." She said. "By the way, the letter from school is here." I glanced up quickly. "I haven't read it." She hastily added. "I put it upstairs along with some things for your trip to pa's." She added, with a tone of pride." Since my mom had grown up in my grandpa's town, talked about it constantly. Her descriptions of the lush forests, pristine lakes and unique festivals made me ache for Valley Blue.
With a word of thanks and a quick hug I was upstairs. My room was a messy thing, various pieces of trash littered the floor and baseball posters plastered my walls, although several spaces were dominated by my favorite FPS/cooking sim game, NRP: The Hunt for Caramel Biscuit. A small table was in one corner with a small bed in another. The wall that was in front of the bed had a small door (badly spray painted yellow) that led into my closet. My closet was bare except for several cases of Dr. Sprique, a full pack of bottle rockets and a guitar. A small knapsack lay on my bed; I bent down and sifted through it. It contained a small blue diary, a red bandana, a pack of matches, a blue baseball cap, a pair of black leather boots and,(I gaped) a pair of dark blue overalls. Then I saw a small bulging envelope, my heart skipped a beat. But with frustration I saw it didn't have the school crest (our motto, " Excellence in Action") and a picture of our mascot a (sea cucumber) were all missing from the envelope. I put the envelope back then I scored the room for the letter. After several minutes I found the small envelope.
Resisting the urge to tear it open I went downstairs and was greeted by my father. Late forties, brown hair, and a walking tank could describe my father, or some less then polite words. He drank often and in large quantities, complained, then yelled at me. He works at the head office of a textiles creation company, head of Research or something. He was extremely strict and a big pain in the. "Hullo son." He boomed. Already into his fifth beer. "Hi dad." I said. " How was the party?" He asked slurring the last couple words. Knowing this could only end with several of my father's vulgar stories I quickly switched the conversation to the letter. " Dad I got the letter. " I said excitedly. "Great, lets go into the living room and let it rip." He said. I hurried into the living room (two sofas, one TV, an iOrange in the corner. My mom and Dad sat down on the sofa, with looks of watching the dramatic end of a race. With trembling fingers I ripped open the envelope, quickly scanned the contents, then thinking hard about different possibilities, holding back tears I began to read.
Dear Mr. Harris. Regarding your graduation of high school, you have been denied your diploma for your disciplinary problems, failing of French, Algebra and English and for your inconsistent homework completion. You may repeat the above courses next September if you wish. My deepest sympathies- Mr.Zuacur
There was a stunned silence. Mom looked in shock at the letter and Dad, Dad was beside himself. He spoke in a frightening growl. "Well little mister, seems you'll be staying home this summer and studying." "No". "What did you say!" "No Dad." "Why Jack, do you want to be the "Rebel" of the family!" He began to yell. " THEN YOU'LL BE THE ONLY HARRIS FOR GENERATIONS TO NOT GET A DIPLOMA!" He screamed, particles of sweat and drool flying out of his pointy little mouth. " Dad listen, I'm eighteen, and I do what I want." " You little punk." He looked ready to kill. "Then what's your plan Jacky boy." I considered this. What was my plan? "I'm going to Grandpa's farm." "But why!?" "Because Mom said Valley Blue was peaceful, so I can think up my options, and besides I want to visit Grandpa, plus I could earn money for a tutor at the farm." I said with a tone of pride and barely suppressed smugness. My father mouthed various curses at me, apparently at a loss. Then he turned on my mom. "Why did you do this to him!" He said in a roar. " Corrupting my son to think some crack pot, hillbilly town is the answer to all his problems!" He snarled, even louder then before. "Corrupting him into thinking that growing bloody turnips at some farm in the middle of nowhere will get him closer to an education." He screeched, spit flying and eyes bulging. "You bloody little!" My father then called my mother things that made my blood boil. Reaching the peak of his anger he brought his fist slamming into my mother's nose. A sickening crack resounded and copious amounts of blood began to pour. My mother threw up her hands to stem the flow, but she had forgotten the piping hot cup of tea in her hands and a large amount of scathing yellow tea scathed her skin. She began to scream, clawing at her face. I stood up, threw my mom a small pillow to staunch the bleeding. I then launched myself at my father, with murder in my heart. I tried to push him to the ground but he resisted and threw me off. He went to comfort my mother but I yelled. "You monster". In a foul screech, then summoning up my strength, I planted a kick into his chest. He fell back, wheezing, clearly surprised. He tried to grab at me. I dodged him landing on his fingers. Then (after a look of contempt from my father) I ran stairs. I grabbed the bag my mom had so dearly packed, my leather wallet, some Burkley Turkey Jerky, and ran downstairs. When I was at the tired looking door I grabbed the keys to my truck and yelled back. "If you ever try to find me…." In my most venomous voice. I searched for a suitable threat and, finding one I yelled back. "I'll tell the police about your little "talk" with mom." I then slammed the door, started up my truck and left. My first thought was about my newfound freedom. "Oh crap I forget the Dr.Sprique."
"Will that be all sir?" I looked up. "Uh yeah." I muttered. I passed the five note into the hand of the pimple-ridden teenage clerk. I then took the foul coffee and left. It had been two days since that fateful night. I had been driving through various back roads, looking for Hent Road. The road my mom said would always lead to Valley Blue. Ever so often I would stop for some foul coffee and some even fouler junk food. Always enough to keep me going but never enough to be full. I had gotten a good lead off a small Asian fellow, clothed in a silk suit and with an incredibly silky voice to match. "Go through Jobe, then turn south east." I muttered under my breath, repeating what he told me. I took a drink of the coffee (watery with a hint of soap), and then hopped back into my truck. I gave a huge yawn and that's when I saw it. A glint of green, to reflective to be a bush and too rigid to be a human. I jumped out of the truck and looked harder. The weeds and ivy strangled the posts, many years of wind and graffiti had taken their toll, plus the edges had begun to rust but very faintly the sign read: Valley Blue Harbor five miles, North, I gave a great whoop and hollered. "My lucks coming through!" I whooped triumphantly. Behind me a great roar then gasp came from my truck. "And their it goes." I muttered weakly. It later turned out the truck had simply run out of gas. Running out of gas forced me to hand over my remaining $22 for gas, but as I handed over my money to the pimply clerk I thought o remorsefully that I'll be a burden to Grandpa.
The rest of my journey was relatively normal. I consumed the rest of my jerky greedily along the way to the town. At the end of the road I saw not a town but a dock. It was mostly made out of wood but here and there I could see steel. A small house sized garage with a sign that read. "Storage." Was next to 2 parking spots that were currently vacant. Across from the spaces was a group of crates being put into a truck by a large black haired man. He was tanned by many hours of working outside. He appeared (from a distance) to be very muscular with a red bandana tied around one of his shoulder joints. He wore loose fitting jeans and a white tank top. The truck he was loading crates into bore the words: Local Fresh Produce Incorporated. "What a stupid name." I thought to myself. Below this it read. "Fruits, Veg and so much more!" Behind the crates was a large ferry with even more crates on it, and on a higher deck chairs. I drove up to one of the parking places and got out and looked more closely at the ferry. On both sides painted in light blue it read. "H.M.S. Deep Blue." At the front of the ship was a stunning array of fruit was painted around a peculiar looking painted woman. She had bright blue hair, dark purple eyes, what appeared to be wings flowed behind her. She wore a tight fitting light green dress that brought images of flowers to mind. "Breathtaking." I muttered under my breath. I glanced back at the fresh produce truck but it had left. I glanced around looking for the muscular man but to no avail. "Howdy." Said an unseen voice. I jumped three feet in the air and gave a yelp of surprise. I turned around and I saw the muscular man, his face splitting into a grin that looked farley forced. "Hi." I said, briefly thinking about how bad my breath must smell. "I'm Bob." He said. "Bob Fearn." He added. I shook his hand and said. "So will this (I pointed at the ferry) take me to Valley Blue." "Ya." Bob said quickly, and added rather nervously. "But people at Blue Valley won't like your kind." "My kind." I said taken aback. "What is my kind?" " You know, a druggie." I burst into laughter and choked out, suddenly serious. "Bob, I've never touched drugs, nor do I want to." (Bob had turned beet red). " Well, I just thought." "Come on Bob what is it?" "Well," Bob said. " You look dead on your feet, you have jet black eye lids, your eyes are glazed over, you look like you've been in a fight, plus your breath smells like you ate a constipated skunk that was beaten to death with a raccoon, and (he took a deep breath) your clothes look like you've lived in the sewer for most of your life." "Well I've just been journeying Bob." "Well." He looked me over. "I guess you can come on." "Great, thanks Bob, Oh by the way I'm Sr. Jack's grandkid." I said. Bob turned around. " Your Jack, Jack Harris!" I nodded. "Well I guess you came because." I looked up. "Well never mind, come on the ferry then." Fifteen minutes later we were on the Deep Blue. Bob agreed to store my car in the storage area. "Hey Jack." Bob said. "Yo?" I answered. "Why do you want to go to Valley Blue?" "You know." I said. Pulse rising. "Learn the ropes, hangout. I said. "Cool." Responded Bob. "So what do you want to know about the village?" "Everything." I responded. "Ok I'll start at the beginning." "Ok." "Valley Blue was founded by several large families hundreds of years ago. The Formsals, the Pesulian and the Bevardacts, they all left the mainland for unseen reasons. The Pesulian and Bevardacts were both devote to their mainland religions." Bob stopped. " The Formsals began a new religion." "What was it called Bob?" I asked. He shifted uncomfortably, coughed, and then continued (ignoring my question). "The Formsals raised crops you wouldn't believe. The Pesulian family raised incredibly tasty livestock, and the Bevardacts were the clinic, inn and government of the place. After awhile new residents came to Valley Blue and slowly the three families died their daughters marrying the newer families. The Harrises are fairly old though. "Interesting." I said. "My brother Morgan tells it better." "Where is he?" "Around the globe." Responded Bob, rather bleakly. " The only time I know where he is in the spring when he drives the Ferry." Responded Bob. "Oh, so what types of things are in the village?" I asked suddenly deeply interested in the surrounding waters. "Oh the usual, livestock store, Veg store, there's several inn's and even a bar" responded Bob suddenly sounding happy. (It was evident Bob didn't have anybody to talk to most of the time on the ship). "A library, theirs the Mayor's house." "Quite a gem that house is." He added. Besides that there is." He stopped in the middle of his sentence to point out something. " You can see the windmills from here Jack." He said pointing at a space near the right. "There's a story behind those there is." "Oh what story?" I asked. "…Well I'll let the Mayor explain were almost there." I looked out and I began to see a harbor and knew that soon I would learn of the windmills and the secret religion. I sniffed at myself. And maybe have a bath.
