This story, I have to say is one that I started back in 2013, and never thought that I would try to finish it as a completed project, but I felt that with rumors floating around facebook about a new season for code lyoko coming out in 2017, and being produced as an animated show, I felt that I just couldn't stand idly by and allow the feverish pitch of enthusiams pass by without becoming a part of it.
So without further ado, here it is ladies and gentleman, the first chapter of my new story, The Children of Carthage.
Fall 2007, two years after the events in Echo's
The house wasn't much to look at.
At least that's what it had been for the last thirteen years, a yard overgrown with every type of weed known to man, broken windows on almost all of it's three levels, litter and graffiti smudged across the outer walls.
And then there was the inside. Having been left open to the elements for a number of years, the house had been host to numerous inhabitants that had ranged from the homeless, drug addicts, and even a family of bears, that had all ravaged the place to the point that city officials had put up warning signs around the buildings perimeter and declared the building condemned.
So it was anyone's guess as to why someone would go to the trouble to try and restore such a dilapidated wreck to it's former glory. But apparently the building deserved the attention...or at least that's what was indicated by all the construction equipment that lay sprawling across the yard.
Everywhere within the fence line, workers clad in work boots, blue jeans, orange vests, and hard hats were clearing away debris from the main portion of the house, hauling in power tools to tackle the interior, and consolidating objects and items from the interior of the small building.
Even though it was only a week into August, a chill was in the air as the workers toiled away, underneath a semi-cloudy sky, that seemed to create a somewhat foreboding sense of rain.
To the teenager watching the workers however, he didn't mind it, in fact the weather almost seemed appropriate for the occasion, especially for his companion, who seemed to be on the verge of tears at the sight.
She'd promised to him, and more over to herself that she wouldn't cry when he showed her the house. But if she'd expected to keep that promise, he doubted it. He knew he would've broken down if he had to watch his house being broken apart and have his belongings being sorted like garbage at a landfill.
Reaching over and placing a hand on her shoulder, he squeezed it reassuringly.
"Do you want to go?"
She didn't reply for a moment, and simply stood, staring at the place that she had once called her home.
"It's been two years hasn't it?" Her voice quivering as she spoke.
"As of tomorrow, yes."
She shook her head. "You'd think I would've gotten over this by now….it's not like he's still out there, just waiting for the right moment to come back and save me."
"Well there's no shame in feeling sad about it, he was your father after all."
She said nothing. Just watching as the men continued their work. Now they'd pulled a dresser out of the front door, and were setting it next to a dilapidated old couch, and an even older set of drawers that had been moved alongside a cargo van to be loaded up and towed away.
"It's not that I'm sad, it's just that of all the things, that were left from my old life, I always thought I'd be able to come back here, and have a little time to reconnect with the past...with him."
He moved closer, but didn't say anything, put his arms around her neck and pressed his cheek against hers, leaving a blush to settle on both their faces.
For a while the two watched the men work, letting the cool autumn breeze stir up the leaves around them, and cool the heat forming between their contact.
It was almost reminiscent of the ending scene from Gone With the Wind, in which Vivien Leigh raised her arms to sky, potato in hand, and called out : "I will never be hungry again!"
The difference being, that the setting and the movie were one and a half centuries apart, the setting wasn't post civil war Georgia, and she wasn't Vivien Leigh, nor was he Clark Gable. They were instead two teenagers three years shy of their twenties, in Boulongue-Billancourt, France in the year 2007 and in the first day of the first week of August.
They'd both arrived back from the Summer holiday's two weeks ago, and had spent as much time together as they could before the school year started. It wasn't anything new for either of them, they'd always agreed, that after each vacation with their families, they, and the rest of their special group would gather together at their school cafeteria, and enjoy the times they'd shared over the years.
They were due to meet with the others in about half an hour, and it was still a twenty minute walk back towards the coffee shop, but felt that they'd understand why they were late.
What they were doing, had in fact become a tradition unto itself, not one that was particularly pleasant or something that they felt would be acknowledged as respectful, but felt that it carried the same significance of visiting the grave of a deceased loved one.
It in fact seemed appropriate, to label the house as such. A grave, a tombstone, a memorial. Not just for a specific person, but for a way of life, and for the longest time had been a massive part of a small but very special group of people.
It was hard to believe that even after two years, they and the members of their group would still wake up suddenly each night, expecting to hear or feel the vibration of their cell phones, summoning them to another midnight adventure, into the digital abyss, that had once been the battle grounds that they had so fiercely fought to defend from a vindictive and twisted enemy that was willing to go to any lengths to destroy them.
But like the sound of an airplane's engines in the night, those memories, those experiences, had faded away into nothing more than cherished ideas and experiences worth of reminisce.
And it was what those two teenagers were doing, underneath the cover of the trees, within a small park in Paris, reminiscing of a time gone by, not out of sorrow, and not out whim, but simply out of habit and in remembrance to tradition.
Catching a glimpse of the number on his watch face, he nudged her head slightly.
"Time to go?"
"Any later, and they might come out and find us."
She said nothing.
"We can come back later….if you want."
"No, I've seen enough."
Her tone was quiet, not depressed or disheartened. But simply carrying the same solemness as any family member, that had been called forth to pay respects to the dear and departed of their family line.
Letting her take hold of his arms and gently push them aside, and then twist around so that she was at arm's length with him, and gazed into his deep, soulful, blue eyes. While he looked back into the crisp emerald depths of her's. Granted, they were tinged with red, and seemed to show the droplets of moisture that had been building up within her eyes, but were nevertheless something to behold.
For about a moment, they just stood there, looking each other eye to eye, an unspoken connection moving between them. It seemed as if the atmosphere had suddenly turned from mournful and filled with sorrow, to something slightly more optimistic.
As they stood there, gazing upon each other's faces, something about the moment seemed to make their heads whisper that they should take each other into their arms and kiss. But their hearts couldn't get into it…...it just wasn't the right time, or the place for such feelings.
Instead he pulled her close to him, slung his arm over her shoulder and slowly led her away from the house.
Despite the situation, she couldn't help but feel amused by such an action. "Since when did you become such a casanova?"
He shrugged, "I've been taking lessons."
She smiled, her face lighting up at the idea, that the shy, nearsighted, computer genius that she'd fallen for could turn into lady's man. But then again, things were a far cry from when they'd first met.
So why not?
As they walked away towards the campus, the air around them seemed to change, a cloud that had been partially covering the sun seemed to move away, allowing sunshine to stream down from the clouds and paint the forest around them with a variety of green, gold, and brown.
It was a New Day.
Emotional isn't it? I alway's feel that the best stories that are created need to have some sort of tragic backstory to them so as to give the characters some depth, and to allow the audience to better relate to them in a more realistic sense of viewing. I hope you all enjoyed it, and as always, read, write, and of course review.
Sincerely, Nadsteam1