Hey, finally, an update, I had to update a few of my other stories on the Harry Potter section of fanfiction.
Magda ponders her meeting with the boy whos name she still doesn't even know.
PLEASE REVIEW!!!!
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Magda stormed into her apartment and slammed the door, sitting down in her ratty chair in a huff; she too had lost her temper.
She sighed and stripped her knit top off; her chest was still slightly achy from her disastrous flight through the door vault and the scratch of the knit material irritated her tender skin. She had nothing to show; her chest was as flat as a male human's and for some reason, she had no nipples. They had figured out she wasn't a mammal long ago anyway, although it was apparent she was a placental; she had a belly button.
Actually, she was something like an amphibean and a mammal, but it wasn't the matter at hand.
She searched through some of the things that had spilled from her school bag and looked again at her camera; a single, long scratch along the side of the lens house was the only testament to her flight; the rest was pristine.
She loaded the film and snapped a test picture of herself in a small mirror.
She got to her feet and opened her window, sitting on the edge of it, so half her back side was hanging out the window. The wind took her hair and played with it, whipping it back behind her head, the wild curly locks lashing the side of the building and her back. At least it was out of her face.
She pointed her camera at the distant treeline, the autumn oranges and reds and purples and snapped another photo. Lowering the camera, she squinted slightly; an eye test administered when she was a child had revealed that compared to her brother's perfect 20/20 vision, hers was far superior; halk-like. She could just barely make out the boy's house miles in the distance, but all she could see was the glare of the sun off the roof.
She sighed, the meeting on her mind once again; even her favorite past time of taking pictures couldn't take her mind off the boy.
She came back inside her apartment and closed the window. She set her camera down on the smalle, home made table the rest of her belongings sat on and lay down on a mattress; it was one of her rare days off, she may as well take advantage of a good day's sleep.
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Randall sat in his fort, ignoring the biting cold, which had gotten worse with the wind. It was getting later in the year and he could tell winter wasn't far off.
He sat there morosely munching on cookies until they were half gone; she really wasn't a bad cook, he thought appreciatively, finishing his fifth.
He supposed it could have gone better. He didn't know why he had lost his temper. But dammit, she should just mind her own business.
Since when has anyone else ever given this much attention to you, Randall? Be glad she's at least yelling at you; she could just ignore you like everyone else. Maybe she likes you...
He snorted, nearly inhaling his sixth cookie down the wrong tube. Right. A girl, even one as not-so-pretty as her, would never like someone like him. He supposed if she tamed her hair a bit and dressed like a normal monster in the city, she would be sort of pretty, but he got the feeling that wasn't why she was insisting on interfering.
Maybe she's just like you, the voice in his head said. Maybe she just wants a friend, and not one who wants to kill himself.
He would have to think more on it.
He picked up the remaining plate of cookies and brought them inside, making sure they went straight to his room and under his desk where his father would be too lazy to bend over and look.
He sighed and flumped down on his bed, peeling a small swatch of semi-transparent lilac skin off the back of his neck. The skin on his left wrist was beginning to peel as well. He gave it another day before it as a full out molt.
He sat there staring at his floor, thinking about her, Magda was her name. Why did she want so badly to help him? Should he believe her? Should he even accept her help?
He shook his head and rubbed his left wrist, loosening the skin there.
"Randall!" his father yelled up the stairs to him. He groaned and pulled the sleeve of his shirt down, prepared to see what it was his father wanted this time.
He went down to see what he wanted and his father was holding up the scalpel. His blood froze and he swore his heart skipped a beat. He was done for. His father was going to kill him.
He stopped in his tracks and just stared, trying to look inconspicuous.
"What the hell is this?" he demanded.
Randall looked nothing like his father. He was short, wiry and serpentine; his father was tall, thick, his entire length enough to wrap around a car and crush it; he was overweight, dark red in color and he had black hair. Randall most resembled his mother. The only thing he had inherited from his father was his temper and his eyes.
He looked around him quickly before answering. The window at the bottom of the stairs was wide open, even though it was cold out.
"Not mine,." he said, and he vanished into thin air, camoflauging himself, and he darted through the window with one thought in mind.
Bracknell road. Apartment 6b. It was either that, or face a very angry dad.
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Please review!!!!!!!