Hey, everyone. Ok, I know that I have posted like a bazillion chapter ones of all different stories that I say I'm going to finish and I never do. This will not be the case. I really want to write this story! If you read anything that I've previously written, I'm a guy that likes to kill [s]people[/s] characters. So, I am going to be writing a 'feel good' story, where you will feel good at the end. In other words, a family book.
And I promised myself that I will finish this, no matter what. If I don't, please send spam PMs to me, black mailing me to write or else or something. I don't know.
Hope you like it!
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1.
Have you ever listened to your heart thump against your chest at night, when no one is around to hear it? The pulse is outstandingly rhythmic to listen to. I could often find myself tapping my toe to the uneven beat.
I hear a lot of things other people don’t. I don’t really understand why they can’t hear them. Some of the sounds are the most beautiful harmony ever known to man. I think that they refuse to listen to such melodies. As stubborn as people are now, they only hear what they want to hear. I wish that I could share with the world what I could hear.
I guess it’s because I listen. They talk. They’re always talking and never listen. They can never hear the bird singing a lovely song in the middle of a busy street. They’ll never hear a bee whispering to the flower. They will hear a coin drop on the sidewalk though. But that sound isn’t very pretty. It’s like banging pots and pans together – not harmonious at all.
Take now, for instance. Dad had one hand on the steering wheel, while Carol was stroking her cheek absentmindly. The two older boys, Chase and Billy were sitting in the next two seats, listening to their MP3s. Chase yawned and adjusted his body to relax in his chair.
The radio was on, but no one was listening.
I gazed out of the window, scenery flickering past me. Trees. Dark, green trees. They were everywhere. Some were pine trees. Some were evergreen, although, I couldn’t really tell which were which because Dad was accelerating too quickly.
I was thinking. Dad says I think too much. Carol agrees with him, as she always does. I think that it is programmed into her brain that she has to agree with everything that Dad agrees on.
Step moms are like that.
I was thinking about Sammie. I was thinking about how much I was going to miss her; how much I already did. It hadn’t even been five hours since I last seen her, yet my heart already felt empty.
Dad said that we would enjoy living in the country. He said that we would learn to love the outdoors. We would learn to love the grass, the bugs, the rocks and the trees. He promised that we would love it out there. But I could tell that he regretted moving also.
I glanced up to the front windshield, hoping that suddenly our new house would come into view. It didn’t, like the million other times that I had looked. Sighing, I rested my head against the car window and closed my eyes.
What would the new house look like? Dad had said that it wouldn’t look like our old house. What did other homes look like? Country homes looked quite a bit different from suburban homes…
The car jutted on a rock, and my eyes slowly rose. The paved road had left us about a quarter of a mile ago. We had been traveling on a dirt road for who knew how long.
Billy sighed and mumbled, “How much longer, Phil?” His voice was deep and relaxed, for he was sleeping upright in his chair.
Carol glanced backwards to her son and said, “Not too long. Just a few more miles.” She turned her head back up to the window and continued to stroke her cheek, her eyes watching the endless dirt road.
Dad remained completely silent, his brow digging into his forehead. His brown eyes were focused on the road, scrutinizing its every pebble.
I leaned my head back on the window and my hands reached up to my necklace. The jewelry was a friendship charm that Sammie had given me a couple hours ago. I had sworn to her that I would never forget her. We had exchanged necklaces, and mine was beautiful.
Sammie had done an excellent job, as she always had done with crafts. There were yellow and blue plastic beads dangling from the string, and at the center there was a strip of leather. Courtney and Sammie it read.
The leather was soft to the touch. I smiled and brought it up to my face. Rubbing it against my cheek, I remembered my life I had left behind.
It was Dad’s work. I had overheard it when Carol and him were talking in the kitchen a few weeks ago. Dad had been fired and we were going to move. Carol had told her two sons before she told me. Chase was on the phone, talking to his girlfriend, explaining to her the situation. I don’t remember where Billy was. Probably out with Rob or someone else. Billy was very social, unlike me. He was always out with his gang of friends. I don’t know how he can like being in the middle of all of those people.
Carol had knocked on my door. I didn’t answer. She came in and sat on my bed. I had been reading a book at the time; one of the many in my collection. Thinkers have a lot of time on their hands to read books.
She told me that Dad had lost his job and we were going to move out into the country. I didn’t voice the many emotions that were forcibly trying to escape. I kept them bottled up inside.
The car trip totaling up to five hours. I was all thought out and could do absolutely nothing. Chase was snoring and Billy had turned on his MP3. Carol was digging through her purse, whispering something to Dad. He remained silent, his face hard and emotionless.
I looked out of my window yet again and saw that the trees were gone. It was just open land now. Farm land, like the 3 acres that Dad had bought. It was barren and dirty. So dirty. How could people stand to live out there?
“Mom,” Billy said loudly, talking over his music. “Mom, are we there yet? I’m so tired and I need to go to the bathroom.” There was a tone of definite impatience in his voice.
Carol replied with, “Yeah, just hang tight. Isn’t it just around this bend, Phil?” My dad nodded slightly. The lady looked out her window and curled her short, brown hair with her finger. I watched her tap her foot impatiently. She rolled her head around her shoulders, cracking her neck. She sighed and leaned back in her seat.
I turned my attention to Chase. The boy was sixteen, I think. Well, almost sixteen. His birthday was in August and it was only July. July 30. Chase snored loudly and Billy nudged him. He jerked and uttered a grunt. Chase fixed his position in his chair and fell back asleep. His brown hair matched his mother’s, but his eyes were blue; the only blue eyes in the family.
Billy was a spitting image of his father, or so Carol had always said. His father had died in a car crash before my dad married her. I never knew the guy, so I couldn’t really tell what he looked like. Billy, on the other hand, had blonde hair that stuck out in all directions. It was long too, like a rock star. He was seventeen, well muscled and sweet. Billy looked tough on the outside, but I know, because I’ve seen him, he’s just a big softie.
And, as for me, I hate what I look like. I know that it’s not me that I’m looking at in the mirror. It can’t be. I’m fragile in that reflection. My wimpy brown hair sits limply on my shoulders. That’s not me. I’m smart, not homely. That’s not who I am inside, and I know it. Other people don’t. They just see a disfigured mess of a thirteen year old. They probably think, “She’s just a nobody. She can’t make a difference.”
Maybe they’re right. Maybe I won’t make a difference in the world, but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to try!
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A slow start, yes, but hopefully the pace will pick up! Oh, and sorry for the horrendous title. I'm just stuck on what to name it. Swollen Grapes? How lame can you get?
Suggestions for titles?
Thanks!
Maybe try something like, "I hear a lot of things other people don’t, some of which are the most beautiful harmonies ever known to man. I don’t really understand why others can’t hear them. Sometimes I think that they refuse to listen to such melodies because as stubborn as people are now, they only hear what they want to hear. I wish that I could share with the world what I can hear." But n o matter what, that last "could" should be "can"
