This is just an idea. Nothing really happens in this chapter. I know I posted this in fantasy, and the fantasy part starts kicking in probably about the second or third chapter.
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A waxy globe hung high in the dark sky that was speckled with little white dots, peeking out from behind clouds. The air was thick with moisture, and smelled of as fresh rain. A thin fog hung over the damp grass. Crickets and frogs chirped from somewhere in the distance, creating lovely background music.
I stood alone, half bathed in moonlight, half bathed in shadows. My lips were pressed in a thin line of frustration. A soft breeze started to pick up, winding its way through every strand of my hair, gently lifting it off my neck. My muscles were tight and starting to get sore from standing so long.
My brain tells me it’s time to try again, harder this time. I grunt in frustration. I can’t do it! I scream back from the inside, but it just doesn’t listen. I just can’t do it; it’s an impossible mission. My lips part and open, as if ready to speak. Nothing comes out and I’m left feeling empty again. Suddenly, my brain gives into the hopelessness that was always there, even if it didn’t feel like it. My mouth begins to open and close like a goldfish. One tear after other escapes, leaving wet marks down the side of my face. Soon they’re coming in steady streaks.
A bright light flicks on to my left, but the tears make it too blurry to see. For a minute, I blink in confusion, but then turn my head so she won’t see I’m crying. Too late; she sees me and rushed over and caresses me and all the built up frustration disperses, leaving only exhaustion and tears in its place. I fall into her warm embrace.
I feel weak, helpless, hopeless, and most of all, embarrassed. I am ashamed that my mom was watching me have this ‘episode,’ to put it in nicer terms. My vocal cords have been destroyed since I could remember, and should be used to not being able to talk. Sometimes it was just so hard. The power of speech was gone for me, forever.
“Shhh,” Mom says soothingly, burying her face in my hair. I turn towards her and bury my face in her sweatshirt. “It’s okay.”
A shot of anger warmed my body within seconds. I had been living with those two very lying words. Everybody tells me it’s going to be okay. The doctors, my family, and old teachers; they all have said it at least a hundred times to me. Occasionally, the question popped into my head that what if they were just saying that to comfort themselves or was it really meant to comfort me? After about two years of repeatedly hearing the same two words, it wore off and it meant nothing. It was almost like it was a lie.
I tare away from her, leaving my hands connected to her wrists, and look her in the eye. My hands start to make the all too familiar letters in front of her face, forming words into sentences. No, it’s not okay.
She gave me a sad smile. “No, I guess it’s not.” Once again, I was glad that my Mom learned sign language. As soon the doctors told her that I couldn’t speak and told her that would be my main way of communication, she got really anxious and had to learn it that second. “Let’s go inside. We have to go help Grandma tomorrow, so you have to get your beauty sleep.”
Okay, big day tomorrow. I give her a big smile and leave her standing there.
After a quick, hot shower I decide to check my email. Of course I wouldn’t have any emails. I flick on my bedside lamp - after a quick check into my empty inbox - and turn off the overhead light. The light lit up the sky blue walls, making the walls look like they were glowing.
Meg Cabot’s When Lightning Strikes sits on my nightstand. I flip it open to the marked page. After about twenty minutes of reading, my eyes began to drag, and I turn the light off. Even though I was tired, I couldn’t fall asleep. I lay on my back, searching the ceiling for nothing in particular. I wonder if counting sheep would help.
Soon, I get bored and roll over on my side so my face is facing my alarm clock. It’s almost midnight so I close my eyes, and finally I fall asleep.
It was extremely warm for a summer night. I’m in a meadow full of soft weeds that tickles my bare legs. The warm breeze danced by that softly whips my hair around. I look down; I’m wearing short shorts and a low cut T-shirt that fits perfectly.
The moon was bright, florescent bright. I stand still. Something feels weird. It takes me a minute to realize what it is; it was silent – there are animals or bugs – dead silent. Trees outline the meadow. I squint at them, trying to define the different shapes. A large shadow moves and I gasp, but quickly dismiss it as just the wind blowing a tree branch.
I try to take in my other surroundings but my attention was quickly drawled back to the shadows. The shadow steps out of the tree line and starts to walk towards me.
When he gets about ten feet away from me, he stops. I can see him clearly in the too bright moonlight. His white-blond hair looks way too wind whipped for the soft breeze, and his green-blue eyes sparkled in the moonlight. He smiles at me like he wants to move closer, but didn’t move.
“Hello Kayleen, I’m Jay. Remember me?” His voice is soft, warm, comforting, and I feel like I’m being pulled towards him. I shake my head and his smile widens. “No? Well, maybe I can make some of those memories come back. How would you like that?” His voice hardens, suddenly turning sharp and cold. He grins evilly. I take a few involuntary steps back.
Suddenly with inhuman speed, he’s standing so close to me that I can feel his body heat. “Why don’t you talk, Kayleen?” he hisses. “Try it. Try talking.”
My mouth popps open and I shook my head. “Is it because you can’t?” he growls. Before I know it, his hands are on my throat.
“C’mon, Kayleen, breathe. It’s easy. I’ll show you. Inhale. Exhale.” J takes deep breathes in and out. My vision is starting to fog; I’m starting to slip into the blackness.
I shot up in bed, my head smacking the wall hard. My heart beats fast and I’m in a cold sweat. I glanced over at my alarm clock. It was six in the morning. Two more hours until my alarm clock would go off.
Knowing that I’m not going to go back to sleep for a while, I get up to get a glass of water. My little white dog, Fara, scrambles to follow me into the bathroom. When I look into the mirror, I first notice the little bump that is forming on my head. I finger it lightly and wince at the pain. After a few moments, it starts to throb and I dig in the medicine box for Tylenol. When I’m done, I look back in the mirror and notice the little red marks on my neck.
My eyes widen. Possibilities run through my mind. I threw out all the ones about people sneaking into the house and anything that has to do with ghosts or aliens. It was probably an accident. My hand probably pressed against it while I was sleeping.
I looked more closely at the red marks. They probably weren’t going to turn into bruises, but accident or not they were there as clear as day.
