Elena: The Untold Story of a Girl With Wings

by Skwaklulz

Elena is just a typical ninth grade girl, until some mysterious characters begin to appear in her life. Now, with wings sprouting from her back, where will she turn? And who can she trust?

1. Chapter 1

The World As I Knew It:

I stand, poised on my toes, and listen to the sounds of the waves crashing against my beloved pier. This is the final time, for months to come, that I will have the opportunity to visit my adorable, memory-filled home-away-from-home. This is the only place where I have ever felt comfortable, safe, and happy. Anywhere else, I experience pain, loss, emptiness, and all of that idiotic drama that seems to swamp me back at home.

"ELENA! GET YOUR BUTT OVER HERE AND HELP US ORDER OUR DANG ICE CREAM!" shriek my best friends, Jourdan and Helena. Jourdan steps out of the ice cream parlor and glares at me, but I return her glower with a cheeky grin, and immediately start to sprint down the pier towards the beach. Jourdan laughs and drags Helena away from the frozen obsession of hers. They run after me, but of course they will never catch me. I can run faster than anyone I have ever met, so I slow to a leisurely walk and allow them to reach me. I expect to be tackled to the ground by the two of them, so I fall down without putting up much of a fight (note the 'much of').

It ends up with me standing over them, my foot resting on Helena's stomach. Her green eyes glare up at me, startling in contrast to her perpetually pale face, as she rises and proceeds to shake the sand out of her dark, long hair. Jourdan however, sits there laughing her pretty little arse off. Her black eyes glance up at Helena, and she is rolling on the ground again, her thick, black hair also littered with sand. Her cocoa brown skin causes quite a contrast between the pale earth and her dark form.

"Well, this little side trip was entertaining…" Jourdan states with a giggle. We all proceed to take the long walk back to my beach house, right on the shore of the tiny island near Sarasota, Florida. Once we arrive at the house, my mother proceeds to freak out on us that we need to leave in only twelve hours, and OHMIGAWD we are not going to be prepared. She orders us up the stairs to pack, her playful blue and green eyes surprisingly stern and her hair pulled back in a tight bun that she only wears when she has a panic attack.

We grumble complaints, but continue to trudge up the stairs. Before I know it, we are back in the car, driving back to that hated city, Cincinnati, Ohio.