Disclaimer: If I owned "So Weird," then my last name would be Disney or
Winkler, which sure as heck isn't the case because I'm stuck with 2
hyphenated last names that people can hardly pronounce and end up
butchering.
Author's Note: This little story is turning out to be longer than I originally intended. I wrote this with only four chapters, a prologue and an epilogue in mind, but the way things are turning out---well, let's just say that I didn't quite anticipate that. Maybe this'll have, like, ten chapters or something. Arrgh!
As always, reviews are greatly appreciated. Mahalo! Any questions or suggestions you might have, feel free to e-mail me at either rockerbaby2000@usa.com or rockerbaby@spain-mail.com.
"Cluett Geeza Bell, where have you been?" Irene's half-panicked, half- enraged voice greeted Clu as he surreptitiously crept into the Bell house at a little past 2 in the morning.
Clu froze in his tracks, left hand still resting on the silver doorknob that was still cool to the touch. His eyes blinked rapidly as bright lights washed over him, triggered by two angry looking sandy blondes dressed identically in faded, fuzzy robes and intimidating scowls.
"Where have you been all night?" Irene asked again, arms crossed over her chest. "Your father and I have been worried sick! We tried calling your cell phone, but you obviously turned it off. No one knew where you were! We called all your friends! We even called the hospital!"
Irene's haggard face crumpled and tears leaked out from her tired sapphire eyes. "You can't possibly imagine what we were thinking! Where the hell were you?"
Clu shuffled his feet uncomfortably, refusing to look anyone in the eye. "Ya know, out."
"Out?" Ned bellowed, rising to his full, intimidating 6'4" height. "We have been going out of our minds wondering where the HELL you were and that's all you can say? OUT?"
Clu just stood there, kicking at the Oriental rug on the floor, nonchalant and seemingly more engrossed in the intricate designs of the rug than the actual reality of his parents' seething anger.
"Well," Irene said, raising an eyebrow impatiently and holding her hands up expectantly. "Isn't there something you wanted to tell us?"
"It won't happen again," was the monotone mumbling she was rewarded with.
Without so much as a backward glance, Clu trudged up the stairs silently, leaving his parents to the realisation that in some ways, they had lost both their sons in that accident.
"Fi? Baby, what are you doing here?" screeched an astonished Molly Phillips as she saw her only daughter standing on the porch of their house.
It was a little past 3 in the morning, and the world was so quiet that you could hear a pin drop and the crickets chirp. Molly had been listening to Sarah Brightman's "La Luna" CD, transported to the realms of half-sleep and half-reality, lulled by the angelic voice, when she heard the doorbell ringing. At first, she dismissed it as a figment of her imagination. After all, who would be knocking up at this ungodly hour? Certainly nobody she knew, she was sure of it. But the ringing persisted, and in a few moments was accompanied by determined knocking. When she finally decided to check who was at the door, her mind was clouded with visions of Irene and Ned bearing bad news, but she certainly did not expect Fi to be at the door.
Fiona smiled sheepishly at her mother, almost weighed down by the enormous amount of luggage she had in her possession. "Uh, hi."
"What are you doing here? Your flight isn't supposed to be here until later this week."
"Um, mum?" Fi began, shifting her large duffel bag to a more comfortable position on her shoulder. "Do you mind letting me in? These things are pretty heavy, and I've been up since really early yesterday morning, so---"
Molly smacked the palm of her hand on her forehead. "Of course, baby! What was I thinking? Here, come on, let me help you with those."
Fiona handed her mum the 25-inch upright and 20-inch pilot case, then proceeded to enter her warm house, heading straight to the comfortable couch inside the living room.
"At the risk of sounding like a broken record, I just have to ask you again what you're doing here when your flight isn't for a few days." Molly asked her daughter, after a minute of silence.
Fi played with the Celtic ring she wore on her thumb. "Um, I got a call from Jack. He told me about Carey. About the accident."
Molly was silent for a moment, thinking back to that awful night when she heard about the car crash. It brought back awful memories for her--- memories she wished she could escape from but could never elude.
"Is Carey okay?" Fi asked softly, looking at her mother with her scared- looking big brown eyes. "Is he awake?"
Molly sighed, looking to the ceiling, as though for some answer from the Heavens. "Well, that depends on what you think is okay. Carey's---Well, he's regained consciousness, but he---Well, uh---He might not be able to walk again or play the guitar."
She winced as she saw her daughter's horrified expression. "But Ned and Irene are getting a second opinion, so who knows?"
Fi nodded numbly. "I---I'm really tired, mum. Do you mind if I go upstairs now to sleep? We'll talk tomorrow, I promise."
Molly nodded, with forced enthusiasm, Fi noted, and gave a small smile. "We both need our beauty sleep. We'll visit Carey tomorrow, if you want."
Fi gave her mum another smile as the two of them wordlessly went upstairs and carried her luggage. There, inside her room, alone and confused, Fi jumped into her bed and covered herself in her blankets. Wishing with all her heart she could hit rewind and go back one week in time.
Wishing the world would go away.
Wishing she could be transported to a place and time, an alternated reality, where everything and everyone was okay.
In the silence, Fi began to drift off to sleep, tasting her salty tears.
Miles away, in a five-story, white stone hospital, ensconced in a room of white, haunting blue eyes stared vacantly at the ceiling. Carey had always thought of the colour white as a symbol of purity, innocence and happiness. But now---
Carey knew that white could be pure, innocent, happy, haunting, empty, chilling and maddening, all at the same time. To see white every which way he turned, it was an affirmation of how he felt so dead inside.
White was a colour of lifelessness.
Clu tossed a hackey sack over and over as he lay on his bed. Surfing posters, surf boards, and other surfing paraphernalia littered his room, lending it a vibrant, blue-green hue.
'The colour of life,' Clu thought ironically. Surrounded by images of the waves and of life, Clu found it difficult to even breathe. Images of life reminded him that his brother's life was taken away. Oh, sure, Carey was still alive, but his essence, the thing that made him the person he is, it was all gone.
And Clu---
He was the one who robbed his brother of that life.
Thwap!
With a force much stronger than necessary, Clu threw the colourful hackey sack against the wall as he arose to stand up. Grabbing a heavy paper weight from his desk, Clu proceeded to hit his arm repeatedly with it, wanting to hurt himself---Wanting his internal guilt and pain to somehow become external.
Author's End Note: Auggh! This chapter SUCKED, I know, but I promise the other chapters will be better. Also, when time permits, I'll reformat and change this chapter so it'll be less---sucky!
*Clu's POV *
I know what everyone must be thinking; that I'm this heartless idiot who doesn't even care about his sick brother. It's pretty obvious to everyone that I've since avoided visiting Carey, but it's not for the reason they think.
Author's Note: This little story is turning out to be longer than I originally intended. I wrote this with only four chapters, a prologue and an epilogue in mind, but the way things are turning out---well, let's just say that I didn't quite anticipate that. Maybe this'll have, like, ten chapters or something. Arrgh!
As always, reviews are greatly appreciated. Mahalo! Any questions or suggestions you might have, feel free to e-mail me at either rockerbaby2000@usa.com or rockerbaby@spain-mail.com.
"Cluett Geeza Bell, where have you been?" Irene's half-panicked, half- enraged voice greeted Clu as he surreptitiously crept into the Bell house at a little past 2 in the morning.
Clu froze in his tracks, left hand still resting on the silver doorknob that was still cool to the touch. His eyes blinked rapidly as bright lights washed over him, triggered by two angry looking sandy blondes dressed identically in faded, fuzzy robes and intimidating scowls.
"Where have you been all night?" Irene asked again, arms crossed over her chest. "Your father and I have been worried sick! We tried calling your cell phone, but you obviously turned it off. No one knew where you were! We called all your friends! We even called the hospital!"
Irene's haggard face crumpled and tears leaked out from her tired sapphire eyes. "You can't possibly imagine what we were thinking! Where the hell were you?"
Clu shuffled his feet uncomfortably, refusing to look anyone in the eye. "Ya know, out."
"Out?" Ned bellowed, rising to his full, intimidating 6'4" height. "We have been going out of our minds wondering where the HELL you were and that's all you can say? OUT?"
Clu just stood there, kicking at the Oriental rug on the floor, nonchalant and seemingly more engrossed in the intricate designs of the rug than the actual reality of his parents' seething anger.
"Well," Irene said, raising an eyebrow impatiently and holding her hands up expectantly. "Isn't there something you wanted to tell us?"
"It won't happen again," was the monotone mumbling she was rewarded with.
Without so much as a backward glance, Clu trudged up the stairs silently, leaving his parents to the realisation that in some ways, they had lost both their sons in that accident.
"Fi? Baby, what are you doing here?" screeched an astonished Molly Phillips as she saw her only daughter standing on the porch of their house.
It was a little past 3 in the morning, and the world was so quiet that you could hear a pin drop and the crickets chirp. Molly had been listening to Sarah Brightman's "La Luna" CD, transported to the realms of half-sleep and half-reality, lulled by the angelic voice, when she heard the doorbell ringing. At first, she dismissed it as a figment of her imagination. After all, who would be knocking up at this ungodly hour? Certainly nobody she knew, she was sure of it. But the ringing persisted, and in a few moments was accompanied by determined knocking. When she finally decided to check who was at the door, her mind was clouded with visions of Irene and Ned bearing bad news, but she certainly did not expect Fi to be at the door.
Fiona smiled sheepishly at her mother, almost weighed down by the enormous amount of luggage she had in her possession. "Uh, hi."
"What are you doing here? Your flight isn't supposed to be here until later this week."
"Um, mum?" Fi began, shifting her large duffel bag to a more comfortable position on her shoulder. "Do you mind letting me in? These things are pretty heavy, and I've been up since really early yesterday morning, so---"
Molly smacked the palm of her hand on her forehead. "Of course, baby! What was I thinking? Here, come on, let me help you with those."
Fiona handed her mum the 25-inch upright and 20-inch pilot case, then proceeded to enter her warm house, heading straight to the comfortable couch inside the living room.
"At the risk of sounding like a broken record, I just have to ask you again what you're doing here when your flight isn't for a few days." Molly asked her daughter, after a minute of silence.
Fi played with the Celtic ring she wore on her thumb. "Um, I got a call from Jack. He told me about Carey. About the accident."
Molly was silent for a moment, thinking back to that awful night when she heard about the car crash. It brought back awful memories for her--- memories she wished she could escape from but could never elude.
"Is Carey okay?" Fi asked softly, looking at her mother with her scared- looking big brown eyes. "Is he awake?"
Molly sighed, looking to the ceiling, as though for some answer from the Heavens. "Well, that depends on what you think is okay. Carey's---Well, he's regained consciousness, but he---Well, uh---He might not be able to walk again or play the guitar."
She winced as she saw her daughter's horrified expression. "But Ned and Irene are getting a second opinion, so who knows?"
Fi nodded numbly. "I---I'm really tired, mum. Do you mind if I go upstairs now to sleep? We'll talk tomorrow, I promise."
Molly nodded, with forced enthusiasm, Fi noted, and gave a small smile. "We both need our beauty sleep. We'll visit Carey tomorrow, if you want."
Fi gave her mum another smile as the two of them wordlessly went upstairs and carried her luggage. There, inside her room, alone and confused, Fi jumped into her bed and covered herself in her blankets. Wishing with all her heart she could hit rewind and go back one week in time.
Wishing the world would go away.
Wishing she could be transported to a place and time, an alternated reality, where everything and everyone was okay.
In the silence, Fi began to drift off to sleep, tasting her salty tears.
Miles away, in a five-story, white stone hospital, ensconced in a room of white, haunting blue eyes stared vacantly at the ceiling. Carey had always thought of the colour white as a symbol of purity, innocence and happiness. But now---
Carey knew that white could be pure, innocent, happy, haunting, empty, chilling and maddening, all at the same time. To see white every which way he turned, it was an affirmation of how he felt so dead inside.
White was a colour of lifelessness.
Clu tossed a hackey sack over and over as he lay on his bed. Surfing posters, surf boards, and other surfing paraphernalia littered his room, lending it a vibrant, blue-green hue.
'The colour of life,' Clu thought ironically. Surrounded by images of the waves and of life, Clu found it difficult to even breathe. Images of life reminded him that his brother's life was taken away. Oh, sure, Carey was still alive, but his essence, the thing that made him the person he is, it was all gone.
And Clu---
He was the one who robbed his brother of that life.
Thwap!
With a force much stronger than necessary, Clu threw the colourful hackey sack against the wall as he arose to stand up. Grabbing a heavy paper weight from his desk, Clu proceeded to hit his arm repeatedly with it, wanting to hurt himself---Wanting his internal guilt and pain to somehow become external.
Author's End Note: Auggh! This chapter SUCKED, I know, but I promise the other chapters will be better. Also, when time permits, I'll reformat and change this chapter so it'll be less---sucky!
*Clu's POV *
I know what everyone must be thinking; that I'm this heartless idiot who doesn't even care about his sick brother. It's pretty obvious to everyone that I've since avoided visiting Carey, but it's not for the reason they think.