Only Fiction

Semicolon; Lun Mar 31, 2014 4:27 pm

Okay, so for this story, I will be posting absolutely nothing until I post the first chapter, so all you get is the title of the story. The idea for this story was inspired by a post on tumblr, which turned into a great dream, which I'm turning into a story.

Characters

Astrid Winters

Lorrell Quimby

Semicolon; Lun Mar 31, 2014 4:27 pm

Index:
Chapter One
Chapter Two

Semicolon; Lun Mar 31, 2014 4:31 pm

You know the feeling of writing a book or short story? The power you have over someone’s actions and life? One second it’s sunshine and lollipops, the next a living hell. The feeling of knowing that you have control over your life, unlike the characters. But, what if… we don’t actually have control? We’re just characters in someone’s book, our love and death already planned out for us. We’re just words on a page, thought up by someone’s mind. But that’s crazy, right?

Who’s this crazy person whose talking nonsense, you ask? Well, my name is Astrid Winters, sixteen year old anti-social girl with nothing to do but question life. Where did this crazy idea come from? Well, a long time ago when dinosaur- woah, not that long ago…

Actually, it started on the last day of school, grade ten.

The whole school was buzzing with energy; children constantly in conversation, counting down the minutes until freedom.

It was lunch time, and I was sitting in the library with my best friend, Lorrell Quimby.

Lorrell was average height, with bright hazel eyes, long wavy brown hair, and pink Cupid’s bow lips. She wore a tight fitted, Pokémon shirt, x and y edition, tight fitted denim jeans, and her signature red converse.

My fingers self-consciously ran through my long, raven black wig, my maroon eyes turning down to the book that lay open in my lap.

“Have you ever thought of how Percy would react if he knew people wrote about him?” I asked aloud, breaking the silence.

She turned to me, one eyebrow raised. “Are you having another existential crisis?” She asked.

“No, I just… thinking?”

“Well, if he knew, he does a pretty darn good job of hiding it!” She said, smiling.

I nodded, my lips turning up only slightly.

"Hey, you feeling okay? No pain, right?" She asked, concern laced in her voice.

"I'm fine." I said, giving her a reassuring smile. I hated when she worried about me. Ever since last year...

"If it is something, tell me okay." She said, snapping me out of my thoughts, a caring look in her eyes which I'd seen way too often over the past twelve months.

I nodded, letting out a slight sigh of relief as I heard the bell ring, signaling the end of lunch.

"Do you need my help, or can you get to class on your own?" She asked me, lifting her backpack onto her shoulders, standing up.

"Yeah, I'm fine. See you in English." I said, waving her off.

Once she was out of my range of sight, I shakily stood up from my seat, lifting my light backpack onto my back, propping my crutches under my armpits. Letting out a small grunt, I took the first step out of the library, which was always the hardest. The pressure on my weak bones was slightly painful, but I pushed it out of my head. If my parents knew about that, I would be pulled out of school, and I really want to graduate with everyone else. Be normal. Even though I'm not.

You see, last year I was diagnosed with breast cancer. (Ooo! She said breast! Giggle giggle giggle) They found it in the early stages, thank God. After a few sessions of chemo therapy, the cancer seemed to leave, along with my hair and my strength. It was tough, but I'm slowly getting through this. Now, I don't want to see any tears. I don't want a pity party. I just want to be treated like every other kid who doesn't have cancer.

With a few more steps, I was in my maths classroom. Everyone went silent as soon as they saw me. They always do that.

I could feel their eyes on me as I walked to my desk and slid into my seat. They only averted their eyes when the teacher started the attendance. I spent the entire class looking at the clock, counting down the minutes until the next class. Freedom. Summer.