Original Stories Fan Fiction / Realism Fan Fiction ❯ When Dreams Fade ❯ A Chance Encounter...or Something Like That ( Prologue )

Author's note: This is the first time I've tried something like this since I was ten years old. I mean, this is the first time I've written something not completely fantasy-based and in the first person. I should give some warnings before you read on.

 

Warning number 1: This story does not have a happy ending. It may have a happy middle, though. I haven't figured that out yet, because I haven't worked anything except the ending out yet. If you want a happy ending, don't read this. I will put up a short story filled with mushy happy frolicky stuff, though, after I complete the rest of the story, in order to soften the blow a bit, I guess…

 

Warning number 2: I'm not sure yet, but there may be drugs involved in this story. Not excessively, and they won't be a major plot point, but they may be involved. Likewise, sex might be involved, although it will never be explicitly detailed. I don't do that. It will be mentioned in passing, at most.

 

Warning number 3: If morbidity and other darkness offends you or discomforts you, please don't read this. This story will be quite morbid.

 

And with that, I'll shut up and get to the actually story. K?

 

When Dreams Fade

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Prologue

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© 2006 Ohne Sie

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How should I begin? It was a dark and stormy morning as my three friends and I got on the bus to head to school—no, that's not right. It can't even remember the weather that day, to be honest. How can I set the mood when I don't even know how the weather was? I guess I'll have to make it up, but that doesn't seem very honest to me. Fine. I'll state it simply. It was the beginning of our freshman year of high school.

 

My name is Alana. My last name doesn't matter. You'll never need to know it, anyway. I am a writer by definition. I write. That's all I do, really. I have no job. I just bum money off my friends and family. I'm not even an accomplished writer, to be honest. I've never had anything published or anything like that. I've also never tackled a writing project as difficult as this one, probably because I've never had to connect my writing with my own life. Still…

 

It's been long enough and this story must be told. Those involved have urged me to tell our story. The memories must be kept alive. Perhaps, also, we believe, it will help some other group of outcast, misguided teenagers learn what not to do in order to survive in this crazy world. Then again, I suppose there are worse things a teenager could do than what we did.

 

At any rate, we were high school freshmen; friendless, jobless, clueless, most of us barely fourteen or almost fourteen years old. High school was a scary place. Everyone was bigger than us and scarier than us. The seniors laughed at the freshmen, with their big eyes and their trembling hands. I remember that clearly. None of us had any idea of what to do. There were places you just couldn't go when you were a freshmen. We knew that. What we didn't know was where those places were. The bravest of us found those places through trial and error, accumulating a few bruises, black eyes, and bloody noses in their quest for knowledge. The rest of us huddled together like a group of frightened mice. That's what we were, after all. We were scared mice.

 

Of course, the next problem was navigating the labyrinth commonly referred to as the school hallways to reach our classrooms. Even on the first day, when we were all new, the teachers would not tolerate students being late. There was a lot of panic over that policy. Some teachers stood in the halls to direct students, but a lot of the students refused the help, either because there were already twelve students surrounding a teacher, or because they wanted to assert their independence right away.

 

As far as I know, nobody was completely lost. I believe that everyone made his or her way to his or her classroom. Nobody, as far as I know, reached a dead end in the labyrinth and starved to death in a corner. I wouldn't be entirely surprised if someone did, however.

 

My first class was geometry. I remember that clearly, because of how horrible an arrangement it was. I hate math. And I hate mornings. Math and mornings are a lethal combination. In other words, my first class sucked. Add to that suckage the fact that I knew no one in that class except my next door neighbor, Aaron, who is the biggest jerk on the planet. Yeah. Like I said, major suckage.

 

Second period was choir. I sing, yeah. The first thing I noticed when I walked in was that there were only about five boys in the class. The second thing I noticed was the girl in the back of the room standing on her head. She looked familiar. I thought I had seen her before in one of my classes in middle school. Because she was the only person I recognized right away, I walked toward her.

 

“Hi,” I said, tilting my head to the side while kneeling down to look at her face. “What are you doing?”

 

“Standing on my head, obviously,” she replied. “How about you?”

 

“Watching you stand on your head, I guess,” I answered. “How long are you going to stay like that?”

 

“Until the bell rings,” the girl responded. Her eyes shifted toward the clock, which read 9:05. “So two more minutes, I guess. What's your name?”

 

“Alana,” I said, as I sat down next to her. “How about you?”

 

“Hana. You were in one of my classes in middle school. Science, right?” The clock changed to 9:06.

 

“Yeah, I think so. I didn't see you in chorus in middle school. Did you take it?”

 

“No. I was into art in middle school. Then I realized that I didn't have a creative bone in my body. I also realized that my voice doesn't suck so much. Here, let me demonstrate. Ah…” She sang out just as the bell rang. Then she threw her feet to the floor and flung her hair back as she sat next to me. “So where's the teacher?” she asked as soon as she situated herself.

 

“I don't know. Maybe we should give him a late slip,” I suggested. I yawned and sprawled out on the floor.

 

“What, didn't you get any sleep last night?” Hana asked. “Were you out partying or something?”

 

I laughed. “I don't party,” I told her. At that time the door opened and a man who could only be our teacher walked in.

 

“Wow!” Hana straightened up and stared at him. “He's hot!” She giggled and stood up. “I'll be back,” she told me quickly, not looking at me.

 

He was somewhat attractive, I suppose, but not nearly as much as Hana seemed to think he was. He was in his early twenties, about five foot ten, with dark brown hair. He was walking toward his desk, but Hana got in his way.

 

“Hi, I'm Hana. Are you our teacher? I'm a soprano, so you know. I can hit high notes and stuff. How old are you? Are you married? Do you have a dog? I like dogs! So what's your name?”

 

The poor man looked quite flustered, but Hana just kept on going. “I like strawberries and chocolate. But you know what I don't like? Bananas. They're icky. Do you like bananas? My favorite color is blue. Your eyes are blue. So are mine. What's your zodiac sign? I'm a Virgo---“

 

The teacher shook his head and stepped nimbly away from Hana, making his way to his desk. Hana pouted after him, looking quite dejected. She walked back toward me, hanging her head. “He doesn't like me.”

 

“No, I think you just overwhelmed him,” I told her. “Really, I'm sure he likes you very much.”

 

“Maybe you're right. Maybe I should introduce myself gradually.”

 

“Right,” I said. I didn't believe it, necessarily, but I didn't want to anger the only person who could potentially become my friend. Instead, I watched, wincing, as Hana bounded toward the teacher. If she'd had a tail, I'm sure she would have been wagging it at that time. She didn't, though.

 

“Hi,” I heard Hana say. “I'm Hana. You're our teacher, right?”

 

“Yes,” he replied. He wasn't looking at her, though. He was watching two boys in the corner of the room. They had found two foam swords in the drama department's storage closet and were sparring with them. “Cut that out!” the teacher shouted. Both boys dropped the swords and smiled sheepishly. “Now, go put those back where you found them.”

 

“Sorry, Mr. Dran,” one of the boys mumbled. The other snatched up the foam swords quickly and ran into the drama room with them. The first boy wandered to the back of the room, near where I was sitting, and sat on the floor. Hana was still at the teacher's desk.

 

“Your name is Mr. Dran?” she asked.

 

“Yes. Um…Hana? Could you do me a favor?” he asked, standing up.

 

“Yes, Mr. Dran?” Hana stood up with him, eagerly waiting to listen to his request.

“Could you go take a seat, please? I have a class to teach.”

 

Hana pouted and looked at me. I shook my head. She sighed and walked over to sit between the boy and me, just as the other boy was returning from the drama room. “What's your name?” Hana whispered to the first boy.

 

“Erik,” he whispered back. “How about you?”

 

“Hana.” Hana stared forward as Mr. Dran began speaking to the class. “What's your friend's name?”

 

“Nikolas,” the other boy replied. “Now, would you please shut up? I don't want a detention on the first day of class,” he whispered.

 

“What's your friend's name?” Erik asked, ignoring Nikolas. He looked at me. “You don't speak much, do you?”

 

“I'm Alana,” I replied. “I speak plenty when I know people.”

 

“I can speak enough for the both of us,” Hana said brightly. “So don't worry about that.” She giggled softly. “Nikolas, hold still for a second.” She crawled over to the boy, who was trying to listen intently to Mr. Dran.

 

“What are you doing?” he hissed. Hana stood on her knees behind him and took a handful of his long strawberry blonde hair. “I'm sorry…but your hair is so beautiful…I must braid it.” She set to work braiding his hair. Erik hid a smirk as Nikolas turned toward him with a look of desperation.

 

“Does she do this often?” Nikolas asked me. I shrugged.

 

“I just met her today,” I admitted.

 

Mr. Dran mentioned that we'd have to sing into a tape recorder in order for him to figure out what sections we'd be in. Apparently that would all be done in a few days. The boys wouldn't have to audition for their section, because, with only five boys, there was no need for more than one male vocal part. Our choir was small enough, even, that there were only two female vocal sections; alto and soprano.

 

I didn't concentrate after that. I watched Hana as she braided Nikolas's hair. Then, when she finished that, she tied his shoelaces together. She didn't intend it as a prank or anything. Nikolas knew exactly what she was doing. She was just bored. Apparently Hana had the attention span of a gnat. Actually, she still does.

 

After a few days of Hana-induced chaos, the four of us were eventually friends, and Mr. Dran had officially acquired a stalker. Now fast forward three years. This is where the story really begins.