(--Chapter 1: The long way home--)
*click*
She opened the door and went inside, almost tripping over Chaser. She sat down on the couch and read the letter again, smirking.
"So Zachary wants to get me into some hotel room in the middle of nowhere, via vacation?"
Funny. He was always a little shy when she knew him. She scratched Chaser's head as she thought about Zack. Quite shy actually. Practically ran and hid whenever he was near a girl without Monroe around. The only reason she dated that 2-shoed tie-wearing little idiot nerd was to get near Monroe in the first place. Monroe was the Smart, savvy kid in the fourth row, three seats back. Next to Margaret. God, she hated her name. Made her sound like some. some. something anyway. Most people called her Deluge. Not that she was exactly popular. In fact, she hadn't really had any friends in high school. Not that she cared.
Damn, getting off topic. What was she thinking about? Oh, yeah. Zack. He didn't seem to be the type to actually ask a girl out on a trip, unless someone goaded him into it. Of course, she knew he was rich. Or his dad was rich anyway. Probably asked him for money. His dad was actually somewhat nice. Got me a new sofa for going out with his kid. It was a nice sofa too.
Off topic again. Why did she do that? Her mind wandered off so often she wondered sometimes if it would come back with pizza and souvenirs for everybody.
V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^ V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V
(--Saturday afternoon--)
She might as well get ready. She finally woke up, made some sense of order with her black-dyed hair, and ate a pop tart. Fudge. disgusting. And people wondered why she stayed so thin. The hole in her hand wasn't healing. In fact, it was just getting swollen and grotesquely purple, the veins around it bulging and throbbing like they were actually working in reverse. Strangely enough, it was not bleeding either. She wrapped some gauze around it and used some Neosporin. She spent another hour and a half getting ready, putting on another black dress, painting her nails black, and braiding her hair, which took another hour and a half. As soon as she finished braiding, she used it to tie a quick noose, which she slipped around her leg to keep it from dragging in the dirt and grime of the suburbs. She grabbed her walkman and headphones, and sensed something missing. What was it?
"My hat."
She'd had it since she was three. She was a witch for Halloween that year, but she never got any candy. As if it mattered. No one really celebrated in the Sanguine street Cul-de-sac. She never really got around to throwing it away. Cat woman, age 4? Witch hat, No candy. Super girl, age 5? Witch hat, No candy. Bride of Frankenstein, age 6? Witch hat, No candy. It had sentimental value, sort of. A testament to an atheist's treatment, maybe? Whatever. It still looked good with her ensemble. She put it on, and grabbed a stun gun from her shelf of knives in case Zack didn't want to play nice. That two-pronged electrical wonder did come in handy sometimes. Goths that got a little too bloody, homeless people or just people in general. She also grabbed her favorite ornamental knife, a nine-inch wonder with a serrated blade and rat skulls on the cross-hilt and pommel. If Zachary did not get the point, he soon would.
V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^ V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V
(--Saturday Night--)
The only reason for the morbidity of her style was to keep people freaked long enough to leave her alone as she passed them by. She waited in her living room for the cab, or bus, or whatever would show up. The driver might be cute. Cuter than Zack, anyway. While she waited she checked for split ends, or tightened her weave, which was the only reason her hair reached her ankles.
She stuck the sheathed knife in her noose's knot, to hide it from inspection. Most tourist towns have a pat-down service anyway. The stunner easily fit into her pocket. She had to admit, looking into the mirror, that she looked hot. No wonder Zachary wouldn't give up on her.
*Beep*
It was an old truck. Some rusty Toyota without tags. No, wait. There were license plates but they were so orange with rust it looked like a part of the truck. The driver was bundled up against the cold, wearing a Sherlock- style hat and gigantic glasses. Trench coat. Big trench coat with gloves. Scarf so big I couldn't even see his face. I noticed my hand was bleeding a little, and I tightened the bandage. Not a friendly looking guy, but apparently my driver for the night. Yeesh, 16 hours with no snacks and only this guy to talk to. I should have brought a snack.
*click*
She opened the door and went inside, almost tripping over Chaser. She sat down on the couch and read the letter again, smirking.
"So Zachary wants to get me into some hotel room in the middle of nowhere, via vacation?"
Funny. He was always a little shy when she knew him. She scratched Chaser's head as she thought about Zack. Quite shy actually. Practically ran and hid whenever he was near a girl without Monroe around. The only reason she dated that 2-shoed tie-wearing little idiot nerd was to get near Monroe in the first place. Monroe was the Smart, savvy kid in the fourth row, three seats back. Next to Margaret. God, she hated her name. Made her sound like some. some. something anyway. Most people called her Deluge. Not that she was exactly popular. In fact, she hadn't really had any friends in high school. Not that she cared.
Damn, getting off topic. What was she thinking about? Oh, yeah. Zack. He didn't seem to be the type to actually ask a girl out on a trip, unless someone goaded him into it. Of course, she knew he was rich. Or his dad was rich anyway. Probably asked him for money. His dad was actually somewhat nice. Got me a new sofa for going out with his kid. It was a nice sofa too.
Off topic again. Why did she do that? Her mind wandered off so often she wondered sometimes if it would come back with pizza and souvenirs for everybody.
V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^ V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V
(--Saturday afternoon--)
She might as well get ready. She finally woke up, made some sense of order with her black-dyed hair, and ate a pop tart. Fudge. disgusting. And people wondered why she stayed so thin. The hole in her hand wasn't healing. In fact, it was just getting swollen and grotesquely purple, the veins around it bulging and throbbing like they were actually working in reverse. Strangely enough, it was not bleeding either. She wrapped some gauze around it and used some Neosporin. She spent another hour and a half getting ready, putting on another black dress, painting her nails black, and braiding her hair, which took another hour and a half. As soon as she finished braiding, she used it to tie a quick noose, which she slipped around her leg to keep it from dragging in the dirt and grime of the suburbs. She grabbed her walkman and headphones, and sensed something missing. What was it?
"My hat."
She'd had it since she was three. She was a witch for Halloween that year, but she never got any candy. As if it mattered. No one really celebrated in the Sanguine street Cul-de-sac. She never really got around to throwing it away. Cat woman, age 4? Witch hat, No candy. Super girl, age 5? Witch hat, No candy. Bride of Frankenstein, age 6? Witch hat, No candy. It had sentimental value, sort of. A testament to an atheist's treatment, maybe? Whatever. It still looked good with her ensemble. She put it on, and grabbed a stun gun from her shelf of knives in case Zack didn't want to play nice. That two-pronged electrical wonder did come in handy sometimes. Goths that got a little too bloody, homeless people or just people in general. She also grabbed her favorite ornamental knife, a nine-inch wonder with a serrated blade and rat skulls on the cross-hilt and pommel. If Zachary did not get the point, he soon would.
V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^ V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V
(--Saturday Night--)
The only reason for the morbidity of her style was to keep people freaked long enough to leave her alone as she passed them by. She waited in her living room for the cab, or bus, or whatever would show up. The driver might be cute. Cuter than Zack, anyway. While she waited she checked for split ends, or tightened her weave, which was the only reason her hair reached her ankles.
She stuck the sheathed knife in her noose's knot, to hide it from inspection. Most tourist towns have a pat-down service anyway. The stunner easily fit into her pocket. She had to admit, looking into the mirror, that she looked hot. No wonder Zachary wouldn't give up on her.
*Beep*
It was an old truck. Some rusty Toyota without tags. No, wait. There were license plates but they were so orange with rust it looked like a part of the truck. The driver was bundled up against the cold, wearing a Sherlock- style hat and gigantic glasses. Trench coat. Big trench coat with gloves. Scarf so big I couldn't even see his face. I noticed my hand was bleeding a little, and I tightened the bandage. Not a friendly looking guy, but apparently my driver for the night. Yeesh, 16 hours with no snacks and only this guy to talk to. I should have brought a snack.
