-Act One-
Today is the first day of the rest of your life
- Charles Dederich
Awakening
I awoke in a cold sweat. Rolling onto my side, ignoring how uncomfortable I felt doing this, I concentrated on slowing my erratic breathing back to a normal rate. I kept my eyes shut, scrunching them tighter, taking more slow, deep breaths before I felt ready to uncurl from the ball I lay in, and open my eyes. Another deep breath and I allowed my eyelids to flutter open slowly. That's when I realised I was on the floor, still in the exact same spot where I'd fallen hours earlier. I scrambled up into a sitting position in shock, surprised that my head wasn't spinning or aching when I did this, as I became acutely aware of the cold seeping through my clothes. I glanced around, inspecting the scene, trying to figure out exactly what had happened.
The offending box was lying across the room, upside down, but looking relatively undamaged a few feet away from me, the stool now on its side from the momentum of my fall. I was in the middle of my floor, having fallen a good few feet backwards, between my bed and my door. What a perfect start to the day, I thought sarcastically. I wasn't usually this clumsy.
I silently got up of the floor and crept out of my bedroom, across the corridor to the bathroom. The door creaked as I opened it, but other than that, I encountered no problems as I made my way to survey the damage I had inflicted on myself. I was hoping it was minimal. The last thing I wanted was a black eye to help me make my first impression.
Once in front of the bathroom mirror I poked and prodded my scalp gently, looking for signs of tenderness or bruising - anything to indicate just how hard I'd hit myself. I couldn't remember feeling any pain, but then again, I couldn't remember hitting the floor either. A few minutes of careful examination later, I was pleased to find there was no noticeable damage to my head. This surprised me, surely, if I'd hit myself hard enough to knock myself out I should at least have a bruise, not that I was complaining.
The house was still silent as I made my way back to my room, being extra careful, as I was sure at least one of the floorboards creaked. This knowledge would be essential; my mother's job had her working different shifts, and she wasn't the happiest person in the world if she was woken up before she had to be. My mom, or Marie, as everyone else knew her, was transferred to the small community hospital, where she would work as a nurse. She'd been nominated as this hospital was horribly understaffed, and graciously accepted, on account of the generous pay rise. At least that's what she'd told me. I wasn't a suspicious person, but something told me that hadn't been the only reason.
It was sunrise; I glanced toward my window, looking at the rays of light that had broken through the remaining cloud cover left from last night's storm dance through the netting, and gazed at the pinky-orange haze that filled my room from the glow of the sky. There was an unfamiliar green tinge to it, serving as a reminder that I was far from home. At least what used to be my home. I attempted to push that thought to the back of my mind, silently trying to keep the promise I'd made to myself about making the best of a bad situation. After a few minutes of marvelling at the light, I clambered into bed, trying to warm myself up, checking the time on my alarm clock. The green glow indicated it was five–thirty, far far too early to be awake. I shifted uncomfortably for a few minutes before sighing. I was restless; there would be no chance of trying to steal a few precious minutes more sleep, for fear of repeating the dream that had jolted me from unconsciousness.
It hadn't been a particularly scary dream in the usual sense. There were no axe–wielding psychopaths intent on making me their next victim and I wasn't plummeting from a cliff to my doom – but something about it, something I couldn't quite put my finger on had really freaked me out.
It was too... real.
I sat bolt upright at this new revelation, quickly pulling the covers around me when I felt the temperature change. I was right! It had been too real, too clear in contrast with my normal hazy nightmares. Everything I'd seen had been so precise, as if I had been living it, or, I had already lived it, developing some kind of photographic memory to replay it over to myself whilst I slept. However, nothing I had seen had happened. That I was positive of. Regardless of repeatedly reminding myself of this fact, the dream still plagued my mind. I tried to ignore it as I absentmindedly pulled myself back out of bed and stood, leaning against the far wall surveying my new room.
The first thing I noticed was the colour, a bland beige colour that I was already growing to despise. My room looked so pale, with only a few of my trinkets to break up the monotony, and I resolved to paint it the first opportunity I got. At the very least, I would have to get a brightly coloured rug. I sighed, something I seemed to be doing a lot. This was where I'd be spending the majority of time for the next two years so I had to get used to it. I'd protested about moving, pretty much ever since my mother had suggested it. She had asked for my 'opinion' on her transfer, but I knew regardless of what I said she had already made her decision. I had simply grimaced, but told her to do whatever she thought was right. Apparently her definition of right, was dragging me halfway across the country, to a tiny little town in the middle of nowhere, to spend the rest of my high school years. I tried not to hold it against her; she always made the right move when it came to my life, so I just had to accept that she knew what she was doing.
I bent down, picking up the box from last night and pushed it against the wall. It was lighter than I remembered it, noticeably, but I still had to exert a considerably amount of force to pick it up and push it against the wall. Stupid box, I muttered, kicking it when it was in place to release some of my frustration. I gave my room the once over, checking to see if anything else was out of place, and when I was satisfied it was orderly, I practically bounded across my room and flopped backwards onto my waiting bed. It was so much more comfortable than the floor, warmer too, but even its comforting softness wouldn't allow me to fully relax. The dream was still running through my head, and as much as I tried not to think of it, I would only find myself thinking of it again. I groaned, resigning myself to replaying it again, trying to put my mind at rest.
It hadn't happened.
Firstly, I hadn't tripped over anything. Yet, I mentally added, citing my inability to stay still for very long as the reason for my rare bouts of clumsiness. In my 'dream' I had stumbled over last of the porch steps. I knew this hadn't happened, but yet the clarity of the dream still had me worried. I was too wound up.
More evidence to this point was that I'd never actually been outside my new house since I'd gotten here. I didn't even know if there was a supermarket in this god forsaken town. That was when my dream had gotten weird, focusing in on a 'one day only' sale of hideous rainbow striped scarves, possibly the most random thing I could have dreamed about. I blamed falling off a chair for that one.
The scene shifted again and I found myself in my hallway. The silver picture frame, the one my mother had put pride of place on the small table at the bottom of the stairs, lying on the floor, broken. I didn't need to concentrate hard to figure out exactly which picture it was. It was of the three of us, my dad, her and me on vacation at the beach. I was visibly younger, my hair still long then; it had been taken the summer before he died. Straining my memory, I could remember it had been extremely hot that day, the only day it hadn't rained since we'd been there. My parents had spent the week annoyed; they'd chosen the only time it had rained for five days straight in remembered history to visit, but as luck would have it our last day was spent in brilliant sunshine. That picture frame wasn't broken, I knew that above all. But it had seemed so real in my dream. It wasn't like the vague haze I normally got, where everything looked real, but in the back of your mind you knew it wasn't. This was so shockingly lifelike I was actually surprised to wake up on my floor.
That scene ended, as I walked towards the frame, turning it over to see the glass inside it had smashed. I was in my garden, a blurred figure stood by the solitary tree, his face hidden from the moonlight. The image settled there for a moment, zooming in closer until it was almost near enough to make out the face, then it was gone.
The dream became disjointed, now, images now running through my head, like uploading a database of pictures into my brain. There was action, lots of images flashing before my eyes, a hospital, a black car and a stage being just a few of the many. I distinctly remember gasping at the sheer amount of things I was seeing, an overload of things I'd never seen before. I had woken up then.
It seemed almost silly now to be freaked out about it. I resolved to stop thinking about it, and get on with my day. I retreated back to the bathroom, silently, turning on the shower and shedding my clothes. I cranked the nozzle up to hot and audibly sighed as the water soothed my shoulder. I didn't realise until now that it had begun to ache. I twisted slightly, moving my head so I could examine my shoulder better. There was definitely a bruise coming. I groaned. Just when I thought I had escaped my ordeal without any evidence. My mother would no doubt wonder how I'd earned this one, and I wasn't exactly willing to tell her that I'd fallen off a chair and knocked myself unconscious. She would worry, understandably, and I really didn't need her to be concerned with me as she started her new job.
I tried to clear my mind and focus on cleaning myself. My recently cut hair didn't take much washing, I shampooed and conditioned it quickly, my desire not to think meaning my concentration on even the most mundane tasks increased tenfold.
After a few more minutes relaxation and washing I remembered that she would need the shower after me. Courteously, I jumped out, shutting off the water before it became too cold and grabbed my towel. I stared at the bruise as I dried myself off, my brow wrinkling in dismay as I saw how angry it already looked. It was huge, a combination of red and purple, and unsightly - running across the joint of my shoulder, and as I twisted my body in the mirror, some way down my back. I moved my shoulder slightly, checking its sphere of movement, surprised to find that apart from a slightly twinge here and there it was in perfect working order. The mark suggested otherwise, giving me concrete evidence of just how hard I'd fallen. It could have been due to the awkward angle I fell at, but it looked like it ought to be painful.
I snuck back to my bedroom for the second time, and contented myself with picking out what I was going to wear that day. It was still the weekend and I wanted to get an idea of just what there was to do here. A library would be nice, a bookstore would be even better. I wasn't asking for much, knowing that a clothing shop would be wishful thinking. I needed a job too, if I ever wanted to get the car I'd been saving towards since I turned sixteen. The fund itself was pitiful, but since my mom was always using her car, a mode of transportation was essential, if I wanted to go anywhere out of walking distance. I had suggested a motorbike, but that idea had quickly been re-thought. My mother hated motorbikes, which I suppose was understandable, she was a nurse. She had seen one too many motorbike accident to ever allow me to even think about going near one without a lecture on safety.
As I opened my wardrobe silently, I heard a door click from across the hall. Footsteps approached in the direction of my room, but I breathed a sigh of relief as I heard another door open. My mom was up, preparing for her first day's work at the hospital. I stayed still, my hand stopping in mid air as it had come out to inspect the clothes in my wardrobe. I didn't want to explain to her why I was up at half past five in the morning. A few moments later, I heard the whoosh of the shower. Turning and I let out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding and went back to choosing my outfit.
I didn't really know too much about the place I was going to be calling home from now on, and I hoped that my wardrobe would still be temperature appropriate. I looked out of my window, checking the weather – everything was so darn green here - but through the trees it seemed like it would be a fine day. I silently prayed it wouldn't rain.
I pulled out the first pair of jeans my hands found, light blue and classic looking, and threw them behind me onto my bed. I bit my lip as my eyes ran along the pile of neatly folded sweaters and vests that were placed on shelves that ran down one side of my closet. It's not like I had many clothes to choose from. I'd had an extremely good clear out before I left, sacrificing most of my slightly too small or horrendously out of fashion clothes. Most of my clothes were too thin for the weather of Forks.
Forks, I whispered, saying the name of my new home like a curse. According to the internet, it rained incessantly here, and the closest I would be getting to fashion would be a raincoat and boots. It would have to be completely isolated as well, my mind spinning off into a mini rant. The closest 'decent' shopping district would probably be in Seattle, miles away. I doubted there would be any public transport either. I was effectively trapped, surrounded in a sea of green, slowly drowning in nature. Positive thinking Alice, I reminded myself once again as I felt myself get too involved in my rant. I was here now and there was nothing I could do about it.
I turned back to my outfit. A stripped, long sleeved jumper was what my eyes rested on. I picked up a plain white vest from the shelf above it and threw it backwards onto my bed, the sweater following it in a white and grey blur. I heard the shower shutting off and returned to my motionless state, waiting till I heard the door of the bathroom open. After a few minutes, the sound of hurried footsteps was heard running down the stairs, and the distinct rattle of keys being picked up out of the bowl. I silently wished my mother luck as the front door clicked open, not that she needed it. She was exceptionally good at what she did.
I turned back to look at the heap of clothes on my dishevelled bed. The clock read six, still too early for anything to be open. My desire to seem normal was diminished by my desire to be out of the house. I dressed hurriedly, running a brush through my almost dry hair and grabbing the closest pair of trainers. I gave my appearance the quick once over in the mirror on the back of my wardrobe door. I looked acceptable, and my unsightly bruise was suitable hidden from the public eye. My expression, a grimace, was not so satisfactory, and I tried to form an expression that didn't look so forced. I settled for blank and apathetic.
I exited the room, stopping on the landing to lace up my shoes. I wasn't exactly sure what I planned on doing once I actually got out of the house. I hadn't quite thought that far ahead. Maybe a short run? I laughed quietly to myself at the first thought that popped into my mind. I, Alice Brandon, did not run. My suggestion surprised me, this coming from the girl who begged her mother to tell the school she had twisted her ankle to get out of cross-country running. I wondered how strange it would look if an unknown girl was seen wandering around the town at such an ungodly hour. I didn't give myself much time to think about this. Strange would have to do them, as I really didn't have any other options. Feeling slightly naked, I walked back into my room and picked up my iPod that sat, waiting, in the middle of my bedside desk. Alone with my thoughts was not what I wanted to be.
I plugged in my headphones, placed them expertly in my ear and put my iPod in the back pocket of my jeans. I was in a hurry to be out of the place. Turning up the volume, I put on my favourite 'dance' track and started a complicated routine I'd devised after years of listening to it. I twisted and then danced down the stairs, waving my arms in a complicated motion, which to anyone else probably looked like I was on fire.
Unfortunately, my impeccable balance failed me on what I thought was the bottom step. I had completely forgotten I was in a new house, with a different number of stairs so as I expected to hit the last step, I didn't, and ended up slipping, banging my knee on the banister. That is going to bruise, I thought as I felt the impact, my knee throbbing instantly. Thirteen steps instead of ten, I'd have to remember that.
My body carried on moving and I whirled around, the fact that my foot hadn't touched the floor suddenly becoming apparent to me. My hands flew out as I twisted, trying to save my damaged shoulder from an impact with the floor. At that moment, my iPod, which had been securely nestled in my jean pocket, flew out, still attached to my headphones causing them to be ripped from my ears. I hit the ground, landing on my right knee, hard, the angle causing me to turn to face back up the stairs. The world seemed to slow down in that instant as I watched my IPod make contact with the back of my mother's antique silver picture frame, causing it to fall off the table. I closed my eyes in shock, as I realised what was happening. The house seemed deathly quiet for a moment.
Then the sound of metal falling and shattering glass filled my ears.
Disclaimer: I still don't own Twilight. Wish I did though...
A/N: An update, and quite a long one at that. I hope its not too boring.
I'll try to update atleast once a week, and will give you advanced warning as to when my exams are, seeing as I'll have to revise for them and everything. (Like the fact I have a chemistry exam in 3 weeks :( :( )
I'm pretty excited about this actually, this is the first time I've had a decent story idea. I don't think this particular plot has been done before - but then again, I could be wrong.
I apologise for any OC-ness, I'm still getting used to writing Alice. (I also repeat my earlier apology about my use of commas).
Another thing to note is that I'm english - so you're getting the english spelling of the words here (color = colour, favorite = favourite), we sure do like our 'u's.
What do you all think? Any good?
Ostentatious Querida =]
