Forever

I apologize for the lack of posts these days.  My homework load has suddenly increased drastically, and I have less time to blog.  Deepest regrets.
But I started a book about a month ago then abandoned.  Most of you have seen it already.  I've come back to it now, but I have a feeling it'll be left again if I don't do something about it.
So maybe if I post it on my blog and you keep badgering me for more I'll keep it up.

Forever is a story about a girl named Valentine Marie Smith.  Don't ask why.  Here's the first chapter (please forgive any typos or awkward writing; I haven't edited anything yet).

One

Gone forever in Death’s raging blaze.  Burnt to the ground, ashes left to dance away in the breeze.  All of them.  Mom, Dad, Sam.  They’re all gone.  Never again will I hear their voices.  Never again will I feel Mom’s slender arms wrap around me.  Never.  No more.  They’re all gone.  Forever.

*          *          *

I sit numbly on a new leather couch that smells disgusting.  It’s cold, too.  Too cold and too smelly to sit on comfortably.  But that’s the way Aunt Elaine’s furniture is; cold, foreboding, unfriendly.  Not the way our furniture was; soft, cozy, welcoming, smelling of Mom’s lavender air freshener.  That’s all over now, though.  I won’t sit on my favorite green couch ever again, because it’s gone.  Everything’s gone.  My life, my family, my home, everything.

A voice that contains a hint of forced cheerfulness wakes me from my brief reverie.  It tells me something about new beginnings, new family, a new life.  But I don’t want anything new.  I want my old home, my old life, my old family.

Someone takes a picture.  The bright flash forces me to cover my eyes.  I curl up into a ball, waiting for all this to end.  To wake up from this nightmare my life has become.  For all the cameras and microphones and smelly leather to go away.  It doesn’t.

I hear Aunt Elaine talking to a reporter about the tragic accident that swallowed up my family.  As if she actually cares.  I know she doesn’t, because the only things Aunt Elaine cares about are big houses, money, expensive furniture, and fame.  Not that she’s actually famous; she just does her best to act that way.  She thinks that adopting me and going in for interviews is going to make her a celebrity.  The cameras in her house will only last so long, though.  Soon the press will tire of the tragedy that happened to the Smith family.

Someone, I think Uncle Mike, picks me up and carries me upstairs into the pink room that is now mine.  He sets me gently on the pink bedspread and tries to give me a kiss.  I roll over and bury my face in the down.  It’s not that Uncle Mike is mean or greedy like his sister Elaine.  It’s just that, even though my name is Valentine, I don’t want any more love in my life.  I’ve realized it’s too painful when those close you are snatched from your arms and kidnapped for eternity.  No, that won’t ever happen again to me, because there won’t be anyone I love to take away anymore.  People tell me I should give it another chance, but I’m not risking another shattering of my heart again.  The numerous cracks in it are already enough.  I won’t give any more valentines to people.  When I’m old enough, I’ll change my name so that every time someone greets me I won’t be reminded of the terrible thing called love.  Maybe I’ll even change the way I look, because people always say I look like a valentine too, what with my dark red hair, pale skin, rosy cheeks, and heart-shaped face.  But maybe I won’t, because my freckles and green eyes aren’t romantic at all, so they detract from the stuff that is.  I wish Aunt Elaine would let me wear my usual blue jeans, t-shirt, and navy blue sweatshirt, because these yellow cotton dress and itchy white tights and shiny black Mary-Janes Aunt has put me in.  People tell me I look very pretty, but I would rather be comfortable and not-very-pretty.  I sigh, close my eyes, and try to fall asleep.

*          *          *

When I wake up, the bustle and chaos downstairs is still there.  I wonder if I could sneak past all those cameras and reporters and go to the park.  Swinging my legs off of the bed, I slide off and tiptoe to the first floor, having not taken off my shoes when Uncle Mike dumped me onto the bed.

*          *          *

I manage to evade all the flashing lights and slip out the door, away from the stifling atmosphere of Aunt Elaine’s house.  Now that I’m outside and in the fresh air, my mood lightens and I even skip a bit down the sidewalk.  Walking into the neighborhood park, and settle on a swing and move back and forth slightly, as if I’m the pendulum in Aunt Elaine’s grandfather clock.  I start daydreaming and get lost in my memories.  The happy scenes flash in my mind: the family picnic last summer, my birthday party last year, Sam’s first day of preschool.  I’m become oblivious to my surroundings; too busy trying to relive that part of my life when everything was perfect that I don’t notice the smiling, brown-haired lady who’s clad in a green suit that approaches the swings.  It’s not until she says hello that I’m jerked out of the past and back to the torturous present.  I stare into her hazel eyes and look at her questioningly.  She doesn’t look like a reporter, just an average businesswoman getting some fresh air during the afternoon.  I just don’t understand why she’s at this park; there aren’t any businesses within five miles.  When I look at her, the woman smiles.

“Hello, Valentine.  How are you?” she says.

I’m not concerned she knows my name; it’s been all over the front page of the town newspaper.  Almost everyone in this area knows my name and what I look like.  I hate it.  Realizing the lady is waiting expectantly, I swallow and say in a barely audible voice, “Fine.”

She frowns and an expression of mock puzzlement spreads over her visage, making my face cloud.  “Just fine? Ah, Valentine, surely you must feel better than that!”

I officially detest this woman.  Anger starts to boil inside me and I feel myself turning red, almost as dark as my hair.  Trying to keep calm, I gulp and hiss, “Just fine.  Now go away.  I want some privacy.”

“Tut tut.  Manners, girl.” The lady doesn’t move.

I know I’m about to lose it, but I don’t want to rip my dress trying to kick this lady.  I’m not sure what to do, because I’m going to snap pretty soon and I need something to let my anger out on.  I clench my fists as stare at my feet.

“Valentine?” Leave it to her to break the silence.

“What?” I snarl.

“It was at 10:33 A.M.  when you were struggling with question 12c on your math test that a flame in your house appeared.”

I freeze.  She’s lying, of course.  No one knows how or when the fire started.  But still.  Her words make me stop.  The anger abates slightly.  “How do you know?”

“Ever since you were born I have been tracking you, Valentine.  It was only a matter of time before something happened around you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Dear girl, you are a Destroyer.”

I blink and shake my head, confused.  “What?”

“A Destroyer,” the woman replies wearily.

“I heard you.  I was wondering what a Destroyer is.”

“Someone who destroys things.  Honestly, Valentine, haven’t you a brain?”

“I do have a brain!” I snap.

“Then use it,” she replies coolly.

I shut my mouth and try not to scream at her.

After ten seconds she speaks again.  “Valentine?”

“Mm.”

“Would you like to come with me?”

“Where?”

“To the Destroyers.  We have a base in Spokane where you can train with children your age.”

I’m not sure if I trust this woman, but I figure the Destroyers’ headquarters will be better than Aunt Elaine.  Besides, I’ll be with my kind.  I swing my legs back and forth for a while, and then I look up.  “I’ll go.”

*          *          *

We arrive in front of a pristine-looking office building a few hours later.  My dress and tights and soaked with sweat because of the heat, and my neatly brushed hair is now rumpled.  Thirsty, hungry, and tired, I stumble up the steps behind the woman.  She pulls open the door, marches me into the reception room, pushes me into a chair, and walks into a hallway, leaving me with a grumpy platinum blonde lady.

“Name?” she snaps.

“Valentine Marie Smith,” I mutter.

She types something and glances at the computer screen in front of her.  “Twelve years old, orphaned, living with an aunt . . . correct?” she says.

“Sadly, yes.”

“Good.  Just what we want.  Come, I’ll take you to Ms.  Hill.”

I gape at her.  They think it’s good my family is a pile of ashes now?

“Hurry up, now!”

I stand slowly and follow her down a series of hallways before she stops abruptly in front of a polished oak door.  She knocks sharply and smiles as the door opens to reveal a tall, skinny, gray haired, bespectacled, woman, dressed in a midnight blue business suit.  She glares at me and turns to the receptionist.  “What did you bring her here for?”

“New recruit, Ms.  Hill.  A girl named Valentine Smith.”

“Ah, yes, I was expecting her.” Ms.  Hill pulls me into her office by my arm and shuts the door the blonde lady’s face.  Sitting down stiffly, she glares at me again.  “Valentine.”

I stifle a yawn and look at her blearily.  “Huh?”

“I am Molly Hill, the director of the Destroyers’ base here in Spokane, Washington.  I am known as Ms.  Hill.”

“Okay.” I’m in no mood to talk.

Ms.  Hill shoots me a disapproving look and turns her gaze to a pile of papers on her desk.  After a silence, she presses a button and says, “Judith! Escort this new recruit I have in my office to the dormitories.  Now!”

A few minutes later a smiling, mousy haired girl of about fifteen walks into the office.  She motions for me to follow her, and I do, although I’m trying hard to keep my eyes open.

After what seems like eons she points to a door.  She’s still smiling.  “That’s your room.  You’ll be sharing it with Vivian Erikson.  If you have any questions, ask her or me.  I’m Judith Hill, by the way, the youngest daughter of Ms.  Hill.  My sister’s Lilith.” She skips off down the hallway and disappears around a corner.

I shrug and turn the brass doorknob of the door and push it open.  Inside I see a dirty blonde girl my age sitting on the bottom of a bunk bed, reading.

“Hello?” I say tentatively.

She doesn’t answer.

“Hello?” I repeat, this time a bit louder.

The girl (apparently Vivian) looks up and pulls some earbuds out of her ears.  She grins.  “Hey.  Welcome.  What’s your name?”

I give a big yawn and sway slightly.  “V-Valentine,” I mumble.

“Hello, Valentine.  Gosh, you look tired.  Pull off your shoes and go into the upper bunk.  Dinner’s at 5:30, so you can take a long nap.  Today’s Saturday, so there aren’t any classes.”

I kick off my shoes and climb gratefully into the bed.  I shove the sheet and bedspread to the end and lay down.  It doesn’t take long for me too fall asleep.

So, as you can see, I'm rather fond of short chapters.  Um, I hope you enjoyed it . . . um.  Bye.