Young Writers Society

This is my new project I am working on. This is just the second draft, so bear with me here. All comments and suggestions are welcome. Rated for language...

EL

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There is a place where the dusty desert meets the forest floor, where lakes and mountains merge, where with a change of the wind the weather shows its many faces, blue grotto sky or heaven lightening whip, where the unexplainable happens everyday, seemingly mediocre and commonplace.

Here there be Dragons -

- and every other sort of wonderment concocted in the fantasies of men. Except this is no fantasy this is reality, this is Evermore.

***

I. The Cruel Slow Death that is High school

“Hey Kyle, what's going on with you and Shelby. I mean like last night at Sam's you were all gettin it on and shit.” He nudged the young teen besides him and gave him the all-knowing eye.

The teen shrugged it off and went back to his game.

“And now she's on about how much of a loser you are.”

He didn’t look up and continued to stare at the computer in front of him, ignoring the teen at his side, madly clicking away with his mouse.

“For god sakes, Kyle, the plan, how could you forget about the plan?”

Again no response.

“My god, you have gone to the dark side, my friend, I weep for the loss.”

“Oh fuck it Jake.” The other teen, Kyle, turned sharply on his friend. “I didn’t ask for your help in the first place, and now you’ve ruined my campaign.”

The words – CHARACTER DEATH – flashed on the computer screen behind him.

“Ooo, just a bit touchy today are we?”

Kyle grinded his teeth, he didn’t want to talk about the monumental failure that was last night. How everything had been going so well. That Shelby, by far one of the prettiest, smartest girls in his year, had fallen for all his words he managed not to stutter. That they had ended up in one of the back bedrooms, lights off, except for the glow of a red lava lamp. How when things got heavy, the room fogged with pheromones he had felt a slight clutch of fear in his insides which de-evolved into a mass of nerves. How he had run, shoes held to his chest, belt and fly undone out the back, not caring if she heard his mumbled I’m sorry’s. No he most definitely didn’t want to talk about that. Even with Jake, his best friend since 2nd grade, when a mutual butt whooping brought them together. No, not when just thinking of it made him blush. He crossed his arms, in defiance, and stared back at the blonde sophomore.

“Okay, man, I’m sorry. I’ll drop it.” He held out the sorry for a long time.

“So before I interrupted, what campaign were you on?”

Kyle heaved a sigh and spun his chair around to the computer.

“I…was trying and would have succeeded in getting over the wall, if you hadn’t distracted me.”

Jake pushed into him, “Oh really now?”

*

Kyle supposed that being in high school meant something, like you had passed some test; granted that you were older but coming from the top of the heap in Middle School to the very bottom of the slum made him feel very small, like a spec of dirt on a squished ant. That’s how he felt. Especially now, that he was no longer a freshman, but a sophomore. Yep, piece of dirt on a squished ant was just about right.

Being the independent person that he was made it even more difficult to fit in. Though most times, he didn’t mind his loner status, there were some he did. For instance, when the books he carried around weighed him down like stones and he consciously thought about letting them crush him into the cement and put him out of his misery. He once, last year, after one gruesome episode of hazing, where he ended up with glue in his hair dumped in a trashcan in the City Mall parking lot, thought about blowing his brains out with the Magnum his father had given him for his birthday, but doing it in that manner was too clichéd, too overdone and a complete mess. He didn’t hate his family that much.

“Hey hon.” A cheerful voice brought him out of the mire.

“Hey yourself.”

Sara Bookout, his fifth period art partner offered him a smile.

Today her hair was bright green, brought back in a messy ponytail, but she was clad as usual in black, her lip ring and eyebrow bolt glinting off the toes of her steal-toed black work boots. Across her body slung a black book bag, the words DON’T PANIC, written in big friendly letters, green matching her hair.

“So how’s the mural concept coming? Maybe Thursday, if you’ve got time we can work on it in Shop.”

“Yeah.” He said, reminding himself that he actually needed to work on it.

“See you around then.” She flashed him a smile before wandering off with a group of her Techie friends.

He continued numbly on his way to his locker. He was entrenched in his own world so much, that he jumped at the touch on his shoulder. It was only Jake, his brown eyes smiling at him.

“They’ve scheduled a Halo Tournament for tomorrow, I signed us up.”

The edge of his lip quirked up and Kyle raised his eyebrow, “Really?”

“Really, really,” Jake paused before continuing, “They are never gonna know what him ‘em.”

*

Kyle balanced his copy of C.S Lewis’ The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, in his hands, as he made his way through the halls to his last class, World History with Miss Halloway, a horse-faced, sarcastic woman. As he turned the corner, he ran into a much larger student. Bending down to pick up his dropped things, he looked to the young man, probably a senior who had his book in his hands. Oh great, just great.

“Here you are.” He said handing the book over.

“Thanks.” Kyle took the book, and glanced a look at his face.

He looked like every other highschool male here, except he had some of the darkest eyes Kyle had ever seen, and a tattoo of a dagger on his collar bone.

Before Kyle could ask him any questions, he had disappeared.