Saturday, 21 March 2009

• The Legend of Miteal: X-Chapter 13: Tenth-Grade Troubles

  Hi everyone.

  For those who have been eagerly awaiting my next installment of my fantasy novel (rough draft as it is), I am happy to say that I finally finished it. It's not as long as my last two entries, but I felt that where I ended this current chapter had the right touch for where I will pick up the scene in the next installment. Keep in mind this is a rough draft. I have lots of details I plan to flesh out and edit.

  The scene takes place primarily (and for the time being) from the perspective of Paul's situation, but I want to develop that more to include what Red is thinking and feelng, too. You'll see what I mean in a while.

  Other things to keep in mind is that this took me the course of 3 months to write...given my deeply painful split with my ex, dealing with bills, personal growth and refocus on God...well, I've had a very difficult time mustering up the desire to write much. And sometimes, when I did, I wasn't able to think of much to add. So that's probably why this isn't as long, either. So if I seem to jump in parts or they just don't seem to flow well all of a sudden, that's probably why.

  Anyway, I hope you enjoy and find yourself lost in the story...almost as if you're there. :) Until later!
  ~ Michael

  ---

  PREVIOUS ENTRIES OF The Legend of Miteal
  A Legend in the Making: Ideas and Concepts
  Chapters 11 & 12

  --> Chapter 13: Tenth-Grade Troubles
  Chapter 14: The Fall of Miteal; part 1
  Chapter 14: The Fall of Miteal; part 2

  ---

   Tenth-Grade Troubles

  © Dec 4, 2008 - Mar 20, 2009

       The group of seniors stood around their victim of mortal embarrassment: a tenth grader who recently transferred to the school. The seniors called it a “welcoming party”, but to the boy who received the welcoming – five buckets of cold mud dumped over his head and down his shirt – it was the usual humiliation he had known for as long as he could remember and might have been anything but a party. The boy sat on the grass, having been shoved down moments before, in misery and defeat. Instead he sat and waited for them to finish with their laughing and teasing, a time that seemed to last far long than it actually did. There was no use in calling for help, since it tended to only increase the cruel treatment. And the other kids at the school either laughed along or walked by blindly. To do anything different meant risking the same attack from the upper-classmen. So the boy sat alone in his misery. His only comfort was the knowledge that school was out for the weekend and he could go home once his tormentors decided to leave.

       When they finally did, adding another shove and an insult or two as they walked away, the boy wiped off all the mud he could, gathered up his coat and backpack, stood up and walked home. He did not live very far away but for him, with his clothes all muddy and a few sad tears he was unable to fight back, it was like walking for many days without any hope of reaching a safe haven. His steps were small and slow and a few more silent, muddy tears rolled down his cheeks. He barely caught sight of the odd and inquisitive looks from people who passed him by. He felt bad enough and did not care to wonder what others were thinking. Although he did notice a few mournful sighs of concern from the old ladies who sat at the outside coffee shop and the man from the butcher shop who whispered something to his assistant. (All the boy could hear was, “Such a shame” and “…school bullies.” Somehow the man understood and that made the boy feel a little better.)

       Finally he got home and carefully removed his shoes and socks and shirt so not to track a lot of mud through the house. He was relieved. No one could get him here. “Mom? I’m home! He called out, but there was no answer. “Moooom?” Still no response. He was unsure whether to feel glad or disappointed: he wanted someone to console him and yet he was not eager to relive the humiliation by having to remember everything that had happened. He decided it was better to be alone. He made his way to the washer and put his clothes in. He shuffled through the house to the bathroom and into the shower to get cleaned up. He stayed in the relaxing stream of hot water until he felt he nearly forgot why hot got in the shower at all. And after he got out he stepped into the kitchen to get a snack. There he spotted a note on the fridge. It read, “Dear Paul, I will be working late tonight. I’m sorry. I left money in the drawer so you can order some pizza. Make sure you get your homework done. I hope you had a good day! Love, Mom.”

       Paul sighed. Although he was grateful for the solitude and wanted to forget the day’s events, he felt frustrated that his mother often worked late. He understood; with only one parent someone had to. So he dialed the number to the pizzeria and ordered his favorite: a large pan pizza with pineapple and cinnamon sugar. The man on the other end of the line kept a friendly tone but his voice – Paul could tell – betrayed him a little, revealing a shock and a slight sense of disgust at the thought of such a strange combination. Paul grinned. He actually enjoyed the weird reactions to his uncommon request. He finished the order with a bottle of soda pop and waited for the delivery driver to arrive.

       Pulling out a book of medieval history, his favorite subject, he relaxed on his bed. Paul loved the read about knights and swords, the inventions made that would seem impossible to make without today’s tools, the kingdoms and people, and the battles and wars. He especially loved the swords. He always wanted a sword of his own but his mom said t was too dangerous. She meant well yet did not understand her son’s fascination with those weapons. Paul had to admit that he did not know why they meant so much to him, either.

       Paul got up and placed his book open on his bed when the doorbell rang. He was already getting hungry – his tummy was not letting him forget – but he got just slightly annoyed as his mind was thoroughly engrossed in the book. He paid the delivery man and happily went back to his room to chow down on some hot slices and read more.

       As Paul read his book, he came across a section about swords of legends. They ranged from swords of warlords to swords of mythic tales. Some were said to be the threads that held nations together and tore others apart. Others were thought to have mysterious powers of flame or light or ice or darkness.

       The sword that stood out to Paul, though, was a curious double-edged long sword. It was fabled to be from another world and held the power to cut through darkness or kill a demon with a single swing. The book went on to say that the sword was rumored to hold the power of light and truth. No living being could be in its presence and keep a lie from being discovered. Its design was simple and bold. From hilt to tip the sword was straight like an arrow. The blade narrowed in the middle but kept its width in the first and last third of its length, making it seem as if someone had squeezed it. Near the tip of the blade two slits had been cut, stretching along the top third of the blade, leaving a pair of slender gaps to make the blade lighter. On the quillian, there were three ornate protrusions – one that went up the middle of the blade and the other two branched out and were not as long. They all three seemed like singular rays of light and even in the illustration, the artist managed to make the sword seem to glow.

       Paul read a bit more but soon found himself day dreaming of sword fights and great battles. He wondered what sort of men used these kinds of swords. Why did they fight and what did they fight for? He even imagined himself a regular soldier who saved the life of a general and was promoted to a high ranking officer. He had respect from all the people and even the king. Because he spared the life of the enemy soldier, this impressed the enemy king, and he was so deeply moved that he called for peace and even offered his daughter to Paul in marriage.

       As the preparations for Paul’s wedding were being made and the plans drawn up for his own castle – a joint gift from both kings – the doorbell rang. Paul shook himself from his daydream and went to see who was at the door. He opened the door and there stood a pretty, petite, read-head girl about Paul’s age who had a smile that looked like she was never without one. Once she saw Paul she brightened even more, giving a cheerful, “Hi!”

       “Hi, Red. Come on it.” He waved her in and turned back to his room. He appeared neither happy nor sad to see her. Either way, Red was not fazed and followed him casually to his room where Paul took refuge on his bed. Red plopped down into her friend’s bean bag chair and got comfortable. Red’s real name was Rebekah, but Paul had been secretly fascinated with her deep red locks of hair since they were kids in kindergarten and that had been his nickname for her ever since. He was too shy to say anything but he always had a crush on her. She often seemed the most cheerful around him and Paul wondered if maybe she liked him, too. But he usually snapped himself out of it thinking himself silly. Even though they were best friends, he did not think he had anything wonderful to offer her. Oddly enough, she still found her way to his front door most every day, preferring his company over cheerleading or going to the mall.

       Red could talk about five different topics and somehow make everything make sense. Paul half-listened as he skimmed through all his book had to offer. There was more about armor for the different types of soldiers. Something about a mouse getting loose in biology. The design of an arrow was rather interesting. Oh, and the lunch lady tried some of her mystery meat loaf and then promised to never serve it again. A lot of how a horse was fitted for armor Paul already knew about. There was going to be a Homecoming dance in a week and Red thought Paul should go. Paul did not seem to think one way or another about it.

       “Paul?”

       “Hm?”

       “Are you going?”

       Paul looked up from his book, realizing he was not paying nearly enough attention.

       “Well?” she asked again.

       “Going where?”
       “To the Homecoming dance, silly!” She gave a half-exasperated sigh and gently tossed a fuzzy toy baseball at him, giggling.

       “I don’t know that I want to go.”

       Red looked at him with her patented matter-of-fact smile. She knew something had been bothering him since the moment she walked in the door.

       Paul looked back in defense, “What?”

       “Oh, come on, Paul. I know what happened today!”

       “I really don’t want to talk about it,” said Paul, pretending to read more of his book.

       “Well, it must have really bothered you. You’ve hardly said a word.” Red got up and grabbed a slice of pizza. She knew her best friend’s favorite toppings and did not flinch a bit at the unusual combination. She let a moment pass before asking again, letting Paul get his thoughts together at his own pace. He disliked appearing weak or confused in front of her but she never seemed to mind. And before long Paul told the whole story of how he was bullied once again and was pushed in the mud. How he was teased and humiliated and no one stood up for him. He finished with an angry sigh and tried to focus on his book.

       Red offered a tender word for comfort and finished her pizza. Paul nodded a thanks and went back to reading. Red grabbed another slice of pizza and looked at her friend with a thoughtful – and maybe mischievous if you looked closely – glance.

       “So, are you going? I think you should go.”

       Paul groaned, “Why do you want me to go so badly?

       “It’ll be fun!”

       “I don’t even know how to dance,” complained Paul, trying to excuse himself.

       Red got up and took Paul’s hand, trying to drag him from his bed. Paul put a little struggle but secretly he did want to dance wit his best friend. She coaxed him further and started singing a made-up serenade to dance to.

       “See? Not so bad, huh?” she grinned.

       Paul blushed a bit and said it was not so bad. They danced in place turning circles for a while to Red’s melody. Paul felt tense at first but eventually forgot how nervous he was. In fact, he found himself lost in the dance so much that he almost forgot he was dancing. And as always, a smile graced the red-head’s face and the dance continued for several more minutes ending with Paul giving his friend a light twirl and a bow to which Red curtsied.

       “There. Now you can go to the dance,” said Red.

       Paul simply groaned and rolled his eyes, trying not to smile at Red’s persistence. “We’ll discuss it later, okay?”

       “You are such a party-pooper!” Red playfully complained and gave a sort of harrumph to emphasize her disappointment.

       “Then let’s liven things up and get some ice cream.”

       “Okay. That’ll work. But you’re buying.”

       The pair grabbed the last two slices of pizza and headed to the ice cream shop. They talked about their teachers and the insane amount of school work they had to do; their thoughts of being tenth graders – Paul was not so thrilled but Red was enjoying it. There was talk about the movies they had seen and movies they wanted to see. They remembered days back in elementary school and how they always teased each other (and still do). They talked about medieval things from Paul’s book, although Red was more fascinated with the fashions the women had and all the classes of the hierarchy.

       The two walked side-by-side and never flinched a moment at a word said or action done. They were the best of friends. Being together was as comfortable as putting on warm socks right out of the dryer or singing a song you know the words to and everyone sings along, too.

       Finally they reached the ice cream shop. It was modeled after the soda shops that came before it decades earlier. The counter was lined with sparkling padded swivel seats. The floor had black-and-white checkered tiles which gave it a truly nostalgic touch. To one side of the shop were the coolers with all kinds of ice cream and sherbert flavors. You might think the rainbow had a rival with the assortment of colors: lemon-lime sherbert with its soft, fluorescent green; grape flavor with is dark purple; peppermint leaping from its container with a swirl of vibrant red and snowy white. There was a whirl of browns in the triple chocolate. The strawberry cheesecake had pink and was full of red strawberries and speckles of brown graham crackers. There was orange pumpkin pie and orange sherbert. And blue and yellow and more colors and flavors to make anyone’s taste buds dance with excitement. Even though Paul and Red had been here many times before, they always felt they had stepped back in time.

       The music from the jukebox and Bob, the server, seemed like they were from another era.

       Red asked Bob for a triple-mint sundae and Paul got a double-scoop cone of cookie dough and chocolate fudge. They sat down at the counter and continued their banter. Bob, true to his nature as an old-time ice cream server, came over to talk with two of his favorite customers.

       “Who are you taking to the dance, Paul?” asked Bob, his usual exuberance shining through.

       Paul, exasperated, let his head fall to the counter and groaned, hiding with his arms around his head.
       Bob was confused, “What? Did I say something wrong?”
       Paul mumbled through his arms, “Rebekah wants me to go to the dance.”

       Bob laughed, “And why’s that so bad?”

       “I’m already number one on every thug’s hit list for being a nerd. Do I need to add to the list that I can’t dance?”

       “He can, too!” chimed Red. “We had a nice little dance earlier.”

       Paul’s face turned as read as his best friend’s hair but he dared not lift his head for all to see.

       “Oh,” said Bob, amused, “well then. I don’t see what the problem is.”

       Paul sighed and lifted his head, trying to look more defeated than he really was. “How about the fact I have nothing to wear?”

       “Simple! Come work for me. I’ll spot you the cash up front, you work it off with your first pay check, and then you have some money for savings or personal occasions…like taking Miss Rebekah out for a dish of my best banana split.” Bob winked at Red as she blushed and giggled.

       She liked that idea? thought Paul. Bob had nearly set up a date for the pair and Paul was both surprised and glad that Red seemed to like idea. Does she really like me that way? A million more thoughts danced through his mind and he found himself unable to tell what was real and what was a dream. “Yeah…yeah! That sounds good. Thanks, Bob.”

       “Oh, it’s no trouble. You’re a good young man. I know I can trust you. Talk to your mom and let me know when you can start.”

       “Sure! No problem.”

       Red was still smiling as she watched Paul. “So now we need to find you a date!”

       Paul groaned and Bob laughed.

       After finishing their ice cream, the friends thanked Bob and waved goodbye, promising to stop by soon. They decided to head to the park and enjoy the still-warm day.

       By now, Paul’s humiliation suffered earlier was all but forgotten. Red’s company and Bob’s job offer had changed his thoughts about the whole day. The pair walked up the hill near the edge of town where more trees lined the road the farther up they went. It was as if they had been ushered into a new land. On either side were green fields with more trees dotted here and there and each gave a cool shadow to rest under. The sun seemed to play hide-and-seek through the leaves and occasionally reached to the earth, itself, with tender arms of glowing rays of light. The wind, too, lightly tickled the leaves and the two friends. But the trees merely cooed and swayed with soft a creaking of their branches, as if dancing to a merry little tune only they could hear.

       The pair turned off the road and onto a nature trail which only accentuated the look and feel of the park they left behind. Now they truly felt ushered into a new world. The sounds and sights became muffled and disappeared behind the trees and bushes and small hills that hugged the sides of the trail. Even the sounds of birds seemed to drift off into a world of memory. And soon, not a trace of the world left behind could be heard.

  • 11:08 PM
  • 283 Views
  • 2 eProps
  • 3 Comments