How have you all been in the past two days?
On Friday, I went to my first scholarship interview out of two and came back...er...mostly alive, hehe. :P I definitely must admit that I was duly (and, arguably, overly) impressed by my competition. I was definitely expecting them all to be intellectually stunning, but I hadn't thought they were going to be as commanding and aloof and suave and professional as they were.
But, oh well. Thankfully, I don't get quite as intimidated or awed by Alpha-type people as I did when I was younger. If anything, I'm just realizing that I can't rest on my "smart for a small-school, suburban girl" laurels anymore. I've got to blow by the rest of my peer group in high school if I'm going to be even average at this university, so I'm determined and inspired by the people I met to keep working hard and growing my people skills until I graduate! :D
Hehe, second winds are beautiful. x)
Anyway, I've got a month break before my next interview, so I'll try to write more during this time. In the meanwhile, here's Chapter 3 to Where The Broken Things Are.
(As a quick disclaimer, I should add that the organizational style of this new story is very different from what I've done before in The Immortals, which had massive chapters and several breaks in the chapters. Instead, I've just made each break its own chapter, resulting in many small chapters. This way, I can introduce and play with the several themes in my story without having to worry so much about flow.
Anyway, don't be concerned that the last chapters and this one don't seem to be coherent. I promise, once I post Chapters 4-6, everything should make sense, I...um...hope. :P)
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Chapter 3
- AS IF IN A DREAM -
“Do you know why I chose you, Skain?”
The boy sat in the back of a leather-seated car, his arm wrapped protectively around his little sister. Behind them, the dirty-paneled orphanage was fading away in the underground darkness, a tombstone rising from the uneven, potholed road.
The rusty sinks whose water tasted like blood, the rows of creaky, metal-frame bunk beds in that narrow room, the impatient workers and the frequent leg-beatings - they were leaving every nightmare behind for what they had been assured would be a “safe, pleasant home”.
A home?
That word had no meaning or context to the boy.
He only knew of the orphanage, which was neither safe nor pleasant.
“Skain, out of all of the boys in the orphanage, do you know why I chose you?”
The boy looked at the driver and then at his sister, who was sitting wide-eyed and self-aware of the details in every second. Outside, lights, strung from the above-ground’s main power grid, created passing shadows that loomed and then faded with constant, hypnotic regularity. The buildings along the street were mesmerizing too: blocks of brick, sheer faces of cement, stretching on for miles and miles. Were there really people in those structures? They seemed so forsaken…
“I first saw you when you interfered with Brielle’s beating. She had stepped out of line, but you took her punishment. Do you remember this specific instance, Skain?”
Mute, the boy looked down at his frayed, patched black jeans.
Of course, he didn’t remember.
The boy had covered for his sister ever since they had been abandoned in the orphanage. From the moment he realized that their mother wasn’t returning for them, he took full responsibility for making sure that Brielle was safe, full, and warm, regardless of if that meant he was placed in danger, hunger, or cold. His shins and calves bore the bruised testimony of his determination, but her happiness kept him driven.
“I chose you because you were kind to those who did not deserve your kindness. I have permission from the mayor of our county to train you for a specific purpose, Skain, but I will only keep you as long as you retain your kindness. Do you understand my meaning?”
The boy entwined his fingers with Brielle’s.
Only she realized how much he was sweating, how badly he was trembling.
Looking again at the driver, the boy set his expression and said, “I understand, sir.”
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Write on and STAY PASSIONATE, FRIENDS!
Clove
