Author's note: Ok, I forgot to give you a note on the last one. If you want more, don't worry, cause I've got lots of this story typed up. It's just a matter of uploading it. Well, here's the nexr chapter.]
I suppose if you're going to see these events from my point of view, you'll need some kind of picture so you'll know whose eyes you're looking out of. I'm about 5'7" with black, silky, chin length hair, and two dark purple streaks on either side of it. My skin is the color of coffee with way too much creamer in it, resulting in the lightest shade of brown you've ever seen. Sunny golden eyes peek out from beneath the tangled locks of my hair when it hangs in my face. Most say they look like contacts, so I accept their assumption and go on with life. It's not the biggest deal in the world.
You can usually see me wearing long, short-sleeved, punk/gothic shirts, spiked collars, and the baggiest pants possible without them being around my ankles. Flat skateboarding shoes adorn my feet, because I don't think I could live without them. Even though I can't 'board, I like them all the same. On my arms reside so many thick black bracelets and spikes that skin is barely visible anymore. But enough about my fabulous (note the sarcasm) looks. Back to my, Crystal Blackhound's, point of view. The view of the experience that changed my life.
It was a Friday, and boy was I glad for the weekend. My English teacher had assigned an essay due on Monday, but I had already finished the rough draft in class. Now all I had to do was type the final draft up on my computer at home. But most of the time, I saved the typing for Sunday night, and ended up getting a B+ on it. Not too shabby, all though, I knew I could do better. The only reason I put it off was because I loved goofing off on the weekend. It was my escape from responsibility, and every tenth grader needs that.
Sitting in last period, my eyelids were drooping from listening to the History teacher drone on and on about World War Two(WW2). He never made anything interesting, just basically lectured us. No one ever horsed around in his class, and not a single person could come up with an explanation for it. Mr. Jackson just had that "I demand respect" air around him. I glanced at the clock. It read 2:30. Only five minutes, I thought. Five minutes till freedom from lectures, P.E., and the lunch line. Oddly enough, those minutes seemed like seconds. The bell rang and there was a mad dash to get to lockers, outside, on the bus or to start walking home. Some kids got picked up, even though I have no clue why you would want to sit in a hot, muggy car in eighty-five degree weather, even with air conditioning.
After packing my things into a backpack without advertising, like most of my peers, I waved goodbye to my small group of friends and started the walk home. Only about two minutes from school though, I began to sweat. Not the kind of sweat you get from jump-roping, but the kind of sweat you get from playing basketball nonstop for three hours. My hand was literally dripping perspiration onto the sidewalk. Not wanting anyone to see me and think, "freak of nature," I took some material out of my pack that I used for bandannas and wrapped it around my hands. Soon I reached my house and ran to my room.
Throwing my pack on the floor, I rushed to the kitchen to find more towels for my hands. What the hell was happening to me? For a second, thoughts of mutants flashed through my mind. You know, the kind on X-Men Evolution? But then I laughed, thinking the sweat had gone to my brain. X-Men is a fictional world. There had to be a logical explanation for the sheen appearing and dripping off my bare skin. There had to be. Didn't there?
Now at this moment in time, I was convinced that things couldn't get any worse. After all, there was a huge puddle of sweat on the kitchen floor, wet footprints leading up the stairs, and I obviously couldn't go outside for fear ridicule from people. But alas, I just had to look down to see just how big the puddle was. This is when I saw a problem. My clothes were absolutely saturated. Not a few drops here and there, but completely soaked. I couldn't take it any more.
"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaah!" I screamed, and threw open my back door. Luckily, my parents weren't home and our whole street was down at some block party. The back of my house faces woods, and at the time, was the only place I could think to go. No one ever went into the woods because of some rumor actually started by me for some privacy. I said some murderer had died there and his spirit still haunted the trees at night. Most people in the neighborhood are very religious and believed it. Since I'm an only child and the only person on our road less than eighteen, no one ever knew the truth.
Running away from everything was all I could think about as I bolted deeper into the forest. Somehow, I knew that going to a doctor wouldn't help, as they would probably declare me some medical miracle and send me off to some military testing facility. Not gonna happen to Crys Blackhound, that's for sure.
I headed for a spot I knew well. I went there to think things over. But I hadn't been to it in about two weeks. Still, I could locate it in the growing darkness. It was a pond with a decaying old wooden dock that at some point in time had been used for diving. The pond itself wasn't that deep, the deepest point being about three feet above my head. I knew from going swimming many times before.
Surrounded by thick foliage, the pond was peaceful and serene. The only sounds you could hear would be sounds of nature. Birds chirping. Squirrels chittering. A narrow stream emptied into the larger body of water, then came out the other side, continuing down to join other streams. This kept the pond surprisingly clear(it took debris with it as it flowed),so clear that I could see my reflection in it. A weary fifteen-year-old face stared back at me, looking for all the world like she had lost her mind. Which I probably have, I reminded myself.
I sat down by the shoreline and sighed. Not many girls my age liked nature over boys, and sometimes I was glad of that. But now was not one of those times. Now I needed to talk to someone, share everything that had happened with someone who was completely trustworthy. Unfortunately, I had yet to find someone whose personality traits fit that description. Stretching out on the cool white beach sand, I pondered my condition. What could I do about it?
My parents rejected anything that was slightly un normal. As you can tell, I got the highlights in my hair and bought the clothes with my own money. When they saw, they were furious but I didn't listen to them anyway. It was who I was, who I am, and who I'll probably always be. I like doing the opposite of what is considered normal, which shattered the 'rents vision of a perfect, prissy princess girl. In my opinion, if they want that so much, they should adopt a kid.
Seriously though, I thought of running away. My friends would understand. I was always a little distant with them and told them nothing of my home life. I could hang with them, but not pour out my secrets to them. My parents would probably come up with some normal explanation for why I ran, like "emotional turmoil." Did I forget to mention that they're both shrinks? Anyway, while telling everyone else I'd be back in no time, in reality, they'd get rid of every trace that I ever lived there. Also, I had about $500 in my bank account from saving up over the years. All I had to do was close out the account and bada-bing bada-boom. I was good to go. It was official. Crystal Blackhound was running away from home, for good.
For the first time in a long time, I actually smiled. Not a fake smile like you use for pictures or meeting new people, but a genuine smile. I was going to be on my own for my life. Totally independent, no one to tell me what to do. Live in a homeless shelter or an apartment once I got enough money. This wouldn't be such a bad life after all.
Looking out over the pond, I imagined how cool it would be if a huge water spray burst out at that moment, celebrating my new beginning. To my amazement, that's exactly what happened. It reached up to the trees, then came crashing back down next to my face. Not that it made any difference, because I was already soaked to begin with.
"Wow," I whispered. "Cool!" I heard a cough behind me like someone was trying to hide a snicker. Whipping around, I surveyed the trees, looking for any form of life other than the natural animals of the forest. Sighing, I realized I was probably being paranoid. That seemed to happen a lot more often though. Weird. Then I remembered something. How was I supposed to get money?
I'm sure that store owners don't want the incredible dripping girl as their cashier. Neither will any other business owner for that matter. Maybe I could work for SeaWorld or something, but then they would ask why I was wet all the time and not just in the shows. Well, I found the flaw in my plan.
"So much for a new life," I mumbled to myself. With only one option, telling my parents, suddenly life didn't look so bright anymore. My emotions started to swirl around like a tornado. Mad that this was happening to me. Sad that my own parents might not want me. Scared that they might send me to a testing facility. Anxious for their reactions. Too many feelings!
"Aaaaaaaahhhhhhhh!" I screamed, for the second time that day. Why did this have to happen to me? Why not some other person? And this time, like in the movies, I knew my answer wasn't going to come from some omnipotent being. There was no answer. It just was. I heard a saying once that fits this situation. Don't dwell on what was, but deal with what is. I didn't want to deal.
A shadow rose up over my head. Slowly, I turned and saw the biggest wave that I've ever seen. But that wasn't what was freaking me out. No, what was so mind-boggling about it was that I had my back to the pond. Which meant that the wave was drawing the water from nowhere. Thinking it was a figment of my imagination, I walked over to it and tried to touch it. Amazingly, it felt like water. Then I started to laugh maniacally, shouting out to the sky,
"Where are the men in white coats? Darn, they're late again, aren't they. Well, too bad, because I'm going crazy and I want my padded room." I collapsed onto the ground, staring at the wave, still laughing slightly. It got progressively larger as my laughter turned to sobs. Then I heard more shuffling in the bushes. It almost sounded like someone was arguing. After that, all was quiet. But I knew better. If someone was there, they wouldn't stay there. They'd come out. Which is why when I heard someone behind me, I ducked and jabbed them with my elbow in the stomach. Not seeing through my tears, I backed up to get a better look at my attacker. And fainted. Because if you had seen what, no, who had been there, you would have dead-out dropped too. Logan, or better known as Wolverine, was lying on the ground of the woods behind my house. In the flesh, not a trace of cartoon.
I suppose if you're going to see these events from my point of view, you'll need some kind of picture so you'll know whose eyes you're looking out of. I'm about 5'7" with black, silky, chin length hair, and two dark purple streaks on either side of it. My skin is the color of coffee with way too much creamer in it, resulting in the lightest shade of brown you've ever seen. Sunny golden eyes peek out from beneath the tangled locks of my hair when it hangs in my face. Most say they look like contacts, so I accept their assumption and go on with life. It's not the biggest deal in the world.
You can usually see me wearing long, short-sleeved, punk/gothic shirts, spiked collars, and the baggiest pants possible without them being around my ankles. Flat skateboarding shoes adorn my feet, because I don't think I could live without them. Even though I can't 'board, I like them all the same. On my arms reside so many thick black bracelets and spikes that skin is barely visible anymore. But enough about my fabulous (note the sarcasm) looks. Back to my, Crystal Blackhound's, point of view. The view of the experience that changed my life.
It was a Friday, and boy was I glad for the weekend. My English teacher had assigned an essay due on Monday, but I had already finished the rough draft in class. Now all I had to do was type the final draft up on my computer at home. But most of the time, I saved the typing for Sunday night, and ended up getting a B+ on it. Not too shabby, all though, I knew I could do better. The only reason I put it off was because I loved goofing off on the weekend. It was my escape from responsibility, and every tenth grader needs that.
Sitting in last period, my eyelids were drooping from listening to the History teacher drone on and on about World War Two(WW2). He never made anything interesting, just basically lectured us. No one ever horsed around in his class, and not a single person could come up with an explanation for it. Mr. Jackson just had that "I demand respect" air around him. I glanced at the clock. It read 2:30. Only five minutes, I thought. Five minutes till freedom from lectures, P.E., and the lunch line. Oddly enough, those minutes seemed like seconds. The bell rang and there was a mad dash to get to lockers, outside, on the bus or to start walking home. Some kids got picked up, even though I have no clue why you would want to sit in a hot, muggy car in eighty-five degree weather, even with air conditioning.
After packing my things into a backpack without advertising, like most of my peers, I waved goodbye to my small group of friends and started the walk home. Only about two minutes from school though, I began to sweat. Not the kind of sweat you get from jump-roping, but the kind of sweat you get from playing basketball nonstop for three hours. My hand was literally dripping perspiration onto the sidewalk. Not wanting anyone to see me and think, "freak of nature," I took some material out of my pack that I used for bandannas and wrapped it around my hands. Soon I reached my house and ran to my room.
Throwing my pack on the floor, I rushed to the kitchen to find more towels for my hands. What the hell was happening to me? For a second, thoughts of mutants flashed through my mind. You know, the kind on X-Men Evolution? But then I laughed, thinking the sweat had gone to my brain. X-Men is a fictional world. There had to be a logical explanation for the sheen appearing and dripping off my bare skin. There had to be. Didn't there?
Now at this moment in time, I was convinced that things couldn't get any worse. After all, there was a huge puddle of sweat on the kitchen floor, wet footprints leading up the stairs, and I obviously couldn't go outside for fear ridicule from people. But alas, I just had to look down to see just how big the puddle was. This is when I saw a problem. My clothes were absolutely saturated. Not a few drops here and there, but completely soaked. I couldn't take it any more.
"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaah!" I screamed, and threw open my back door. Luckily, my parents weren't home and our whole street was down at some block party. The back of my house faces woods, and at the time, was the only place I could think to go. No one ever went into the woods because of some rumor actually started by me for some privacy. I said some murderer had died there and his spirit still haunted the trees at night. Most people in the neighborhood are very religious and believed it. Since I'm an only child and the only person on our road less than eighteen, no one ever knew the truth.
Running away from everything was all I could think about as I bolted deeper into the forest. Somehow, I knew that going to a doctor wouldn't help, as they would probably declare me some medical miracle and send me off to some military testing facility. Not gonna happen to Crys Blackhound, that's for sure.
I headed for a spot I knew well. I went there to think things over. But I hadn't been to it in about two weeks. Still, I could locate it in the growing darkness. It was a pond with a decaying old wooden dock that at some point in time had been used for diving. The pond itself wasn't that deep, the deepest point being about three feet above my head. I knew from going swimming many times before.
Surrounded by thick foliage, the pond was peaceful and serene. The only sounds you could hear would be sounds of nature. Birds chirping. Squirrels chittering. A narrow stream emptied into the larger body of water, then came out the other side, continuing down to join other streams. This kept the pond surprisingly clear(it took debris with it as it flowed),so clear that I could see my reflection in it. A weary fifteen-year-old face stared back at me, looking for all the world like she had lost her mind. Which I probably have, I reminded myself.
I sat down by the shoreline and sighed. Not many girls my age liked nature over boys, and sometimes I was glad of that. But now was not one of those times. Now I needed to talk to someone, share everything that had happened with someone who was completely trustworthy. Unfortunately, I had yet to find someone whose personality traits fit that description. Stretching out on the cool white beach sand, I pondered my condition. What could I do about it?
My parents rejected anything that was slightly un normal. As you can tell, I got the highlights in my hair and bought the clothes with my own money. When they saw, they were furious but I didn't listen to them anyway. It was who I was, who I am, and who I'll probably always be. I like doing the opposite of what is considered normal, which shattered the 'rents vision of a perfect, prissy princess girl. In my opinion, if they want that so much, they should adopt a kid.
Seriously though, I thought of running away. My friends would understand. I was always a little distant with them and told them nothing of my home life. I could hang with them, but not pour out my secrets to them. My parents would probably come up with some normal explanation for why I ran, like "emotional turmoil." Did I forget to mention that they're both shrinks? Anyway, while telling everyone else I'd be back in no time, in reality, they'd get rid of every trace that I ever lived there. Also, I had about $500 in my bank account from saving up over the years. All I had to do was close out the account and bada-bing bada-boom. I was good to go. It was official. Crystal Blackhound was running away from home, for good.
For the first time in a long time, I actually smiled. Not a fake smile like you use for pictures or meeting new people, but a genuine smile. I was going to be on my own for my life. Totally independent, no one to tell me what to do. Live in a homeless shelter or an apartment once I got enough money. This wouldn't be such a bad life after all.
Looking out over the pond, I imagined how cool it would be if a huge water spray burst out at that moment, celebrating my new beginning. To my amazement, that's exactly what happened. It reached up to the trees, then came crashing back down next to my face. Not that it made any difference, because I was already soaked to begin with.
"Wow," I whispered. "Cool!" I heard a cough behind me like someone was trying to hide a snicker. Whipping around, I surveyed the trees, looking for any form of life other than the natural animals of the forest. Sighing, I realized I was probably being paranoid. That seemed to happen a lot more often though. Weird. Then I remembered something. How was I supposed to get money?
I'm sure that store owners don't want the incredible dripping girl as their cashier. Neither will any other business owner for that matter. Maybe I could work for SeaWorld or something, but then they would ask why I was wet all the time and not just in the shows. Well, I found the flaw in my plan.
"So much for a new life," I mumbled to myself. With only one option, telling my parents, suddenly life didn't look so bright anymore. My emotions started to swirl around like a tornado. Mad that this was happening to me. Sad that my own parents might not want me. Scared that they might send me to a testing facility. Anxious for their reactions. Too many feelings!
"Aaaaaaaahhhhhhhh!" I screamed, for the second time that day. Why did this have to happen to me? Why not some other person? And this time, like in the movies, I knew my answer wasn't going to come from some omnipotent being. There was no answer. It just was. I heard a saying once that fits this situation. Don't dwell on what was, but deal with what is. I didn't want to deal.
A shadow rose up over my head. Slowly, I turned and saw the biggest wave that I've ever seen. But that wasn't what was freaking me out. No, what was so mind-boggling about it was that I had my back to the pond. Which meant that the wave was drawing the water from nowhere. Thinking it was a figment of my imagination, I walked over to it and tried to touch it. Amazingly, it felt like water. Then I started to laugh maniacally, shouting out to the sky,
"Where are the men in white coats? Darn, they're late again, aren't they. Well, too bad, because I'm going crazy and I want my padded room." I collapsed onto the ground, staring at the wave, still laughing slightly. It got progressively larger as my laughter turned to sobs. Then I heard more shuffling in the bushes. It almost sounded like someone was arguing. After that, all was quiet. But I knew better. If someone was there, they wouldn't stay there. They'd come out. Which is why when I heard someone behind me, I ducked and jabbed them with my elbow in the stomach. Not seeing through my tears, I backed up to get a better look at my attacker. And fainted. Because if you had seen what, no, who had been there, you would have dead-out dropped too. Logan, or better known as Wolverine, was lying on the ground of the woods behind my house. In the flesh, not a trace of cartoon.
