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Clearwater

carelessaussie13 · 2007-06-19T17:33:26Z

CHAPTER ONE A Victim of Greed It happened slowly, so slowly that not even the wisest of the gods noticed. Not even the wisest noticed how jealous little Ixchel became. Not even the wisest would suspect the little goddess of weaving and women to crave so much power, and by the time they noticed, it was too late. Not even the wisest could stop her. She hated them more than they ever knew, hated their power and their talents and the love they received from the people. And slowly, slowly, the part of her that was a goddess of goodness and purity and love began to fade, until all that was left was the shadow, the hatred, the greed. All that was left was the murderer. And so, one by one, Ixchel murdered the gods. She murdered Druantia, the goddess of passion, and in that instant she felt every ounce of passion felt by every man and woman and child alive. But still she wanted, nay, needed, the power. She murdered Myrlin and took his magics. She wrapped her hands around the slender neck of Llyr and gained mastery of the sea. And so, Ixchel, the goddess of women and weaving, became the goddess of the universe and all that resides in it. She became almighty. She became bored. Desperation Emma turned her face to the mirror and stared at the girl there. That girl was pale and fleshy and ugly and more than anything Emma wanted that face to be gone. She pounded her fist on the bathroom sink, with the other hand, smashed the toothbrush holder into the mirror. Glass shattered and shards dug into her arms like angry barbs, but the face in the mirror was gone at last. She set the toothbrush holder back in its proper place to the left of the big white basin. “Emma!” She stared at the blood oozing from the cut by her elbow. That would be her mother, pretending she cared. Indeed, Mom burst through the bathroom door and stared at her in horror. Emma slowly turned her gaze from her wound to her mother, sliding across the wall and the towel holder to that age-lined and bespectacled face. “Hello, Mom. How was work?” “Honey, what. . .what happened? The mirror. . .look at your arm, hon, there’s blood all over. . .come here, we have to get the glass out.” Emma let her mother pull her out of the bathroom, through the hallway and down onto the living room couch. Her brother was standing there like the snot-nosed freak he was, looking slightly sick at the sight of the blood on her arm. As Mom went at the glass shards with tweezers, Ronan watched them from his place by the banister. “Emma’s been cutting herself, Mom,” he said matter-of-factly. His voice was beginning to drop, Emma noticed distractedly. Her mother kicked the coffee table angrily. “Scrap it, Ronan, I don’t need you in the middle of this, too.” She pulled a finger-nail sized shard from Emma’s elbow and Emma winced. She winced more because it was something one did when a fingernail sized shard of mirror was pulled from one’s arm, not because the pain bothered her. And it really wasn’t all that much pain anyway. “Ronan, go get a Band-Aid from the bathroom cabinet. A big padded one, not a flimsy dude.” Emma watched the blood dry on her arm, watched the bright red goo trickle towards her wrist, watched in congeal on that pasty skin she hated so much. Ronan came back with the bandage and Mom applied it carefully, as if Emma were incapable of doing it herself. “Go upstairs, Ronan. Emma and I need to have a talk.” Ronan left. Mom patted the couch cushion beside her and scooted towards the armrest to make room for Emma. Emma kept her seat on the coffee table facing her mother. “What’s there to talk about, Mom? Disproved the theory of gravity yet? Is the sky purple? ‘Cause if it is, I’d really like it if you could switch it back, please.” “Emma, you need help. Why have you been cutting yourself. I saw the scars.” It was kind of funny how fixated Mom became on those four little scars. “They’ll heal.” “I’m worried about you. You’re so sad all the time, you wear black clothes, you never laugh, honey, it’s not healthy.” Mom leaned forward and offered her best let-me-help-you face. “I don’t need you hanging all over me, Mom. I’ve been on my own for three years now. It’s really kind of too late to baby me.” A little pause. “Oh. Emma, your father’s gone. I loved him, Ronan loved him, and heaven knows you loved him more than any of us. But its time to move on. I’ll try to be at work a little less, and maybe we can sit down to dinner sometimes, all three of us. Okay? Sound good? No more cutting? No more smashing mirrors?” Emma stood up and looked down on her mother. Anger and frustration boiled within her like her mother’s chemicals, rising, rising, exploding. “You can’t kiss it and make it better, Mom, okay? I don’t need your stupid-” She whirled and followed Ronan up the stairs. She slammed her door shut and collapsed onto her bed, letting the soft blanket and the darkness envelop her. Peace at last. Clearwater The town of Clearwater, Pennsylvania was populated entirely by progressive scientists and their children. It was a town brown lawns, bad schools and dilapidated houses. The only exciting thing about Clearwater was the labs. The scientists in those labs studied everything that no one else was crazy enough to care about. Disproving gravity, creating antimatter, testifying the existence fo aliens. Because of all the weird things that went on inside those euro-modern, stark white labs, Clearwater was always in the middle of some strange crisis or another. Some of the older residents of Clearwater remembered the day when massive mutant sunflowers escaped Dr. Selkirk’s lab and everyone had to hack their way to the center green with chainsaws and splitting axes. There was the time when some toxic chemical leaked out of Dr. O’Toole’s lab on his briefcase and everyone’s hair fell out over night. That wasn’t fun. And then there was the matter of the Fence. Nobody really knew what the Fence was. It was as flimsy as mosquito netting but as impossible to break as concrete. It was as clear as cheesecloth but it kept all the strangeness of Clearwater in and all the traffic of the world out. It had a door, which was always locked, except for the day that Mike, the delivery guy with his funny hat and his mismatched shoes, delivered his wares from the outside. No one really knew much about Clearwater, except that it was the home of the weird. Playing With Fire Sebastian hated Dr. Francis’ lab. It was singed in strange places and there were ashes piled in all the corners. He planned on avoiding the place as soon as summer was over, as soon as he had earned enough money for his four-wheeler. “Why do you want a four-wheeler, anyway?” Nick asked. He was going at the corners with a broom, but only succeeding in raising a giant cloud of ash. Sebastian coughed and shoved the other boy. “Because I’m tired of my little blue kiddie scooter, why do you think? Why are you here, anyway? For the thrill of breathing in all this cee-oh-two and listening to Dr. Francis telling us the proper way to handle a blowtorch?” Nick tossed the broom down. “As a matter of fact, yes. I want to go into Dr. Francis’ line of work when I graduate, which, by the way, is next year. Does Dr. Francis have one of those little hand-held vacuum thingies?” He wiped his hands on his thighs and wandered off. Dr. Francis scurried in carrying the box of matches that was his constant companion. Sebastian always wondered if Dr. Francis slept with it in bed beside him. “I don’t pay you to sit around and breath in my carbon monoxide. Hey, hold on, what do I pay you for? I forget. Oh yeah. To work.” Sebastian slid off the table he had been sitting on and saluted in perfect military fashion. “Sir yes sir. What are your commands, sir?” Dr. Francis rubbed his finger along the corner of his match box. He sighed heavily. “Go home, Sebastian. I can tell you’re miserable. How much money do you need for that four-wheeler?” Sebastian eyes the old man questioningly. “Are you serious? You mean, you’ll actually give me the money? For real?” A nod. Sebastian felt a great swelling bubble fill his chest and erupt out of his mouth. “Thanks so much, Dr. Francis! Well, there’s this one that I really want, it’s five thousand something, but I have five hundred already and are you sure you’re serious? Because it’s okay if you’re not.” The old man smiled and patted Sebastian’s shoulder with a leathery hand. “Leave my lab right now and I’ll give you the money. You stay any longer, you break anything on your way out, no four-wheeler. You dig?” He grinned. “Yeah. I dig.” The sun was shining brightly outside, and for once, nothing bizarre was happening in Clearwater. Or at least, nothing that Sebastian could see. He pushed himself into a run, sprinting over the center green and to the genetically enhanced pear tree that produced fruit all year long. Panting, he jumped up to grab a pear and sat down against the truck of the tree to savor the day and eat his snack. “Heyo Sebastian! Look out below!” Sebastian cowered slightly and looked up to see Travis McKay jumping sliding off a branch onto the ground. “Freaking monkey, how’d you hide up there?” “Freaking chameleon monkey. Get it right, dude. Hey, you got a message from the Secret Society of Sebastian.” Sebastian blinked. “What?” Travis pulled a little piece of paper from his back pocket and flourished it in a way only Travis could. “A bunch of little twelve-year-olds who have banded together to follow you around and insult you. You’re their freaking idol, man. Hey, hold on. Why don’t I have a fan club?” Sebastian held the pear in his teeth, grunting as juice dribbled down his chin, and unfolded the scrap of paper. Dare you to climb the Fence. Tonight, ten o’clock. Reward: ten dollars. We’ll be watching. “Well?” Travis asked. “Are they raising a demon to sacrifice you in exchange for never-ending lollipops?” “They want me to climb the Fence. Who’s in the club? Who wrote this?” Travis paused, a rare event indeed. “Ronan Rothschild gave it to me. You know, crazy Emma’s kid brother. Guess you’re his, I dunno, father figure or something. Come on, Sebastian, do it. Kid needs a hero.” Sebastian could tell when Travis was doing his best to be sincere. He searched his friend’s face, missing its usual glow of quick wit and humor. “Okay. I’ll do it. But you’re coming.” A Dolly For Jee Jee loved truck day. Everybody got together in the middle of the center green and everybody played games while they waited for the truck man to bring all the toys and clothes and things. Jee liked to play hopscotch the tricky way, with stones, but not with the boys, because they ran off with them sometimes and Jee just had to stand there because she hadn’t a stone to pick up and bring back. Jee liked the truck man. He wore a funny hat and he liked to tickle her, plus he brought all the things they needed. Sometimes he even brought ice cream bars and all the kindergarten boys and girls got to eat them and nobody worried if they dripped onto their shirts. Nobody worried on truck day. Jee stood at the front of the crowd while the truck man, whose name was Mike, unloaded all the food onto the people there, like Mrs. Daely, who was in charge of making sure everybody got all the food they wanted. Then came the clothes. Mr. Mike only brought clothes sometimes, because clothes last more than a week, and so it was special when he did. He always made sure to bring a special purple dress for Jee. “There you go, goose girl,” Mr. Mike said, and he handed her the pretty dress. “Special for you. Now you be careful not to spill all over it. Those special kinds of dresses are hard to get.” Jee rubbed her face all in it. It was nice and soft. “I’ll be careful, Mr. Mike. I promise.” She beamed up at him. She loved truck day. Mr. Mike ruffled her hair like Daddy did sometimes went back to to the truck. Next he brought out all the other stuff. Chemicals and other things grown-ups needed for working. Then came the toys. Not everybody got toys. Some of the big kids got books and things for school. Jee tried to understand them, but they looked like lots of squiggles all lined up like blocks, and Mommy said books are for learning from, but Jee didn’t see why they were in the toy part of the truck. Learning wasn’t fun. After the big kid books came the little kid toys. There were bog sets of crayons, which only came once in a while, but every week there were coloring pads. Jee loved those. There were pretty dolls and miniature cars for the boys to hit each other with, and train sets and mirrors that talked to you when you looked in them and whole sets of pretend food to feed to the dolls. And then it was all over. Mr. Mike the truck man talked to some of the grown-ups about outside world things, but jee didn’t listen. She was looking into the truck. In the way back corner, where all the pretend food had been, was a doll. It wasn’t like any doll she had ever seen. It was small and it looked like it was made of soft white glass. It wore a pretty red and white plaid dress, the kind Jee hated to wear herself but loved to see on other people and its hair was red and done up so nicely. Its eyes opened and closed by themselves and Jee was sure that if she loved it enough the doll would talk to her and be her best ever friend. She lifted her leg up onto the truck and pushed herself into in on her belly. It didn’t matter if her shirt got a little dirty. Mike had brought laundry detergent this week. She crawled all the long way into the back of the truck and held the doll in her hands, looking at it closely. “I’ll call you Lollipop.” she told the doll. It batted its eyelids. “Come on, Lollipop, lets go show all the other girls. They’ll be so jealous of us.” The big door began to slide down! Jee scrambled up, holding Lollipop my the arm, and ran to the edge. But by the time she was there the door was down and she was locked in the dark, all alone. She hated the dark. She still slept with a night light, even though Rebecca said night lights were for babies. “Mr. Mike!” She screamed. She banged in the metal door. She screamed again but no one answered it. And then the truck turned on with a big groan that sounded like a monster and it started to move. Jee fell down and hit her elbow, and she sat in the corner of the truck in the darkness and cried for her elbow and cuddled Lollipop and screamed for Mommy. No one answered. Jee thought maybe she fell asleep in the truck, because she woke up to not hearing the monster-grumbling of the truck What happened? Her elbow didn’t hurt anymore, at least. She pressed her ear against the door and listened. “Yeah,” said Mr. Mike’s voice. “I’m on route 72, about a quarter mile north of Round Lake. Engine screwed up. No. Are you crazy? Three hundred? Whatever, just come on. You’re holding me up, I’ve got a route.” Mr. Mike was on a cell phone call. Nobody that Jee knew had a cell phone, but she knew about them because everybody in the movies had them. She heard Mr. Mike get back into the front seat, then the door close behind him. Jee dug her hands under the big heavy door that probably weighed as much as a horse did (Jee had never seen a real horse but she thought maybe a horse might feel like this if she tried to pick it up) and pulled very very hard until she had the door up far enough to squeeze under. “You go first, Lollipop,” she told her doll, because she didn’t want to go through and not be able to pull Lollipop after her. So she slid the little doll off the edge of the truck and squeezed under neath, letting the heavy horse-door fall shut behind her with a bang like thunder. There were no roads where Jee lived. There were no forests. Everything she knew about the outside came from movies, and they weren’t very helpful, she thought. She bent, picked up Lollipop and rubbed the smudge of dirt off her face. “Movies don’t tell you which way to go on a road,” she told the doll sadly. “What if I went the wrong way?” Maybe I’d be eaten by wild things. Lions and tigers and bears. . . oh my.” She shuffled on the road, holding Lollipop close to her chest, and wondered how long until Mommy noticed she was missing. ___________________________________ more coming. Please crit. It needs it

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Wed Dec 03, 2008 10:16 pm

KJ says... · Wed Dec 03, 2008 10:16 pm

You have a talent, that's for sure.

Just a few things: I thought the part where you told us of the Goddess killing all the others powerful Gods was too abrupt. If the others were so powerful, how did she do it? Describe more, dramatize her great plan and fury.

And one more thing: The part where the Mom saw her daughter shattering the mirror and cutting herself was WAY too toned down. My mother would FREAK and probably take me to the ER. And why did the daughter seem to be under the impression that her mom didn't care when she so OBVIOUSLY did?

Loved the rest, quite honestly. Will look forward to more soon.

KJ

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telle_04

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Thu Dec 04, 2008 2:29 pm

telle_04 says... · Thu Dec 04, 2008 2:29 pm

hello carelessaussie13..

i'm still new here in yws..and i was just checking things out..

what really caught my attention was the "gods and goddesses" thing..though i'm not that interested in mythology, i love reading stories that contain that element.

i had only read the first part, because i don't have all the time, but i can say that it is nice. i love how you describe Emma--her weird character, her insights about her mother, her life..

she did not like her appearance, did she?..

anyway i hope i can have time to read this and your other posts.

god bless.

You've got the key to my heart..but have you forgotten about a duplicate?
Sorry. I've already given it to someone else.

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i exist in a constant state of confusion so its ok
— veeren

Clearwater

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