The Nonconformist

Most kids would loathe going to school... especially the primary school of Amity Park. At the heart of the social tree were the star students, also known as the suck-ups and teacher's pets, with great influence and flattery they could sway most of the teachers with just a few choice words.

Below them were the most athletic kids in the school—most played sports and had very little interest in school or home work and would gladly pick on anyone below them in the hierarchy... so, basically, everyone else.

School was exactly twenty-five miles away from the family "home" of the Mansons, and according to Sam, nowhere near far enough.

Sam, full name Samantha Iris Manson, one and only daughter of Pamela and Jerome Manson, loved going to school for one, simple reason; it was somewhere her parents avoided like the plague.

Pamela and Jerome had never been first in line on the want-to-be-parents queue. Sam was an unplanned surprise, and only mildly inconvenient.

Oh how Pamela began imagining an idealistic offspring; a perfectly well-mannered little sun-child, with flawless blonde hair and pretty blue eyes, a dimpled smile and dressed in lacy, floral pink dresses for a girl, or crisp baby blues for a boy...

What they got was Sam.

It was all well and good until she turned six, mind you. But that was when Sam began to get blamed for things that she didn't do—and sometimes, couldn't possibly have done. T'was then that she began down the path of finding her own way in life.

It became clear that the couple could no longer live in the city; far too dangerous for the child that always wandered off and got into trouble—they just couldn't keep her contained, even with the best security money could buy, so two years and five months, almost to the day, they had moved to Amity Park.

Which Sam thought was all well and good—she had two best friends and no social standing whatsoever. In her eyes, life could only get better if everything pink crawled up and died and school had a take-all-classes-at-night option...

But the past three agonising weeks had been spent in Paris. Purest, brightest Heck. Her parents had only ever done anything in the place during the day... it was utter torture for the little self-proclaimed gothling.

Oh, how she would love to be at school right now instead of suspended several thousand feet over the ocean, trapped in a flying metal canister with her... parents.

Her mother's perfume was shoving it's floral fists (her mind refused to come up with something more satisfyingly crass) up her nose and mouth, down her throat, making her feel as if she were being suffocated in a very nauseating way.

Or being put under general anaesthetic against her will.

Take your pick, the latter would have been kinder than this.

Actually, now that she thought about it, it was probably her dad's perfume—his oh-so-manly deodorant. Gak. As if her parents weren't so sickeningly freakish already. Demons from some pink, frilly hell, spawned only to ruin her life.

She clawed at the area around her ears, trying to drown out their horribly peppy voices, even though there was no possible way she could get farther away from them in this horrible situation.

Sam was not below locking herself in the lavatory and pulling apart the hull of the plane just to get away.

Ok, so perhaps that was a very bad idea... and highly unlikely to succeed, but she was pretty sure it was becoming a worthwhile shot at this point.

She dared a glance at her father's watch. According to it, they'd left Paris barely half an hour ago.

Oh god.

Scriptor Nota:

Sorry this is so short. Sickeningly short in fact. I would have posted sooner, but I just moved house. Again. Someone told mom that we move more than atoms. Not really true, but an interesting image. (in an "Oh, Dear Snot, No!" kind of way.)

I'm going to get all the stuff I've written so far and write it out on paper (don't know whish box the printer got put in... oh well :P), it'll mean I can write when I don't have computer acess. Such an event shall from henceforth become known as a "god send".

So, Anyway... I'm toying with the idea of going back and fixing a few odd details that've been bugging me. Some of them might change the chapters and story context a little, but I don't want to touch them if you guys are very strongly against such a revision. (doesn't mean I wont if it means the plot stops making sense. Not that it does anyway... Oh well. Shutting up now.)

Bies~