The Shadows
folder
Fantasy & Science Fiction › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
1
Views:
1,255
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Currently Reading:
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Category:
Fantasy & Science Fiction › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
1
Views:
1,255
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
The Shadows
Hey, this story is an idea thats been in my head for years and has developed into something very cinemtaic for me. Trying to bring it into text is very difficult but I hope that someone will bear with me. I really want to complete this story because it has so many twist and turns that I want to share but I have to get through the boring slightly boring setup first. So please review and thanks.
Lyrics used in this chapter are copyright Elliot Smith. I do not own him or his stuff at all.
Thanks.
The sky was a deep grey, vivid as a shade could be, and it cast down sadness and sorrow to those on the ground. Anna closed her eyes only to feel a burning sensation, the one you get when you’ve stared too long at something unpredictable. She kept them closed and whispered a make-believe spell, comfort in this place called isolation.
“Please take me home, please.”
“What’s that Annie?”
Anna opened her eyes and saw the quick glance back from Mrs. Whitewater. She probably thought Anna was crazy, or as she referred to it, “anxiety-aware”.
“Oh, nothing, nothing at all” said Anna without even an ounce more color in her voice. She hated that woman. Mrs. Whitewater, besides from having a very boring name involving two most un-precarious words, was a crisp and clean social worker. She scoured children from unfit homes like a plague rather than a blessing, and if she couldn’t find any immediate or distant family, she sent the children to boarding school. Not even a chance for any foster parents help. A wolf disguised as a sheep.
“Good, now Annie, I hope you know how to behave properly, this is quite a prominent school”, said Mrs. Whitewater seriously.
“Yes m’am” she replied with a cynics throat.
Scenery whirred by like a tide pool of snow and rain and Anna’s eye were watering from staring too long. She twirled her soft brown hair around her fingers in a usual habit to distract her from her foreign surroundings. NPR tittered in the background like the opposite of noise, and made the car an elevator to nowhere.
Today on all things considered, boarding schools. A forbidden land for parents or a classic and tasteful way of learning?
What parents? Anna sighed and flooded her head with memories, painful and broken. Once upon a time she had a mother and a father, and they had lived in a small two story house with blue trim. Every day was beautiful as a five year old, filled with magic and love, stories to be read and bicycles to peddle lightly down the speckled sidewalk. There was always time for a doll tea party and dress up, and at the end of the day she would be happy. School was an interesting affair that involved finger painting, reading, and glorious naptime. A pretty life for a pretty girl.
“You know why I named you Anna sweetie?”
Why mom? She blinked lightly and smiled like an angel.
“Because, Anna was my sister’s name.”
“And you loved her very much right mommy? Like you love me?”
“Yes Sweetie, exactly.”
Anna’s mother’s sister had died in a plane crash, flying back home to Colorado from a visit with them. Rare and tragic, yet accidents were accidents. But at the age of seven, Anna figured out how catastrophic accidents could actually be. A plane crash once again, shook her life like a storm. She remembered the day when her babysitter for the weekend knocked on her door, and told her in a sympathetic, but not enough, voice, that mommy and daddy weren’t coming home from visiting Aunt Laura’s grave. Did she really understand? Not at first. At first, Anna had thought that they didn’t want her anymore, leaving their only child for a dead woman, but then there were therapists. Millions upon millions of therapists with their horrible faux calm voices and overly perfumed waiting rooms. They hammered the truth that her parents were dead into her tiny little brain profusely and scarred her more than enough. Who would take care of her? Was nobody there? Then came her bespectled grandmother, with her bibles and stiff church clothes.
As Anna grew, she became a manically depressed young girl, suffocated by her one last surviving family member. School was a nightmare unto itself, and all the friends she had were short lived and eventually repelled by her bitterness. All that was left in her life was music. Exploring the church basement one fine Sunday while skipping religious school, she stumbled upon a beaten guitar with its strings dirty and cursed. She immediately fell in love with the instrument and stole away home with it. Just listening to all of her self bought CDs helped Anna learn chords and notes, and eventually she could play like a real musician.
“Can I use my CD player Mrs. Whitewater?” she asked slowly and carefully, as if treading on thin ice.
“If you must Annie, we will be arriving very soon.”
“Yes m’am.”
Anna reached a delicate hand into her meager bag of belongings and took out an enormous CD case, probably the largest thing she owned. Hmm…I think I need some medicine, she thought, and removed Elliot Smith’s From a Basement on a Hill.
the king's crossing was the main attraction
dominoes are falling in a chain reaction
the scraping subject ruled by fear told me
whiskey works better than beer
the judge is on vinyl, decisions are final
and nobody gets a reprieve
and every wave is tidal
if you hang around
you're going to get wet
I can't prepare for death any more than I already have
If Anna thought about it hard, her grandmother’s death, being dragged away from the only place she knew, and being dropped down like a newborn child in a foreign place, she couldn’t prepare herself more for any type of death, physical or emotional. So she sighed once again and lost herself in the black and grey scenery and Mr. Smith’s suicide note.
Lyrics used in this chapter are copyright Elliot Smith. I do not own him or his stuff at all.
Thanks.
The sky was a deep grey, vivid as a shade could be, and it cast down sadness and sorrow to those on the ground. Anna closed her eyes only to feel a burning sensation, the one you get when you’ve stared too long at something unpredictable. She kept them closed and whispered a make-believe spell, comfort in this place called isolation.
“Please take me home, please.”
“What’s that Annie?”
Anna opened her eyes and saw the quick glance back from Mrs. Whitewater. She probably thought Anna was crazy, or as she referred to it, “anxiety-aware”.
“Oh, nothing, nothing at all” said Anna without even an ounce more color in her voice. She hated that woman. Mrs. Whitewater, besides from having a very boring name involving two most un-precarious words, was a crisp and clean social worker. She scoured children from unfit homes like a plague rather than a blessing, and if she couldn’t find any immediate or distant family, she sent the children to boarding school. Not even a chance for any foster parents help. A wolf disguised as a sheep.
“Good, now Annie, I hope you know how to behave properly, this is quite a prominent school”, said Mrs. Whitewater seriously.
“Yes m’am” she replied with a cynics throat.
Scenery whirred by like a tide pool of snow and rain and Anna’s eye were watering from staring too long. She twirled her soft brown hair around her fingers in a usual habit to distract her from her foreign surroundings. NPR tittered in the background like the opposite of noise, and made the car an elevator to nowhere.
Today on all things considered, boarding schools. A forbidden land for parents or a classic and tasteful way of learning?
What parents? Anna sighed and flooded her head with memories, painful and broken. Once upon a time she had a mother and a father, and they had lived in a small two story house with blue trim. Every day was beautiful as a five year old, filled with magic and love, stories to be read and bicycles to peddle lightly down the speckled sidewalk. There was always time for a doll tea party and dress up, and at the end of the day she would be happy. School was an interesting affair that involved finger painting, reading, and glorious naptime. A pretty life for a pretty girl.
“You know why I named you Anna sweetie?”
Why mom? She blinked lightly and smiled like an angel.
“Because, Anna was my sister’s name.”
“And you loved her very much right mommy? Like you love me?”
“Yes Sweetie, exactly.”
Anna’s mother’s sister had died in a plane crash, flying back home to Colorado from a visit with them. Rare and tragic, yet accidents were accidents. But at the age of seven, Anna figured out how catastrophic accidents could actually be. A plane crash once again, shook her life like a storm. She remembered the day when her babysitter for the weekend knocked on her door, and told her in a sympathetic, but not enough, voice, that mommy and daddy weren’t coming home from visiting Aunt Laura’s grave. Did she really understand? Not at first. At first, Anna had thought that they didn’t want her anymore, leaving their only child for a dead woman, but then there were therapists. Millions upon millions of therapists with their horrible faux calm voices and overly perfumed waiting rooms. They hammered the truth that her parents were dead into her tiny little brain profusely and scarred her more than enough. Who would take care of her? Was nobody there? Then came her bespectled grandmother, with her bibles and stiff church clothes.
As Anna grew, she became a manically depressed young girl, suffocated by her one last surviving family member. School was a nightmare unto itself, and all the friends she had were short lived and eventually repelled by her bitterness. All that was left in her life was music. Exploring the church basement one fine Sunday while skipping religious school, she stumbled upon a beaten guitar with its strings dirty and cursed. She immediately fell in love with the instrument and stole away home with it. Just listening to all of her self bought CDs helped Anna learn chords and notes, and eventually she could play like a real musician.
“Can I use my CD player Mrs. Whitewater?” she asked slowly and carefully, as if treading on thin ice.
“If you must Annie, we will be arriving very soon.”
“Yes m’am.”
Anna reached a delicate hand into her meager bag of belongings and took out an enormous CD case, probably the largest thing she owned. Hmm…I think I need some medicine, she thought, and removed Elliot Smith’s From a Basement on a Hill.
the king's crossing was the main attraction
dominoes are falling in a chain reaction
the scraping subject ruled by fear told me
whiskey works better than beer
the judge is on vinyl, decisions are final
and nobody gets a reprieve
and every wave is tidal
if you hang around
you're going to get wet
I can't prepare for death any more than I already have
If Anna thought about it hard, her grandmother’s death, being dragged away from the only place she knew, and being dropped down like a newborn child in a foreign place, she couldn’t prepare herself more for any type of death, physical or emotional. So she sighed once again and lost herself in the black and grey scenery and Mr. Smith’s suicide note.