Shadows from out of the Blue

Summary: If a life is too monotonous for an innately adventurous person, the life must change to meet the needs of the life’s nature. That is what happens to Damon, his world comes crashing around him when a momentary event makes him change for better, or for worse.

Brief Authors Note: The beginning may be slightly monotonous. It is for a purpose and will only add to the story overall—I must be real to Damon’s character and change does not happen overnight, as in many fictions I have read (some of which were still very good). Read, relax, and review in any way shape or form! =]

Chapter One

My name is Damon Diggory. I am here to share with you ‘my story.’ Yes, I realize the first two lines of my story-telling are as near to the definition of cliché as possible, and have been used similarly many times before. However, my story is original, for I am the only one who has lived this story. Can the life-story of one individual ever truly be cliché when no other one person can live the ‘exact’ event?

However, I digress, forgive my rudeness. One solitary event had taken place in my life, still takes place in my mind, which has reshaped, reformed, and redirected my life into what it is today. Maybe my story can help one individual not to make the same mistakes as I, or at least provide others enrapturing entertainment in my story.

Again forgive me if my introduction seems convoluted or boring, for I assure you, the story itself will be written as-is, with every bit of detail I can recall as I did then, from the event to where I am. I have one more theory to address to you, so that you may understand a small bit into my current mind-set. I promise, immediately after this theory, I will fade into the background, and the story will awaken.

Occasionally, events happen for a specific purpose which can shape the lives of those affected by the event. Denial of such events may only impede the eventual outcome of the event, but occasionally the denial may work. Unfortunately, in this rare occurrence in which an event of purposeful nature is denied successfully, the denying individual only suffers more, until death or acceptance occurs. However, given the possibility that a specific event may not have a true purpose, a skill must be developed to determine purposeful and non-purposeful ones. This skill is often impeded relentlessly by society, but moreso by the person accepting and conforming to society. This is not to say that society is a bad thing, there is a balance, however, yet another skill must develop—the skill to determine societal values that truly reflect one’s self. In my case, a specific event near-forcibly aided the development of these two skills, in such a way that would do as much evil as good. Well, maybe a slight bit more good. Aren’t you glad it is over now?


It was a bleak, frosty, aesthetic Saturday morning in Northern California. It had not snowed yet, but be assured that it would, it always had before. This morning was the exact same Saturday morning as was every Saturday morning for as long as I could remember. The glow of the bright sun settled mockingly on my sleeping form, its mocking only surpassed by the alarm clock next to my head yelling at me to wake.

Disgruntled, face turning in a small scowl and eyes pressing together futilely, I hit, no threw, the damned object as far away as possible with the least effort possible. Nonetheless, as every morning, I slipped up towards the frame of the bed, covers slipping down my body to pool at my waist, and rubbed my eyes groggily. I was always one of those people that once woken, would remain as such. The covers slipped completely off as I made my way out of the bed clad only in black boxers—they matched my hair color.

Mouth in a thin line I trudged towards my closet and dresser respectively pulling out a decent t-shirt and hoodie then a pair of faded loose fitting jeans and socks. Articles resting in my arms, I moved to the bathroom. I tossed the clothes to the floor temporarily, realizing the floor was plenty clean enough.

I turned on the water to the bath before pulling on a small lever that switched the flow of water to the shower. I shrugged the boxers off to join the pile on the floor, contemplating using them again. I stepped into the warm flow of water, like every morning, partially waking up from the soothing sensation. My long naked form, held upright by my athletic legs allowed for my swimmer’s bare torso to connect to my head. Most people living here were swimmers, since most people living here live less than a mile from sandy shores.

My skin was the near-pale color of ivory, not even a small bit of my sun-kissed tan remained from the previous summer, as it had not remained any winter. My long, thin fingers wrap around the end of a soap bottle, squeezing some antiseptic substance into my open-palmed hand. I carefully set down the bottle and lathered the soap over my body, trying not to miss any visible skin. After the water rinsed my body clean of soap I turned around to wash my hair.

I pulled my long shaggy black hair back and dipped my head on an angle so that it would get thoroughly soaked. I then repeated the process I had with the soap with shampoo but instead lathered my hair with the substance. I dipped my head back into the water to rinse the shampoo out and repeated this exact process with conditioner. Yes, I always used conditioner, it was a healthy process and I cared for my health, if nothing else.

I turned off the shower head and swiftly escaped the shower walls to find a towel. I grabbed a fluffy white towel on a towel rack (go figure) and wiped my body viciously until dry. I rubbed the towel through my hair similarly. Once done, I started dressing myself. The boxers went first, the jeans followed, the shirt and socks finished. I wetted my toothbrush and began to brush my teeth for approximately two minutes before rinsing the tip and washing my mouth out with a small paper cup filled with water.

My hair was generally straight and wild naturally, but I rubbed a small amount of some ‘hair straightening serum’ into my hands and fingered it through the raven-black locks anyways. This was done so that it at least has some edge to it as well as a seemingly aimed-at wild quality. Many people thought that it was a much longer anal process; my hair always looked good.

I silently viewed myself in the fogged mirror and saw bright envied emerald eyes reflected. The eyes were possibly my most detailed and captivating natural feature. I saw the end of a much larger simple black tattoo swirl a permanent tendril on the side of my neck. My eyebrow and both of my ears were notably pierced, but only my ears had jewelry in them at the time—my holes never seemed to close whether I wore jewelry or not after the hole had healed. I would not have to put in my eyebrow piercing nor did I feel like it. The wild hair fell into my eyes, the sides of the hair longer than the bangs by only a few small inches. I shook my head a bit and flicked my head, once at the end of the shaking, to the left side so that the bangs would lie just above my eyebrows.

It was almost noon, about thirty minutes after I woke up, when I walked down the winding stairs towards the kitchen. Neither of my parents would be home, I knew, both would be at work. A note was left in their place like it was every day when they worked, scrawling a few simple messages and reminders to me. I normally either would drink a cup of coffee or tea in the morning to finish my waking-up process.

So I did. I made a cup of tea, heating up water by use of microwave while grabbing a fresh lemon from the refrigerator and a Lipton tea-packet from the cupboard. When the small chime of the microwave beeped, I grabbed the tea cup and set it on the table before slipping the end of the tea packet into the steamy water. After the water changed into a darker tea-like color I began to cut the previously grabbed lemon into two halves. I cut one of the halves into two fourths of the original lemon and bagged the other full half lemon into a plastic bag.

It was turning out to be a ritualistic and monotonous process, which only made the process proceed faster. Any thoughts I had were consumed by the average task and I indifferently accepted that. I added a small bit of sugar to the mix and stirred the contents together before lifting the cup to my light pink pouty lips and taking the first, most scorching sip. The heat consumed my insides without question and caused me to close my eyes in simple reverence.

I gulped down the rest of the tea and left my hands on the cup when the tea was gone. My hands were icy and the radiation of energy warmed my hands. The moment I realized I was cold I placed on the hoodie I grabbed earlier but never dressed myself with.

I looked towards my cell phone sitting on the island in the middle of the kitchen. As if on cue (as if I didn’t know…) it began to vibrate causing me to roll my eyes. I walked the short distance from the couch in the connected living room to the cell phone and flipped it open, expecting my girlfriend’s soft, perky voice.

“Hey there sleepy-head,” came her playfully mocking tone. My expectations weren’t disappointed by reality it seemed. “Did you get enough sleep?” She asked this only a brief moment after her first comment.

“Yeah, I guess about nine or ten hours, give or take,” I responded simply, leaning on the island comfortably while holding the phone up to my ear.

“Well, that’s good then, better then normal.” I could practically see her wink that would have accompanied that statement in person to emphasize her hint that I need to get more sleep overall. That was not going to happen anytime soon; I did not like going to bed early on weekdays. I consistently fell asleep between one and two o’clock no matter the day of the week. Considering I was still a high school senior, I would only get between four and five hours on any given ‘school night.’

“Yeah, I was pretty tired from working last night I suppose,” I said, though I was going to place in my two week’s notice soon. I put in a good amount of hours at the small bike-shop, and I would still end up hanging around there and helping out occasionally. My best friend Cameron was the son of the owner of the shop and shared his dad’s love for it. I shared that love for the small shop as well, but could not continue working so much with school and studying.

“Have you guys fixed up that old bike yet?” She asked this question in order to feel like she was a part of my work, or maybe she gained interest in whatever it was that I did sincerely because she liked me sincerely.

“You know that bike won’t be fixed for at least another month, the entire engine is shot and it needs to have some rewiring done,” I stated sighing at the implications of the work still needed to finish the self-appointed task.

“Well what’re you going to be doing today then, Dame?” Her nickname for me wasn’t that horrible but it always made me believe that she was playing a joke at my gender. I’m sure she wasn’t though—she probably just liked it.

“I dunno, I thought that maybe we could go to the beach since we haven’t been there since summer. It’s still nice to visit once and a while in the winter, right, Bee?” Her name was Beatrice, but it sounded stuffy, so people began calling her “Bee” or “Trish.”

“Sure!” She responded merrily before continuing, “I have some things to do for the next few hours but we can meet where we normally do around six?—if that’s ok?” I nodded my approval at the time but realized it wouldn’t be noticed.

“Yeah, that’d be cool. I’ll see you then, right?” I asked, reconfirming like a decent boyfriend should.

“Right, see you then, later!” She finished bubbly before I heard the click of her hanging up. I flipped my own phone shut and set it back on the counter.

I had had many girlfriends before Beatrice, but she had been the longest relationship. It was approaching eight months on that day and many of my friends were envious of my dating her. Ironically, those same friends were the ones who cajoled me into asking her out. She was always fun to hang around and definitely not as stupid as some of the other girls I had dated. They always ended up working out poorly and fell through before getting too deep. She was also pretty, though I didn’t really think about that often. I probably didn’t think of Beatrice that much at all truthfully. It was probably because I was around her enough to sate me or something similar.

I did not feel like sticking around home, even to take a nap, at that point. I was already dressed, awake, and had my own transportation (my car). Considering this, why the hell would I want to remain in a silent, sterile, stagnant home with nothing but repetitive and mindless things to do?

I shoved my cell phone in one of my jean pockets and opened the drawer to my keys before stuffing them, along with my hands, into my hoodie pockets. I wrote a small clean note on my parent’s note saying something along the lines of ‘be back later’ and exited through the garage door.

The garage was slightly cold and had two of three parked cars missing. Yes, we did have three cars and a three car garage. The last one left parked was mine. It was a nice Mitsubishi Evo Lancer, the one that didn’t need the stick to shift gears. Not that I could not drive the stick-shift, it was just too bothersome to do all the time. In any case, the car got me to where I was going and looked pretty rad, to say the least.

I decided, once I was behind the wheel, to give my good friend Cam a visit at his shop. Well, he would most likely be at his shop anyways. He always seemed to be there unless we took him out somewhere or if he tagged along with us (us being my girlfriend, me, and our various other friends). Surprisingly, Cam was not going out with anyone at the moment and neither had he for a good while. He used to date a lot and it should be easy for him. He had a light beach tan all year round, light surfer blonde hair in typical surfer style, decent physical form, tattoos, bright eyes, etc. We all knew that he was a good looker, but he engrossed himself in his work way too much. We just rolled our eyes at him and chuckled at his occasional outrage.

I arrived shortly after leaving at the shop, parking quickly before jumping out of my car and waving lamely in his general direction. He waved back enthusiastically with a blinding grin on his face, as usual. He was almost as perky, if not more perky, than my girlfriend normally was. To put that into perspective think of the most perky person you know on a combination of speed and a slight overdose of energy drinks, mix lightly, and bam.

He was working on same nameless bike, one that he was putting together himself from random parts. It was turning out decently and he’d probably have it going by the end of the semester. It had been a long project of his; he started it in mid sophomore year and continued to work on it as shown.

He wiped his hands off of grease on a medium sized towel for that specific purpose and walked over to me. He pretend-reached out his hand as if to simply shake it but the instant they connected he brought me into a sort of one-armed hug like he always did. I always thought he was pretty much insane. Maybe that’s why we got along so well.

“How ya’ been man?” He asked walking with me inside the shop, where parts and tools were sold, until we sat down together at a booth table-thing. He was still grinning like a mad-man and I smirked a bit despite myself; it was always a contagious smile.

“Eh, I’ve been ok I guess. I’m probably going to be quitting full-time work with you guys here though. I’ve been considering it for a while and I guess I could still work part-time or something, if you need me…” I rambled slightly, unusual for me, and he looked only slightly disappointed. He was probably more disappointed than he let on but he was always too happy and thinking of others to really care, I suppose. He had a very convincing front if nothing else.

“Naw, s’aight man, it’s all cool.” He said this while giving me another blinding grin-smirk that was trademark Cameron. “As long as you don’t forget about me and visit a good bit, I’ll be plenty happy and Dad never cared what you did, though he always did think you were an excellent repair man.” See? There he went again, caring for others and not himself. I could tell in his eyes he wanted me to stay, and they almost did, almost.

“Thanks, it means a lot to have your approval, Cam. We gonna’ hang out sometime soon then? You need to get out more, dude. It isn’t healthy to work all of the time.” I grinned at him, leaning forward on the table. This lean shifted my bangs to block my sight and so I flicked the hair away to the side again as I did this morning. He rolled his eyes at my anal-hair policy. So what if my hair had to be near-perfect constantly? It was damn nice hair!

Nevertheless, his grin was just as powerful as before if not moreso and he answered my proposition, “Sure man, come over my house tomorrow or something and we’ll rock out the music system and some game systems. If you feel like it you could spend the night too and we could go over to school together or something.”

“Yeah, cool.” It sounded like a decent idea, and I probably would not be able to see Beatrice anyways on Sunday, since she normally worked then and studied that night. She was an anal student trying for a scholarship and it would probably pay off too.

As I was staring off into space like I often do, not really contemplating anything or thinking much but allowing simple thoughts to cast over my mind, Cameron had gone off to grab us two fountain cokes and slid one at me. I greedily accepted the drink without a noise of appreciation; the appreciation could be inferred from the instantaneous sipping on the straw as it landed in front of me. This event happened quite often and had little true purpose besides that ritualistic bonding he and I went through.

The brown concoction tasted sweet to my dry mouth, the carbonation nearly tickling my throat. I had to stop inhaling the liquid into my throat before I would be hiccupping incessantly. No one that I have met enjoys hiccupping with no nearby end in sight. I stirred the straw around the drink absently, though it really had no purpose, actually it probably made the drink warmer and diluted the bubbles. However, it was a habit and I did not regularly think about it. I noticed Cameron begin to speak again.
“So how are you and Bee doin’? You don’t exactly talk a lot about it or anything.” He did not only say this but admonished me with it as well, as if I was not doing a good job at being ‘committed.’ He had some point, but did not a lot of guys my age go out with girls and not think too much about them? The girl was generally the one to obsess over the guy right?

“We’re fine, goin’ to the beach later tonight actually. We’ll probably get to see the sunset or something like that.” I said, wondering how long we would actually hang out after meeting up. It could range from an hour to midnight or so. I guess it did not really matter. Also, I could not remember the last time I saw a sunset over the ocean, much less a sunrise. It would be pretty, I was sure.

“Awesome, maybe you two will get some action in then, huh? A little mackin’ by the romantic waves, right?” He was simply trying to irritate me and make me flustered, and I was just pissed that it worked so easily. With other people it might not have worked so effectively, but Cameron is not your average individual. When he says something it seems to have some magical extra element to it so that it goes straight to your emotions.

“Whatever,” I said, not being able to come up with any better retort at the time. I was never particularly good with words, and I was dazed too often to convey things with emotions much either. People took what they could with me and exemplified on what they took.

“Whatever? Aw, come on man, you know I’m just joking with ya’. I just hope you really have a decent time.” He grinned that cocky grin again and I rolled my eyes. I always wondered how he could take the entire feeling of being mocked away in one instant and replace the emotion with one of jovial nature.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m sure we’ll have fun with or without the ‘mackin’.’ Besides, it isn’t like we haven’t made out and shit before. We’ve done plenty of other things too, ya’ know?” I said grinning back at him because this time, I made him flush lightly. It gave him a bright child-like image whenever he flushed, which was not that often truthfully. I just knew him too long and it ended up working as a powerful weapon.

Unfortunately for me, he recovers quite quickly. “You know you wanna let me join sometime.” He said this grinning again, already. Of course, as previous comments, he only did this to get under my skin. I looked up at the large old-fashioned clock that was a staple there, only to find the time to be only two thirty. It caused a twofold effect: first, it distracted me from his stupid comment; second, it angered me that it was still so early in the day and sleep and relaxation was still so far away.

“I wouldn’t let you join no matter what, you’d ruin the entire mood and I don’t even think I’d be close to turned on.” I said matter-of-factly, rolling my eyes at his pseudo-hurt look. I feigned innocence in return, not that I needed to—I almost always looked innocent in my overbearing obliviousness.

I slurped another sinful sip of the sweet soft-soda until the substance was scarce. Aw fuck, I think I used a good bit too much alliteration. Double-fuck, I noted the fact that I alliterated. There must be some rule against catching your own alliterations in your own actions—and probably against alliterating too much. It seems that I did both. Cameron was then looking at me with that “you drifted off into space” look again and I grimaced. Can’t a man alliterate in the peace of his own mind?

“Still, if you are gonna be quitting here soon you’d better hang out with me more on my free-time so that I don’t start missing you too much.” He said this without the previous joking nature of many of his other comments—he really was a close friend to me. I already knew I’d have to make up the lack of time spent with him before I submitted my two-week notice. He was making those puppy-eyes again to add emphasis, being that I hadn’t responded to his “suggestion” yet.

“Yeah yeah, of course I will. You’d hunt me down if I didn’t so there isn’t much of a choice now, huh?” His pouty-face turned upright into a large smile almost instantaneously and I felt like rolling my eyes again, but instead I let loose a small, less bright, smile of my own anyways. Stupid Cameron and his semi-addictive happiness. I was perfectly fine in my neutral bliss.

“Unfortunately, my break is pretty much over now Damon, I must leave you to your own devices—whatever those may be. Lookin’ forward to the sleepover on Sunday, in any case,” he said, standing up and heading out to continue working on the various customers’ cars and bikes. It might be hard to believe, but he was even happier around those bikes than he probably was with me a few seconds prior. Well, I guess he was always truly happiest when I was there helping him with those cars and bikes. It gave him a sort of synthetic high. He was always so simple-minded—that’s probably what I’ve always liked most about him.

I get up, taking my coke back into the sink of the shop, before cleaning out the used cup. It was a simple process but it took most of my attention nonetheless. I emptied the ice out into the sink and ran hot water over the cubes to melt them into water to be drained. Then, I grabbed a cloth and lathered it with a bit of soap before wiping out the insides thoroughly and rinsing the cup out. If I did not do it, Cameron probably never would. He might just throw it in the dishwasher, which most people know never truly cleans every part of what one puts in it.

After my quick cleaning process I exited the shop, waving to Cameron absently as I walked by him, before slipping the keys in the ignition of my car and starting up the engine. It roared with a loud tiger-like growl before calming down into a rough throaty purr. I stepped on the gas pedal and took off into the still-chilled day.

I ended up driving around for about an hour, passing the beach my girlfriend and I were supposed to meet at least three times. On the third time I gave up and parked the car off the side of the road (there was no parking lot near this beach as it was not very commercial). I swept out of the car, letting the door come to a click behind me as I swung it shut. I flicked out my keys from there cozy pocket and hit the lock button. A double-beep sounded out from somewhere in the car and alerted me that the car was, in fact, locked.

Hands in the pockets of my hoodie once more, I slipped off my shoes the instant I hit sand and walked across the cold soft terrain until I was only a few feet from the ocean’s edge. It was probably only around four and the sun would begin to set in an hour or so. I was obviously there early, and thus, I allowed myself time to think to myself—a rare occurrence for me.

I normally would think about my immediate actions and what was physically around me, however, during that moment at the beach, alone, silent, my mind wandered past the realm of the physical. I started thinking about my relations, my emotions (or lack thereof), my mental state.

I had a girlfriend, but was she really my girlfriend—or just a person I called my girlfriend? I didn’t think of her much outside of when I was supposed to think of her. When she was there with me, I thought about her, when someone else brought her, or her and me up, I thought about her. However, given a few quick thoughts, those were the only real times I let any even slightly significant thoughts pass me by concerning her. This made me frown and slightly disgruntled.

She was a pretty girl—long flowing light brown hair, natural and sweet. She had pretty ocean eyes, similar to the one I was looking at but not seeing now. She had an electrical smile, one that would brighten up a room at a pin-drop. Yet, I did not feel necessarily committed except for in the social sense of the word. Of course, my whole life concerned social senses of words—I lived how I was supposed to. Isn’t that what we are supposed to do? Live as nature prescribes, letting time and events pass us by, effecting us only moderately so that we can eventually feel joys and sorrows?

I had not really felt the blunt of “joys and sorrows” however. I never truly felt much—and detested the times when I did; it ruined my natural flow. For example, when Cameron started that addictive happiness thing—I grew upset. Instead of being happy like my body betrayed me with, my mind conflicted the small emotions, making me loathe the false-happiness I was probably portraying. Or maybe it was that it was true happiness that made my mind upset. I could never really be sure.

As my eyes came back into focus of the ocean, it was much darker. However, the sun was still out. The sky and space in front of me was now hazy, a dense mist shrouding the air, cutting off far-off sight. My bright green eyes must have greatly contrasted this solemn bleak misting.

All thoughts were quickly cut off; a silhouette appeared in my direct line of vision. Someone was in the ocean, seemingly only knee deep or so. The silhouette grew larger steadily until it was human-sized. What appeared to be a teenaged boy appeared in the haze of the mist; he was almost as ghostly pale as the mist surrounding him. I could never be sure, but I would swear I saw him—it, smirk at me.

His lips were on mine. His tongue probing my mouth. He slipped through my shock only instantaneously before seemingly evaporating into the space behind me with a sort of strut or majestic gait. By the time I had turned around, his retreating back had vanished into the mist and I cursed a silent profanity into the night.

The sun had set, we had missed it. Even through a mist one could tell when the sun was down. I heard the voice of my girlfriend call out through the mist, next to me. My eyes remained focused on the spot where the boy had stood, at a loss for words. I felt like some acidic snake had bitten me and paralyzed me from head to toe. My eyes were the only things with any life left in them.

”You okay in there?” Beatrice asked, with a small tinge of concern in her voice.

My body started to function properly again and I turned to her asking, “Did you see a boy about my age pass you by a few moments ago?” It was a stupid question, no matter what the answer I could still feel a light tingling of my lips from where the boy had kissed.

“Nope, I was the only one out here—though I could’ve missed him in all of this fog I guess. Why, is he your friend?” She asked innocently enough, cocking her head sideways slightly in question.

“Not exactly, it’s nothing, don’t worry about it. We missed the sunset.” I changed subjects—I was a pro at it, I had been changing subjects all of my life in my own head. We indeed missed the end of the sunset, but I did see the beginning, warped, into a hazy onslaught of a new night to come.