Her figure slowly
faded into the darkness as she descended the stairs toward the parking lot. A
long yawn escaped my mouth as I stretched my arms up. I grabbed my camera and
felt profoundly insignificant among the observatory’s colossal dome and
towering telescopes. The night sky stretched above me with countless pinpricks
of light.
I carefully adjusted
my camera’s settings, letting the cool metal dig into my palms. The
observatory’s towering structures, silent guardians of the cosmos, framed my
view. I steadied my breath and released the shutter. Each click captured a
fraction of the celestial portrait etched onto my camera’s sensor. The stars
seemed to twinkle with stories of galaxies far out of reach.
The Milky Way
stretched high above, and luminous waves cascaded through the darkness. I moved
my camera with practiced precision, capturing the constellations. Orien, the
Hunter, loomed, his belt a trio of brilliant stars. As I continued to take
photos, I felt lucky to witness and make the ever-changing sky permanent.
Abigail’s image lingered in my mind, and I swear I could still hear her
laughter, leaving a warmth in the cold night.
As I finished taking
shots, my curiosity about her grew, and unable to resist the temptation, I
pulled out my phone. I searched her name and Elysian Shores, unsure of what I
would find.
On her social media
profiles, she shared snapshots of her artwork at different stages of
completion. Her pieces showcased the work of skilled hands with captions that
revealed a thoughtful nature, often full of poetry.
I discovered her
passion for art, which I already knew, but seeing it on my phone felt deeper.
Her love for indie music did not exactly match my usual taste for heavier
stuff, but it could be worse. She had a fondness for late-night coffee runs;
apparently, caffeine that late didn’t affect her, or she was a night owl, too.
Her posts showed a girl who lived life with a sense of wonder, embracing the
beauty in the mundane.
As I scrolled through
her pictures and read her thoughts, my initial curiosity deepened to genuine
intrigue, and the more I learned about her, the more I wanted to know. But
beneath the fascination, there was a hint of unease. Abigail’s world was full
of vibrancy, while mine was always dull and shadowed. Seeing her life through
photographs made me acutely aware of how different we were, and a sense of
longing crept in.
Part of my scheming
came into play, and I daydreamed of living expansively like the Winslows. What
could they offer me? They probably wouldn’t help someone like me, but it was
worth a shot. I had nothing to lose; if it worked, I’d have so much to gain.
Looking at the time,
I realized how late it was and returned to my bike. I arrived home again and
parked in my usual spot near the sidewalk. I looked at my grandpa’s old house,
and a yellow light glowed over the creaky porch. With its chipped paint and broken
fence, it was falling apart like all the others on the block. It had some
character with its gable roof and dormer window. The weathered roofline added
to an otherwise dilapidated structure. The window facing the road was one of
two in my room, nestled in the attic–the other was the skylight.
My hometown resulted
from the end of the Industrial Revolution. It had once been a decent place that
had become downtrodden. Unlike the university or Elysian Shores, Desolaria
lacked urban success, or a financially established scene. Instead, it was somber,
with a sense of faded glory. Empty storefronts lined the town’s once active
main street, and poverty had taken its toll on the streets, with rampant crime
prevailing.
As I stepped off my
bike, my body felt heavy. The wrecked exterior faded away as I unlocked the
front door. Inside, I made my way up the grating stairs to my room. I tried to
be quiet, but the screeching made it impossible. As I opened my poster-covered door,
a dim light from the moon shone into the skylight. A red dresser stood on one
side of my bed, a bold accomplice holding my camera equipment. Each lens and
accessory had its place, waiting and ready for action at a moment’s notice.
Snapshots of different subjects adorned the peeling gray walls. The photos
preserved memories that may have otherwise faded away. Perfectly composed
masterpieces filled the walls, a storyboard of experiences that defined me. My
desk, cluttered with sketchbooks and pencils, sat in the window’s cubby
overlooking the street.
I approached my bed,
a tattered quilt covering it, and plugged my phone into its charger. Sliding
open one drawer, I carefully sat my camera in its spot. My arms folded over the
front of my body as I grabbed my shirt, pulled it over my head, and tossed it
into the laundry basket. I kicked off my boots. Thankfully, I hadn’t changed
from sweatpants and crashed onto my bed.
The sound of my
grandfather clanking dishes around in the kitchen woke me. I blinked, rubbing
my eyes, as sunshine glared down at me. My stomach groaned a persistent growl
of hunger that seemed louder than the nonstop chirping of the birds outside my
window.
I headed to the
kitchen. Benji, my grandfather, was doing dishes with his back to me. He turned
with a nod, acknowledging my presence. “Good morning,” he uttered, focusing on
the worn-out sponge in his hand.
“Hey, Paw Benji,” I
yawned, opening the fridge door. It was a childhood name I still used for him
because he liked it, even if I found it cringy. I rummaged through the fridge,
but there was little for a decent breakfast.
“We need milk,” he
rambled, and it saddened me, knowing that we needed much more than that.
“Okay, I’ll run to
the store and get us a few things,” I acknowledged, turning towards the front
door.
I drove to the
nearest grocery store, parked a few buildings down, and walked up to it. I
could see its windows from a distance, protected by bars to ward off thieves.
Between the store and the next building, I saw a homeless man encounter a
dealer. I shook my head, knowing I would never go there, even if this town
offered little escape. I grabbed what I needed quickly, not bothering with a
cart or basket.
Exiting the store, I
saw Tyran Napper leaning on my motorcycle like he owned the damn thing—such an
obnoxious sight. His burly demeanor overshadowed his brain. He had brawn, all
right, but his brain often got him into trouble, being that he had a tendency
of putting his foot in his mouth.
“Z!” he whooped, his
hands forming a makeshift megaphone around his mouth. Ugh, his antics were like
grating nails on a chalkboard. His gauged ears had white circles and his
eyebrow piercing shone in the sunlight. We could be unstoppable with his
untamed spirit and my cunning mind. Together, we could create hell; with us,
the devils, basking in the turmoil. He was obnoxious and had an infectious
mania, and I wouldn’t label anything as a friendship.
I glared at him. “Get
your dirty ass off my bike, ya damn tyrant!”
He straightened up,
arrogant. “This piece of shit is so honored to have my body on it.” He rubbed
his ass on it before moving away.
“Don’t you mean
horrified?”
His ruckus laugh
shook his whole body. “So, how are your classes going, oh studious one?”
I rolled my eyes.
“You won’t believe the nonsense I have dealt with.” I recount the tedious
courses so far, one after the other, each feeling more meaningless than the
last.
“I swear, sometimes I
think they just say random shit to see how we react.” I shook my head. “But
hey, that’s college, right? Gotta suffer through to reach the endgame.”
“Speaking of games,
any new action on that master chessboard of yours?”
“Of course. I think I
found a checkmate.”
He rubbed his hands
together in anticipation. “Oh?”
“The name Winslow
ring a bell?”
“Um, duh. Your
point?”
I sat in position on
my bike. “Let’s just say she may be a pawn worth exploring.”
“I would be careful
if I were you. Her family could run you out of this entire state,” he advised
with a nervous laugh. When did he become a pussy? Like, I needed his
unsolicited advice!
“Yeah, well, I have
better things to do than to hear you act like a therapist!” I put my helmet on,
roaring my motorcycle to life.
He laughed, amused by
my response. “Suit yourself. But hey, if you ever want to loosen up and have
some fun, you know where to find me.” He winked before walking away. I wouldn’t
touch half the shit he did. I had a purpose that didn’t include him, getting
wasted or high, or this shit town.
Once I returned home,
my grandfather made us eggs and toast. Over our plates, we sat in silence. He
wasn’t a man of many words, and I had grown accustomed to the quiet. I took our
dishes to the sink, rinsing them in the water.
“Have a good day,” I
called out as I walked towards the living room. He had pulled out a newspaper
and waved briefly before returning to his crossword puzzle.
Heading toward my
room once more, I stopped at the bathroom. I quickly showered, ruffled my hair
dry, and brushed my teeth. Books, a sketchpad, a camera, and headphones were
all shoved into my backpack. I sat on my bed, grabbed my boots, and pulled them
over my feet. My thoughts drifted to the painting class I was taking. For me,
it was an elective, an easy A. I wasn’t quite a painter, but I wasn’t terrible
either. Going from drawing to painting was pretty easy. Plus, it could only add
more skill to my already fantastic portfolio.
And then there was
the fun part, or so they called it: those wonderful “getting to know me”
sheets. Ah, yes, nothing like forced icebreakers to start a semester. Who
needed actual conversation when you could just fill in the blanks?
Abigail had
approached me with fascination in her eyes and a penchant for spilled answers.
She didn’t at all seem intimidated by me. What would the next class be like?
I put my headphones
in, heavy guitars blaring, and the rapid drumming eased the tension in my
shoulders. Was this semester some kindergarten class? Did these professors
expect us to allow ourselves to be treated like children? Were we supposed to
become fast friends over a piece of paper? Well, who knew? Maybe Abigail held
the keys to the universe, or at least the campus connections I might need in
the future.
With
a sarcastic chuckle, I resigned myself to the fact that I was about to endure
another round of this kindergarten session, all for the sake of art and,
perhaps, some potential networking.
It's me, Raven, and I'd like to review the next chapter in this great story using my Familiar method! Let's dive in, shall we? Heh heh heh...
What The Black Eyes See...
Ah, more Zeke thoughts in this chapter! I was drawn in by the last one, and his conversation with the distraught Abigail, and this one just elaborated more on his personal life as well as how he views her. Let's get into the details though.
Where The Dagger Points...
I like that the little mirror was an indicator for a perspective change, Abigail's being normal and Zeke's being cracked. I feel like it could've been a little more clear, maybe putting their names next to the mirror, but I caught on fast enough, so it's not even that big of a deal.
That's really all I had to put here! Nice writing job!
Why The Grin Widened...
First of all, as I mentioned, I love how the story has swapped perspectives to Zeke. Considering what happened to Abigail, it felt like a really good place to incorperate someone else's view -someone with a connection to Abigail, but maybe not one too obvious yet, heh heh...
Oh, and also:
I carefully adjusted my camera’s settings, letting the cool metal dig into my palms. The observatory’s towering structures, silent guardians of the cosmos, framed my view. I steadied my breath and released the shutter. Each click captured a fraction of the celestial portrait etched onto my camera’s sensor. The stars seemed to twinkle with stories of galaxies far out of reach.
Once again, beautiful! Your descriptions are so incredible and poetic ~
As I scrolled through her pictures and read her thoughts, my initial curiosity deepened to genuine intrigue, and the more I learned about her, the more I wanted to know. But beneath the fascination, there was a hint of unease. Abigail’s world was full of vibrancy, while mine was always dull and shadowed. Seeing her life through photographs made me acutely aware of how different we were, and a sense of longing crept in.
Zeke, opposites attract! And I love the way you narrated his thoughts here; throughout this whole chapter and the last, we get a better idea of what Zeke is like, beyond the obvious clues already caught by Abigail, and I love how sympathy becomes curiosity, then becomes intrigue. And art is their connection, even if their respective pieces are through different media. Excellent staging for something more to develop, but enough doubt to keep the reader wondering. Great work there ~
The photos preserved memories that may have otherwise faded away. Perfectly composed masterpieces filled the walls, a storyboard of experiences that defined me.
This sounds so similar to how Abigail described her paintings! Again, the fact that they're so opposite in a lot of ways, but they can connect over their art is so cool and fits the overarching theme so well ~
“We need milk,” he rambled, and it saddened me, knowing that we needed much more than that.
Between this and the description of a dilapidated, crime-ridden area, it's easy to empathize with Zeke. Not only that, but it makes me curious if Abigail will notice the stark, bleak differences in their lifestyles, and if Zeke's perspective can help her. And of course, it makes me think even more that Abigail's father would be ticked and beyond disappointed if anything were to develop between his daughter and him.
I sat in position on my bike. “Let’s just say she may be a pawn worth exploring.”
Zeke's words, and another quip about how much he could gain, caught me off guard a bit. Now referring to Abigail as a pawn, I worry that a part of him is just looking to exploit a "rich" girl. Or perhaps he's just trying to match this friend's energy. Either way, not the best choice of words >.>
With a sarcastic chuckle, I resigned myself to the fact that I was about to endure another round of this kindergarten session, all for the sake of art and, perhaps, some potential networking.
Again...I'm sensing an ulterior motive here. Oh man, more drama, and it has me curious!
Our Mad Thoughts...
Overall, that was a neat chapter to tell us more about Zeke and his thoughts, nicely done!
Hi it's 22Midnight again hope your doing well, let's get into it!
First Impression: so for this chapter I am guessing the broken mirror actually means that we are in Zeke's head instead of Abigails since the mirror only broke when we where in the last chapter, if that is correct then that's a really cool way of letting people know who's point of view this is from.
Her figure slowly faded into the darkness as she descended the stairs toward the parking lot. A long yawn escaped my mouth as I stretched my arms up. I grabbed my camera and felt profoundly insignificant among the observatory’s colossal dome and towering telescopes. The night sky stretched above me with countless pinpricks of light.
Aww she left sad, his tired he should also be heading back to his place to go to sleep, although I guess is insomnia was really bad tonight and the scenery there is just to good to leave.
I carefully adjusted my camera’s settings, letting the cool metal dig into my palms. The observatory’s towering structures, silent guardians of the cosmos, framed my view. I steadied my breath and released the shutter. Each click captured a fraction of the celestial portrait etched onto my camera’s sensor. The stars seemed to twinkle with stories of galaxies far out of reach.
this sounds so nice and relaxing guess he comes up here a lot if he brought his camera with him
As I finished taking shots, my curiosity about her grew, and unable to resist the temptation, I pulled out my phone. I searched her name and Elysian Shores, unsure of what I would find.
On her social media profiles, she shared snapshots of her artwork at different stages of completion. Her pieces showcased the work of skilled hands with captions that revealed a thoughtful nature, often full of poetry.
he so likes her if his that curious about her, but me thinking about it now all those art photo's that she's taken pictures of, did her dad destroy all of them?
I discovered her passion for art, which I already knew, but seeing it on my phone felt deeper. Her love for indie music did not exactly match my usual taste for heavier stuff, but it could be worse. She had a fondness for late-night coffee runs; apparently, caffeine that late didn’t affect her, or she was a night owl, too. Her posts showed a girl who lived life with a sense of wonder, embracing the beauty in the mundane.
sounds like she posts a lot about things that she does in her life, well that's helpful for him to find out more about her, hehehe how much is he going to dig!
Part of my scheming came into play, and I daydreamed of living expansively like the Winslows. What could they offer me? They probably wouldn’t help someone like me, but it was worth a shot. I had nothing to lose; if it worked, I’d have so much to gain.
I'm going to so enjoy seeing his troublesome plane unfold before my very reading eyes
Looking at the time, I realized how late it was and returned to my bike. I arrived home again and parked in my usual spot near the sidewalk. I looked at my grandpa’s old house, and a yellow light glowed over the creaky porch. With its chipped paint and broken fence, it was falling apart like all the others on the block. It had some character with its gable roof and dormer window. The weathered roofline added to an otherwise dilapidated structure. The window facing the road was one of two in my room, nestled in the attic–the other was the skylight.
aww he lives with his grandpa that's nice, at least it's nice if his grandpa's nice, do we get to meet him please tell me we get to meet him. That also sounds like a very old small but cozy house his living in there.
My hometown resulted from the end of the Industrial Revolution. It had once been a decent place that had become downtrodden. Unlike the university or Elysian Shores, Desolaria lacked urban success, or a financially established scene. Instead, it was somber, with a sense of faded glory. Empty storefronts lined the town’s once active main street, and poverty had taken its toll on the streets, with rampant crime prevailing.
Desolaria is a really nice name, it sounds like it must be hard for him and his grandpa to live there, it also sounds like he could use some extra money to, hopefully his not doing to badly financially.
As I stepped off my bike, my body felt heavy. The wrecked exterior faded away as I unlocked the front door. Inside, I made my way up the grating stairs to my room. I tried to be quiet, but the screeching made it impossible. As I opened my poster-covered door, a dim light from the moon shone into the skylight. A red dresser stood on one side of my bed, a bold accomplice holding my camera equipment. Each lens and accessory had its place, waiting and ready for action at a moment’s notice. Snapshots of different subjects adorned the peeling gray walls. The photos preserved memories that may have otherwise faded away. Perfectly composed masterpieces filled the walls, a storyboard of experiences that defined me. My desk, cluttered with sketchbooks and pencils, sat in the window’s cubby overlooking the street.
wow that's a lot of photo's i imagen that all this must be given to the photo gallery that Abigail was at that one time, also i'm so hoping to find out who that mystery girl was still.
I approached my bed, a tattered quilt covering it, and plugged my phone into its charger. Sliding open one drawer, I carefully sat my camera in its spot. My arms folded over the front of my body as I grabbed my shirt, pulled it over my head, and tossed it into the laundry basket. I kicked off my boots. Thankfully, I hadn’t changed from sweatpants and crashed onto my bed.
hopefully he can fall asleep now XD because he sounds like his real tired, the way he plugged his phone into the phone charger hopefully it wasn't plugged in to hard that it breaks something.
The sound of my grandfather clanking dishes around in the kitchen woke me. I blinked, rubbing my eyes, as sunshine glared down at me. My stomach groaned a persistent growl of hunger that seemed louder than the nonstop chirping of the birds outside my window.
YES we are going to meet the grandfather yay, ha yes the early morning hunger the thing that sometimes even wakes me in the middle of the night.
so one little thing here after going and falling into a deep sleep to let readers know that your skipping to the next morning if it's in the same chapter I usually press enter to make a new line from the end of the paragraph before this, then I put three dots there like this ... then I press enter again and start writing the next paragraph, hope that makes sense.
I headed to the kitchen. Benji, my grandfather, was doing dishes with his back to me. He turned with a nod, acknowledging my presence. “Good morning,” he uttered, focusing on the worn-out sponge in his hand.
“Hey, Paw Benji,” I yawned, opening the fridge door. It was a childhood name I still used for him because he liked it, even if I found it cringy. I rummaged through the fridge, but there was little for a decent breakfast.
Benji nice hopefully his a nice person, Paw Benji that's sweet that he still calls him that haha, i guess they don't go shopping that much.
“We need milk,” he rambled, and it saddened me, knowing that we needed much more than that.
“Okay, I’ll run to the store and get us a few things,” I acknowledged, turning towards the front door.
i'm guessing his grandfather's only asking for milk because he doesn't have much money to buy anything and his also old and can't really work anymore because his had to retire, that's sad.
I drove to the nearest grocery store, parked a few buildings down, and walked up to it. I could see its windows from a distance, protected by bars to ward off thieves. Between the store and the next building, I saw a homeless man encounter a dealer. I shook my head, knowing I would never go there, even if this town offered little escape. I grabbed what I needed quickly, not bothering with a cart or basket.
ouch sounds like the crimes real bad over there, and that everybody's real poor and can't afford anything much, doesn't sound like he grabbed much from the store.
Exiting the store, I saw Tyran Napper leaning on my motorcycle like he owned the damn thing—such an obnoxious sight. His burly demeanor overshadowed his brain. He had brawn, all right, but his brain often got him into trouble, being that he had a tendency of putting his foot in his mouth.
wait is Tyran planning on steeling his bike or is this just a horrible person they Zeke's been forced to be friends with because they live nearby.
“Z!” he whooped, his hands forming a makeshift megaphone around his mouth. Ugh, his antics were like grating nails on a chalkboard. His gauged ears had white circles and his eyebrow piercing shone in the sunlight. We could be unstoppable with his untamed spirit and my cunning mind. Together, we could create hell; with us, the devils, basking in the turmoil. He was obnoxious and had an infectious mania, and I wouldn’t label anything as a friendship.
Tyran sounds difficult, i guess a lot of people around here dress like that, it might explain why that other lady that Abigail met was so rude to her as well, if this is the type of place that she comes from.
I glared at him. “Get your dirty ass off my bike, ya damn tyrant!”
He straightened up, arrogant. “This piece of shit is so honored to have my body on it.” He rubbed his ass on it before moving away.
ich okay he sounds nasty Zeke you shouldn't be around him just get out of there as fast as possible.
“Don’t you mean horrified?”
His ruckus laugh shook his whole body. “So, how are your classes going, oh studious one?”
I rolled my eyes. “You won’t believe the nonsense I have dealt with.” I recount the tedious courses so far, one after the other, each feeling more meaningless than the last.
wait even though Zeke doesn't like this guy he still tells him things like this, guess a good friend is hard to come by and you should but be thankful for whatever you get when your in his situation.
“I swear, sometimes I think they just say random shit to see how we react.” I shook my head. “But hey, that’s college, right? Gotta suffer through to reach the endgame.”
“Speaking of games, any new action on that master chessboard of yours?”
“Of course. I think I found a checkmate.”
oh he play's chess that's cool i think, he must be good at it if Tyran is asking about it.
He rubbed his hands together in anticipation. “Oh?”
“The name Winslow ring a bell?”
“Um, duh. Your point?”
I sat in position on my bike. “Let’s just say she may be a pawn worth exploring.”
wait a second wait is he just going to use Abigail to try and get money out of her or something, now i'm worried
“I would be careful if I were you. Her family could run you out of this entire state,” he advised with a nervous laugh. When did he become a pussy? Like, I needed his unsolicited advice!
“Yeah, well, I have better things to do than to hear you act like a therapist!” I put my helmet on, roaring my motorcycle to life.
I got to agree with his friend on this one, if he makes Abigail's dad real mad it's not going to go down well for him and his grandfather.
He laughed, amused by my response. “Suit yourself. But hey, if you ever want to loosen up and have some fun, you know where to find me.” He winked before walking away. I wouldn’t touch half the shit he did. I had a purpose that didn’t include him, getting wasted or high, or this shit town.
well good for you Zeke you need a fresh new start it sounds like, and I really hope that you get that chance soon. *whispers* hey if your grandfathers nice will you take him with you?
Once I returned home, my grandfather made us eggs and toast. Over our plates, we sat in silence. He wasn’t a man of many words, and I had grown accustomed to the quiet. I took our dishes to the sink, rinsing them in the water.
“Have a good day,” I called out as I walked towards the living room. He had pulled out a newspaper and waved briefly before returning to his crossword puzzle.
aww yum eggs on toast sounds delicious, sounds like Zeke helps his grandfather a lot and has to carry more then his fair share of responsibilities, his grandfather must be really old and sad because of the environment that his living in.
Heading toward my room once more, I stopped at the bathroom. I quickly showered, ruffled my hair dry, and brushed my teeth. Books, a sketchpad, a camera, and headphones were all shoved into my backpack. I sat on my bed, grabbed my boots, and pulled them over my feet. My thoughts drifted to the painting class I was taking. For me, it was an elective, an easy A. I wasn’t quite a painter, but I wasn’t terrible either. Going from drawing to painting was pretty easy. Plus, it could only add more skill to my already fantastic portfolio.
well he sounds like his nice and clean now, if he just does drawing and doesn't really seem to interested in paint what is his real motivation to even be in that class I wonder?
And then there was the fun part, or so they called it: those wonderful “getting to know me” sheets. Ah, yes, nothing like forced icebreakers to start a semester. Who needed actual conversation when you could just fill in the blanks?
this made me laugh XD i seem to remember Abigial seeing it differently, but yeah got to agree real conversation is better then getting to know me sheets.
Abigail had approached me with fascination in her eyes and a penchant for spilled answers. She didn’t at all seem intimidated by me. What would the next class be like?
I really hope that Zeke's not just going to use her now and make her life even harder then it already is.
I put my headphones in, heavy guitars blaring, and the rapid drumming eased the tension in my shoulders. Was this semester some kindergarten class? Did these professors expect us to allow ourselves to be treated like children? Were we supposed to become fast friends over a piece of paper? Well, who knew? Maybe Abigail held the keys to the universe, or at least the campus connections I might need in the future.
i guess his finding the class way to easy and boring but still his going to it why? also does he like Abigail or is he just using her for his own good then going to dump her later, hmm I guess i'm having second thoughts about him being someone she should date now.
With a sarcastic chuckle, I resigned myself to the fact that I was about to endure another round of this kindergarten session, all for the sake of art and, perhaps, some potential networking.
him and Abigail view this class in very different way's while he just sees it as pointless and boring she sees it as a learning curve and a place to grow her skills.
Overall: I'm really liking that we are seeing things from Zeke's point of view because it's helping me to understand how different him and Abigail lives are just because of the lack of money that he has, compared to her bedazzling Mansion. It makes me feel sorry for those who are struggling and need others help but still they seem to be the most thankful for things. i did enjoy this chapter and it got me asking a few questions about Zeke's background and intentions that's for sure.
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