Thorns on the Rose
By: Firevibe the Red
Summary: Zelda fan Delaney Freeholder is severely out of place. Having won a scholarship to an uppity private school in Manhattan, though extremely difficult, hasn't made her life easier. Because she comes from a one-parent family, and a poor one at that, Delaney is an easy target for her classmates. When she gets hit by a car, she figures she will die, and doesn't feel any particular remorse. But she doesn't die. She wakes up...but not in her body. Who is Rosellyn Stillwater? And what happened to Delaney, and 21st century New York?
Chapter 1-In Which We Meet Poor Della
Delaney blinked blearily at her alarm clock, wishing the stupid thing had never been invented. Whoever decided that high schoolers needed to get to school at 7 in the morning should be shot, she thought, and rolled out of bed onto the floor, dragging herself to her dresser and throwing out the first clothes that came to reach. Trying to stay awake, she pulled on whatever she had pulled out and examined herself in the mirror to make sure it wasn't too horrible.
She had actually done well this morning; blue jeans and a forest green T-shirt that read Elves Exist! in lighter green with a picture of Link from her Zelda video game on it. Okay, so maybe Link wasn't technically an elf, but he the pointy ear thing going on. She loved this shirt, having made it herself. She ironed on all the designs, and even sewed in the crucial parts.
She brushed her teeth (she was never much of a breakfast eater, even less so at 6 in the morning) and pulled a comb through her short brown hair. Even half asleep, she grimaced at the length. Try as she might, her hair would never grow past her cheeks. It just had some sort of genetic block. Sure, strangers would admire its sheen, but it was no good unless it was long, in her opinion.
Having spruced herself up and woken herself up, she searched her room, shoving runaway papers and binders into her backpack. The alarm, set on the radio, was still going, her favorite music station highlighting old music. Why old music? It was a pop rock station! But she listened on, too lazy to go and change it. Suddenly a tune came on that she halfway recognized. It was "Homeward Bound" by Simon and Whatshisface. Garfield? No, hang on…Garfunkle. Some weird name like that. Her mother would always sing this non-stop on trips, which made driving with her mad fun.
Still, she stopped and listened, thinking it sounded a lot better when these guys sang it. One line caught her interest. "…and still my words come back to me/ in shades of mediocrity/ in emptiness and harmony/ I need someone to comfort me…" Mediocrity? She wasn't sure what that meant, but she liked the sound of it. They sure had a better vocabulary back in the sixties.
She checked the clock. Still time to battle the boss! She ran to the family room, flung herself down on the beanbag chair, hit on the T.V., and turned on the N64 with the Zelda game that had permanently moved in there. Zelda was her life. She had beaten the first one, but the second one had her stumped. She skillfully maneuvered Link through the virtual obstacle course, diving, gathering jewels, morphing, battling… she sunk into the familiar feeling of well-being. She never felt so peaceful, or that she had control over something, than when she was playing her video game. This was her element, the Mecca of her real and imaginary world. She lived, ate, breathed and slept Zelda. It was a satisfying existance, and preferable to her own. When her mother called, she saved her game, turned it off, tugged on her backpack and trudged downstairs.
"Della? Are you almost ready? You're going to have to leave soon if you want to get there on time!" She fished through the refrigerator for her lunch.
"I know, Mom, I just need my lunch…" she found it and yanked it out, pushing the door shut with her foot. She was halfway out the door when she remembered the song. And the word. Mediocrity. Her mother had never sung that verse in the car. "Mom?"
"Yes, dear?"
"What's the word mediocrity mean?"
"Mediocrity? Why do you ask?"
"I heard it somewhere. Do you know what it means?"
"Yes, I know. It's a form of the word 'mediocre' which means normal, average, nothing out of the ordinary. Mediocrity would mean that something is depressingly normal. Border lining on boring, but not quite that strong. Does that answer your question, honey?" Hm. Boring. Nice.
"Yeah, I think so. Thanks. Bye, I love you."
"I love you too, Della." She shut the door and started walking to school.
If any word was to describe her life, this new word "mediocre" pretty much summed things up. She'd been going through the same routine since school started, not changing it one iota. You could set your watch by it. Wake up, brush teeth, brush hair, play Zelda, go downstairs, grab her lunch box, and she was on her way. Her hair was always the same, depressingly short, as was her height. Depressingly short. Her classmate's voices were starting to richen, and become high and sweet. Hers was still thin and childish, so low that if you heard her talk you would have thought a boy had snuck on campus, as the girls constantly teased her about.
And then there was school. School. A whole different rat's nest, yet equally mediocre as herself. No one simply walked to Mrs. Johnette Bigglesworth's Academy For Young Ladies. They had their drivers escort them in their expensive cars, Jaguars, BMW's, limousines, Mustang convertibles. Their own car, and they wouldn't be driving for two more years! Yet their car nonetheless. In some cases, one of their cars. Or the boys at the neighboring campus, Mr. John Bigglesworth's Academy For Young Men, they would rev up their Harley's, their motor scooters that they had bought purely on whim with their $100 a week allowances, or begged off their parents when the parents were feeling generous that day. No one walked, except for Delaney Freeholder.
Delaney, with her low voice, her banged-up tennies, her short hair and stature, Delaney, the fat one, with her chump-change allowance of a mere $5. Five dollars! They would laugh, not bothering to lower their voices. Why, they could go home and find that much under their outrageously expensive sofa cushions!
Yet their feeling toward her never contained a shred of pity. It was hate, pure and unrefined. Freeholder, why was she there? She didn't belong. Until she had her own cell phone, broker, and limo, she would never belong. Freeholder, with her perfect grades, Freeholder the computer geek. Why did she even bother coming? Why indeed, she thought. Certainly, she had one of the highest grade point averages in the school for a freshman, but brains wasn't what earned you acceptance in Johnette Bigglesworth, not if you weren't rich. The people admitted under scholarships usually were driven away in about a month.
Even hacking into AIM didn't gain her exceptance, even though it was interesting, reading her classmates' messages to each other. And their e-mails, when she eventually slipped her system around the e-mail carriers. Put Della in front of the computer, and something amazing would undoubtedly happen. Not that the other girls cared, because all the poor kids, the scholarship ones, the kids had been chased away by the other girls' cruelty. All except Delaney. She had been their half a year, and if she thought that it would lessen their dislike for her, she wouldn't have made it under the scholarship program because she would have been extremely slow.
"Hey! Freeholder! Can I pull you over for a moment?" She sighed, recognizing the snotty tone of voice. With a sinking feeling of gloom, she continued walking, refusing to let Eloise Mollier get the chance to attack her. She had enough of that in class; did she really need it before school, too? "Freeholder! Gawd, don't you even remember your own name? It's certainly weird enough to." And this coming from a girl whose name was Eloise Gweynich Mollier! Oh, the replies she wanted to give at that moment. But all she did was slightly pick up her pace. She had to let the moment pass, as much as she hated to. Mollier never worked out, she wouldn't give chase for much longer. It was only genetics, after all, that blessed her with a slim waist and perfect thighs, not labor on her part.
It wasn't fair; Mollier could eat butter and lose weight. What did Delaney have to do? Yoga, excersize class, kickboxing and rabbit food for genetic obesity, all for a ten pound loss after two months. Where was the justice?
"Freeholder! Look out!" she shrieked. What was it now? Was it a joke, or was she actually being warned? She had never heard that tone in Mollier's voice before… She whirled around, just in time to see the shiny new Audi right before it slammed into her, knocking her into the air to hit the ground with a heavy thud. She passed in and out of consciousness. Just let me die, God, she pleaded, if you have any shred of humanity, you'll let me die… her shirt, her pride-and-joy shirt, was streaked with fast-spreading blood. I'm going to die! She thought. The last thing she could remember thinking was glancing down at the picture of Link. Elves never die. If I was an Elf, I wouldn't die…
By: Firevibe the Red
Summary: Zelda fan Delaney Freeholder is severely out of place. Having won a scholarship to an uppity private school in Manhattan, though extremely difficult, hasn't made her life easier. Because she comes from a one-parent family, and a poor one at that, Delaney is an easy target for her classmates. When she gets hit by a car, she figures she will die, and doesn't feel any particular remorse. But she doesn't die. She wakes up...but not in her body. Who is Rosellyn Stillwater? And what happened to Delaney, and 21st century New York?
Chapter 1-In Which We Meet Poor Della
Delaney blinked blearily at her alarm clock, wishing the stupid thing had never been invented. Whoever decided that high schoolers needed to get to school at 7 in the morning should be shot, she thought, and rolled out of bed onto the floor, dragging herself to her dresser and throwing out the first clothes that came to reach. Trying to stay awake, she pulled on whatever she had pulled out and examined herself in the mirror to make sure it wasn't too horrible.
She had actually done well this morning; blue jeans and a forest green T-shirt that read Elves Exist! in lighter green with a picture of Link from her Zelda video game on it. Okay, so maybe Link wasn't technically an elf, but he the pointy ear thing going on. She loved this shirt, having made it herself. She ironed on all the designs, and even sewed in the crucial parts.
She brushed her teeth (she was never much of a breakfast eater, even less so at 6 in the morning) and pulled a comb through her short brown hair. Even half asleep, she grimaced at the length. Try as she might, her hair would never grow past her cheeks. It just had some sort of genetic block. Sure, strangers would admire its sheen, but it was no good unless it was long, in her opinion.
Having spruced herself up and woken herself up, she searched her room, shoving runaway papers and binders into her backpack. The alarm, set on the radio, was still going, her favorite music station highlighting old music. Why old music? It was a pop rock station! But she listened on, too lazy to go and change it. Suddenly a tune came on that she halfway recognized. It was "Homeward Bound" by Simon and Whatshisface. Garfield? No, hang on…Garfunkle. Some weird name like that. Her mother would always sing this non-stop on trips, which made driving with her mad fun.
Still, she stopped and listened, thinking it sounded a lot better when these guys sang it. One line caught her interest. "…and still my words come back to me/ in shades of mediocrity/ in emptiness and harmony/ I need someone to comfort me…" Mediocrity? She wasn't sure what that meant, but she liked the sound of it. They sure had a better vocabulary back in the sixties.
She checked the clock. Still time to battle the boss! She ran to the family room, flung herself down on the beanbag chair, hit on the T.V., and turned on the N64 with the Zelda game that had permanently moved in there. Zelda was her life. She had beaten the first one, but the second one had her stumped. She skillfully maneuvered Link through the virtual obstacle course, diving, gathering jewels, morphing, battling… she sunk into the familiar feeling of well-being. She never felt so peaceful, or that she had control over something, than when she was playing her video game. This was her element, the Mecca of her real and imaginary world. She lived, ate, breathed and slept Zelda. It was a satisfying existance, and preferable to her own. When her mother called, she saved her game, turned it off, tugged on her backpack and trudged downstairs.
"Della? Are you almost ready? You're going to have to leave soon if you want to get there on time!" She fished through the refrigerator for her lunch.
"I know, Mom, I just need my lunch…" she found it and yanked it out, pushing the door shut with her foot. She was halfway out the door when she remembered the song. And the word. Mediocrity. Her mother had never sung that verse in the car. "Mom?"
"Yes, dear?"
"What's the word mediocrity mean?"
"Mediocrity? Why do you ask?"
"I heard it somewhere. Do you know what it means?"
"Yes, I know. It's a form of the word 'mediocre' which means normal, average, nothing out of the ordinary. Mediocrity would mean that something is depressingly normal. Border lining on boring, but not quite that strong. Does that answer your question, honey?" Hm. Boring. Nice.
"Yeah, I think so. Thanks. Bye, I love you."
"I love you too, Della." She shut the door and started walking to school.
If any word was to describe her life, this new word "mediocre" pretty much summed things up. She'd been going through the same routine since school started, not changing it one iota. You could set your watch by it. Wake up, brush teeth, brush hair, play Zelda, go downstairs, grab her lunch box, and she was on her way. Her hair was always the same, depressingly short, as was her height. Depressingly short. Her classmate's voices were starting to richen, and become high and sweet. Hers was still thin and childish, so low that if you heard her talk you would have thought a boy had snuck on campus, as the girls constantly teased her about.
And then there was school. School. A whole different rat's nest, yet equally mediocre as herself. No one simply walked to Mrs. Johnette Bigglesworth's Academy For Young Ladies. They had their drivers escort them in their expensive cars, Jaguars, BMW's, limousines, Mustang convertibles. Their own car, and they wouldn't be driving for two more years! Yet their car nonetheless. In some cases, one of their cars. Or the boys at the neighboring campus, Mr. John Bigglesworth's Academy For Young Men, they would rev up their Harley's, their motor scooters that they had bought purely on whim with their $100 a week allowances, or begged off their parents when the parents were feeling generous that day. No one walked, except for Delaney Freeholder.
Delaney, with her low voice, her banged-up tennies, her short hair and stature, Delaney, the fat one, with her chump-change allowance of a mere $5. Five dollars! They would laugh, not bothering to lower their voices. Why, they could go home and find that much under their outrageously expensive sofa cushions!
Yet their feeling toward her never contained a shred of pity. It was hate, pure and unrefined. Freeholder, why was she there? She didn't belong. Until she had her own cell phone, broker, and limo, she would never belong. Freeholder, with her perfect grades, Freeholder the computer geek. Why did she even bother coming? Why indeed, she thought. Certainly, she had one of the highest grade point averages in the school for a freshman, but brains wasn't what earned you acceptance in Johnette Bigglesworth, not if you weren't rich. The people admitted under scholarships usually were driven away in about a month.
Even hacking into AIM didn't gain her exceptance, even though it was interesting, reading her classmates' messages to each other. And their e-mails, when she eventually slipped her system around the e-mail carriers. Put Della in front of the computer, and something amazing would undoubtedly happen. Not that the other girls cared, because all the poor kids, the scholarship ones, the kids had been chased away by the other girls' cruelty. All except Delaney. She had been their half a year, and if she thought that it would lessen their dislike for her, she wouldn't have made it under the scholarship program because she would have been extremely slow.
"Hey! Freeholder! Can I pull you over for a moment?" She sighed, recognizing the snotty tone of voice. With a sinking feeling of gloom, she continued walking, refusing to let Eloise Mollier get the chance to attack her. She had enough of that in class; did she really need it before school, too? "Freeholder! Gawd, don't you even remember your own name? It's certainly weird enough to." And this coming from a girl whose name was Eloise Gweynich Mollier! Oh, the replies she wanted to give at that moment. But all she did was slightly pick up her pace. She had to let the moment pass, as much as she hated to. Mollier never worked out, she wouldn't give chase for much longer. It was only genetics, after all, that blessed her with a slim waist and perfect thighs, not labor on her part.
It wasn't fair; Mollier could eat butter and lose weight. What did Delaney have to do? Yoga, excersize class, kickboxing and rabbit food for genetic obesity, all for a ten pound loss after two months. Where was the justice?
"Freeholder! Look out!" she shrieked. What was it now? Was it a joke, or was she actually being warned? She had never heard that tone in Mollier's voice before… She whirled around, just in time to see the shiny new Audi right before it slammed into her, knocking her into the air to hit the ground with a heavy thud. She passed in and out of consciousness. Just let me die, God, she pleaded, if you have any shred of humanity, you'll let me die… her shirt, her pride-and-joy shirt, was streaked with fast-spreading blood. I'm going to die! She thought. The last thing she could remember thinking was glancing down at the picture of Link. Elves never die. If I was an Elf, I wouldn't die…