AN: Done for the sake of fun and, in part, to practice first POV which is, in my opinion, the epitome of awfulness. Hate reading first person (with rare and few exceptions), hate writing in first person unless it suits a need. So, who better to practice on than Bella Swan? Be warned: she was (originally) meant to be a blank slate for people to use to live the fantasy of being lusted after, but, she did wind up getting a personality. One I intensely dislike… so I will use the blank slate option and somewhat rewrite her but I will attempt to keep some of her qualities.
Yes, for those wondering: I KNOW I need to finish up other stories but my mind has been so forsakenly dry it's downright sad. I'm thinking that, maybe, if I work on a series that bothers me, with a character I honestly cannot stand to the point of smacking my head repeatedly, might just be what I need. Writers need to gain perspectives and, sometimes, it has to be roads less traveled. Yeah, even the ones that burn like coals.
Rating and Genres may alternate. That's undecided for now, same with the number of chapters. I just know the direction.
DISCLAIMER: I do not own the Twilight series.
I walk forward, apprehensive and slow, not wanting to trip and make a fool of myself on my first day in a new school, new city, new state. The population here is a frightening total of less than four hundred students on this campus. Everyone will know everything. My stomach ties itself into knots.
My father, Charlie Swan, has been very supportive in his own quiet manner and I'm thankful for him letting me come live here. Of course, one could say he would always welcome me, being my father and all, but we haven't seen in each other in so long. It was awkward at first, but I loved seeing him. He's always been a sweet man, despite the demeanor of aloofness he might sometimes exude.
The hallways echo with my footfalls. I notice the door leading to the office and I make my way in there. Most likely, everyone is in class; so, this means, once I am given my own schedule, I will disrupt a roomful of wary, curious eyes and I'll pretend it doesn't bother me while secretly desiring the floor to swallow me up.
I wait for the woman to print out my classes, looking about the room. It's so… drab. Grays and blues and whites and, outside, there's luscious greens and browns. It's such a contrast from my home. Absentmindedly, I tilt my head and stare out the window. It's beautiful in its own way—fresh, alive, breathing out a life that one might never guess existed; nonetheless, I miss the concrete monster which is Phoenix, Arizona: hot, dry, red and golden and harshly majestic. It's a bustling community, nestled atop the back of a dragon, whose grainy scales burn the soles of our feet but we ignore it because we love the heat.
A feeling of homesickness washes over me and I shove my hands into my pockets. When she finally returns, I give her a polite smile, trying to venture out of my shell, and turn around. I trip but manage to catch myself; so much for a smooth exit…
I look down at the paper, and see it is Biology that I have to go to. I missed lunch, which is fine. I ate at home already this morning and I don't normally eat much. I should but I never seem to have much appetite. Maybe I should've waited an extra day like my dad suggested… Instead, I wind up coming halfway through. I felt it would be better—coming in and looking around first when the day is almost over so I won't be here so long. I'm regretting my choice but it's too late to do anything but continue with my plan.
I open the door and attempt not to appear too much like a deer in the headlights. Every head whips up to see who has come in and I want to bark at them that, no, no one's come to save them from this hellhole which will mean going home early. I introduce myself quietly to the teacher and he tells me, in a slightly patronizing tone, to take any available seat.
I nod, turn, and scan for vacant chairs. There's one by this incredibly pale boy; good-looking, too. He reminds me of those models you would find on posters in the mall. The posters are all, of course, supremely dramatic, with half-lidded eyes and open, seductive mouths, also in positions that normal people wouldn't pose in when taking a picture. So, this image in my head just makes me chuckle to myself.
Walking to the chair, I silently inhale a large amount of air, then exhale. New school, new city, new state; new life… I should try to open up more, like I promised my mother, my father, myself. I sit in the chair, glance at the boy and smile shyly, "Hello."
And he… flinches?
Alright, not expecting that…
Clearing my throat, I look at the board and read the assignment, taking down the notes so I can do the homework. The boy's hand is clenched tightly atop the table, shaking a little. Other than that, his body is stiller than stone.
Perhaps now is not the best time to be friendly, but I decide to ask, "Are you okay?"
He becomes lifeless, eyes straight ahead. After a moment, he replies, softly, forcefully, "Just fine."
I turn back to my work, a little worried about this erratic behavior. I knew that being accepted here would be difficult, even though everyone knows my father, but I didn't expect to run into someone on my first day who would take an intense dislike of me in less than two minutes.
Thankfully, the bell rings and he is immediately out the door. I let breathe in and out to calm my nerves. The tension in his posture made me nervous.
"Hey, you're new."
I turn, a boy and girl next to each other, approaching me. I smile again. I think it looks friendlier. "Yeah, I am."
"Name's Mike." the boy introduces himself.
"I'm Angela," the girl says next, smiling with such ease that I envy her a little for it. She's nicer than I thought, however, when she goes out of her way to show me the way to my next class. Mike trails along, informing me of things too. They're both helpful, but I get the feeling Angela's aid is genuine and her disposition is sweet—I didn't need to hang out with her my whole life to notice. Mike is a little too helpful but I don't mind. He could just be like this with every new kid. Or every new girl; it'll pass.
While waiting for class to begin, I ask, "The guy sitting next to me. Who is he?"
"Oh, that's Edward Cullen." Angela tells me.
"Is he always like that?"
"No, actually. I've never seen him on edge like that before."
"Is that right?"
"Yeah, it was weird," adds Mike, "I thought you stabbed him with a pencil or something."
So this was atypical behavior on this boy's part. That's odd, since I gave him no cause to hate me. Unless he hates strawberry scented shampoo, there's no way my very presence caused this.
Mike pats my shoulder then squeezes; I try not to shift my posture. It's not that I'm unused to physical contact—I hug my mother all the time. I'm not so fond of when strangers do it, though. "Don't worry, he's just odd."
If that's odd, I'd hate to see the guy unstable.
Evening falls, a black blanket upon the world. I try not to think too much about Edward Cullen's hatred of me but it's a consuming thought. It was rude, uncalled for, and annoying. My father had asked how my short day went, and I told him it was fine, aside from that part.
He had shrugged, frowning a little, too. "He's a good kid though. Doesn't cause any trouble but that is different from his usual behavior."
"Has he always been here?"
"No," my dad replies, "He actually moved down here with his family of seven, including him."
"Edward Cullen is adopted by the doctor, Carlisle Cullen, and his wife. They also adopted four other kids and they came here from Alaska."
He chuckles at my expression, "Little weird, huh?"
"Just a tad, yeah. It is nice though, taking in so many kids. Are their children all teenagers?"
"Yes. You only saw Edward though. They're all law-abiding but they don't do much aside from normal family activities. Hiking and all that,"
I'm about to ask how he knows so much then I remember this is Forks. Where people know almost every little move you make, every breath you take. I would bet that even secrets now belong to those who discovered yours; copyright of all who have ears to hear, eyes to see, and minds to accuse.
I decide to become associated with the greenery today, giants of deep auburn and viridian, solid valences that further block the sun. As if the constant cover of clouds don't do enough to hide that face I'm so familiar with. Sighing, I put my hands behind my back, listening to birdsong.
It reminds me of childhood, innocent and mysterious, all these living things. Dumbly, I try hopping around, even skipping a little, and a lightness floating into me. I'm alone, with only leaves that rustle murmurs and the chattering of wildlife. I actually manage to skip for a while before falling on my knees and I laugh aloud. I'm ridiculously clumsy, but I think I just need to try harder and then I laugh at that. Try harder at walking? Wow, I'm lame.
"Maybe I should have a doctor check what's wrong with me," I say to the forest. It replies with incessant nonsense and I feel myself grinning.
Rubbing the dirt off my pants, wet now from the soil, I continue along, a smile still on my face. Maybe living here won't be so bad. It's a change of pace, withal; I might be able to do it. People change every day; this is just another moment added to many on my persona gradually maturing.
I get deeper and further into shrubbery, scents of pine and fertile soil filling my nostrils and dead needles crunch beneath my feet. It occurs to me that I actually cannot remember where I came and try to return only to find myself by trees that don't look the same as the ones I passed by.
Panicking slightly, I recall my cell phone and, luckily, the bars are still full. However, I'll keep trying to find my way back. My dad doesn't need to worry about me just yet, since there's still plenty of daylight from what I can see and he's at work.
Continuing, I stop when I hear the sound of shallow breathing. Wondering if I imagined it, I wait to catch the noise again and I hear it, the quickness of life ebbing in the stillness of nature. What if it's someone hurt? My feet move on their own accord, trying to pinpoint the location of the sound.
I brush through a thick amount of green and I look for the injured person only to find a doe, wide-eyed, frightened, and dying staring bleakly up into my eyes, which are similar to hers. Hers are now dead. I am not yet.
Crimson is staining green blades and my eyes travel up a little to look at the one who caused life to spill. And it's him, pale and vicious, teeth red, eyes narrowed and blacker than sin. I learn in this moment two things.
I am going to die.
I learn, too, that some secrets are only for the dead to know.