Random Story That Popped In My Head
Oct 24, 2010 1:09:44 GMT -5
Post by Hayley on Oct 24, 2010 1:09:44 GMT -5
Okay, this is a story that popped in my headI just had to type up. It had been rumbling around in my head for a while, and I finally put it down before I forgot. Its not finished yet. Plee post comments and suggestions below :) It where I got the idea for my new character name.
“Okay, so you are coming, right?” I was on the phone with Taylor. I don’t know why I was asking, I knew he’d be here to work on the song. He was always there for me. Ever since we found each other again, you would think we were joined at the hip.
“Yes, I’ll be there. Stop hassling me, Fuze!” That’s me, Fuze. My nickname since we were little. I have no idea where it came from, or why he calls me that, but I guess it just happened. Maybe I should just start from the beginning.
I’m Kanth Longkyi. I am currently 15 years old (turning sixteen next month) and I’m not your average teenager. Would you really call a 15 year old girl who’s with the world’s most popular music stars every day normal? That’s what I thought. You’ve probably heard of me before because I guess you could call me the best music producer ever. I work with all sorts of people every day from all corners of the earth, but mostly American artists. You know the ones: B.o.B., Fall Out Boy, Katy Perry, Ke$ha, Paramore, Maroon 5, Neon Trees, the works. I work mostly with bands, though. But I should probably be heading over to the other person in this ordeal, the one who really matters. Taylor.
Taylor is my best friend. Forever and Always. That’s our motto. We met in 3rd grade, right after my dad died. At that point, I could be considered distant. My dad was my best friend, excluding my twin brother Declain because twins are friends for life. We did everything together: we went to baseball games, watched movies, everything. Then, one day, he was gone in the blink of an eye. You know the whole sob story: Dad’s coming home from work and gets hit by a drunk driver. Well that was the end of my life as I knew it. But Taylor changed that. After the accident, it was hard for me to trust, or love. I didn’t get close to people because somewhere in the back of my head, I knew they would be gone in an instant. Something was different about him, though. With that toothy grin and messy dirty blonde hair, he just seemed different. Something made me trust him. And in that trusting, I developed a friendship, a friendship with the coolest person in the world.
We were inseparable, of course, until he left. I knew everybody left, but this was painful. His father was a U.S. Ambassador, but the government had promised to keep them in the States for as long as they wanted. Apparently, he was needed elsewhere, and Taylor and I were torn apart at the age of 12. Of all the places in the world, Germany is where they landed. We kept in touch for a while, but then his family started moving more and more until we finally lost track of each other.
Now imagine this: you’re 15, living in Atlanta and one of the hottest, most quickly developing producers around. Life’s pretty great, right? Wrong. You never know how great it gets until now.
I was meeting with a new group, with great potential. There was this restaurant near my apartment, Dominic’s: the house of the wealthy and famous. My crutches were seriously aggrivating me (jogging accident), and my brother was walking next to me up to favorite restaurant and seeing him there, realizing he’s a band member. I felt like I was pulled back three years, to a better place, a happier time.
“Tail?” I whisper, knowing that if it wasn’t him, he wouldn’t respond to a nickname. He whirls around, staring at me for the first time, closing the cell phone he was so attentively talking into the moment before. His eyes get wide, and it seems like he’s seeing for the first time.
“Fuze?” He tentatively says, not believing it’s me
“Taylor!” I yell in pure euphoria. He, of course, runs towards me, considering I’m on crutches, and hugs me like we haven’t seen each other in years, which we haven’t. He sets me down and I’m staring into his almost black eyes.
From then on, it was like the good ole days: joined at the hip. But a glee like this never lasts long.
“I’ll stop hassling you when you learn to be on time, Tail,” I speak into the phone. For some reason, Taylor can’t figure out how to be on time.
“Yeah...maybe you should just keep hassling me,” I can’t help but smile.
“Okay,” I start, “I’m going to get off now so you can get in the car. You know they have those “no cell phones while driving” laws now.”
“Okay Fuze, I’ll see you in fifteen minutes. Bye.”
“See ya, Tail.”
“Dov'è... si trova….dov’e si trova….” I mutter under my breath in Italian.
“Would you stop pacing? He’s fine. You know he’s always late for everything.” Declain says, trying to calm me down. I had walked into his room because I was worried. I knew Taylor was always late, but never 45 minutes!
“I talked to him at 4. He said he would be here in 15 minutes, which would be 4:15. It’s 5:00! Something has to be wrong.” I semi-yell at my twin. I’m still pacing across his carpet. He stands up and grabs me by the shoulder. Stupid move considering we both have black belts, and most people who grab my shoulder end up on the ground crying. My hand flies up, ready to defend myself (it’s a reflex, I can’t help it) but his other palm is squeezing it before my hand makes it to my shoulder.
“He’s fine, sis. He probably just got stuck in traffic. It is rush hour, you know.” He calmly states. Of course I know it’s rush hour, we’ve lived in this apartment for the past two and a half years.
“You know what? Fine. I’ll just go back to my room and play Tap Tap until he gets here.” I head for the door.
“Good choice,” Declain says with a slight smile. My brother smiles about everything. It gets on my nerves sometimes.
I grab my phone off of my desk and flop down on my stomach onto the bed. The warm metal covering feels nice in my chilly hands. Worrying makes you cold. I load the game and hear the rock music blast through the small speakers. The small orbs pop up on the screen and my thumbs tap to the beat of the song. I finish the game, and look up at the TV. I hadn’t watched it since last night, and it was on a local channel; I had been recording something the night before. On the screen, there is a scene of a messy crash. The scrolling words tell me it’s I-85 Southbound. I turn up the volume on the TV and listen to the reporter’s high-pitched voice.
“There’s been a 4 car pileup on I-85 Southbound. Expect traffic delays of multiple hours.” Maybe that’s why Taylor’s late. The overhead camera swoops in on the pictures of the emaciated cars. “There are no deaths, but four of the victims have been rushed to Grady Memorial emergency room, while two of the people are being treated on the scene and were not seriously injured. The other four are in critical condition. It is apparent that the crash was caused by a drunken driver in this car.” The camera pans to a grey pickup truck. I roll my eyes. It’s always a pickup truck. As the screen fills with the image of the entire scene once more, a small blue object catches my eye. I turn my head and see what will change my life forever. Something that makes my heart drop to my stomach, and makes me question the meaning of all of this madness that is unfolding before me. His car. Taylor’s car. The small, blue car we picked out 3 months ago, right after he turned sixteen. It’s broken in almost two pieces; a crane is pulling it out of a ditch. Both sides are crushed inwards and the paint has been mostly peeled off of the car. I hear a scream. After a few moments, I realize it’s me.
Declain rushes into the room. I’m sitting upright on the bed, knees curled near my stomach, my hands over my ears, eyes squeezed shut, and a scream feeling the room. I know he looks up at the scream. He sees it too. He has to! I feel another mass sitting pressing down on the comforter in front of me. Hands cover my ears, and my palms are pulled from my ears.
“Hayley,” I hear his voice stay. Ive stopped screaming by now. “Hayley, open your eyes.” Tears are streaming down my face, but for some reason, I listen. My eyelids slowly pull apart, and I’m staring into my twin brother’s face. I see some of myself in him: the curvature of the nose, the almost almond shaped caramel brown eyes, full lips, but most prominently the glisten of tears in the corners of his eyes. I bury my head in my arms, not bearing to see any more of the craziness known as my life. A moment or two later, I feel myself lifted off of the bed, into the strong arms of my twin. He carries me out the door of the apartment building, into the chilly autumn breeze. The air bites at my skin; I’m not wearing a jacket. Declain sets me down in the passenger side of the red convertible, top up, and rounds the car to climb in the driver’s side.
The ride to the hospital is uneventful. The traffic on our side of town hasn’t gotten too crazy yet, so it only takes about 20 minutes to get there.
“Okay, so you are coming, right?” I was on the phone with Taylor. I don’t know why I was asking, I knew he’d be here to work on the song. He was always there for me. Ever since we found each other again, you would think we were joined at the hip.
“Yes, I’ll be there. Stop hassling me, Fuze!” That’s me, Fuze. My nickname since we were little. I have no idea where it came from, or why he calls me that, but I guess it just happened. Maybe I should just start from the beginning.
I’m Kanth Longkyi. I am currently 15 years old (turning sixteen next month) and I’m not your average teenager. Would you really call a 15 year old girl who’s with the world’s most popular music stars every day normal? That’s what I thought. You’ve probably heard of me before because I guess you could call me the best music producer ever. I work with all sorts of people every day from all corners of the earth, but mostly American artists. You know the ones: B.o.B., Fall Out Boy, Katy Perry, Ke$ha, Paramore, Maroon 5, Neon Trees, the works. I work mostly with bands, though. But I should probably be heading over to the other person in this ordeal, the one who really matters. Taylor.
Taylor is my best friend. Forever and Always. That’s our motto. We met in 3rd grade, right after my dad died. At that point, I could be considered distant. My dad was my best friend, excluding my twin brother Declain because twins are friends for life. We did everything together: we went to baseball games, watched movies, everything. Then, one day, he was gone in the blink of an eye. You know the whole sob story: Dad’s coming home from work and gets hit by a drunk driver. Well that was the end of my life as I knew it. But Taylor changed that. After the accident, it was hard for me to trust, or love. I didn’t get close to people because somewhere in the back of my head, I knew they would be gone in an instant. Something was different about him, though. With that toothy grin and messy dirty blonde hair, he just seemed different. Something made me trust him. And in that trusting, I developed a friendship, a friendship with the coolest person in the world.
We were inseparable, of course, until he left. I knew everybody left, but this was painful. His father was a U.S. Ambassador, but the government had promised to keep them in the States for as long as they wanted. Apparently, he was needed elsewhere, and Taylor and I were torn apart at the age of 12. Of all the places in the world, Germany is where they landed. We kept in touch for a while, but then his family started moving more and more until we finally lost track of each other.
Now imagine this: you’re 15, living in Atlanta and one of the hottest, most quickly developing producers around. Life’s pretty great, right? Wrong. You never know how great it gets until now.
I was meeting with a new group, with great potential. There was this restaurant near my apartment, Dominic’s: the house of the wealthy and famous. My crutches were seriously aggrivating me (jogging accident), and my brother was walking next to me up to favorite restaurant and seeing him there, realizing he’s a band member. I felt like I was pulled back three years, to a better place, a happier time.
“Tail?” I whisper, knowing that if it wasn’t him, he wouldn’t respond to a nickname. He whirls around, staring at me for the first time, closing the cell phone he was so attentively talking into the moment before. His eyes get wide, and it seems like he’s seeing for the first time.
“Fuze?” He tentatively says, not believing it’s me
“Taylor!” I yell in pure euphoria. He, of course, runs towards me, considering I’m on crutches, and hugs me like we haven’t seen each other in years, which we haven’t. He sets me down and I’m staring into his almost black eyes.
From then on, it was like the good ole days: joined at the hip. But a glee like this never lasts long.
“I’ll stop hassling you when you learn to be on time, Tail,” I speak into the phone. For some reason, Taylor can’t figure out how to be on time.
“Yeah...maybe you should just keep hassling me,” I can’t help but smile.
“Okay,” I start, “I’m going to get off now so you can get in the car. You know they have those “no cell phones while driving” laws now.”
“Okay Fuze, I’ll see you in fifteen minutes. Bye.”
“See ya, Tail.”
“Dov'è... si trova….dov’e si trova….” I mutter under my breath in Italian.
“Would you stop pacing? He’s fine. You know he’s always late for everything.” Declain says, trying to calm me down. I had walked into his room because I was worried. I knew Taylor was always late, but never 45 minutes!
“I talked to him at 4. He said he would be here in 15 minutes, which would be 4:15. It’s 5:00! Something has to be wrong.” I semi-yell at my twin. I’m still pacing across his carpet. He stands up and grabs me by the shoulder. Stupid move considering we both have black belts, and most people who grab my shoulder end up on the ground crying. My hand flies up, ready to defend myself (it’s a reflex, I can’t help it) but his other palm is squeezing it before my hand makes it to my shoulder.
“He’s fine, sis. He probably just got stuck in traffic. It is rush hour, you know.” He calmly states. Of course I know it’s rush hour, we’ve lived in this apartment for the past two and a half years.
“You know what? Fine. I’ll just go back to my room and play Tap Tap until he gets here.” I head for the door.
“Good choice,” Declain says with a slight smile. My brother smiles about everything. It gets on my nerves sometimes.
I grab my phone off of my desk and flop down on my stomach onto the bed. The warm metal covering feels nice in my chilly hands. Worrying makes you cold. I load the game and hear the rock music blast through the small speakers. The small orbs pop up on the screen and my thumbs tap to the beat of the song. I finish the game, and look up at the TV. I hadn’t watched it since last night, and it was on a local channel; I had been recording something the night before. On the screen, there is a scene of a messy crash. The scrolling words tell me it’s I-85 Southbound. I turn up the volume on the TV and listen to the reporter’s high-pitched voice.
“There’s been a 4 car pileup on I-85 Southbound. Expect traffic delays of multiple hours.” Maybe that’s why Taylor’s late. The overhead camera swoops in on the pictures of the emaciated cars. “There are no deaths, but four of the victims have been rushed to Grady Memorial emergency room, while two of the people are being treated on the scene and were not seriously injured. The other four are in critical condition. It is apparent that the crash was caused by a drunken driver in this car.” The camera pans to a grey pickup truck. I roll my eyes. It’s always a pickup truck. As the screen fills with the image of the entire scene once more, a small blue object catches my eye. I turn my head and see what will change my life forever. Something that makes my heart drop to my stomach, and makes me question the meaning of all of this madness that is unfolding before me. His car. Taylor’s car. The small, blue car we picked out 3 months ago, right after he turned sixteen. It’s broken in almost two pieces; a crane is pulling it out of a ditch. Both sides are crushed inwards and the paint has been mostly peeled off of the car. I hear a scream. After a few moments, I realize it’s me.
Declain rushes into the room. I’m sitting upright on the bed, knees curled near my stomach, my hands over my ears, eyes squeezed shut, and a scream feeling the room. I know he looks up at the scream. He sees it too. He has to! I feel another mass sitting pressing down on the comforter in front of me. Hands cover my ears, and my palms are pulled from my ears.
“Hayley,” I hear his voice stay. Ive stopped screaming by now. “Hayley, open your eyes.” Tears are streaming down my face, but for some reason, I listen. My eyelids slowly pull apart, and I’m staring into my twin brother’s face. I see some of myself in him: the curvature of the nose, the almost almond shaped caramel brown eyes, full lips, but most prominently the glisten of tears in the corners of his eyes. I bury my head in my arms, not bearing to see any more of the craziness known as my life. A moment or two later, I feel myself lifted off of the bed, into the strong arms of my twin. He carries me out the door of the apartment building, into the chilly autumn breeze. The air bites at my skin; I’m not wearing a jacket. Declain sets me down in the passenger side of the red convertible, top up, and rounds the car to climb in the driver’s side.
The ride to the hospital is uneventful. The traffic on our side of town hasn’t gotten too crazy yet, so it only takes about 20 minutes to get there.
