(Josie
Sayz: This is the opening to a story idea I came up with for a ‘Writing a
Novel’ module at university. I can’t believe how much my writing has improved since
being at university. Sometimes you think that once you’ve left education, you
stop learning. That’s definitely not the case with me. This piece is crying out
for a new draft, but I thought I would post the original on here for now. It
will be nice to look back on one day when this is improved. I know it’s awful
and is full of telling, with no showing. Goodness, it makes you wonder how I
passed this module. Perhaps Paul felt sorry for me in Candi’s absence. Anyways,
this is Seb and the opening to his adventure.)
Crescented
His palm itched under
the wool of his fingerless gloves. The heat beamed down on his face as he
jerked his head, flicking the fringe from his eyes. Curling his fingers over
his palms, he wiped away their sweat on his gloves’ woollen surface. Taking in
a deep breath, he hopped off the bus with his destination in mind. He swung
open the flap of his messenger bag and pulled out a collection of papers. With
a lick of his finger, he flicked through the stack, selected the document he
needed and shoved the rest of the papers back inside. He exhaled slow as he
scanned the piece of paper. Satisfied, he folded it up and poked it in a pocket
on the front of his bag.
As he
reached the entrance his eyes wandered across the building in front of him. It
still looked out of place, with its steel-plated shell surrounding the ground
floor and the pine, wooden beams framing the upper three levels. The locals
said it looked like a spaceship had swallowed a barn. The Principle defended
the architect’s design, referring to it as ‘Modern Art’, although even he was,
now, beginning to regret signing the blueprints. The wheel-less bicycle frame
was still chained to the drainpipe too. Even the graffiti sprawled against the
wall, beside the security guard, Mr. Malone’s, parking space, which read: ‘Fat
Tony Maloney’, was still there. He smirked. Nothing had changed. Not that he
had expected it to. Unlike the building, however, he had, or at least that was
what he wanted people to believe. Before venturing further, he ran his fingers
through his recently dyed hair and adjusted his t-shirt to display his new belt
buckle. He had to look right. He had to fit in. This was his last chance.
It was
the first of September, his first day back at college after the summer break.
First impressions counted. There was one last chance to fit in – one last
chance to prove that he was somebody. But was he? He was still the same guy who
walked these corridors a little over six weeks ago. He may have dyed his hair
and acquired a new bag and belt buckle to form a new image, but that was all it
was: an image. Although when it came to his peers, image was what mattered. Image was what people noticed. And being
noticed was his goal. He had never cared much for fashion. He usually just
threw on whatever clothes were in his wardrobe. At first, the names did not
bother him, but when ‘Queer’, ‘Tramp’ and ‘Dork’ became regular labels he vowed
to make a change. Name calling was not only limited to the students either. He
recalled one English lesson when his teacher referred to him as: “Slob,” and in
front of the whole class too. They howled with laughter as he sank deeper into
his chair. He was done with being that person. “This year will be different,”
he told himself. “I can feel it.”
*
His first destination
was the reception desk. He needed to pick up his new ID card before venturing
off to Tutorial for the briefing of the new academic year. Walking across
campus, he was met by the familiar sights of students sprawled about on benches
and their rambunctious chatter. Their
eyes followed him, and conversations dropped as he passed by. He lowered his
head. Stuffing his hands into his pockets, he stared at the floor. His
breathing grew heavy. His heart drummed against his ribcage. He swallowed.
Hearing laughter, he shuddered. His stomach swirled. Taking a deep breath, he
closed his eyes and turned to face them. Opening his eyes, he smirked. False
alarm. Some new kid had tripped over the plant pot that stuck out behind one of
the benches. ‘Glad that wasn’t me,’ he thought.
Turning
back around, he flinched, bringing his body to a halt. A formal-dressed figure,
standing a few paces ahead, reached out towards him. “Excuse me,” said the man,
hoping to grab his attention. “But could you direct me to the reception? You
see it’s my first day on the job and I haven’t quite got my bearings yet.”
“Sure,”
he found himself replying, swallowing hard. Why did the new teacher have to
single him out for directions?
Teacher’s pet was the last thing that he wanted to hear people call him. “I’m
heading there myself – it’s this way Sir.”
“Why
thank you boy,” replied the man. “Oh, and the name’s Vincent.”
“Seb,”
he said with a slight nod and a smile.
As he
led the way towards the reception, Seb’s attention was drawn to the teacher’s
left hand. Gripping his briefcase, it swung back and forth in motion with their
walk. Eyes wide, Seb found himself staring at the large plaster that covered
the man’s palm. Having just met him though, Seb felt awkward asking about his
injury. Worried that Vincent noticed him staring at his hand, Seb shifted his
gaze.
“Do you
happen to know what time the first official teaching session starts today?”
Vincent asked, checking his watch.
“Erm…”
Seb paused as he rummaged around in his bag. Unfolding a piece of paper, he
announced, “It’s half one, straight after lunch.”
“Thanks,”
Vincent replied, watching Seb return the paper to his messenger bag. “Nice bag
by the way – very trendy.”
“Oh,
thanks,” Seb smirked flicking the fringe from his eyes.
Arriving
at the reception, Vincent announced his departure. “Many thanks,” he said
holding out his hand. “I hope we shall cross paths again soon.”
“Me
too,” Seb replied, shaking his hand.
Vincent
smirked, “I will never understand the fashion of teenagers,” looking at Seb’s
gloved hands. Seb exhaled through his nose, feeling his cheeks heat up and
brushed his hand through his hair.
*
Having picked up his
ID card, Seb made his way back across campus. Clenching his fists, he cursed
under his breath. Heaving open the door in front of him he grumbled to himself,
as he barged through a bunch of giggling girls. Trudging up the staircase, he
clawed his hand through his hair and let out a forceful blow. Tripping, his
hand clutched the railing, as the words: “Hey Seb!” rang in his ears.
He
looked up. Two boys were walking down the stairs, towards him. The first of the
boys, Chad, grabbed hold of Seb’s hand, shook it and patted him on the back.
“Sup dude!” said the other boy, with a jerk of his head, giving Seb a high
five.
“Hey
Chad, Luke,” Seb replied with a nod, just as he had practised that morning in
his mirror.
“Hey
man,” said Luke frowning. “How can you still wear gloves? It’s like
twenty-something degrees out.”
“Drop
it Luke,” said Chad rolling his eyes. “You know he never takes ‘em off. It’s
like they’re a part of him. He’s worn them ever since Nursery school.” Seb let
out a sigh. First Vincent and now these guys. It was no use. How on earth did
he think that he could pull off being cool, if he always wore gloves?
“Nice
belt buckle,” Chad said trying to change the subject, admiring the bronze
coloured skull wearing a pirate’s hat at Seb’s waist. Its one eye was covered
by a bandanna that stretched across its forehead and two swords crossed under
its throat instead of bones. Seb had found it in an old junk shop over the
summer and had taken a liking to it. Imagining buried treasures and sunken
ships lost at the bottom of the ocean, it reminded him of why he was here.
“Thanks,”
said Seb with a smirk. ‘Finally,’ he thought to himself, ‘I’ve got something
right.’
“How’s
your summer?”
“Alight,”
Seb replied with a shrug. “How ‘bout you guys?”
“Yeah,”
Chad agreed.
“Same
old, same old,” Luke added, tilting his hand from left to right.
“Listen,
catch ya later man,” Chad said. “We’re gonna meet up with the Drama girls, you
know, see how their summer was. See you in Form, yeah?”
“Yeah,”
Seb replied.
“Later!”
Luke called after him, as he passed Seb on the stairs.
Seb
lifted a hand in response to their departure. Once they were out of sight, Seb
continued to mount the stairs. Looking down at his hands he groaned. Out of
everything that he had done, after everything that he had changed to try to fit
in, straight away they mentioned the one thing that he could not change.
*
Reaching his Form
room, he peered inside. No one was there yet. He was early. ‘Good,’ he thought
with relief. This gave him some time alone to think. He flung his bag down
under the desk and slumped into his chair on the far side of the room. Closing
his eyes, he gave a stretch and sighed. “Hi Seb!” sang a female voice. His
heart thudded. His eyes pierced open. It was Abby. “How was your summer?” she
asked, curling her hair behind her ear.
“Alight,”
he replied with a shrug, as his foot tapped against his chair leg. “How was
yours?”
“Amazing,”
she beamed.
As Abby
recounted her summer, Seb stared at her. He felt sweat forming upon his brow.
Noticing his fingers twitch, he moved his hands under the table. His heart’s
drumming raced. His pulse pounded through his body. He tried to swallow, but
his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. ‘What’s wrong with you?’ his brain
fumed, as he clutched his fingers around the edge of his chair. ‘Why can’t you
act normal? Abby is just a girl. She’s just like everyone else.’ But that was
his problem – she wasn’t. It was not just her flawless skin, or her ease with
fashion that mesmerised him. She was also highly intelligent, acing all of her
exams last academic year. But what Seb liked most about her was that she
treated everyone the same. She treated him just like everyone else.
Before
the holidays began, after their last History exam, their class were going to
the park. Having not been invited, as usual, Seb was heading home, when Abby
came up to him and asked him to join them. “It’s not a class party if the whole class isn’t there,” she has said with a
smile. Admiring her logic, he could not help but smirk.
“Except
nobody wants me there,” he said rolling his eyes.
“Don’t
be silly,” she giggled. “Of course they do. Come on, it’ll be fun!” Grabbing
his arm, she had dragged him along with her.
*
A guy wolf whistled at
Abby, as he passed by the classroom. Her cheeks reddened as she fiddled with
her earing, pretending she had not heard it. “I like what you’ve done with your
hair by the way,” she said to Seb with a giggle. “It suits you.”
“Erm,
thanks,” he said running his hand through it, trying to hide a blush. She
giggled at him again.
“Don’t
your hands ever get hot?” she asked motioning at his gloves.
“Nah,”
he replied laughing along with her. His heart panged. She noticed them too,
everyone he had spoken to today had. He had taken so much time upon perfecting
his new look: his hair, his bag, his belt buckle and people had noticed them… except they noticed
his gloves too. Why was it that the one thing he could not change was the one
thing that everyone seemed to see? ‘How
did everyone notice them?’ he wondered. ‘Are they that obvious?’
His
forehead puckered as he stared at his hands. Silence. He should say something,
he realised. Something. Anything. “Hey, erm, Abby…” Seb began. Swallowing, he
pulled at the neckline of his t-shirt. “Maybe later-”
“Hey
Abs!” Lucy called as she entered the room. “Lauren said I’d find you here.” Seb
sighed, rolling his eyes. Lucy had swiped his confidence tablecloth out from
under him. He would never be able to continue his conversation with Abby now.
“Oh, hi
Seb!” said Lucy, noticing him for the first time, having received a nudge from
her friend.
“Hey,”
he muttered back, forcing a weak smile. Lucy had wiped Seb from Abby’s mind.
Their conversation, lost. Once again, he felt invisible.
As the
two girls began their conversation on the other side of the room, Abby gave Seb
a smile, which he returned, before diving into his bag to dig out his magazine.
Leaning back in his chair, he slid his magazine inside another and placed them
on his lap, so that no one could see its content. From the outside, he appeared
to be engaging in a film and music magazine, popular with his peers, covered in
paparazzi photographs and full of the latest celebrity gossip. What he was
actually reading, however, was a History magazine. He did not care much for the
more archaic articles, but there was one section that he loved: The
Archaeological Artefacts. Discovering the stories behind things like buried
treasures – a kingdom of war, boundaries threatened, and loot buried for
hundreds of years made his thoughts race, his limbs tingle, his heart pound. He
would often dream of the day when it would be his story and his face in the
magazine for his archaeological discovery. ‘That would be the day,’ he thought
with a smile.
Turning
the page, he gave a snigger. The next article was on the legendary treasure of
Sir Morgan Hendrix, the privateer. Despite being commissioned by the king to
protect the country’s border, Hendrix ripped apart ships, ransacked treasures
and slit the throats of anyone who crossed his path. His actions were not
limited to the waters either. Villagers ran screaming as his ship, sailing by
the red flag, washed up on port.
Following
the king’s attempt to withdraw Hendrix’s ‘Letter of Marque’, Hendrix was
rumoured to have held a pistol to the royal’s head. In self-defence, the king
jabbed Hendrix with a fire iron, scolding the privateer’s hand. A moon crescent
scar curled the arch of Hendrix’s palm, earning him the nickname Moonscar.
That
same night, under a stormy tide, Hendrix’s ship, known as the Black Crow,
clashed with another. Canons were fired. Sails were torn. However, before
either captain could order raid on the others ship, a bolt of lightning stuck
the Black Crow. The entire ship set aflame. Hearing the howls and screams from
the men aboard, the other ship scarpered. The crew attempted to flee, but
another bolt of lightning hit. The main mast crashed, crushing many men below
the blaze. As flames burnt at Hendrix’s scar, he was said to have cursed the
king, blaming him for the ship’s ruin. He vowed his revenge as his ship sank.
The
following evening, having marked their location, the other vessel returned,
hoping to scavenge through Hendrix’s loot, but the ship was nowhere to be
found. They searched the waters for many moons, but no wreckage was ever
located.
Three
weeks later, locals reported seeing the Black Crow pull up on the shore;
however, no record of the ship’s docking has ever been located. It is rumoured
that the lightning cursed Hendrix and his crew, turning them into an undead
army, following his vow of revenge. During the night, Hendrix broke into the
king’s chambers and stole all of his riches, leaving a parchment behind bearing
a crescent signature. Wanting to hide his treasure from further attack, Hendrix
is alleged to have ordered his crew to bury the hoard, placing various
obstacles and curses around it, preventing anyone, other than himself, from
being able to retrieve it. The location of his treasure is said to be etched
with a crescent, symbolising his scarred hand.
Numerous
sightings of the Black Crow have been made throughout history, with it often
being to blame for deaths of entire crews, the vanishing or sinking of ships
and the disappearance of many riches.
Archaeologists
have searched for hundreds of years, but no one has ever found Hendrix’s
treasure. They were still clueless as to its exact location. Seb shook his head
at the researchers’ stupidity. He doubted that the treasure even existed. It
was just a local story told to children to feed their imagination. Although few
Historians had argued the truth behind it, no one really believed the story to
be true; at least, Seb had never encountered such a person.
-
Josie -
