Ch1: Sarah
Her ears were ringing as her eyes shot open. Another sleepless sleep had tormented her. Moving steadily out from under the sheets, she made for the small mirror. What she expected to see that was new was a mystery. Every morning for the past… How long was it? How long had it been before the dreams of the shadowed figure had permeated her dreams? That lone figure scared the life out of her. In her last dream, she was a small child, running. From what, she had no idea.
The ringing had returned, piercing her eardrums directly to her mind. She stood, entranced by the sound, staring into space for minuets. But soon her bodily functions took over her insomnia and she stumbled back into bed only to rouse to a rude awakening of blunt steel on sheet rock. God damned jackhammers. They just don't shut up, goddamn construction workers. Putting on her best face she finally looked at the mirror. Her hair was a mess, her eyes crusted and drooping, her nose red with cold, and finally her mouth, slender and pink. Her mouth seemed to be the only constant beautiful thing about her appearance, other than her clear skin. She looked lower on her body. Lean and fit, which was quite ironic due to her recent eating and exercise habits. Finals were nearing and she had patience only for biology and philosophy, obviously a strange combination. She eventually wanted to become a psychologist and study human nature through biology, but sadly her plan was atrociously underfunded and inefficacious.
Sarah was 17 years old. Having no present parents, she had jumped from foster home to unwelcoming foster home, denying herself from the company of everyone and anyone. She feared the consequence of getting too close to anyone and having to let go. Her parents must have had a reason why they weren't present in her life, but nothing should stop the caring of a child by her parents.
Again the ringing came back, but softly under the sound of the jackhammer. But this was a different ringing; this was the sound of metal on metal, again and again. She turned in time to see her alarm clock rattle off of her bedside desk. Leaping to its rescue, she barely missed and the metal stopped ringing, but in wake was jaw-clenching crash. Surely, she would hear from her councilor for she has been nearly evicted for much less. At least the jackhammers had started again to cover up the rasping sound of metal on plastic. Scampering to find a dustpan, she shoved the broken plastic and metal into a small trash can. At least she had an excuse for being late to class that was actually true.
Recently, all her activities had bored her. It seemed like every damn day shade of gray. The banality of it all was excruciating; wake up, go to class, study, sleep, rinse, and repeat. She tried to refrain from being extraordinary, outstanding or even a disappointment because that would grab the attention of her parents and teachers. The last thing she needed in her life was more people who pretended to give a rat's ass if she succeeded or failed. She knew that she could do much better than she was, however she abstained from becoming excellent for she knew that the expectations of the obscure girl would rise past what she was willing to put herself through.
After a quick shower and brushing of her hair she was ready to be late to class; putting on an air of flustered exhaustion was her specialty. Having lived her whole life as a lie, she pretended to be someone whom she despised and pitied. After cleaning her dresser and making her bed, she started to make her way towards the door, dreading the portal from herself to her false persona: Natalie Subber. Because Sarah had no last name, she chose the most despising name to herself. Natalie was a weak minded bumbling idiot. She did the bare minimum to keep up with the course and attain a passing grade, never leaving a mark on the teacher. This year was
extra hard to maintain her self-formulated homeostasis for her metaphysics teacher had figured out her how talented she really was. It was pitiful that, after nine years of trying to stay hidden from her peer and professors, one paper on the fantasy of morals had shattered her iron veil of obscurity.
Shoving her books and papers into her bag, she rushed towards the door, cursing under her breath. Even with her admirable tardy record, she was pushing the boundaries of fashionably late. With only a few minuets until she would be reported she sped through the door.
The ringing had returned, again.