I've recently started a serial fiction site, and though I've built an entire display engine, outlined several chapters ahead, and have about three chapters either posted or queued and ready, I'm still a little rusty and inconsistent. I won't bore you with details, but I will post the first entry. For imagery? Think HP Lovecraft meets Silent Hill. The story is meant to build momentum, and it's part of a 4-book mythos I've been mentally sketching out for the past four years. Tag my Sig to see the rest.
And so:
"The rabbit, he won't let me,
Go where I will go,
My family is under his spell,
And he lives in my home."
– Adriana Calloway
Winter has set in for more than a few months, here. Such a crisp and hard cold; void of life, yet chillingly alive. A naive nursery rhyme might call it "a winter wonderland." Fresh undisturbed snow still accumulates under a light flurry; a child's paradise. Were it earlier in the day, a few would be building forts and snow-men, hurling snowballs between trees, and laughing all the while.
But the sun has long since set, and all the children are at home. Some drink hot chocolate to remove the deep chill from their bones, while others sleep soundly dreaming sweet dreams. The wheels of daily life have all but stopped in this quiet little town, for all but a select few. For some, the cold quiet is a welcome change to the normal fury of the day.
For Kyle, it's paradise. Tonight, he sits on an old hill overlooking Tammond Dale, letting glistening flakes whiten his black knitted cap. The cap itself is new, something he never needed before moving to this secluded burg with his parents a few days ago. Kyle has never lived so far North, and the cold bit and froze almost viciously, something Kyle didn't expect. As calm as the night seems, the malevolent weather taints the beauty of it like a dark shroud. He doesn't care of course. Sitting atop Craig's Hill staring down on the houses and streets as a regent or King, he is warm and alive.
But besides the absolute silence, forgetting the breathtaking sight below him, Kyle has a system he's used for years. Even at his age, almost fifteen and chafing to escape the puberty and awkwardness of being a teenager, Kyle is the brooding sort. Oddly enough, this has been the case for years and nobody—least of all Kyle—knew when the walking started. Every night excepting rain, Kyle was apt to wander whichever neighborhood seemed interesting. Sometimes this was his own, but often it was blocks, or even miles away. One thing he did know: walking relaxed his mind, even as the exertion drained his muscles. No matter where his family has moved over the years, Kyle never deviates. Tonight the most enticing location was an obvious though unusual choice, and opportunities present themselves in the strangest ways.
Just like the seemingly endless "opportunities" which kept his family on the road, veritable gypsies in a world seeking stability. Kyle didn't want to brood over the unfairness. Leaving his friends year after year, trailing in his Father's endless and vibrant wake. Brooding was all he could really expect to keep, no matter where they landed.
How many was it, now? Somewhere along the years, Kyle had lost track, and assumed the cycle continued even in his infancy.
Last week Kyle enjoyed his first day of school, something dreaded by children and teenagers alike. As usual, he arrived late in the school year; a more bitterly cold January, he could not remember. First impressions made their mark before the car even passed the "Welcome to Tammond Dale, Pop: 462" sign. Kyle could only imagine what possessed his father to drag his
beloved family to such a terrible and worthless place.
Cold always trumps beauty, yes-siree. Freezing, inhospitable, oddly malignant; when can we move in?
Though initially truculent, the here and now is unquestionably beautiful. The very hill where Kyle sat presented a sweeping majesty over the vista below. Can't discount that. So far, this was only one good thing, with at least four dozen other marks against the sleeping hamlet. No doubt about it, Kyle hated this place and resented living here already.
Handful of days? So what. Get me outta here, man. Show's over.
As with all things desperately craved by humanity, it wasn't that easy. New jobs always did that for his father. Make a few more bucks, meet a few hot chicks you haven't seen before and flirt just for the Jesus Razing hell of it; live the life of adventure! Why everybody didn't live like this, was anybody's guess. It was the same story every time: get bored with sales at Wacky Widgets, take a promotion and shill for Stupendous Stuff. It didn't matter what salary he made at the previous employer, what they offered him to stay, or even the desolation of their pleads. A couple of times, good ol' Frank had been offered the Presidency of the entire sales department.
What's that, Jack? Nope, don't wanna get tied down, gotta go and experience life. So long, and thanks for the memories. In the end, Frank
always left as if Cerberus were hot on his heels.
By now, Kyle was sure his father was notorious in every company in The States. That didn't stop them from hiring Fantastic Frank, as Kyle dubbed him like some kind of knight, immediately after he applied.
Ser Fantastic Frank, Esq. It was impossible to ignore that Frank frequently performed sales miracles, was great to work with, and any company lucky enough to have him often enjoyed a future flush with cash and investments. Nobody knew how he did it, Kyle least of all. Through everything, Frank could always count on his coy and supportive wife Jamie. That thought always prompted Kyle to chuckle, as his mother was precisely the exact opposite of a shrew, as if her very existence were for Frank's benefit.
Jamie Cemtes, loyal matriarch and completely spineless wonder, was Kyle's loving mother. No doubt she was busy hand-crafting a new culinary masterpiece to try and impress Frank. It was a tired exercise at which she always managed to wildly succeed, with each increasingly overzealous attempt. She never seemed to care that Kyle was unfailingly late to her amazing dinners, so long as Frank uttered the customary "Wow Jamie, when did angels learn to cook? Or did you teach them that, too?" It was as if she were perpetually lost in her own little fantasy world that Frank was more than willing to encourage if it meant a docile and loving woman around the house.
Yes sir! Frank sure was living the life of his dreams, Kyle thought to himself bitterly.
They
never fought, either. Maybe Frank was determined to have a happy and fruitful life, but problems never seemed to enter their collective consideration. Not that Kyle wasn't above trying on occasion to fit the tired cliche of teenage rebellion. They didn't exactly ignore him, for the reality was unbelievably worse. They
humored his little complaints, as if they
knew each was half-hearted and merely an obligation of his age. Kyle sighs and shakes his head, dislodging a sheer cliff of powder that threatened to transform him into a snowman. Nowhere to go, nobody to talk to, nothing to do but sit on a cold snowy hill and contemplate life. And why not? His problems were admittedly small ones, and Kyle found it impossible to forge depression on such a blissfully refreshing night.
So I'm guessing it's going to be a bit gory? or is just the setting that looks like Silent Hill?
