Post by Hawk on Oct 11, 2009 14:56:09 GMT -5
I really, REALLY dislike how this came out. But at the same time I don't completely hate it. So, I've turned to Ia5 for assistance. (namely Crayfish).
As opposed to Amz's guidelines, I'm perfectly okay with you guys posting on this thread rather than having a completely different one for a discussion.
I'm willing to take any and every amount of criticism you have to offer.
So please help out.
PS---it's supposed to lack information/be a little confusing, as Laurel will uncover more facts as the story progresses. Therefore, as the reader, you aren't supposed to know much either.
BTW for those who are reading this and have no idea, this is the first chapter of my novel-in-progress, The Gang (working title). And I really need help with it.
If you want to give me a totally new idea for a first chapter, I'd also appreciate that.
Chapter One
Rain.
Dyed dark blue and smoky gray, Paris looked like a starry night sky against the backdrop of swirling black storm clouds. Lightning would seldom flash, but when it did it was soon followed by the rumbling thunder that rolled out over the city’s skyline like a wave. The Seine was unusually calm, its glassy surface tainted only by the constant raindrops pounding into its waters.
I was huddled against a building, trying to wait the storm out. My entire body was soaked and shivering, and I feared that pneumonia would find its way to me.
A sudden bright flash illuminated the streets for a single moment, and soon after a sharp clap of thunder startled me. I whimpered and drew my knees closer to myself, attempting to generate enough body heat to make the summer afternoon seem more like a summer afternoon.
From my position in the alley, I could see pedestrians hurrying around, trying to get home as quickly as their feet could carry them. Occasionally a car would go by, arousing a spray of rainwater that had collected in the road’s ditches. People would yell at one another, or even at drivers. Car horns bleated. It was all regular city noises, but in the rain everything was ten times more dreary and unfortunate.
Then there was an unusual pattern of sound. Calm, paced footsteps snapped against the sidewalk, growing louder as the owner grew closer. I closed my eyes in anger; whoever was about to walk by had some sort of portable shelter over their head. They were lucky enough to be dry.
The footsteps abruptly stopped, as did the pelting raindrops. I opened my eyes and looked up at the interior of a night-black umbrella. Holding the umbrella’s handle was a young boy. I could hear the rain pounding into the umbrella’s convex side. It sounded like the beat to an orchestra.
The boy was probably no older than I, but he was much brighter; more vibrant. His hair was a soft brown, his skin seemed to glow like a faint lightbulb, and his eyes were the most beautiful shade of robin-egg blue, made of what had to be glass.
He noticed me looking at him and smiled peacefully. He was getting wetter and wetter as the seconds ticked by, but didn’t seem to mind at all. I felt like crying.
He stood there till the storm ended. As the last drops escaped from the clouds up high above the city, he pulled the umbrella shut, placed it on the ground beside me, and walked away without a word.
That was my first encounter with the Gang.
---
Clouds.
Instead of the natural blue it usually colored itself as, or the dark foreboding blue it became during a thunderstorm, the sky was a light gray. This kind of gray was misleading and untrustworthy—it told Paris that the sun was soon to come; that the rain was over; that a new bright and cheerful day was to come. But it was lying as it said this, and I knew that the sun wasn’t to come until tomorrow, or even the next day. The city was hunched in this kind of weather, as was I. What was the point of clouds if there was no rain?
I clutched the umbrella’s hook handle tightly. Since that day in the storm, I hadn’t seen the boy with robin-egg blue eyes. My only speculation as to why he had done such a selfless thing for me, a petty homeless girl, was that he had been an angel. No normal Parisian would bother with helping me. Yet he had.
I sighed and adjusted my position on the bench. I was sitting, and waiting. I didn’t know what I was waiting for. Maybe a new life to start. I would appreciate that, I thought.
So I sat there with the umbrella, waiting for my new life to come to me.
All that came was more rain.
My face became wet; not with the clouds’ anger, but with my own. Under the umbrella’s thin yet protective layer of black, I sobbed and sobbed for reasons I could not understand.
Someone sat on the bench beside me. I didn’t even bother to look at them, knowing my eyes would be swollen and red.
“Why are you crying?” a voice asked quietly. It was a young and immature voice, incapable of comprehending my emotional stress.
I didn’t respond.
After a few moments, the voice said, “I have some cakes here. Would you like one?”
Slowly I lifted my face from my hands. Bleary-eyed, I watched as the voice’s owner opened a small white box and retrieved a chocolate-frosted pastry coated in a brush of white sprinkles. The cake was held out to me. Magically it was untouched by the lousy weather.
I cautiously accepted the little cake, but instead of eating it I decided to marvel at it with eyes that were swollen and red. I glanced to the box, which was now empty. The voice’s owner was not eating anything, nor had he eaten anything before. He had given me his only cake. I burst into silent tears.
The boy smiled at me, his green eyes as glossy as the Seine.
Then he got up and walked away without a word.
That was my second encounter with the Gang.
---
Sunshine.
The third encounter occurred on a bright and joyous day. A day without rain or clouds; a day with a sky of perfect blue. Of robin-egg blue.
I still held the umbrella. Around me, citizens swirled in a daze, surprised and cheerful about the city’s rebirth from the rain.
Some glanced at me, obviously wondering why a young dirty girl was wearing thick clothes and clutching an umbrella to her chest.
I was sitting on the same bench as the day before. Beneath me, the fallen raindrops from yesterday soaked through my pant legs. The cold dampness was somehow soothing. It was a touch I was familiar with.
Puddles, large and small, dotted the sidewalk around me. I kept my eyes on one that seemed to be creeping closer to my feet as the moments passed. The sky was reflected perfectly in the water.
Suddenly someone’s foot came down upon the puddle. Droplets of water spread out in a firework from the center of the puddle, and its once untainted surface was now shaking unsteadily, ripples bouncing around. I pulled my eyes away from the wrecked pool of water and watched the man who had disturbed its peace walk away, his bold gait proving that he couldn’t care less about the world around him. I doubted he even knew what he had done.
Sometimes it’s the little things you take the time to do that matter.
My concentration broken, I decided to examine the sky, where no one could pass in front of my eyes to destroy the serene peace of the sunny day.
I watched soft, white clouds drift like cars stuck in traffic across the sky. White against robin-egg blue. I felt my lips curl into a smile.
After lying there for a half hour my neck began to get sore. I turned my head back and went on looking at the puddle, which had recovered from its brief stress.
Instead of seeing the sky in the puddle’s mirror-like surface, I saw someone’s face. And they were looking at me through the reflection.
I gasped and looked up, only to freeze in fear.
The ghost standing in front of me cocked his head, eyes narrowed as he studied me. His skin and hair were as white as the clouds far above the city, and his eyes were red. He had his hands in his pockets, and was leaning away from me in a flinch like I might attack him.
I swallowed before asking, “Can I help you?”
“More like I help you,” he said. His voice was as smooth as his snowy skin.
“Um, okay.”
We remained motionless for the next few minutes. I found a sudden interest in the umbrella’s scratchy web.
He finally spoke: “We’ve noticed. Don’t act like we haven’t.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I dared myself to meet his gaze. He was wearing a black jacket, the hood pulled over his hair and sleeves covering his arms. I wondered if he was overheating in the sunshine.
His pale lips formed a grin. “Remember the kid who gave you that umbrella? He was the first messenger.”
I fingered the umbrella’s handle. It was made of smooth, high-quality plastic. It was not the sort of thing you’d want to offer to a homeless girl on the streets.
“And the boy who gave you the cake was the second one.”
“What are you saying?” My throat caught in preparation to cry. Some people were cruel; to torture a helpless orphan like myself. I’d seen other homeless people get harassed before. I never expected to be a victim.
“I’m the third messenger.”
“Stop it.”
“I’m not giving you an object; rather, an invitation.” His smile was kind. “You don’t have to accept it, but it would be nice if you could still acknowledge it.”
“Please just go away.” I closed my eyes and pursed my lips, willing myself to avoid bursting into tears.
He pulled a hand from his pocket. The skin was so white it was almost transparent. Between his thumb and forefinger was a slip of paper. He held it out to me.
I glared at it, indifferent.
“Right.” He placed the paper on top of my head. “I’d appreciate it if you read it.”
He leaned away again, this time with a friendly smile. I knew that he wasn’t going to leave me alone until I obeyed his request.
So I looked at the paper. All it said was ‘Have a nice day!’ in a curly, neat font. Beneath that was a smiley face.
I couldn’t help but laugh. I laughed so hard I started to cry, and tears of mirth rolled down my cheeks. I hid my face, embarrassed.
The ghost’s red eyes were bright as the sun. “Thanks for accepting. I hope this party of ours made your day, because it certainly made mine.”
As he walked away, I noticed he was careful to step around every puddle he came across.
***
An hour later a black cat trotted by the bench, a chunk of bread in her mouth. She stopped in front of the puddle and crouched down, preparing to feast on its stolen dinner. I watched the sharp canines work methodically to slowly break the bread apart. When she had swallowed the last crumb she sat up and meowed at me, her eyes a pair of yellow moons.
“I’m hungry too,” I said. “I wish I was a cat, and then I probably wouldn’t have anything to worry about.”
She examined me quizzically.
“Cats are supposed to be bad luck. Especially black ones, like you. But you’ve got a little bit of white on your throat, so does that still mean you’re unlucky?”
She blinked and cocked her head in the same way the ghost had.
She was probably his cat.
“Don’t you think your owner’s looking for you?”
The cat’s tail swished. She meowed again and rubbed her head against my ankle, and almost simultaneously someone tapped me on the shoulder.
I turned, and saw the boy with robin-egg blue eyes. I started to speak but he slapped a hand to my mouth before I could utter a single sound. “Shh. You need to come with me,” he said in a harsh whisper.
I told him no, but my words were lost in his palm.
“Resistance is futile.” He laughed. “I always wanted to say that.”
I snarled and pulled away from him, falling out of the bench. “HELP!” I screamed as I hit the ground. “He’s assaulting me!”
The cat hissed, its pretty face contorted in anger. It took a few steps away from me and made a bubbling growl in its throat. I tried to stand to get away from the boy. He jumped over the bench and landed with a sharp clicking sound behind me. I glanced at his feet before taking off into a sprint. He was wearing sneakers—the expensive kind professional track stars wore.
I pushed through crowds of bewildered pedestrians, yelling all the while. “Stop him!” I shrieked to them as he tried to follow my path. I heard him grunt loudly as someone comprehended my frantic cries and took action. I didn’t bother to look over my shoulder; that would only slow me down.
Then the cat was beside me, her claws clicking on the sidewalk’s stones. Just as I realized she was cooperating with the boy she threw itself in front of my feet and I fell, skidding across the cement and rock. My chin hit the ground a little too suddenly, causing me to bite through my tongue.
Blood oozing from my lips and my knees quivering, I struggled to my feet. My knees seared with pain, and my tongue was burning. I spat a blob of red saliva to the ground.
And then his hands were around my waist.
I screamed and jerked my arms and kicked my legs. I felt a connection and he dropped me, clutching his stomach. He fell into a coughing spasm and looked at me, his clear eyes watering over. For a moment I felt horrible; guilty for hurting him.
But he had tried to hurt me.
“Go away!” I said, backing away from him. “Leave me alone.”
He fell to his knees, gasping for breath. “S—s…s…s…”
I was breathing heavily. I hadn’t noticed how far I’d run. I couldn’t even see the bench anymore. “Please just leave me alone,” I said, cringing at the miserable tone of my voice.
“S…sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”
“Just leave me alone, and tell those others to leave me alone too. I don’t want you helping me anymore, or whatever it is you’re doing.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I don’t need your stupid umbrella, or any food, or you trying to make me laugh.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I just want…I don’t—”
And suddenly there was a massive roar, and then an enormous burst of flames in the middle of the street. People started screaming, running; cars swerved all over the road, trying to escape the wild fire. I threw my hands over my head and fell against the building to my left, making myself as small as possible.
The boy stumbled forward and knelt beside me, so that he was between me and the explosion. Car horns were blaring, feet were rushing past. He seemed oblivious to everything. He placed a hand against the wall to shield me; to give me a sense of fortification.
“What’s happening?!” I yelled to him, my eyes sealed shut.
A violent whirlwind blew around us, whipping my hair in all directions. Out in the street, there was a series of sharp claps and bangs and screeches. When the gust died, I took a peek. The flames had extended over the cars, some of which had flipped over and stacked upon each other. My eyes widened in horror as I realized there were still people in the cars, some clawing at the windows; others motionless as the fire spread to them.
I screamed then, whether I was aware of it being my own voice or not. “My God! Oh, my God!”
“Hold still!” the boy said into my ear, a little louder than necessary. He adjusted his position and suddenly I was in his arms, being held like a young child.
Another explosion shook the street. Bricks fell from the buildings around us. The sound of cracking ice shredded the air, and I watched, mouth open, as the pavement split in two, a jagged fracture running down the middle of the road. Sand and flames leapt from the fissure, as if something was trying to escape from beneath the city.
“Jesus,” the boy snarled. “They didn’t say they were gonna rip the road apart.”
Someone flashed by us, their open black jacket flapping in the strong winds. It was the ghost. He was running towards the fire, his curly white hair glowing orange against the flames.
“TEN!” the boy screamed. “What the hell is happening?!”
The ghost glanced over his shoulder as he cried back, “What makes you think I have any freaking idea? One's gone mad, is what!”
The boy groaned angrily.
“If you’re not going to take me somewhere safe, I’d like to run away on my own, thanks,” I said as calmly as I could. Inside my heart was pounding at a thousand beats a second.
“Right, sorry. I’m sorry,” he said. As he was about to lower me to the ground, another earthquake blasted through the street, widening the cracks. The fire flared through the faults, catching on the trees that lined the road. The spicy scent of burning leaves swirled around me in plumes of smoke.
“God, I’m so sorry,” he said.
“Stop apologizing and get me out of here!” I thrashed in his arms. He released me at once, and I fell on my butt.
As I launched forward to run, the boy grabbed my arm. “Wait!”
“Are you serious?!”
“No, please! You’ll be safer with me! Trust me.” He said something more, but the howl of the rapidly growing flames drowned his words.
“ARE YOU SERIOUS?!” I repeated. “Look at that thing!” A column of fire was reaching for the sky where the first explosion had gone off. Cracks were spreading in every direction, dirt getting flung and flames licking.
"Come with me!" he shouted, pulling on my wrist. I might have said yes if he weren't pulling me towards the fire.
I tugged at my wrist. “Let go, you crazy freak!”
“My name’s Jay, smart one." He paused. "Call me Six.”
“AHHH! Just let go! Why are you holding me here?”
"I need to talk to you!"
That was not what I wanted to hear. "Let go!"
The sky was black with smoke. The sun, once cheerfully grinning, was now hidden behind the layer of bubbling, burnt air. The column of fire was still growing. I doubted it would stop, and if we stood here we’d be swept into the flames.
“Let go!”
“Calm down, Laurel."
I froze. “What? How did you—”
The ghost ran by us again, holding what looked like a television remote in his hand. At his feet, galloping at top speed, was the cat. The tip of her tail was singed and leaving a trail of thin silver smoke.
“TEN!” the boy yelled.
“What now?!” the ghost asked, slowing. The cat raced on.
“Why’re you—”
“Forget it, birdbrain.” The ghost turned to leave, but then had second thoughts. “Mmm! Yeah, Fourteen’s in there, too, in case you were wondering.”
“Shit, man.”
“What are you talking about?! Just let me go with him!” I reached for the ghost. “Help me! This crazy freak’s trying to get me killed!”
“He does that a lot.” The ghost plucked a dandelion from between two sidewalk slabs. “Here, have a flower.”
“You’re both insane!”
“You noticed?”
“Look, Laurel. Obviously, if we’re not freaking out, the fire’s not going to get us,” the boy said.
“You're psychotic!”
“Stop screaming already!”
“Stop holding on to me!”
The heat from the flames was making the air ripple like disturbed water. My heart thudded in my chest.
“Ten, aren’t you going to get Fourteen out?” the boy asked.
“Oh, he looked fine on his own.” The ghost took off in the direction the cat had fled. "I want to save my sorry ass as well, you know."
I clawed at the boy, my anger and frustration growing from the ghost's last comment. “Just let me go!” But he wasn’t looking at me. His eyes, reflecting the flickering flames’ light, glowed with an emotion I didn’t want to see there.
Fear.
He was afraid, too.
How reassuring.
“Look, whatever your name is, I want to get out of here. Clearly, you do, too. So if you could just—”
His lips parted. “DUCK!” He collapsed on himself, pulling me down with him.
Another terrible burst of wind blew over us in a wave of heat. Through the howl of the fire flying past us, I could detect the sound of a faint whirring, like a propeller plane’s drone from high in the air. Then someone was yelling:
“You bastard!”
The boy had his arm around my shoulders and was looking over it, glaring at an unseen object in the sky.
I cursed the boy to hell.
“Shh. It’ll be fine,” he said, pulling me closer to him. Then he called up to the voice, “She’s a little sensitive, so if you could keep it down that would be fabulous.”
There was a cry of outrage. “Do you even know what’s been happening?”
The whirring unexpectedly burst into a chopping roar, and wind rushed past the two of us again. The boy was clutching me so tightly it hurt, a grimace set on his face. "Thirteen! Please!" he yelled through his teeth. "Don't screw this up!"
"What?!" The roar stopped abruptly and was replaced with heavy, rapid footsteps. Someone was running at us, and based on the situation I assumed they weren't all too happy.
"Oh, shit. Stand up and get behind me," the boy commanded, bringing me to my feet. He held my wrists and maneuvered me around.
"Just let me go," I begged, my eyes watering from the smoke. I squeezed them shut, hoping this whole thing was a dream and would go away when I looked again. "Please. I don't want to be a part of this."
A loud clang interrupted my last word, and I felt the boy release my hand, screaming in pain. I stumbled backward, forcing my eyes open, despite the swirling smoke and brightness of the flames.
The boy with blue eyes had collapsed on himself and was holding the side of his head, which, I noticed, was leaking so much blood I was sure he'd be drained within the next few minutes. It dripped through his fingers and pooled on the ground next to his face. His eyes were sealed tight and his mouth curled into a grimace.
Standing above him was an older boy, holding what looked like a metal snowboard over his right shoulder. He too was frowning, but in disgust. One of his green eyes was several shades darker than the other, and his hair was the color of the flames. The orange and red hues seemed to flicker, as if reflecting the fire.
He lifted his gaze to meet mine. The intensity of the hatred in his eyes paralyzed me, rendering my body so immobile that no matter how hard my mind screamed to take off running I could not respond.
"What did you do?" I cried, falling to my knees to assist the boy with blue eyes. Blood kept pouring from the wound and spilled on my hands as I held his. "Please help him."
"Why he wants you so badly is beyond my understanding," the other boy said.
"Excuse me?"
He flipped the metal contraption over in his hands and held it out in front of him. "Why he wants you so badly is beyond my understanding." The sentence sounded completely identical to the first time he spoke it. I noticed a murmur behind his voice, as if another, quieter person were talking along with him simultaneously.
"Are you like a robot or something, repeating everything you say?"
His frown became more pronounced. "You clearly don't know the slightest thing about robots." He released the metal board. It hovered in place, unaffected by the gravity. I stared at it, fearful of what it might do next. He smirked. "Or any kind of machine."
The boy with blue eyes groaned from the ground.
"Shut up!" the other one snarled, kicking him in the stomach. I yelled something vulgar, but it only amused him. His laugh was mean. "I see now. He just wants a plaything. He's bored with the
rest of us."
"What the hell are you talking about?" I demanded, looking down at the fallen boy. The flow of blood had stopped but he was still clutching the area of the wound. I sucked in my breath, afraid of the blood.
The other grinned, enjoying my state of frustration. "Surely you understand some parts of the situation? Analysis of the area should reveal the answers. It's rather obvious."
"You're definitely a robot."
The grin became a sneer. "Don't act like you know things you don't. You're just a street rat, feeding off of trash and stinking of the sewers. You haven't experienced anything. You don't know anything."
"What makes you think you're any smarter than I am?! If you're so brilliant, why don't you help him?" I motioned to the boy on the ground, who was moaning quietly.
"Because I'm the one who hit him. Generally when you cause pain to someone you don't attempt to relieve it. It's simple logic. Of course, you wouldn't know anything about that."
I clenched my teeth. "Please just help him."
The ground shuddered violently, sending a fresh spray of fire and sand over the street. Dirt rained on the three of us, and for a moment I was aware of a siren and flashing lights. "An ambulance! We need an ambulance!" I shrieked. "We need—"
Crack.
He slapped me.
The robotic jerk slapped me.
"We don't need anything," he said.
The blue-eyed boy opened his eyes. He winced and removed his hand from the cut, staring hard at the blood that dyed his skin. "Thirteen," he said calmly. "Let her go."
The numbers. In a jolt I remembered the ghost being called Ten and the blue-eyed boy introducing himself as Six and they had been talking about Fourteen and now this one was Thirteen and numbers numbers numbers.
"Numbers," I whispered, slowly getting to my feet. Who referred to themselves as numbers? The answer swam in front of my eyes.
"So you know," said the one called Thirteen, his lips stretching into a wicked smile. The one called Six sat up and clenched his teeth, fighting off the pain from the wound. The board of metal continued to hover. "You know what we are."
I took a few steps back, but remembered the column of fire burning so intensely behind me. I tasted the adrenaline rush of fear and prepared to spring away at any motion that was hiding dark intentions. I licked my lips and felt the cracked, dry skin I was so familiar with. "Are you going to kill me?"
Thirteen laughed. His pupils were tiny, and for a moment he looked completely insane. "I wish. But One apparently wants you. I can't imagine why."
Six met my eyes for a moment before glancing at his expensive-looking track sneakers.
"Then why'd you hit him?" I asked, pointing at Six.
"He was standing in the way, one, and two, he has something of mine. Something that I very dearly love and want back. I'll kill him for it if I must."
"Run," Six whispered, continuing to stare at his feet.
"What?" Thirteen snarled. "What did you say?"
"RUN!" Six screamed, standing up. He grabbed the hovering board and rammed it into Thirteen's chest, who emitted a grunt and a sharp exhale of breath. I charged forward and passed them, sprinting at full speed, as Thirteen fell and Six let go of the board. Its momentum spun it into the nearest brick wall.
I screamed as I was showered in sparks and chips of brick. Thirteen screamed as he watched his hovering board explode. Six screamed for me to run and run and run and get away.
I ran and ran and ran and got away.
And all the while Six's other name, the first name he'd spoke of, played in my mind with each step I took: Jay. Jay. Jay. His name was Jay and he had saved my life, from the fire and from that maniac with two different colored eyes and from the rain that came down that day when I'd first met him.
I'd found an angel.
An angel that gifted people with umbrellas and used swearwords and was a part of the most dangerous crime organization in the entire city of Paris.
But, an angel, nonetheless.
-----------------------
See how awful it is? But I also enjoy reading it, too. So HELP ME, PLEASE
As opposed to Amz's guidelines, I'm perfectly okay with you guys posting on this thread rather than having a completely different one for a discussion.
I'm willing to take any and every amount of criticism you have to offer.
So please help out.
PS---it's supposed to lack information/be a little confusing, as Laurel will uncover more facts as the story progresses. Therefore, as the reader, you aren't supposed to know much either.
BTW for those who are reading this and have no idea, this is the first chapter of my novel-in-progress, The Gang (working title). And I really need help with it.
If you want to give me a totally new idea for a first chapter, I'd also appreciate that.
Chapter One
Rain.
Dyed dark blue and smoky gray, Paris looked like a starry night sky against the backdrop of swirling black storm clouds. Lightning would seldom flash, but when it did it was soon followed by the rumbling thunder that rolled out over the city’s skyline like a wave. The Seine was unusually calm, its glassy surface tainted only by the constant raindrops pounding into its waters.
I was huddled against a building, trying to wait the storm out. My entire body was soaked and shivering, and I feared that pneumonia would find its way to me.
A sudden bright flash illuminated the streets for a single moment, and soon after a sharp clap of thunder startled me. I whimpered and drew my knees closer to myself, attempting to generate enough body heat to make the summer afternoon seem more like a summer afternoon.
From my position in the alley, I could see pedestrians hurrying around, trying to get home as quickly as their feet could carry them. Occasionally a car would go by, arousing a spray of rainwater that had collected in the road’s ditches. People would yell at one another, or even at drivers. Car horns bleated. It was all regular city noises, but in the rain everything was ten times more dreary and unfortunate.
Then there was an unusual pattern of sound. Calm, paced footsteps snapped against the sidewalk, growing louder as the owner grew closer. I closed my eyes in anger; whoever was about to walk by had some sort of portable shelter over their head. They were lucky enough to be dry.
The footsteps abruptly stopped, as did the pelting raindrops. I opened my eyes and looked up at the interior of a night-black umbrella. Holding the umbrella’s handle was a young boy. I could hear the rain pounding into the umbrella’s convex side. It sounded like the beat to an orchestra.
The boy was probably no older than I, but he was much brighter; more vibrant. His hair was a soft brown, his skin seemed to glow like a faint lightbulb, and his eyes were the most beautiful shade of robin-egg blue, made of what had to be glass.
He noticed me looking at him and smiled peacefully. He was getting wetter and wetter as the seconds ticked by, but didn’t seem to mind at all. I felt like crying.
He stood there till the storm ended. As the last drops escaped from the clouds up high above the city, he pulled the umbrella shut, placed it on the ground beside me, and walked away without a word.
That was my first encounter with the Gang.
---
Clouds.
Instead of the natural blue it usually colored itself as, or the dark foreboding blue it became during a thunderstorm, the sky was a light gray. This kind of gray was misleading and untrustworthy—it told Paris that the sun was soon to come; that the rain was over; that a new bright and cheerful day was to come. But it was lying as it said this, and I knew that the sun wasn’t to come until tomorrow, or even the next day. The city was hunched in this kind of weather, as was I. What was the point of clouds if there was no rain?
I clutched the umbrella’s hook handle tightly. Since that day in the storm, I hadn’t seen the boy with robin-egg blue eyes. My only speculation as to why he had done such a selfless thing for me, a petty homeless girl, was that he had been an angel. No normal Parisian would bother with helping me. Yet he had.
I sighed and adjusted my position on the bench. I was sitting, and waiting. I didn’t know what I was waiting for. Maybe a new life to start. I would appreciate that, I thought.
So I sat there with the umbrella, waiting for my new life to come to me.
All that came was more rain.
My face became wet; not with the clouds’ anger, but with my own. Under the umbrella’s thin yet protective layer of black, I sobbed and sobbed for reasons I could not understand.
Someone sat on the bench beside me. I didn’t even bother to look at them, knowing my eyes would be swollen and red.
“Why are you crying?” a voice asked quietly. It was a young and immature voice, incapable of comprehending my emotional stress.
I didn’t respond.
After a few moments, the voice said, “I have some cakes here. Would you like one?”
Slowly I lifted my face from my hands. Bleary-eyed, I watched as the voice’s owner opened a small white box and retrieved a chocolate-frosted pastry coated in a brush of white sprinkles. The cake was held out to me. Magically it was untouched by the lousy weather.
I cautiously accepted the little cake, but instead of eating it I decided to marvel at it with eyes that were swollen and red. I glanced to the box, which was now empty. The voice’s owner was not eating anything, nor had he eaten anything before. He had given me his only cake. I burst into silent tears.
The boy smiled at me, his green eyes as glossy as the Seine.
Then he got up and walked away without a word.
That was my second encounter with the Gang.
---
Sunshine.
The third encounter occurred on a bright and joyous day. A day without rain or clouds; a day with a sky of perfect blue. Of robin-egg blue.
I still held the umbrella. Around me, citizens swirled in a daze, surprised and cheerful about the city’s rebirth from the rain.
Some glanced at me, obviously wondering why a young dirty girl was wearing thick clothes and clutching an umbrella to her chest.
I was sitting on the same bench as the day before. Beneath me, the fallen raindrops from yesterday soaked through my pant legs. The cold dampness was somehow soothing. It was a touch I was familiar with.
Puddles, large and small, dotted the sidewalk around me. I kept my eyes on one that seemed to be creeping closer to my feet as the moments passed. The sky was reflected perfectly in the water.
Suddenly someone’s foot came down upon the puddle. Droplets of water spread out in a firework from the center of the puddle, and its once untainted surface was now shaking unsteadily, ripples bouncing around. I pulled my eyes away from the wrecked pool of water and watched the man who had disturbed its peace walk away, his bold gait proving that he couldn’t care less about the world around him. I doubted he even knew what he had done.
Sometimes it’s the little things you take the time to do that matter.
My concentration broken, I decided to examine the sky, where no one could pass in front of my eyes to destroy the serene peace of the sunny day.
I watched soft, white clouds drift like cars stuck in traffic across the sky. White against robin-egg blue. I felt my lips curl into a smile.
After lying there for a half hour my neck began to get sore. I turned my head back and went on looking at the puddle, which had recovered from its brief stress.
Instead of seeing the sky in the puddle’s mirror-like surface, I saw someone’s face. And they were looking at me through the reflection.
I gasped and looked up, only to freeze in fear.
The ghost standing in front of me cocked his head, eyes narrowed as he studied me. His skin and hair were as white as the clouds far above the city, and his eyes were red. He had his hands in his pockets, and was leaning away from me in a flinch like I might attack him.
I swallowed before asking, “Can I help you?”
“More like I help you,” he said. His voice was as smooth as his snowy skin.
“Um, okay.”
We remained motionless for the next few minutes. I found a sudden interest in the umbrella’s scratchy web.
He finally spoke: “We’ve noticed. Don’t act like we haven’t.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I dared myself to meet his gaze. He was wearing a black jacket, the hood pulled over his hair and sleeves covering his arms. I wondered if he was overheating in the sunshine.
His pale lips formed a grin. “Remember the kid who gave you that umbrella? He was the first messenger.”
I fingered the umbrella’s handle. It was made of smooth, high-quality plastic. It was not the sort of thing you’d want to offer to a homeless girl on the streets.
“And the boy who gave you the cake was the second one.”
“What are you saying?” My throat caught in preparation to cry. Some people were cruel; to torture a helpless orphan like myself. I’d seen other homeless people get harassed before. I never expected to be a victim.
“I’m the third messenger.”
“Stop it.”
“I’m not giving you an object; rather, an invitation.” His smile was kind. “You don’t have to accept it, but it would be nice if you could still acknowledge it.”
“Please just go away.” I closed my eyes and pursed my lips, willing myself to avoid bursting into tears.
He pulled a hand from his pocket. The skin was so white it was almost transparent. Between his thumb and forefinger was a slip of paper. He held it out to me.
I glared at it, indifferent.
“Right.” He placed the paper on top of my head. “I’d appreciate it if you read it.”
He leaned away again, this time with a friendly smile. I knew that he wasn’t going to leave me alone until I obeyed his request.
So I looked at the paper. All it said was ‘Have a nice day!’ in a curly, neat font. Beneath that was a smiley face.
I couldn’t help but laugh. I laughed so hard I started to cry, and tears of mirth rolled down my cheeks. I hid my face, embarrassed.
The ghost’s red eyes were bright as the sun. “Thanks for accepting. I hope this party of ours made your day, because it certainly made mine.”
As he walked away, I noticed he was careful to step around every puddle he came across.
***
An hour later a black cat trotted by the bench, a chunk of bread in her mouth. She stopped in front of the puddle and crouched down, preparing to feast on its stolen dinner. I watched the sharp canines work methodically to slowly break the bread apart. When she had swallowed the last crumb she sat up and meowed at me, her eyes a pair of yellow moons.
“I’m hungry too,” I said. “I wish I was a cat, and then I probably wouldn’t have anything to worry about.”
She examined me quizzically.
“Cats are supposed to be bad luck. Especially black ones, like you. But you’ve got a little bit of white on your throat, so does that still mean you’re unlucky?”
She blinked and cocked her head in the same way the ghost had.
She was probably his cat.
“Don’t you think your owner’s looking for you?”
The cat’s tail swished. She meowed again and rubbed her head against my ankle, and almost simultaneously someone tapped me on the shoulder.
I turned, and saw the boy with robin-egg blue eyes. I started to speak but he slapped a hand to my mouth before I could utter a single sound. “Shh. You need to come with me,” he said in a harsh whisper.
I told him no, but my words were lost in his palm.
“Resistance is futile.” He laughed. “I always wanted to say that.”
I snarled and pulled away from him, falling out of the bench. “HELP!” I screamed as I hit the ground. “He’s assaulting me!”
The cat hissed, its pretty face contorted in anger. It took a few steps away from me and made a bubbling growl in its throat. I tried to stand to get away from the boy. He jumped over the bench and landed with a sharp clicking sound behind me. I glanced at his feet before taking off into a sprint. He was wearing sneakers—the expensive kind professional track stars wore.
I pushed through crowds of bewildered pedestrians, yelling all the while. “Stop him!” I shrieked to them as he tried to follow my path. I heard him grunt loudly as someone comprehended my frantic cries and took action. I didn’t bother to look over my shoulder; that would only slow me down.
Then the cat was beside me, her claws clicking on the sidewalk’s stones. Just as I realized she was cooperating with the boy she threw itself in front of my feet and I fell, skidding across the cement and rock. My chin hit the ground a little too suddenly, causing me to bite through my tongue.
Blood oozing from my lips and my knees quivering, I struggled to my feet. My knees seared with pain, and my tongue was burning. I spat a blob of red saliva to the ground.
And then his hands were around my waist.
I screamed and jerked my arms and kicked my legs. I felt a connection and he dropped me, clutching his stomach. He fell into a coughing spasm and looked at me, his clear eyes watering over. For a moment I felt horrible; guilty for hurting him.
But he had tried to hurt me.
“Go away!” I said, backing away from him. “Leave me alone.”
He fell to his knees, gasping for breath. “S—s…s…s…”
I was breathing heavily. I hadn’t noticed how far I’d run. I couldn’t even see the bench anymore. “Please just leave me alone,” I said, cringing at the miserable tone of my voice.
“S…sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”
“Just leave me alone, and tell those others to leave me alone too. I don’t want you helping me anymore, or whatever it is you’re doing.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I don’t need your stupid umbrella, or any food, or you trying to make me laugh.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I just want…I don’t—”
And suddenly there was a massive roar, and then an enormous burst of flames in the middle of the street. People started screaming, running; cars swerved all over the road, trying to escape the wild fire. I threw my hands over my head and fell against the building to my left, making myself as small as possible.
The boy stumbled forward and knelt beside me, so that he was between me and the explosion. Car horns were blaring, feet were rushing past. He seemed oblivious to everything. He placed a hand against the wall to shield me; to give me a sense of fortification.
“What’s happening?!” I yelled to him, my eyes sealed shut.
A violent whirlwind blew around us, whipping my hair in all directions. Out in the street, there was a series of sharp claps and bangs and screeches. When the gust died, I took a peek. The flames had extended over the cars, some of which had flipped over and stacked upon each other. My eyes widened in horror as I realized there were still people in the cars, some clawing at the windows; others motionless as the fire spread to them.
I screamed then, whether I was aware of it being my own voice or not. “My God! Oh, my God!”
“Hold still!” the boy said into my ear, a little louder than necessary. He adjusted his position and suddenly I was in his arms, being held like a young child.
Another explosion shook the street. Bricks fell from the buildings around us. The sound of cracking ice shredded the air, and I watched, mouth open, as the pavement split in two, a jagged fracture running down the middle of the road. Sand and flames leapt from the fissure, as if something was trying to escape from beneath the city.
“Jesus,” the boy snarled. “They didn’t say they were gonna rip the road apart.”
Someone flashed by us, their open black jacket flapping in the strong winds. It was the ghost. He was running towards the fire, his curly white hair glowing orange against the flames.
“TEN!” the boy screamed. “What the hell is happening?!”
The ghost glanced over his shoulder as he cried back, “What makes you think I have any freaking idea? One's gone mad, is what!”
The boy groaned angrily.
“If you’re not going to take me somewhere safe, I’d like to run away on my own, thanks,” I said as calmly as I could. Inside my heart was pounding at a thousand beats a second.
“Right, sorry. I’m sorry,” he said. As he was about to lower me to the ground, another earthquake blasted through the street, widening the cracks. The fire flared through the faults, catching on the trees that lined the road. The spicy scent of burning leaves swirled around me in plumes of smoke.
“God, I’m so sorry,” he said.
“Stop apologizing and get me out of here!” I thrashed in his arms. He released me at once, and I fell on my butt.
As I launched forward to run, the boy grabbed my arm. “Wait!”
“Are you serious?!”
“No, please! You’ll be safer with me! Trust me.” He said something more, but the howl of the rapidly growing flames drowned his words.
“ARE YOU SERIOUS?!” I repeated. “Look at that thing!” A column of fire was reaching for the sky where the first explosion had gone off. Cracks were spreading in every direction, dirt getting flung and flames licking.
"Come with me!" he shouted, pulling on my wrist. I might have said yes if he weren't pulling me towards the fire.
I tugged at my wrist. “Let go, you crazy freak!”
“My name’s Jay, smart one." He paused. "Call me Six.”
“AHHH! Just let go! Why are you holding me here?”
"I need to talk to you!"
That was not what I wanted to hear. "Let go!"
The sky was black with smoke. The sun, once cheerfully grinning, was now hidden behind the layer of bubbling, burnt air. The column of fire was still growing. I doubted it would stop, and if we stood here we’d be swept into the flames.
“Let go!”
“Calm down, Laurel."
I froze. “What? How did you—”
The ghost ran by us again, holding what looked like a television remote in his hand. At his feet, galloping at top speed, was the cat. The tip of her tail was singed and leaving a trail of thin silver smoke.
“TEN!” the boy yelled.
“What now?!” the ghost asked, slowing. The cat raced on.
“Why’re you—”
“Forget it, birdbrain.” The ghost turned to leave, but then had second thoughts. “Mmm! Yeah, Fourteen’s in there, too, in case you were wondering.”
“Shit, man.”
“What are you talking about?! Just let me go with him!” I reached for the ghost. “Help me! This crazy freak’s trying to get me killed!”
“He does that a lot.” The ghost plucked a dandelion from between two sidewalk slabs. “Here, have a flower.”
“You’re both insane!”
“You noticed?”
“Look, Laurel. Obviously, if we’re not freaking out, the fire’s not going to get us,” the boy said.
“You're psychotic!”
“Stop screaming already!”
“Stop holding on to me!”
The heat from the flames was making the air ripple like disturbed water. My heart thudded in my chest.
“Ten, aren’t you going to get Fourteen out?” the boy asked.
“Oh, he looked fine on his own.” The ghost took off in the direction the cat had fled. "I want to save my sorry ass as well, you know."
I clawed at the boy, my anger and frustration growing from the ghost's last comment. “Just let me go!” But he wasn’t looking at me. His eyes, reflecting the flickering flames’ light, glowed with an emotion I didn’t want to see there.
Fear.
He was afraid, too.
How reassuring.
“Look, whatever your name is, I want to get out of here. Clearly, you do, too. So if you could just—”
His lips parted. “DUCK!” He collapsed on himself, pulling me down with him.
Another terrible burst of wind blew over us in a wave of heat. Through the howl of the fire flying past us, I could detect the sound of a faint whirring, like a propeller plane’s drone from high in the air. Then someone was yelling:
“You bastard!”
The boy had his arm around my shoulders and was looking over it, glaring at an unseen object in the sky.
I cursed the boy to hell.
“Shh. It’ll be fine,” he said, pulling me closer to him. Then he called up to the voice, “She’s a little sensitive, so if you could keep it down that would be fabulous.”
There was a cry of outrage. “Do you even know what’s been happening?”
The whirring unexpectedly burst into a chopping roar, and wind rushed past the two of us again. The boy was clutching me so tightly it hurt, a grimace set on his face. "Thirteen! Please!" he yelled through his teeth. "Don't screw this up!"
"What?!" The roar stopped abruptly and was replaced with heavy, rapid footsteps. Someone was running at us, and based on the situation I assumed they weren't all too happy.
"Oh, shit. Stand up and get behind me," the boy commanded, bringing me to my feet. He held my wrists and maneuvered me around.
"Just let me go," I begged, my eyes watering from the smoke. I squeezed them shut, hoping this whole thing was a dream and would go away when I looked again. "Please. I don't want to be a part of this."
A loud clang interrupted my last word, and I felt the boy release my hand, screaming in pain. I stumbled backward, forcing my eyes open, despite the swirling smoke and brightness of the flames.
The boy with blue eyes had collapsed on himself and was holding the side of his head, which, I noticed, was leaking so much blood I was sure he'd be drained within the next few minutes. It dripped through his fingers and pooled on the ground next to his face. His eyes were sealed tight and his mouth curled into a grimace.
Standing above him was an older boy, holding what looked like a metal snowboard over his right shoulder. He too was frowning, but in disgust. One of his green eyes was several shades darker than the other, and his hair was the color of the flames. The orange and red hues seemed to flicker, as if reflecting the fire.
He lifted his gaze to meet mine. The intensity of the hatred in his eyes paralyzed me, rendering my body so immobile that no matter how hard my mind screamed to take off running I could not respond.
"What did you do?" I cried, falling to my knees to assist the boy with blue eyes. Blood kept pouring from the wound and spilled on my hands as I held his. "Please help him."
"Why he wants you so badly is beyond my understanding," the other boy said.
"Excuse me?"
He flipped the metal contraption over in his hands and held it out in front of him. "Why he wants you so badly is beyond my understanding." The sentence sounded completely identical to the first time he spoke it. I noticed a murmur behind his voice, as if another, quieter person were talking along with him simultaneously.
"Are you like a robot or something, repeating everything you say?"
His frown became more pronounced. "You clearly don't know the slightest thing about robots." He released the metal board. It hovered in place, unaffected by the gravity. I stared at it, fearful of what it might do next. He smirked. "Or any kind of machine."
The boy with blue eyes groaned from the ground.
"Shut up!" the other one snarled, kicking him in the stomach. I yelled something vulgar, but it only amused him. His laugh was mean. "I see now. He just wants a plaything. He's bored with the
rest of us."
"What the hell are you talking about?" I demanded, looking down at the fallen boy. The flow of blood had stopped but he was still clutching the area of the wound. I sucked in my breath, afraid of the blood.
The other grinned, enjoying my state of frustration. "Surely you understand some parts of the situation? Analysis of the area should reveal the answers. It's rather obvious."
"You're definitely a robot."
The grin became a sneer. "Don't act like you know things you don't. You're just a street rat, feeding off of trash and stinking of the sewers. You haven't experienced anything. You don't know anything."
"What makes you think you're any smarter than I am?! If you're so brilliant, why don't you help him?" I motioned to the boy on the ground, who was moaning quietly.
"Because I'm the one who hit him. Generally when you cause pain to someone you don't attempt to relieve it. It's simple logic. Of course, you wouldn't know anything about that."
I clenched my teeth. "Please just help him."
The ground shuddered violently, sending a fresh spray of fire and sand over the street. Dirt rained on the three of us, and for a moment I was aware of a siren and flashing lights. "An ambulance! We need an ambulance!" I shrieked. "We need—"
Crack.
He slapped me.
The robotic jerk slapped me.
"We don't need anything," he said.
The blue-eyed boy opened his eyes. He winced and removed his hand from the cut, staring hard at the blood that dyed his skin. "Thirteen," he said calmly. "Let her go."
The numbers. In a jolt I remembered the ghost being called Ten and the blue-eyed boy introducing himself as Six and they had been talking about Fourteen and now this one was Thirteen and numbers numbers numbers.
"Numbers," I whispered, slowly getting to my feet. Who referred to themselves as numbers? The answer swam in front of my eyes.
"So you know," said the one called Thirteen, his lips stretching into a wicked smile. The one called Six sat up and clenched his teeth, fighting off the pain from the wound. The board of metal continued to hover. "You know what we are."
I took a few steps back, but remembered the column of fire burning so intensely behind me. I tasted the adrenaline rush of fear and prepared to spring away at any motion that was hiding dark intentions. I licked my lips and felt the cracked, dry skin I was so familiar with. "Are you going to kill me?"
Thirteen laughed. His pupils were tiny, and for a moment he looked completely insane. "I wish. But One apparently wants you. I can't imagine why."
Six met my eyes for a moment before glancing at his expensive-looking track sneakers.
"Then why'd you hit him?" I asked, pointing at Six.
"He was standing in the way, one, and two, he has something of mine. Something that I very dearly love and want back. I'll kill him for it if I must."
"Run," Six whispered, continuing to stare at his feet.
"What?" Thirteen snarled. "What did you say?"
"RUN!" Six screamed, standing up. He grabbed the hovering board and rammed it into Thirteen's chest, who emitted a grunt and a sharp exhale of breath. I charged forward and passed them, sprinting at full speed, as Thirteen fell and Six let go of the board. Its momentum spun it into the nearest brick wall.
I screamed as I was showered in sparks and chips of brick. Thirteen screamed as he watched his hovering board explode. Six screamed for me to run and run and run and get away.
I ran and ran and ran and got away.
And all the while Six's other name, the first name he'd spoke of, played in my mind with each step I took: Jay. Jay. Jay. His name was Jay and he had saved my life, from the fire and from that maniac with two different colored eyes and from the rain that came down that day when I'd first met him.
I'd found an angel.
An angel that gifted people with umbrellas and used swearwords and was a part of the most dangerous crime organization in the entire city of Paris.
But, an angel, nonetheless.
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See how awful it is? But I also enjoy reading it, too. So HELP ME, PLEASE
