Restless Swans - Chapter One
I was inside my car on day, sitting in the back, waiting for the day to pass, so the night, cool and soothing, would come about decently.
I was on the run you see, from a crime most people now-a-days would call stupid and rather ill thought out for someone like myself, a straight-A student at Jasmine High, the north side school of the city Winchester's Peak. The city was likely named that, because of the high cliffs and mountains that toward the north of the city. Not really a humble settling, but it was home. This man, named Jameson Winchester, founded the city as a gold-mining settlement back in the seventeenth century. Now enough talk about that, let's get back on subject. The crime was committed was rather simple and fast, dangerous yet satisfying.
How could a boy, at the age of sixteen, murder oh, so easily. Well, that is a question i needed an answer to, but in time, I shall receive the answer by looking over my past. Let's begin, shall we?
* * *
It all began two weeks ago, when I was in band class, enjoying myself by playing a song that I had been composing for about a week now, called A Jasmine’s Glow. It was a gentle composition on my silver lined, black painted flute with valves of gold that flowed like watery lullaby, in a river, soothing and relaxing.
Yeah, I know, to most, the flute is only supposed to be played by women, who are kind and gentle, not a man, who is rough and doesn't care about most of the things he does. Well, in my opinion, I love this instrument. It's a beautiful piece of work that gives off essence of majestic melody. The flute I'm playing belonged to my ancestors, going back to the time of the crusades. Engraved on the side of the flute reads In Nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti: In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. My ancestors were assassins in the crusades, working for the Church, and apparently severing the word of God.
Everyone in my family is a Christian; all of them except me. I never really believed in any of that. I always found it to be completely unrealistic. I have my reasons for not believing in God; it's a long and painful story. I don't feel like telling you about it, not yet at least.
As I sat there on my red plastic chair, writing the last few notes of the song I had been composing, everyone else had been talking about random things. I was the only one who likes to compose music. The voices of kids were talking about their boyfriends or girlfriends, football games and home problems. It was rather interesting what you can find out from just listening in on what people have to say.
Let me tell you a little more about myself. My name is Timothy James Carter, but most people have taken the liberty to call me Timmy. I didn't mind it, because my mother called my, that for most of my life, which is fine by me. Most people don't even realize that my name is Timothy, but then again no one asks. I never liked it. It sounds too classy to me; then again my family is very classy, although we never had money to show it.
I remember how my mom used to come home late from work to be able to pay off the mortgage payment on her, well, our house. She ran two jobs, having a shift for the morning and night, so I never really got to see her, because she always got home around two o'clock in the morning. I did hate that. I had no one to talk to, so all there was left to do was do my homework or compose music.
As I walked from the band hall, I swept my long hair out of my face that kept being blown over my eyes, due to the wind. I adjusted my hair to my liking, and then fixed it so that it didn’t fall over my eyes.
I walked down the halls of Jasmine High’s Astronomy Hall, searching for my last period class of Astrophysics. It was a decent class, but not really my thing. Although, it was very fascinating; the pictures of outside material that floated along in space.
It was all very interesting to learn, but as I sat there watching my teacher explain the planets, I just began to stare at the pictures of the wall, dazing off into thought of why I’m here at school just wondering if any of this matters.
Dreams and visions came to me why all of the worthless causes of what people call an education. I really didn’t see why I’ll need certain skills like algebra and calculus. It’s not like it benefit me in my music career.
A paper ball fell on my desk. I looked, and examined it carefully, knowing who it was from almost instantly. A person named Andy Garcia, some guy who always picks on me, recently, for some reason. It’s like that I’m his favorite of all guys to pick on. “Hey, Timmy, why don’t you look at me you little prick?” Andy said, cockily, as usual.
“Why should?” I questioned rather upset and sick of the bullying. “Your sight isn’t worth my memory.”
“What did you say, punk.” Andy walked over to me and bent over right in front of me. I could smell his bad aftershave that radiated off his horribly shaven neck. His short spiky hair, all messy and completely torn apart from the last time he had tried to pick on me. I had it and attacked him with a pair of scissors, but shockingly, I was caught, but knowing Andy Garcia, he’s as stubborn as a donkey getting orders form a new owner.
“You heard me,” I replied emotionless in my tone. Where’s the teacher, I thought inside my head. “I don’t have to repeat myself.”
I hate it when people try to push me around. I’m pretty strong for being five-eight in height. I’m not scared of getting into a fight, it just that Andy Garcia play dirty, most likely has a blade on him. I would’ve squared him off then and there, but his buddies, Cal and Sam, were behind us; their essence reeking off stupidity and pathetic rage. Knowing them, they’ll grab me from behind while Andy starts going at me from the front, like before, too many times to count.
They’ve pushed me around to many times, and I’ve had it with them. Next time will be the end of them, and I mean it. As I stood up, I kept eye contact with Andy, looking straight into his brown eyes, filled with hate and anger, with my electric, cold green, sapphire eyes, radiating with bloodshed and terror. I was ready for it, and I wasn’t going to back down, not anymore.
“Hey,” a voice, from the right side of us, said in tone of fear and nervousness. “Timmy, can you come here, and help me with my assignment.” So happens, the voice was coming from a girl by the name of Elisabeth Marie Patterson, a young lady of high-class standards. Though she was all classy, she did not let her status get in the way of her relationships with people. Elisabeth never took anything for granted and was always grateful for what she had or received.
As I replied, “Yes, I’ll be there in a second.” I remembered who she really was. One of the most popular girls in our school, of course not at the time food chain, as some say now-a-days, was trying to get my attention. I don’t mind helping her; it wasn’t a problem at all, but the thing was that most people would find this a very strange move for a girl of popularity like Elisabeth.
“I’ll deal with you later, puck,” Andy whispered in my ear, as I passed him.
“Agreed,” I whispered back.
I walked along the back of the rows of desks, heading over to Elisabeth. She waited patiently for me to arrive. She smiled and asked. “How do you do this problem?”
Other than me being mesmerized by her beautiful hazel-green eyes, that came with a set of long, well kept eyelashes, so long they touched the bottom of her eyebrow, I explained how to calculate the trajectory of a meteorite heading towards the Earth at 2900m/s from a 2.68 x10^6 miles away form the planet, to originate with the time it would take for impact.
“Wow, how are you so smart if you don’t pay attention in class?” Elisabeth asked me after I help her with some more problems that she was having trouble with.
“Well, honestly, I’m not that smart; I just have good memory of what the teacher says occasionally.” I replied, not as rude sounding.
“So why don’t you pay attention?”
“Well, honestly, I don’t care about school that much.”
“Oh,” Elisabeth replied, kind of confused at the response I gave her. “I’m surprised.”
“Well, you don’t have to tell me that,” I smiled. “I can tell.”
“You’re very observant.” She chuckled. “Sit down, please.”
I sat in the desk in front of her, facing Elisabeth. I really wasn’t sure why she was talking to me so suddenly. I’ve never even spoken to this girl, who was smiling away as if she hit gold, but yet her grin was warm and sweet.
“So what’s up with your life?” Elisabeth asked, breaking my thoughts.
“Nothing really,” I replied, wondering why she asked me that. “Why you ask?” I asked, trying not to sound all that rude.
“I’m just trying to keep the conversation going. Can I ask you something?”
“Sure, I see why not.”
Elisabeth looked around, probably to check if anyone was watching. “What’s up with that Andy guy, always picking on you?”
“Don’t know,” I replied coolly. “I would’ve squared him off then and there, but knowing his friends, they would’ve got me from behind and beaten the crud out of me.” I said this low to the point of a whisper. I didn’t want to start anymore conflict between us.
“Personally, I don’t like fights. It scares me when I see some people going at it.” Elisabeth’s voice was shaky. “I mean, seriously, you haven’t done anything to them, so I don’t see the reason why they keep on torturing you like that.”
“Don’t know why, but I’ve had it with them. Next chance I get, I’m not holding back.”
“Don’t be like them, please,” Elisabeth said, lowly. “It won’t help at all. It’s not worth your time to be dealing with them. Just come and talk to me when ever they start trying to pick on you again, ok?” She seems really serious for some reason. Why would a girl like her care about a ‘nobody’ like me?
That last statement did get me thinking. Why does she even care about me? I continued to think on the repeated question. It’s not like I’m some guy to die for. I’m just some random guy who is only dust in the wind, driven with and by rage, and jealousy, sorrow, and agony, nothing more, nothing less. Why is this girl so worried about me getting into a fight? I don’t even know her.
“If you so wish,” I replied, sympathetically.
“Good,” Elisabeth chuckled and tapped my shoulder with her little fist. “Besides, you’re not a bad kid, and know where you’re coming from. I’d be really upset if someone would pick on me too. Hey, if I were to tell you that I was never this popular, would you believe me?”
“Maybe,” I replied, thoughtfully. “I don’t know why you’d lie to me.”
“Well, it’s true. I was never this popular. I was always a shy person before I entered high school.”
“Oh, wow, why so?”
“I don’t know honestly. I never really liked talking to people that much, but then again I never liked being alone. I was to busy with my studies, as well, for friends, I guess you can say.”
“That’s interesting. So why are you talking to me if you don’t like to talk to people, no offense.”
“Simple, Timmy,” Elisabeth chuckled. “I’ve changed my ways. I’m more out going now.”
“Oh, of course.”
“You speak differently from the others.”
“Oh, how else would you like me to speak? Does it bother you?”
“No. It’s just that your way of talking is different than other people. I’ve never heard anyone talk like you before.”
“How is that, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“Well, for example, you just asked ‘How so?’ instead of just asking how? Do you get what I mean?”
“Of course, it’s actually quite simple to comprehend what you mean.”
Elisabeth chuckled. “You sound so smart.”
“I’m really all that smart. I just have a high form of vocabulary. I was brought up that way.”
“I wish my parents would’ve done that with me. I want to be smart now and have a ‘high form of vocabulary’.”
We laughed. It was nice that I was talking to someone like Elisabeth. She seems like a pretty nice girl to talk to.
The bell rang for school’s release from today’s classes. “Well, it’s been nice talk to you,” I said to Elisabeth. “I need to be getting home, lots of things to do.”
“Why don’t you walk me to my car?” Elisabeth smiled standing and slinging her bag over her shoulder. I noticed the way she moves is like water; so majestic, and free.
“Sure,” I replied, putting on my backpack, not to fast or slow, but just at the right speed. I didn’t want her thinking that I was nervous or anything.
As we walked through the crowded halls, filled with students, eager of heading home for dinner or after school activities, it was rather difficult to walk through the hallways; I guess you can refer to it as walking through Jell-O. Elisabeth and I turned left towards the staircases.
“So, Elisabeth, what are you doing after school,” I asked as we stepped down the student-ocean filled stairway.
“Call me Lisa,” she replied faintly. The noise had been drowning out her voice out. “I never like Elisabeth. It’s too classy if you ask me. Oh yeah, I’m just going home. I need to baby-sit.”
“Oh, cool,” I replied back.
“I’m just going home as well. I’m most likely just going to stay there in boredom.”
We exited the building a few minutes later, after weaving and dodging traffic in the hallways. The parking wasn’t filled with as much students as I thought it would, having walked through an entire ocean of them.
“So, I guess, I’ll see you tomorrow,” Lisa said, as she entered her car, which I have to give her credit for. It was a Mercedes Benz; not classy at all. I wasn’t sure what model it was, but I guess it was some extremely expensive type.
“Yeah, I see why not,” I replied, smiling.
“Cool, that’s a date. See you, Timmy.” Lisa drove off into the sun.
I felt pretty good that I was talking to this girl. I didn’t feel alone for the first time. Now you maybe wondering; don’t I have any friends? Well, of course, but only two, maybe three, depending on the third one’s mood, but I’ll introduce them later when you meet them.
© Copyright 2016 ReneRSalmon. All rights reserved.
Short Story / Horror
Book / Horror
Poem / Poetry
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