Young Writers Society

This is my first novel ever. Hope to accomplish it accordingly. I must have put it in the non-fiction category 'cause this can really happen in real life. Anyway, the settings - name of the places and other - were fictionish.. Hope you'll like it.

Critiques or any other replies (compliments if you like =)) will be very much appreciated... Hope you'll put one. (Or else, I won't post the next part or chapter..hehe, peace out!)

I just changed the title of this chapter... just obeying some advices.

PHANTASM

Prologue:

Some people were born to contemplate death. With an extraordinary ability, they were accoutered to help – help until they found themselves against the pull of the earth.

I was one of them and I felt very glorious, very blessed.

Yes, I chose to help yet preferred to live a normal life. Though I was certain that I couldn’t be normal like anybody else, I still tried my best and put all the possibilities to be one.

I contradicted my fate and found victory.

When my loved ones departed, that was the moment this gift showed me its true worth. It was excellent, very exceptional.

I still lived normally, although having decided to utilize this gift. Hence, I lived extraordinarily normal.

Living extraordinarily helped me be very much equipped to the various challenges of the world, of life, and even beyond what was present in this dimension.

Existing normally was always an option I chose. Anyway, I was born normal and forever will be. I was just blessed with an extraordinary ability.

Having life as such, I was capable of experiencing happiness, sorrow, hatred and love. Indeed, among these experiences, love was the most subtle. And I felt very fortunate to find one.

She looked at me in a very enrapturing manner as she walked past through me.

Chapter One: Emergency: Part One:

I continued to run at speed – gasping for more air. The cold breeze rushed past my face. I felt like shuddering.

There was intense silence, except for my hard breathing. Darkness covered everything. I couldn’t even ascertain where I was heading and the gloomy path seemed to be endless.

I was as if benighted by my greatest incubus.

I looked over my shoulder and saw the lady still chasing me. She wore a white dress that seemed to be inconspicuous with her very pale skin. Her exquisite face was emotionless while her ethereal strands of hair beckoned with the soft whispers of the wind.

She moved very smoothly. Neither one of her bare feet touched the ground. She was floating – floating gracefully.

My body trembled with fear.

My energy dropped off. A few seconds later, I tripped over a rock and fell to the ground.

I lay my palms on the ground and tried my best to carry myself, but my body seemed uncooperative. I turned my head ninety degrees and saw the lady beside me.

She raised her hand toward me – goose bumps covered almost my entire body. Then, I realized that she was trying to help me. Shortly, my breath went back to normal – I was relaxed. I put out my hand to reach hers and then –

“Ring, Ring…” my clock alarmed. I opened my eyes slowly (ring, ring) and hit the button above the silver clock beside me. It’s six o’clock.

I lifted half of my body and paused for a moment, pondering my dream as I looked at the sky-blue-colored wall adorned with a nice piece of art that my dad painted. It depicted an evening in a very silent and old town lit by the enthralling moon and delighting stars

It was a nightmare, like any other nightmares I used to have every night. And if I am going to think of that as such, then every single day could be a nightmare for me.

“Better get going," I muttered to myself. I took a deep breath and got up from the bed.

I raised my hands and did some stretching. I twisted my body and felt very relieved. A huge grin flashed on my face as I realized that I remained asleep for eight hours with only one position – supine. It was a very rare happening for I suffer Somnambulism – sleepwalking. And sometimes, I just found myself eating a very heavy meal not knowing who prepared it, or worst, driving my car and very lost.

After making my bed, I headed to the bathroom just beside my room. As usual, someone was inside though it wasn’t locked at all. It was Tracy, taking a shower.

“You forgot to lock the door,” I said, loud enough for her to hear.

“Oh, sorry!” Tracy said in a very sweet voice.

“It’s alright. Just don’t forget next time,” I said, hoping against hope as I waited beside the door.

Suddenly, my bladder complained. It felt like it was going to burst in a moment.

“Tracy, faster, please!” I said, my voice whining.

“Right away!” she said. I crossed my fingers and in no time, the plastic door opened.

Tracy looked very rushed. Water droplets kept falling from her hair.

“Thanks," I said hurriedly.

I hurried to the bowl and then pissed. After, I washed my hands followed by some sprinkles of cold water on my face. Very refreshing.

I went out of the bathroom and saw Tracy across, standing on the terrace, and, as usual, crying. She was rubbing her pallid cheeks with the sleeves of her flesh bath robe. I headed toward her in a very andante manner.

Before I could reach her and let her cry on my shoulder, my cellphone rang. I turned my back, ignoring her – anyway, I have been alleviating her feelings for years – and went to my room, where I put my phone last night, as far as I remember.

The sound was getting louder and louder as I stepped closer to my room. I opened the wooden door and went directly to my newly bought desk. My phone wasn’t there. I still remembered putting it there last night after I studied my lessons. Or maybe I had just misplaced it.

Scurrying, I searched every place I could have put it –within the wooden book shelves, over the dusty bedside table and other la mesas, inside my antique wardrobe or even underneath my bed – as the phone continued to ring. It must be an emergency for no one would be interested on calling, unless it is such. Cellphone load has been a great burden in this global recession therefore, text messages are more preferred. Hence, mobile companies continued to bombard our nation with promos. How smashing.

All of a sudden, the ring tone ceased. “Too bad,” I sighed.

I sat on my bed, thinking where I could have put my phone and who the one calling was. I took a short glance at the clock and figured out that it was seven thirty in the morning. An hour and a half had passed since I woke up. Good thing it was Saturday, no classes, but I needed to do some housekeeping and some part time jobs.

I stood up idly. My phone rang, again. Surprisingly, as my eyes caught a sight of my desk, I saw my Nokia-N73-phone lying atop my Psychology book, buzzing.

“There you are!” I said, grimacing with a twist of curiosity. I headed to my phone.

Before I could touch it, I heard someone giggling behind me. I turned my head and saw my wardrobe closed.

“Matthew, I know you're there,” I said, rolling my eyes, “You’re joshing me again. Please, not now. This is urgent.”

Matthew was my very mirthful friend. He’s just eight years of age. Even though he liked to trick and to deceive me, I loved having him around.

The door opened, revealing Matthew with a big grin on his very pale face. His achromatic hair seemed very disarray, as if banged.

“Haha,” Matthew said, “I got you again.”

“Fine, fine,” I said, getting my phone, “Just a moment and I’ll let you have a taste of your own medicine.”

I looked at my phone and saw Ken’s name on the screen. He’s my best bud.

“Hey, what’s up?” I said, turning away my gaze from Matthew.

“Oh, good day, sir,” someone answered in a very pleasing voice, “I have been calling you for a while. I’m Lyn Sandoval, a nurse of Eastwood Medical Center, and I’m sad to inform you that your friend has been brought here, in our emergency room, after having encountered an accident.”

“What kind of accident?” I muttered in haste. “Is he conscious? Alright? Severely injured?”

My heart has been beating faster.

“Car accident,” she said, “At the moment, he’s conscious but he committed some serious injuries.”

“Oh, can I talk to him?” I said, frowning.

“He can’t talk right now,” she said, “He’s been enduring the pain. And I would like to inform you that he’s asking for your support.”

“Okay, then,” I said, taking a short pause, “I’ll be there in a moment.”

“Thank you, sir. Goodbye!” she said.

“Thanks, bye!” I said, pushing the button to end the call.

I took a deep breath and my heartbeat went back to normal. I hope he’ll recover soon. I have been alone for years and my friends were my only normal companions. Losing them would mean end of the world, for me.

I leaned at the desk and prayed, closing my eyes.

I remembered how my parents died of a car accident two years ago, leaving me behind. It could have been very hard to recover, if weren’t for my friends and my very exceptional ability. They really helped me a lot, to be whole again, to be back to the square one.

I survived every year, on my own naturally. My relatives offered a lot of help, which I rejected. Secluding myself could be better – I wouldn’t be under them – and it worked out. Besides, I was at the right age to be independent – seventeen by that time.

Thus, for a normal eye, I must be alone. Nevertheless, on my own perspective, I wasn’t and I felt very much overwhelmed by this fact.

I gasped, flinched and walked out of the room.

I saw Matthew having childish talks with Tracy, which was great. Tracy was now wearing a big grin on her face.

I went inside the petty and poorly ventilated bathroom to take a shower. I let the water touched my yellow skin and realized that I was very much adapted to this kind of temperature – even though living in a tropical country, Phantasia – because of my extraordinary experiences.

After I showered, I put on my bathrobe and went inside my room to dress up. I wore my typical outfit – straight-cut jeans and a blue shirt.

I bolted downstairs; it’s more refulgent and a lot more ventilated in here. The chromatic wall (avocado green) refracted the sunrays well. I took tonic breaths and took my last step from the stairs onto the tile. Across, the white curtains swayed with the rhythm of the breeze. Somebody must have opened the windows, again.

I dashed to the kitchen-dining room – walking past the almond colored lounge and the 32-inch television – and saw someone sitting on the dining chair, reading a broad newspaper.

“Good Morning, son,” he greeted, lowering down the newspaper and exposing his very pale face with a jolly smile on. His bald head was very familiar to me.

It’s my dad, my must-be-long-gone father.