There's a legend, one consisting of a special bluebird. It's said that if it flies above you, and drops a feather with the same design for you and another, you will become each other's one and only. But the real problem is you must find them yourself.
Allen smiled at his collection of books, a room full of them to be exact. His smile reached his cheeks as he reminiscenced about all the summaries that appeared in his mind at every book he traced his finger cross. Thank god they survived...
The way the characters looked, how they acted, the facial expressed they bore in the scenes he imagined, the best and most remembered memory of the novel... they all flashed into his mind, widening his smile, almost hiding his silver-blue eyes. (Oh, but the ones that happened to give him nightmares lessened the smile.)
His finger stopped on one of his favorite books. The Bluebird Legend... translation by Jansen Miles and written by Li Ai Qing.
He pulled the book out of its tight shelf. The front with a beautiful bluebird drawn, the title, and translator and author accompanying it with a little text, Properte Property of Allen Walker, written messily in the bottom center. Properte crossed out and a clean word, Property that replaced it easily with the right spelling.
He felt the overused cover of the book, the pages almost falling off its protector. The bent pages that were there to be permanent and the page that the book automatically fell open to if you left it vertical at its spine.
Leaving the room, he stalked over to his beanbag he left in the living room. It was ordinary, except for the part where there was a large painting of a clown (an extremely creepy one at that) that was nailed onto the wall above the sofa. The color of the walls were yellow, which gave a mellow feeling and a flat screen right above a DVD player, and a group of old CD cassettes that played soothing classical music, and a CD cassette player. Creepy statues stood beside the small table on the side of the sofa, somewhat playing its role as a lamp.
He flopped onto the beanbag, white hair following with the speed he fell, opening to the start of the book... "There is a bird, that lives for hundreds of years..."
He could not see the book anymore. He couldn't see anything at all, for a matter of fact. Just black, blinding him from whatever he was looking at... or if he was looking at anything at all.
He blinked, and blinked again, slowly a scene appearing before him. Flashes of red, blue, and orange and black...
Fire appeared, flaring in his face. He instantly jumped away, afraid of the artificial flame that would burn him.
A living nightmare was being replayed. He watched as his seven-year-old self crying in pain and panic, confused of what to do.
Flat on the ground, was his foster-father, face burnt (as well as his upper torso) and body twitch, his mouth aching to tell Allen something.
The sight was absolutely unpleasant, but little Allen paid no attention to the thought of unpleasantness toward his father's new painful look. He was rather on the ground, crumpled into a ball and holding his left eye. (The burn in his eye... it hurt!) Tears surfaced in his eyes, stinging his eye.
Little Allen stood up, trying to ignore the pain the best he could, and tried to pull Mana away from the smoking, the burning stove. When realizing he couldn't, he ran towards his brother's room.
"Neah!" his childish voice rang.
Neah weakly turned to Allen, very tired, and with wavering consciousness. "What is it...?"
The fire inched nearer to Mana. "Fire, Neah! Mana is going to be fired!"
In slight confusion, he stood up, as painful as it was for his headache, edging towards the door and smelling smoke (which alerted him greatly). "Fire!" he gasped, sweating like mad. "Get the phone, Allen, and call 911! Dad!"
Suddenly, Neah fainted. He lost his battle with consciousness, and left Allen, once again, confused about what to do. He started to cry now as the fire became closer and closer to him and Neah, the fire already on the brink of killing Mana.
A loud crack above them, made them tilt his head up. Pieces of wood stabbed his eye (to make his eye worse, apparently), and the rest of the remaining heavy wood landing on his arm. The pain was simply too great for Allen, and he blacked out.
He instantly woke up in cold sweat. He searched around the house in his lone spot on the beanie bag, massaging his arm repeatedly and ignoring a slight prickle of pain on his scarred eye. He closed the book, gray eyes, glassy. He placed the book on the ground, leaving himself in a feeble position. God damn his stupid young self.
Sighing loudly, he stood up, wiping his eyes, and going back to the room to place the book back where he received it. He looked at the clock, which told him that it was almost time for him to go to work.
He got his backpack of books and stepped out the door, locking and closing the door as softly as possible, as if someone were sleeping in his home. (It was a force of habit really. In the past, if his god father woke up due to slamming doors, he would be grounded for no reasonable reason, for an entire month.)
Perfect. He walked right into Kanda. He spied the bandages on Kanda's arms and smiled. "Ho ho, hurt yourself, BaKanda?"
Kanda glared sharply. "Shut up, Moyashi. You're acting like the fat pedophile in a red suit."
"Look, I know this is difficult, it means hard by the way, for you cut," Allen started, inwardly smirking. "You should study the use of names. You know, those things people have, but you, apparently, are too retarded, or stupid, dumb, idiotic, dull-minded, your pick, to understand it. By the way, his name is Santa."
"Look here short-stack, I can stab your cursed eye like I did to the fatass in the North Pole or-"
"It's not cursed, BaKanda," Allen said, annoyed. How many freaking times did it have to take for the idiot to understand... it wasn't cursed!
"Shut up. Your eye could be seeing complete darkness, or you could start being kind to your elders."
Allen scoffed. Was he serious? "Elders? That's bullshit considering what you did to the fake Santa, at the mall last season."
"I take it back," Kanda slid Mugen out of its sheath. "I'll kill you."
Oh shit!
Panicking, Allen ducked and kicked up at Kanda's torso, hearing a short grunt. Allen waited moments before walking out the door to work. Dear Lord, thank you for giving me limbs.
Faintly listening, he heard. "Fucking Moyashi! Stop acting like a fucking brat and come back here!"
He smirked. Whatever, BaKanda.
"I'm here, Mr. J," Allen said. "Is there anything you need me to do?" Allen said, placing his book pack down.
"Ah, Walker... take the cart over there and put them in their respective places please," Mr. J said.
Mr. J was Lavi's grandfather. Though he preferred his (second) middle name more than he did for his first or last name, and often claimed to have no other name but "Bookman," his full name was Ralph Dean Bookman Juniors.
Mr. J was much preferred to be called "Panda-ji-ji" by Lavi. (Which always earned him a kick in the face.) The darkened color around the wrinkly skin of Bookman's eyes (bags maybe?) made him look like a Panda, hence giving his nickname. The cause was due to the lack of sleep. (Only God knew how much life the old man had in him left.)
"Consider them done, Mr. J."
"Good, carry on with it then."
Allen slipped a book into its rightful socket. Skimming the title of the book, its author, and its genre before leaving them there. Oh, and not to mention checking where it belonged, they didn't need a parent suing the library for a book that shouldn't be there. It didn't end well the last time when Lavi 'accidentally' left a sex book in the children's section. And it wouldn't end well the second!)
"Allen?"
Allen turned around, finding an eleven year old child behind of him. Her hair was a chestnut color, and her eyes following the same color. She wore a pink summer dress and Chinese slippers (after all, her birthplace is China). Her hair was short, only just barely touching her shoulders... actually not touching her shoulders at all. She had to two bangs that were braided and grew longer than her head hair, and wore a type of headband. (No... what it was was something unidentified to even Lavi, and he knew most everything... fifth to Bookman.)
"Yes Meiling?"
"I need help with school homework," she said shyly, holding up a worksheet that had "Meiling Huifang" printed in English letters on the top right corner.
Allen slipped another book into its socket. Ah, ten more books to go, thankfully all on the same shelf. "Okay, what do you need help with?" (A/N: Personally, I think you should skip this part.)
"I don't understand exponents... I mean, if you're multiplying the number, why are you adding the exponent? (!)" Meiling exclaimed (in a soft voice, she didn't need to be kicked out of the library yet). "I'm serious; can't you just multiply the exponents?"
Chuckling a little, Allen pushed the cart ahead of him with Meiling beside him. "Take it this way Meiling," he said, delivering the cart back to its post before telling Bookman that he'd use the rest of his volunteer work helping kids with homework help. He snatched a piece of scratch paper from the recycle bin, and a pen from his pocket. "If the base number is three and its exponent is two is being multiplied by another that has the same base with the exponent four, you can write it all out," writing them out neatly, Meiling nodding heavily. "3 x 3 is 3^2 right? 3 x 3 x 3 x 3 is 3^4," Allen said, placing the two factored numbers in parentheses.
"If I multiply the two together," Allen said, rewriting it together. "it'll have six threes, 3^6. If you add the 3^2's exponent with 3^4's exponent, you'll have 3^6 again."
"Oh..." Meiling said. "God, my teachers couldn't explain it easier for simple people like me? Thank you Allen!" she said, hugging Allen. "but wait, if their bases aren't the same, can I still add it?"
"No," Allen said. "If I changed the 3^2 to 2^2, then it wouldn't be the same. It was end up as 2 x 2 x 3 x 3 x 3 x 3. There are only four threes and two twos to make into exponents. In the end, you'll end up with the same numbers you began with." (If you in fact did skip, you can continue reading here.)
"Thanks, Allen," Meiling said. "I fail the test with a forty percent so I really needed the help."
"No problem. If there's anything else, come to me."
"Allen-kun, I need help on science!" another girl hollered.
"Quiet, child!" Bookman said. "The library is not for yelling!"
Meiling looked away, muttering, "Hypocrite."
Allen nervously chuckled. Yes, he is most certainly a hypocrite.
"Mr. Shirley, could I get the usual bouquet?" Allen said to the florist.
"Ah, visiting 'im again?" Mr. Shirley said, gathering the right number and type of flowers. "You're so dedicated... If only I could teach my sons to be like you."
"Please, Mr. Shirley," Allen said. "If that were to be done, they wouldn't be themselves, no matter how awful they are and as you describe them. They'll realize that they'll need each other one time or another. Give it time, Mr. Shirley."
"Ah, but the problem is when," Mr. Shirley said, wrapping the flowers together in a neat bouquet. "I want to be there when it happens," he said, handing the flowers over. "On the house for being so dedicated, and for being my number one customer!"
"Thank you, Mr. Shirley," Allen bowed slightly. "Call me anytime when you need help with anything, I'm always free to help."
"I'll keep that fresh in my mind."
Allen walked through the glass doors of the Hospital of Reginald Waters. His steady walk towards the front desk showed his patience and composition. The usual nurse in the front desk welcomed him warmly, instantly knowing who he was. "Room 143."
"Of course, Walker-kun."
"Thank you, Nurse Mancia."
"Here's your visitor's pass. Stick it on and walk in ahead to the room."
Allen nodded, pulling the sticker from its paper and placed it on his shirt's left breast. He bowed at the nurse, the nurse doing the same, only sitting.
Allen knocked on the door, even though knowing that he would not receive a reply. Still, it was more bearable acting like he would. "Ne, Neah, I brought some of your favorite flowers," he replaced the old wilting flowers.
"During the week, it was the usual, only Kanda's oddly being more annoying than bared. Meiling is still failing her studies, but I'll get her there, just you see," Allen said. "but it would help if she would just listen in class and study. Oh and on Wednesday, Kanda bumped into the wall, very rare, and very entertaining, I tell you."
Allen continued to ramble to Neah about his week, silently wishing that he would wake. Just as Allen reached the end, he was reminded abruptly about the fire. A tear dripped onto the bed and seemingly melting into the fabric. "For heaven's sake, Neah, when are you going to wake up?"
Vrrrr... Vrrr... following instantly, a soft sorrowful piece played on the violin. It was slow, but very expressing. The vibrato stretched on for a while before moving onto the next note, with an intensifying crescendo and then an instant decrescendo. The ringtone danced along the room, imagined fingers pressing against the fingerboard of the imagined violin. Its song suddenly interrupted an annoyed voice spoke into the previously ringing phone. "Hello?"
"Wahaaa! You're the only one I could contact? Whacko!"
"What do you want Lavi?"
"Ah, that's right," a small pause. "You're invited."
"What?"
"You're invited. You know, to my party?"
Allen rolled his eyes heavily. "I'm always invited to your parties."
"Oh yeah I totally forgot," a sign of sarcasm shown from the other line. "So you goin'?"
"When is it?"
"Uh... heh... short notice but uhm... tomorrow?"
Allen sighed, rubbing his forehead. "I'll be there when I feel like it. If I feel like it. I'm hanging up now."
"Ahhh! Wai-!" Beep.
Allen sighed again. "Visiting time is almost over. Good bye, brother."
Allen stepped outside, seeing a girl in navy green hair, and in a typical girl's clothing and a visitor's pass stuck onto her shirt.
Beautiful and mesmerizing...
She looked up, accidently contacting his eyes. Frozen for just a tiny moment, they stood, studying each other's eyes before finally noticing their act. "A-a... I'm sorry for staring at you. M-my manners ran away from me for a moment," Allen blushed.
"N-no, I stared first," the girl said, taking the same action. "I-I just moved to Reginald Waters."
"Ah, hello. My name is uh... Allen... Allen Walker," Allen said.
"Lenalee Lee," the girl replied. "i-it's nice to meet you."
"I should take my leave, visiting hours are nearly done," Allen said, bowing slightly to her and walking away. "it was great to meet you as well."
Could someone please tell me the proper use of a semi-colon in a simple explanation and example?
I must admit, this chapter was more intense than Kanda's or the Prologue. (Aren't all Allen chapters intense?)
Oh, and I also must thank the six that favorited my story, the seven that alerted, the one that alerted me as an author, and as well as the four that reviewed. It's much appreciated.
I felt that I... restricted you from reading further. And I still will, unfortunately. I'm terribly sorry.
See, my progress on my other account is a big, fat zero, aside from a few upcoming one-shots... I might as well put the entire account on hiatus, or shut the entire thing down and start new here. It'd put a load off my chest, but as much as I want to, I have people waiting, and I hate to disappoint.
My progress on the third chapter has been finding itself... difficult to write. If I were to divide the chapter into ten parts, I would be only a fifth done.
Lastly, I've graduated Middle School, and am now in High School and in a club almost entirely dedicated to helping the community and its surroundings. I plan to join one more that dedicates itself to helping people achieve their dreams and/or wishes, or a club that tries its best to make places safe for homosexual and bisexual individuals. Obviously, I am no hater of homosexuals, etc. I'm torn between the two though, so may I hear your opinion?