Welcome Visitor: Login to the siteJoin the site

Shayne Sevon, your average fifteen year old girl, is just kickin around skateboarding, trying to improve her skills. Suddenly, things take a very bizzare turn for the worst.

Submitted:May 23, 2012    Reads: 204    Comments: 7    Likes: 5   

October 25

I kick.

Regain my wobbly balance as best as possible, kick.

Once more, for good measure: kick.

Then I'm thrust into a flurry of action jam packed into a few measly seconds. In that brief moment I am suspended above the concrete ground and stairs, my board securely below me. I move as fast as I can, trying to hit every step of the maneuver.

A jolt of sweet adrenaline shoots through my body.

I'm descending, hard and fast. Uh oh.

Just as a baby bird roughs her first landing after an exhilarating flight, I land on top of my skateboard with a sickening crunch stomach-first.

I lay completely still for a solid thirty seconds. The world seems to pause, until I hear a car horn sound in the distance, reminding me that I'm in the alleyway near my dad's apartments, splattered on the ground like a bug.

"Why is it so fricking hard to land an Ollie?" I think exasperatedly.

There is bound to be damage to inspect, but I feel nothing but a rush coursing in my veins. Attempting to take slow and steady breaths, I roll over onto the concrete.

I flop on my back, and my skateboard rolls away. Blood moves in my head, causing me to see funky color shade changes in the blue sky above me.

Sitting up, I notice this is the most banged up I've been since I started skateboarding two weeks ago.

My knees have humongous rips in the jeans. They're utterly butchered, gravel mixing with blood and denim. Forearms and shoulders lightly scraped, a red substance bleeding through my flannel shirt at the waist, and a bunch of other tiny, nasty, annoying bumps and cuts. Tomorrow morning, I'm definitely going to be regretting not wearing my knee and elbow pads.

Fantastic. Dad will be thrilled.

I can practically hear him now.

Shayne, I swear sometimes you're too much like me. Don't you know it's not good to get yourself hurt every other day? When you're my age, you're going to be thinking 'Hmm. I should have listened to Daddyo. Then I could walk to the fridge without needing assistance from ten other people!'

I get to my feet, my limbs protesting every movement. Scowling like a true skateboarder, I retrieve my board which is miraculously still in tact.

Now, I don't want to come off as a cocky, idiot jock girl (or as most people at school know me: the Lesbo Queen of Sports) but I rock at just about any sport. Give me a ball, I can hoop with the team. Give me a stick, I can score on any goalie. Give me a glove and bat, better be prepared to lose. A vast majority of guys hate the fact that I can play most sports better than them, therefore they choose to torment me about the most trivial detail of my personality: the fact that I like girls.

Anyway, almost every sport I know of has come easily to me, like a second nature.

Except skateboarding.

Therefore, in order to try and keep my record of playing sports like a professional going, I decided to come out and practice, practice, practice.

I'm pondering what part of the trick I did wrong when what sounds like footsteps thunder behind me.

Surprised, I pivot backwards while throwing my board down.

What happened next would haunt every single one of my nightmares thereafter: A ragged girl dressed in torn clothes, gaunt and terrified, locks eyes with me, so many emotions passing through that one glance. She's choking on sobs, and is running so fast she would have knocked into me if I hadn't caught her. My open wounds flare with pain, but I shove it away.The girl, tucked in my lean frame, is so so fragile, though she looks about my age give or take a couple years.

She's begging, "You need to help me. Please! Please, help me!"

My heart hammers in the heat of the moment.

The girl shakes and cries in my arms.

I try to soothe her saying, "Hey, hey, hey... It's ok. Noone's gonna hurt you. I'll help you. Just calm down."

The small, blonde-haired, brown eyed girl quiets down, now only whimpering. Whether it is in fear, or pain, I do not know. She whispers, "I'm... Autumn-"

Suddenly, I feel her, Autumn, go limp.

My stomach is caught in a limbo between shooting up into my mouth and plummeting down to my bloodied knees. "Oh no."


| Email this story Email this Short story | Add to reading list


About | News | Contact | Your Account | TheNextBigWriter | Self Publishing | Advertise

© 2013 TheNextBigWriter, LLC. All Rights Reserved. Terms under which this service is provided to you. Privacy Policy.