Story Blogger

ok, its been confirm. i officially suck at this whole blog thing. xD

SO! i've decided to turn my blog into a sort of online book.

everyday until i've run out, im going to post a chapter of the story i'm writing at the moment.the chapters are short and they ulternate between two first person charecters.

so, enjoy!

oh and btw, i havnt named it yet, so its just chapters.



Chapter 1

Imogen


No one likes to be alone. Well, no one but me.

I’d never liked to be around people. I was the complete opposite of a ‘people person’. I was anti social, choosing the confinements and safety of my house to club, pubs and bars. I’d had a few friends as a child, but they’d all taught me valuable lessons. Never trust anyone. My only friends now were a small plush teddy bear, a present from my dead-beat father before he’d left, a little wooden box with a brass latch that held some pain medication and little paper diary, almost full. My life revolved around these items, these things that could never leave or betray me.
I suppose I hadn’t always been like this. There was a period in my life were I was content, almost happy, with the places, people and things that surrounded me. I was Imogen Grace Cole, 6 years old. I lived in a nice house with my older brother Damien and my mother Sarah. My father had run off with some young blonde woman when I was barely 7 months old, so I didn’t remember much of him. I had 3 friends, Amiel, Diane and Kimberly. They were in the same class as me. I remember Amiel the most. She was taller then I with waist length white blonde hair, which she always wore in a ponytail at the back of her head, tied with a red and white ribbon. I didn’t remember much about Diane and Kimberly, only that they were both shorter then I was and Kimberly had red hair. It was a good life. If only it had lasted. My brother Damien was 15 years old, over double my age. He had a different father to me, but that never bothered me. One night, he was out with a few of his older friends, people who my mother and I didn’t trust. They were all tall and burly with long greasy hair. You could hear then when they drove past, the loud screeching music turned up as loud as it could go. Even though I didn’t think it at the time, I now know that most of them used or dealt drugs. My mother was terrified of what would happen to Damien when he was with them, and she had every right to worry. One night, the older boys came and collected Damien from the house, which was usual for a Friday night. He never came back. The leader (I guess that’s what you would call him) of their group, Jeremy Peterson, had tried to get Damien to take some kind of drug. When he’d refused, Jeremy told him that he would have to deal the drugs if he still wanted to be around them. Again, Damien refused. Jeremy didn’t like that and had two other boys held Damien’s head under the swamp water until he drowned. His body was found a few weeks later, covered in seaweed and bird droppings. It broke my mother’s heart. I went back to school the week after the funeral, only to find I’d been cast aside by the people I needed most. Kimberly and Diane were simply afraid of me, though I never understood why. Amiel was crueller. When I walked up to her at break, she’d turned to me and scowled.
“We don’t want to talk to you any more. You’re a dead brother girl and dead brother girls are weird. We don’t wanna hang out with a weirdy. Weirdy, weirdy, weirdy!” she pushed me over and I landed on my backside, my eyes wide with surprise. Amiel pointed her finger at me, almost touching my nose and continued with her chant. Everyone turned to look at her and because they were all so young and no one understood, they joined in, pointing and laughing at me. I began to sob and rushed into the classroom, grabbing my little blue school back and ran back outside to the gate. Because we were all so young, the gate was installed with a childproof lock, but I’d figured out how to work it. I unlocked the gate and ran down the street in the direction I thought home was. Of course, being only 6, I got it wrong and soon found myself by the beach, nowhere near my house in city. I sat on the beach and cried for a while, then made my way along the beach, looking for the beachfront houses. After a while, I came across the beach houses, each more beautiful then the last. I walked up to the third house I came across, which I though was the most beautiful one of them all. I remember the house almost perfectly. Instead of brick, the walls were made of limestone or granite and the windows and door were framed with black iron. The door was made of what looked like jarrah wood, dark rich red wood. The railing of the balcony upstairs was the same black iron, twisted into twirls and loops. Big windows took up most of the front of the house. The garden had perfect, soft green grass with no weeds or prickles. Beautiful tall trees lined the white fence and the garden beds were filled with daisies, tulips and daffodils. I walked up the white stone path and rang the doorbell. To my delight, it didn’t make the regular ‘ding dong’ noise often associated with doorbells. Rather, it played the chime of Big Ben on New Years Day. It took about 30 seconds for someone to open the door. I remember the woman who opened the door even more clearly then the beautiful house she lived in. Her thick, chocolate hair came down past her waist and hung in floppy ringlets. Her eyes where bluer then the clear blue ocean she lived by. Her skin wasn’t pale, but it wasn’t tanned either. There was a large, light brown freckle under her left eye and she had smaller, lighter freckles on her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. She was wearing a one piece green and yellow bathing suit that cut away at her hips and a thin, see-through robe of the same colours and design. She smiled down at me and I was blown away by her beauty.
“What’s wrong darling?” she asked, noticing the tear tracks on my cheeks. She bent down to my height and put her hands on my shoulders, half to comfort me and half to keep her balance. She smelt like strawberries.
“Can I use your phone?” I asked, not looking her in the eyes. She smiled and took my sand covered hand.
“Sure love, come on in.” she led me into the beautiful house. The floor was made of the same dark red wood as the door and the walls were either creamy white or mocha brown. The stairs were also made of the same wood and the banister was made of the black iron, swirled and looped in the same way as the balcony railing. She led me into the kitchen, which was also as beautiful as the rest of the house. The fridge was black metal and the counter tops were made of black granite. She handed me a black cordless phone and offered me a seat at the bench. The bench seats were white with a black metal stand.
“Do you know your mummy’s phone number?” she asked, getting something from the fridge. The shock from the beauty of the house had worn off and I was weary now. Did she think I was a weirdy too? I nodded and dialled my home number. Mum answered after only one ring.
“Hello?” her voice sounded frantic.
“Mum? It’s Imogen.” I said, my quiet voice barely making it threw the receiver.
“Oh my god, Imogen! Where are you? Are you okay? What happened? The school rang and said you’d run away and I thought…” her words choked off and I heard her beginning to cry.
“I’m fine mum, can you come get me?” I asked, her sobbing nearly drowning me out. I felt a few more tears slip down my face.
“Of course honey, where are you?”
“uh…” I looked over at the lady, whose name I never learnt.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, placing something in front of me. A bowl of strawberry ice cream with strawberry topping and rainbow sprinkles.
“Can you tell mum where here is?” I asked, passing her the phone. She passed me a little silver spoon in return and began speaking into the receiver. I didn’t pay attention to the conversation she had with my mother, I was to busy with the ice cream. I hadn’t had ice cream in a while and this was a rare treat. The beautiful woman kept looking at me and it made me feel a little shy. Did I have ice-cream on my shirt? Or did she think I was a weirdy? The thought stopped me cold and I dropped the spoon noisily into the bowl. The woman put the phone back on its dock and came over to me, brushing some of my bushy light brown hair behind my ears.
“Your mummy’s on her way. You’re really a long way from home huh?” she asked, half smiling half frowning. I just nodded, again not looking at her.
It was another half an hour before mum arrived. I spent the time sitting in the living room on the big chocolate coloured sofa watching the mid day children’s programs. I must have fallen asleep because I don’t remember leaving the beautiful house or saying goodbye to the beautiful woman, I only remember being inside the car, watching the landscape turn from ocean side, to trees and bushes to cityscape. I watched as the familiar hotdog and ice-cream stands went by until we reached a less populated area of the city. Mum pulled up at our house and as soon as she unlocked the front door, I rushed down to my room.
Everything changed after that day. Mum and I hardly ever spoke anymore and when we did, it was very strained conversation. She couldn’t handle my silence, so she often just ignored me. I went threw the rest of primary school without friends, constantly teased or ignored by Amiel. Kimberly and Diane once tried to make amends, but I didn’t care for it. Then I got to high school and for the first time in years, I thought maybe something would change, that I would get a second chance and for a while, it did. I made a friend, someone who like me, didn’t speak very much. His name was Tim Brennen and he was a year older then me. He was only slightly taller then me and had dirty blonde hair. Both his parents had passed away when he was young, so he knew my pain. It had been good for a while, we could just sit and talk and no one cared about us. And then it all went bad. Tim lost his adoptive mother to cancer and he just couldn’t cope anymore. His funeral was my very own personal hell. From then on, I decided that I wouldn’t bother anymore, no one was worth it, no one was worth the pain. So I cut myself out of everything.