Young Writers Society

My sister died a year ago. I know that my parents were told that her body wasn’t in the school, that she might have escaped, but to me, she died a year ago. My parents keep going on TV stations to broadcast news about their missing daughter, and I just want to scream at them, “She’s dead! If she were alive, don’t you think she’d be home by now?!”

Then again, she never tried to keep in touch with them. When they agreed to let her live with Mom’s sister, a mile out of Kervilham, just because her best friend went there, she gave them maximum one email per year, about nothing much. And yet, she was the favorite, the one they always discussed, the one they always cried about because she wasn’t with them. I kept with the family, but I suppose I was part of the background to them.

I think that because my parents are still looking for her is the reason why we moved to Kervilham, somewhere in the east coast of the United States. What kind of name was that? It sounded like a Muppet that had been dropped before they got popular, and hung out at bars, telling the bartender how he was almost famous.

I have no idea what state it was, because I couldn’t be bothered to check. All I knew, could think about, was how stupid my parents were, for thinking that my sister was still alive, and tearing me away from my band just so they could get a reality check.

“So, you’ll be going to Alice’s old school! I’ve heard its really nice, and I think you might like that they’ve just reinstated their music and drama courses! Isn’t that great?” my mother twittered, as the car sped down the highway.

“Whatever.” I was too busy sending texts to all my friends, just finishing the last one. That meant it was time to listen to my music.

“I thought you would be excited about the music courses. Don’t you like singing anymore, Angie?” I stared at Mom. I couldn’t believe it, just couldn’t believe it. Alice was the one who sang! I wanted to shout, I play the drums! How could you get us mixed up like that?! It was unbelievable.

It wasn’t as if we were anything alike, not even in looks. Alice used to have this really good hair, straight, silky, but with so much peroxide in it I sometimes wondered if it would fall out one day, or something. She did a lot of cheerleading, so she had one of those slim, lean, tanned bodies that buzzed with optimism and sexuality. She merited a one-word description; ‘gorgeous’.

I’m different, tangled knots of scraggly brown hair, paired with blue eyes that I think are the best part of me, if one of them wasn’t half-closed. Yes, I have a lazy left eye that makes me look seriously weird. I don’t even have a face that can be called pretty or anything.
The best one-word description I can give myself is ‘duck’. I have these lips that stick out a bit, giving me the appearance of a really depressed duck. I have the same chance of getting with a guy as a depressed duck, for that matter. Angie had billions of boyfriends, as came about being the light-hearted one who sang.
The one thing that I could say I was better at than my sister, that she would actually care about, was that I was alive and she was dead. And, although this is just something I’m proud of, I have this massive memory for lyrics. It comes in handy when I sing Rammstein in the shower.

“No, Geri, that was... is... Alice sings. Angie does the drums. Venting out the anger, eh?” Dad said, making me break out of my thoughts to roll my eyes. He was so clueless about everything. I was quite sure the most he ever got to music was in the 60’s, when drummers were practically nonexistent. I turned back to my iPod.

“Angie, if you’re upset about what I said... we can talk about this...” Mom said, voice barely penetrating my playlist, volume purposefully cranked up. I glared at her. I mean, she mixes me up with my dead idiot sister, and what, I should talk about how they too are fools? What would be the point? They wouldn’t listen. I was the one who seemed to have no voice. I was, as I said, the one in the background.

We were silent on the rest of the drive to our new place in Kervilham. I did not want to see the scenery that we would move away from as soon as Mom and Dad worked out that Alice was dead, for crying out loud. I kept my attention fully focused on Miss Murder, which, I am ashamed to admit, I keep humming to.

As soon as the song ended, I realized I was actually enjoying myself. I tried to think about how crummy life was instead. After all, without my continuous anger at life, how could I ever play the drums? Yeah, I know; I’m such a cliché.

*Hey, sorry this took so long. The ghosts' voices are in italics.*

I was the only one left... my mom and my dad....lost forever at sea.... all alone... grateful....poor Katlyn.... I wish I'd never gone... they said it wouldn't hurt a bit but I still hear that scream....it's not fair....we ran out of money two weeks ago...brown or blue...that was a horrible sound

I walked dejectedly through the snow, across the street and into the park. Whenever I felt bad, I walked alone, anywhere. Where was I going? Somewhere were I didn't hear the regrets of the deceased, or the pain of the souls in denial. What did I do to be cursed with this? What good does it do? I walked deeper into the park. Snow fell softly now I felt like this would be a perfect scene for a tragedy. I sat down on a bench.

I wasn't crazy, I wasn't schizophrenic... so what was I? I crossed my legs and layed back in the bench.

It wasn't my fault...she didn't have to go that way...my funeral was white...

"I am Will Flint... I am Will Flint.... I am 15...I live in Kervilham" I whispered to myself. Sometimes if I did this I could block out all the other voices.

School starts tomorrow. Another horrible year, alone and mocked.

I was alone once...

"I am Will Flint... I am 15" I told myself.

The snow was building up on my body and I stood up to shake it off. The clocktower chimed 11. I started walking towards our apartment.

How many times do you think....fourteen....blue purple white and yellow...it's cold down here...I wonder if this is where I'm supposed to be?

I reached our apartment and ran up the stairs.

"Will is that you?" My mother called. She was such a sweet woman. "How was your walk?"

"Awful." She didn't deserve me.

"That's too bad. Here, I made you some hot chocolate."

"Thanks."

What a gentleman...he said we'd be married the next day...what a ride, a slow ride on a fast machine...

I smiled to myself. That's what my life was, a slow ride on a fast machine.

**OK. Anyway, sorry for taking so long too.**

Nothing particularly eventful happened the day before I had to go to school. I mean, we moved in, my parents got to know the obnoxious neighbors, I had to piece together my drum kit back in the garage.

That was basically it. School was the day after, a cloudy, about-to-rain Monday that felt like something out of a Linkin Park song.

Contrary to my begging, I had to take the friggin’ school bus. I mean, it wasn’t like I wasn’t able to drive or anything. Admittedly, I’d never taken a driving test. I was taught by the bassist back where I used to live, when I was about fourteen. I’d even gotten a fake driver’s license, although that was mostly to get into clubs, as well as to drive back the rest of the band if they got hammered.

Still, wait I did for the bus. It was the color of mustard, the cheap kind you get in bottles that actually works sometimes, with wheels as black as the road they rode on. I was the only one in the street waiting for it. I could see the obnoxious kids next door driving out. I could feel blood go to my face.

It was just so unfair. They had the money to buy a new car, just a cheap thing from the eighties, even. I really didn’t care how much of a hunk of junk it was, so long as it ran and didn’t fall to pieces in the middle of the road. I would bet my drum kit that my parents would have bought a car for my sister, the late Princess Prink.

Finally it stopped. I leapt onto it, hoping that nobody would notice me. As it happened, there were only three people on that bus, two out of three of them looking like losers. Honestly, they were guys, with friggin’ feathered hair, jackets with the school’s mascot emblazoned on it. Any assumption I had that this school was run by a bunch of idiots was verified by the mascot; a puma. How original was that, I thought to myself as I hoisted myself into a seat near the back.

I’d fortunately brought along my iPod and discreet headphones (as opposed to the obvious ones). However, no matter how hard I tried to concentrate on Foo Fighters’ The Pretender, no matter how I tried to mimic the drumming patterns, I couldn’t help but stare at the girl on the seat across from me, next to the window, but at an angle that I could see her entire face.

She looked average, long, straight wisps of brown hair, a mildly pretty face, lips that could be said to be thin and pale. She was engrossed in a book, Frankenstein, from what I could see; it was laughably appropriate.

The girl had scars right down her face, an eyepatch on her left eye. She looked incredibly battered, as though she’d been in a war-zone. I remembered; she was probably at the school when it happened, one of the few survivors.

She glanced up, a soft smile tugging at her lips. I turned away, my face getting even redder. She was probably used to the stares and pointing, but I always liked to think of myself as politically correct in all endeavors.

The bus shuddered to a halt. The song ended, running onto Let It Die, something quiet at the beginning. I saw the newcomer get on, walking slowly, as if anticipating mines or something. He didn’t look suitably battered enough to have been in the school at the time of the incident, meaning that his paranoia was totally unjustifiable.

He stopped at my seat, leaning over. I stared at him, wondering if he was a creep who was into duck look-alikes. He gently tugged out a headphone.

“Hey!” I snarled. He blinked.

“Sorry, I’d just like to ask, is this seat taken?”

I rolled my eyes. “Does it look like it? Sit down if you want.”

"Does it look like it? Sit down if you want." The girl muttered. I nodded and tucked her headphone back in again.

"Creep." I heard her say under her breath. If the bus wasn't full I wouldn't have to sit next to you, I wanted to say. I'd rather curl up and hide in my own seat too.

Too long in hiding...get ready...alone?

"I'm Will Flint... I'm Will Flint and I'm 15." I said to myself, shaking out my head.

"Nobody asked you." The girl beside me said sarcastically.
"And I wasn't talking to you." I replied. "Listen to your music and ignore me." I rolled my eyes and edged a little bit closer to the aisle.

It was a long bus ride there is all there is to say. We eyed each other warily for about the first 15 minutes... then we just sank back into the apathy we came from.

When the opportunity came I sprang out of my seat and exited the bus as fast as possible. What a tacky shirt, I thought to myself as I walked by a little freshman. This was another thing I did to distract myself, wardrobe evaluations. It was ridiculous, but it kept my mind(s) off the deeper subjects.

The school looked very stereotypical. The nice red brick walls and the clean white roof, the big campus and all the jocks and the cheerleaders huddled in a group about 1mm away from one another. The tech nerds all had their laser pointer-compass-clock-voice recorder-sound system pens out and were comparing them, and the china dolls with the 10cm thick makeup caked on their faces were giggling to their friends. School was just too predictable.

I snuck around succeeding in being invisible. The bell hadn't even rung yet, but I decided now was better than never to get my schedule. I walked through the double doors.

Oh my god!!! Be careful, we just have to make it outside...call the police, call the police...Jenna!! No...where's the principal.... I can't do this anymore...it's too late to go back...they're coming move quickly...


Thousands of voices screamed desperately and a wave of pain washed over my head. "I'm will Flint..."

Help me, oh god...he has a fucking gun and he shot Jenna...we can't go back it's too late...wake me up when this is over...

I couldn't help it, I let loose a scream decibels louder than those in my head.

**Again, sorry for taking so long. I'm slow when inspiration doesn't hit me in the back of the head.**

The most unnerving thing that ever happened to me, well, up to that point, was hearing that weirdo, Will Flint, whatever his name was, who’d sat next to me on the bus, scream like a banshee. He sounded like he was being stabbed, or shot, or something. Everyone was staring at him, as I tried to look like I had never seen him before.

I did not want to be associated with him. After all, I wanted to be popular, or at least, popular enough to get into a band, even if it wasn’t as good as my old band, Hail Dolores. What use was a drummer without a band to supply the beat to? Anyway, I was not inherently a loner; I just hated the popular cliques. Being associated with this lunatic would basically ruin any chance of my being part of another band.

“Jesus, what’s up with him?” one person said, voicing the thoughts of everyone watching the guy, now crouched down, clutching his head, shaking and shivering.

“My name is Will Flint, I am fifteen years old, I live in Kervilham,” I could hear him whimper to himself.

“Think we should, like, get a nurse or something? I mean, seriously,” another student said, as a few people sidled away from the crowd. After all, it was something interesting to watch, but once authorities were mentioned, nobody wanted to be associated with, even found any where near, a schizophrenic.

There was no need to get the nurse, though. A teacher, the fluorescent light bouncing off his bald patch blinding me, waddled up to the assemblage.

“What’s going on? Get to-” he began, before catching sight of what was the center of attention. “Dammit, not you. Let’s get you to Ms. Elridge.”

He took hold of the crazy guy’s arm, and started to stand him up. Flint’s eyes were darting around as he hyperventilating.

“Ohgodohgodohgod,” he said, as if his speaking speed had been doubled. “Bulletblood, bulletblood, bulletblood...”

With that tirade, he passed out. Someone applauded.

***

“So, who was that?” I asked. I’d latched myself onto a cool-looking group, leather and piercings displayed with what could only be called patriotic ferocity. One of them, a girl with what appeared to be a white line on the side of her neck, smirked.

“Oh, Will Flint? He moved into Kervilham this summer. Moved around for a bit, you know, cuz he’s crazy. My brother, studies Psychology at Brown, I think, he says that Flinty’s got some kind of crazy disorder called schizophrenia. Like, he believes that ghosts talk to him. You should see him when he walks around a sidewalk.”

The girl snickered, as did the rest of the group, apart from one boy.

“I dunno, Tashi. My little sister, she once did a little bake sale thing, anyway, I had to talk to some of the guests or something. Flint told me that where I was standing, some old guy had been beaten to death during a mugging. Creepy, yeah, but looked into it, apparently, in that street, this guy, he had to be sixty, he gotten killed by some guy who wanted his wallet or something. So, maybe...?”

“Oh, you’re kidding me, Clyde. He’s crazy, simple as that. Anyway, who the hell are you?” the girl, Tashi, said.

“I’m Angie, uh, Angela Summers.” The stares that that sentence introduced made me feel like I was on fire.

“Related to Alice Summers?” Clyde asked, ice forming on those words as they escaped his mouth. I nodded; I wasn’t ready to answer with words.

“I hope she died,” Tashi snarled. “She was a bitch, and deserved to die in the most painful way ever. Hundreds of kids died, most of them worth something, and it can’t be that some slut escaped when so many just got shot- and- and-”

She took a deep breath. “Tell me you’re nothing like her. I mean, you don’t look anything like her, but tell me you’re worth something.”

“I’m sorry about what happened. I guess I’m the opposite of my sister, play the drums, hate things. I hated her too.” It was all I could say. I felt terrible for having to remind her of my sister; I wondered if I had ruined my chance at being part of another band.