Alright, I highly HIGHLY suggest listening to the song used in the quotes (it's the same one for all) because seriously…it really is Bella's theme song. It really is. It just defines her character perfectly and helped me write this chapter. Enjoy!
Bella's POV
If someone stood up in a crowd,
And raised his voice up way out loud,
…you'd notice him.
"Mr. Cellophane" by Chicago (Cover)
My nine o' clock alarm buzzed annoyingly next to my head. My brow furrowed, but I was still half-asleep. I dreamed that I shut it off, and I truly believed it, except it kept ringing.
"Fine," I muttered, aggravated, blinking my eyes open slowly and slapping my hand down on the off button. The ringing ceased at once and I opened and closed my eyes blearily. Warm yellow sunshine was coming through my window, illuminating the light blue walls of my tiny room. My purple sheets were tangled around my legs, but my favorite soft, downy, frog-blanket remained wrapped my torso. It had been a gift from a rare friend back when I was in sixth grade. I would never give it up, or let it go. And even though I was almost twenty-three now, and it'd been nearly ten years since my thirteenth birthday, the blanket was still in pristine condition.
I sat up wearily, shaking my head and pulling up the side of my white tank top that had slid down to reveal half my bra. Yawning, I stretched my arms wide before slumping over, still tremendously tired. I'd been in my darkroom late last night, developing my pictures. Lots of photographers had abandoned use of them in recent times, but I absolutely loved the process. Getting lost in the almost complete darkness and wondering what pictures would come out of it. I didn't own a digital camera. I didn't want one. I absolutely adored my old fashioned one, and I wouldn't trade it for the world. But because of it, I never knew what my photographs looked like until I developed them. Which was exciting.
Because that was what I did. I was a photographer. And currently, I was doing my damnedest to make the best portfolio on the face of the planet, so I could get a good, steady job for sure. I was trying for a modeling agency presently, since they're always in need of one, but where ever it took me was fine. I would feel better when I didn't have to worry if I couldn't get a random, brief flint with anyone. And regardless, some months were always tighter than others when it came to money.
I flung my froggy blanket off of me and padded out of my room and to the kitchen. My apartment wasn't very big. It had a living room, my room (with a rather large closet that served as the darkroom), a kitchen, and a bathroom. And not even a bathroom connected to my room. It was out in the hall.
That was it. And it was more than enough, (and even if it wasn't, money-wise, I had no choice). It was just me, after all. I had never once brought anyone here. It's not like I'd ever had a one-night stand. It's not like I'd ever even had sex first off. I was well on my way to becoming the 40 year old virgin. But I'd always had this romantics' idea that the first time should be special, with someone you love. I'd yet to find that person.
I was digging around in my cabinets for some cereal when I finally just shut the door, coming up with a better idea. "Screw it," I muttered, and went back to my room to get dressed for the day. I'd already paid the rent and the phone bill for this month. I was good for the rest of it. So why not go out and buy some breakfast? I hadn't been able to do that in a while. Well…not so much as I hadn't been able to, I just hadn't felt like it.
The cool morning air felt good. Regardless, I kept my black hoodie on over my blue tank top and jeans. There was a little diner that was reasonably priced and had good food around my section of Hollywood (the outskirts). I'm not sure why I lived in Hollywood. All I knew was that I got great photographs of people here. In a day, I could snap a hundred stills and, as long as I'd done my job right, I would've snapped an interesting picture for each one. Either of setting or of people. On good days - both, simultaneously.
I sat down at the counter of the diner. It was quicker service that way I'd learned.
Most of the time.
I looked over the menu, deciding what I felt like having today. I frowned as I looked over the more hearty breakfast items, and I distinguished that I really wasn't in the mood for an English style breakfast. Instead, I scanned over the more French choices: pastries.
The French toast looked like it would hit the spot. With a slab of melted butter on the top and a dash of syrup…I was salivating at the thought. Having determined what I wanted, I sat and waited for someone to come ask my order, as was custom here.
And waited.
And waited.
Sighing, I looked down at my watch. My eyes widened. Twenty minutes! I'd been waiting here twenty minutes and no one had even come by!
I cleared my throat as one of the waiters passed behind the counter, on their way to the kitchen. "Excuse me," I said, struggling to keep my tone polite. "I would like to order now, please…"
The waiter's eyes widened at the sight of me. "Oh!" he said, hurriedly taking his notepad from his apron pocket. "So sorry ma'am. I didn't even see you there."
I blew a piece of hair from my eye. "It's okay," I said. "I just want some French toast and a glass of orange juice."
He nodded, and went to go get the food. I sighed and set my head down on the counter top. I hoped he wouldn't forget I was here, at least. Or that he would remember where I was.
And even without clucking like a hen,
Everyone gets noticed now again.Unless of course that personage should be,
Invisible, inconsequential, me.
"Mr. Cellophane" by Chicago (Cover)
The waiter didn't forget me again - I think. The time seemed to stretch out a little bit longer, but maybe I had just been paranoid.
But whatever. I had eaten at least, and the food had been good. I walked the streets of Hollywood, looking for potential places to photograph at. I had my camera in it's bag, wearing it over my neck and on one shoulder, like a messenger bag.
The day was sunny. There were clouds, but they were white; not gray. This could be an advantage. Especially if I found a really ironic occurrence that didn't match the sky's backdrop at all. That would be lucky.
People walked up and down the streets. It was a pretty average day. Sighing, I looked to the side of me and froze.
It was an alleyway, and sitting right there, just a little bit inside one gray wall, there was a little valentine teddy bear, with a big red heart sewn onto his paws to hold. Behind it, the wall was dirty, littered with graffiti and words written from agony-ridden teenagers no doubt: the words "I hate life" and "Kill me now" popped out at me. It was so ironic I laughed out loud.
With the eagerness of a child on Christmas, I ripped my camera from it's carrying case and went to kneel in front of the bear, taking a picture of it and it's surroundings. I clicked the shutter and then pulled away, pleased that it was perfect.
With my self-satisfied grin still in tact, I turned my head back to look at the street, standing up.
And what do you know. It was my lucky day. There was a small building across the street; a charity organization. And right in the window, I could see a sign that said 'Photographers wanted'.
I had no idea what they could want one for, but random organizations seem to need them at random times, and who am I to complain? It was the odd job I needed. With determination, I marched across the street toward the building. And yet, a car still had to swerve around me as if I were invisible.
The grin had left my face by the time I reached the door, but I tried to keep my expression friendly. It was difficult to do though. I wasn't much a part of society. I didn't have much practice intermingling. I usually observed from a safe distance, watching with fond affection the wonder around me, without ever actually participating. I was content, for the most part, with that.
A little bell rang over my head as I entered.
There was a receptionist desk in front of me. The office was small, but nicely decorated and smelled like flowery air freshener, with the air conditioning pumping the small space almost to the point of shivering. I hugged my hoodie tighter to me and approached the desk.
"Excuse me," I said politely, albeit hesitantly. "I'm here about the photographer job?"
The receptionist glanced up at me from her computer screen, before picking up a clipboard and shoving it toward me. "Fill that out," she said. "And then bring it back."
I walked over to a chair next to the window and unclipped the pen that was attached to the board, beginning to fill out the information. There was the usual: name, age, address, zip code, etcetera. Further down went into photography experience, and if I had an album. I wrote down all the various jobs I'd had (quite an extensive, impressive list, actually) and checked yes for an album. It was true that I did, but to my standards, it wasn't complete.
I got back up and walked over to the counter, waiting for the receptionist to look up.
She didn't. She just kept clicking away on her computer, her eyes not glancing up once. Leaning forward a bit, I could see she was playing Solitaire.
I coughed a little, annoyed. She didn't look up and my jaw almost dropped in disbelief. "Eh-hem!" I coughed again, louder this time.
Finally, she looked up, her eyes opening a little bit wider. "Oh sorry," she said. "Didn't see you there."
I dropped my eyes to the floor, pushing the clipboard toward her. "Alright," she said. "This is how it works. We want a picture that represents 'hope' for our advertisements, and we're accepting them from anyone who's filled this paper out. But, you'll get paid if we choose yours. Just come and turn in the picture when you have it with this slip of paper," she said, signing a gold square of parchment and handing it to me. I slipped it into my back pocket, nodding. I was used to companies using weird instructions when it came to odd jobs like this.
"When's the deadline?" I asked.
"Well, we're wanting to run our new campaign at the end of October, so the beginning of September is when we'll stop accepting them, probably."
I nodded again. It was the beginning of August currently, so I had about a month to take the perfect photo. I'm sure I had plenty of photographs at home that would fit the requirement, but where was the fun in that? I left the office, the bell dinging overhead, to begin my quest for hope.
A human being's made of more than air.
With all that bulk, you're bound to see him there.Unless that person bein' next to you,
Is unimpressive, undistinguished,
You. Know. Who…
"Mr. Cellophane" by Chicago (Cover)
I'm sure the book store owner of the book store I liked to go to wondered often how I could stand to sit in her shop for three or four hours a day, just reading. Well, that was easy. Most of my day was taken up staying outside, in the real world, like now.
I walked up and down every street and boulevard, exploring, hoping to find something worth looking at. I mean, if you looked long and hard enough, everything was worth looking at, but I wanted something to catch my eye.
And I knew that in a few hours, I could go and relax against my beloved stories, immersing myself in the best thing in this world, and the one thing I cherished above all things: Fantasy. Imagination. Breaking off from this world and losing myself in another.
But for now, I was stuck in reality and making the best of it. I had been walking the streets for about two hours now after leaving the charity office. And my feet had taken me to the park.
I did so love the park. I had never once walked inside it's gates and not left with a full roll of film. And, as I'd noticed before, it was a beautiful day. I was giddy with the possibilities of what I might find.
But first, I had to make my daily call.
Right outside the gates of the park, on the nearest corner was a pay phone. I took out quite a bit of change I'd made sure I'd gotten when I'd stopped for a sandwich at lunch time. This was a long distance call after all.
After I'd made all the necessary transactions, I waited while the phone rang four times.
"Hello?" asked the familiar voice of my mom.
"Hi!" I said, smiling involuntarily. She sounded well. I don't know why, but every time I called I expected some kind of disaster to have occurred. For her husband to pick up and say she was in the hospital, or something equally sinister. It kept me up some nights.
"Bella!" she answered, equally as enthusiastic. "What are you up to?"
I shrugged, disregarding the fact she couldn't see me. "Nothing much. I'm working on a photograph for a charity that represents hope. What's going on with you?"
"I'm about to start getting ready for a night out with Phil," she said excitedly, giggling like she was in high school again. I grinned indulgently a little, before I thought of something.
"Isn't it only, like, five over there?" I asked, calculating quickly in my head. It would be. It was only two currently, and she was three hours ahead all the way over there in…Florida. I shuddered. What if something did happen? She was on the opposite side of the country! What if I needed to be there quickly? I hated her decision to move there, but I didn't want to leave California either. I liked it here, and I was settled.
"Oh Bella," she sighed. "When you get a boyfriend you'll understand. It takes a long time to get ready."
I rolled my eyes. "Don't hold your breath," I muttered. I'd never once had a boyfriend. The only people that I liked were boys in books. At least, in my mind, I could make them do whatever I wanted. Like notice me, for example. Guys had never shown any interest in me. And though I was a romantic at heart, I was realistic in my head. I knew that the possibility of me finding the right person any time soon was zero to not gonna happen.
"Oh honey, you'll find someone - AHHH!" she shrieked, and I jumped, gasping, my mind going a hundred miles a second.
"Phil!" she screamed, though she was giggling, and I relaxed slightly. "Don't do that!" But she didn't sound like she meant it; at all. I heard Phil's low chuckles near to the phone, and I got the feeling that this was heading in a direction I didn't want to stay on the phone for.
"Alright, well, I'm going to go…I just wanted to make sure you were okay," I sighed. She was still giggling with Phil, and I knew she hadn't heard a thing I'd said. "…Talk to you later I guess. Hope I haven't taken up too much of your time," I added in a low mutter.
"Huh?" Renée suddenly asked. "Oh, okay. Bye Bells!"
"Bye," I said quietly and hung up the phone. Well, that was that. I sighed again.
My mouth twisted as I stared at the pay phone a second longer, before shaking my head and heading into the park.
My shoulders untensed from the protective hunch they'd molded into when I welcomed the sights and sounds all around me. Children playing, shrieking, running, laughing. Couples strolling along with goo-goo eyes, mothers and fathers pushing strollers, teenagers jumping around and sometimes having picnics. Little kids swinging and playing on the jungle gym. Girls playing hopscotch and little boys flying kites and controlling remote control airplanes. Sometimes the genders switched roles in this too.
A light breeze stirred the many green trees, and it was a peaceful scene. I breathed in deeply. Without a doubt, I could find what I needed here.
For an hour, I scoured around, taking numerous pictures. The playground was littered with more than one swing set, so there were children playing everywhere. The sidewalks were filled with couples. The grass was besieged with picnickers and lounging people. The breeze lifted people's hair up, the sun outlined silhouettes. The grass rippled. My camera's clicking almost never stopped.
There was a couple illuminated against the sun, kissing. Another one, with a girl sitting on a swing and her boyfriend pushing her up in the front, kissing her. There were two little girls with their arms around each other on a swing, with a little boy taking a picture of them. I got that one from the back, off to the side, and I loved it. I captured a moment where a group of twelve year olds all jumped up into the air in triumph as their team won the friendly soccer game going on. And a picture of an old couple, sweet as could be, sitting on a bench, holding hands, and smiling at each other as if they were the only people in the world.
All the pictures were good, and I loved them all. But they weren't quite right. There was something missing…
Conflict. Conflict was what was missing. How could you have hope if everything was right in the world? I needed something more.
And I found it. There was a boardwalk I was passing, connecting grassy fields to concrete sidewalk that wound through a small forest. It was quite long though, the boardwalk. Right in front of it, on the grass leading up, was a boy, about sixteen from the look of him. Off to the side, I could see part of the side of his face, but also the entire length of the sidewalk. He was staring intently down it, lost in his thoughts.
I knew in reality his thoughts were different that what I imagined them to be, but in mind I could envision that he was looking down this long path, wondering if he should go down in it. But there could be an interpreted intensity in his face that suggested that he would go down in it anyway. That was hope.
Almost shaking with excitement, I brought my camera to my eye quickly, needing to capture this moment before he moved. He could do so at any second. I smiled and put my finger to the shutter -
"Oof!" I cried, stumbling forward and falling in the grass, my camera dropping from my hands to dangle on the strap around my neck. Something very solid had just ran into my back.
I turned around and saw it was another teenage boy with a football.
"Oh!" he said. "I'm sorry! I didn't see you there."
I nodded quickly, anxiously turning my head back to the boy. But to my intense disappointment, he was already walking down the boardwalk. I felt my throat tightening. "That's okay," I whispered, but turning back as I stood up and brushed myself off I saw that the football player was already almost back to his friends a ways away.
I swallowed thickly and closed my eyes, hanging my head.
Shoulda been my name,
Mr. Cellophane.Cause you can look right through me,
Walk right by me.
And never know I'm there.
Never. Even. Know…
I'm there.
"Mr. Cellophane" by Chicago (Cover)
I walked dejectedly, heading back to my house to drop my camera off and then go to my sanctuary: the book store. The one place always there, always ready to take me in. Forget everything and everybody else that existed outside the thousands of stories it contained. It was the sure fire way to help me forget whatever awfulness the day had produced. The loss of that perfect shot had been a hard blow to me.
The sun was starting to sink now, a little bit to eight. I sighed and kept my hood up, passing under a streetlamp, barely even recognizing my shadow with it's hunched over form and dragging feet. No wonder no one else saw me. I couldn't even know myself.
Ahead of me, I heard a sound around a corner, but I ignored it until it steadily came closer. I didn't look up, but listened intently. It sounded like…feet pounding on pavement?
I finally did look up, just in time to see a gray-hoodied figure rounding the corner, his hood up as well and his head down as he ran flat out. Even from this distance I could hear his panting breathing. I wouldn't have paid much attention though, if I didn't notice that he was running quite fast, and unless he suddenly swerved soon, he'd hit me.
He was three feet away when I cried out, "He-!" but I didn't get to finish my expletive when he ran into my shoulder, knocking me into the streetlamp, which I clung onto for dear life. I looked up furiously but he hadn't stopped. He looked back a little and I caught a flash of reddish-brown hair it looked like. "Sorry!" he cried back to me. He started to pause a little then thought better of it, rushing around the next corner.
I breathed out an aggravated sigh. At least he hadn't said, "Didn't see you there." Not that it would've been necessary.
I started to walk again, rubbing my shoulder. At least my hood was still on, so I didn't need to fix that. Sighing again, I began to walk.
And then, also running around the corner, was a pack of people; mostly girls, but I saw some men with cameras.
"Oh no," I whispered, and then they were on me as well, and I was being shoved back to the street lamp.
"Oh my gosh!" yelled one of the girls at the end, stopping in her stampede. "I'm really sorry! I didn't even - "
"See you there," I muttered bitterly, low enough to where she couldn't here. "I know."
She began to run again, making up lost time with her running gang, and I felt an unexpected moisture pricking my eyes. I gasped before blinking back the stupid tears furiously. How ridiculous. It still hurt though.
I looked around me, and saw no one. No cars, no walkers, nothing.
Swallowing thickly, I turned my face up to the blank night sky.
"Will someone please see me!?" I cried out to the heavens, resisting the urge to fall to my knees.
Nobody answered.
Review please! I should get out the next chapter quickly. Sorry for any mistakes.
- The Romanticidal Edwardian