The Scroll 4

Okay, I've finally written a good long section. It's quite a bit of setup, and I had to do a little bit of research on mundane things, but hopefully you enjoy it. Things will start moving more quickly soon, I promise.

"Enough talking and more writing!"

Fine, here you go!

* * *

There was a stunned silence on the other end of the phone. Then, there was an explosion of thundering footsteps, and Savannah yelled, “Dad! Dad! Leslie’s in the hospital!”

Leslie slapped herself in the forehead for her stupidity. “No, no, it’s not me. I’m not hurt,” she tried to tell Savannah. “I found someone.”

Savannah wasn’t listening. Leslie heard the low rumble of her father’s voice, then some scuffling sounds as Savannah handed him the phone.

“Leslie? Savannah said you’re at the hospital,” Mr. Matheson said.

“Yes, but I’m not hurt,” said Leslie, rubbing her sore forehead. “I found a guy on the beach—he’s about my age. He was out in the storm last night, and when the ambulance came I rode with them to the hospital in Moss.”

Mr. Matheson gave a long, pent-up sigh. In a calm, smooth voice he said, “I’m glad you’re okay. Do you want me to pick you up?”

“Um, yeah.” Leslie looked over at Gray. He was still asleep, his mouth hanging open. Something clenched her chest. “Dad?”

“Hmm?”

“Could you…bring some clothes, even just some sweatpants and a t-shirt? The guy I found hasn’t woken up yet. We don’t know who he is, or where he’s from, or if he has any family. He…he might need our help. And his clothes are pretty battered—he can’t go out like that.”

Mr. Matheson chuckled. “Ah, Leslie, you always think of others, don’t you? Okay, I’ll bring the clothes. Be there in a jiffy.”

Leslie hung up the phone and sunk into a chair next to Gray’s bed. Why did she want to help Gray so much? Was it because she found him and now she felt responsible for him? But she didn’t know anything about him. Wild thoughts raged through her brain. What if he’s a drug dealer, or a murderer? What if he’s part of some weird religious cult? His clothes are strange enough. What if I try to help him, and he steals everything I have and stabs me in the back? Or what if he kidnaps me?

Leslie’s mind froze. She could feel someone watching her. Slowly, she turned her head. Gray’s eyes were blinking blearily in her direction. Leslie blushed, as though Gray could hear all her thoughts about him.

“Who…who are you?” Gray’s voice slurred.

Leslie swiveled around in her seat. She stuck her hands between her knees. “I’m Leslie. I—I saved you.”

“You did?” Gray looked around at the white walls, the light blue curtains surrounding them, and the blinking computer monitors. “Where am I?”

“You’re in a hospital. You nearly died.”

“I did?” Gray moved to comb his fingers through his hair, but stopped. He stared at the I.V. line inserted into the back of his hand. Still clutching the wooden cylinder in his other hand, he fumbled with the needle, trying to pull it out.

Leslie jumped up and grabbed Gray’s hand. “Don’t do that! You need that I.V. It’s um…to be honest, I have no idea what’s in it. I just know you don’t go pulling I.V.s out.”

Gray looked at Leslie. His eyes were brown flaked with gold. His lips were still blue. He relaxed and lay back on his pillow, letting go of the I.V. needle. With his I.V.-laden hand, Gray reached up and touched his neck. “Where’s my soul binder?”

“Huh?”

“My soul binder…” Gray repeated, but before Leslie could ask for more clarification, his eyelids fluttered closed and he fell asleep.

Awkwardly, Leslie moved his arms back under the blanket. She sat with her chin in her hand, watching him, waiting for him to wake up again. A nurse came and went, checking on Gray’s I.V. and readjusting his blankets.

Leslie started to doze off when the blue curtains parted in a whirl of movement, startling her awake. Savannah stood clutching the curtains. She glared at Leslie. Then she rushed forward, flinging her arms around Leslie.

“You scared me so bad, you idiot!” wailed Savannah. Then she peered over her shoulder. “So that’s the guy?” Savannah let go of Leslie and approached Gray’s bed. She crouched and stared at his face, frowning.

“Yes,” said Leslie.

Mr. Matheson entered. He was tall, and Savannah had inherited her dark curls from him. He was in a business suit, and Leslie realized he had been getting ready to do a little weekend work when Savannah had called Leslie. He was accompanied by a Hispanic woman in a sharp suit dress, her long black hair cascading down her back. Mr. Matheson asked the woman, “What is going to happen to him?”

“We’ll have to wait until he wakes,” the woman said with a slight accent. “Then we’ll be able to ask him about his relatives. There’s been no missing persons reports filed for a boy named Gray, first or last name, matching his description.”

“Why wait?” asked Savannah. She poked Gray repeatedly in the shoulder.

“Don’t—” began Leslie, but it was too late. Gray stirred and opened his eyes.

“Ow…” he began. Then, he noticed all the staring faces and fell silent.

“Mr. Gray,” the Hispanic woman began, “my name is Angela Castillo. I’m with Social Services. I have a few questions for you.”

Gray just stared at her.

“First off, what is your full name?” Angela got out a small notepad and a pen.

“Gray.”

“Gray what?”

“Just Gray.”

Angela stared at Gray, nibbling the end of her pen. Leslie got out of her chair and whispered in Angela’s ear, “I think Gray might be part of one of those weird religious cults. He has weird clothes like that. So maybe he doesn’t have a last name.”

Angela nodded and wrote in her notebook. Leslie sat back down. Continuing, Angela asked, “And how old are you, Gray?”

“Seventeen.” Leslie sat up. That was only one year older than her.

Angela scribbled in her notebook. “And where are your parents, Gray?”

Gray remained silent, staring straight ahead. He clutched the wooden cylinder in both hands. Finally, slowly, he said, “They’re on the Other Side.”

Tears swam in Angela’s eyes. “I’m so sorry. How long have they been…on the Other Side?”

Gray looked at her. “How long have I been here?”

Leslie’s heart jumped into her throat. His parents had been with him in the storm, and he’d lost them. They were dead. Leslie swallowed a sob.

“You were found just today,” said Angela.

“So, just today,” said Gray.

Angela looked away. Once she had composed herself, she turned back to Gray. With a heightened air of professionalism, Angela Castillo asked, “Do you have any relatives we can contact?”

Gray shook his head. “No.”

Angela wrote furiously in her notebook. “Then you are considered a ward of the state. We will take care of your medical bills from today and look for adequate foster care until you reach the age of—”

“Excuse me,” Mr. Matheson interrupted. “May I talk to you outside for a moment?”

Angela’s head whipped towards Mr. Matheson. “Of course.”

Mr. Matheson and Angela left the room, the curtain swinging behind them. Leslie could hear the soft voices of other people speaking to their loved ones on the other side of the curtains. She turned back towards Gray. He was fast asleep, again.

“Wow,” said Savannah. “He sure falls asleep fast.”

Leslie rolled her eyes. “Give him a break, Savannah. He nearly died today, and he lost his parents.”

“Doesn’t seem very upset about that.” Savannah looked like she was tempted to poke him again, but instead walked over to a brown grocery sack sitting on a metal counter. “What’s in here?” she asked.

Leslie shrugged her shoulders. “Probably his clothes and stuff.”

Savannah stuck her hand in the paper sack and pulled out Gray’s shirt. She examined the brown-green fabric. “Weird. Hey, didn’t you say this was all torn up? It looks perfectly fine to me.”

Leslie came over and felt the fabric in between her fingers. It was smooth, almost like silk. Savannah was right—there were no tears or holes. There weren’t even any seams. Leslie pulled out the pants. Just like the shirt, it was in perfect condition and seamless.

Leslie peered into the bag. Gray’s moccasin-like shoes were still in there, as well as a leather-strap necklace with a black stone carved in the shape of an animal. Leslie reached her hand in to pull it out—

“Hey! Get it off! Getitoff getitoff getitoff!” screamed Savannah.

Leslie spun around. Savannah’s hand was inside the shirt. She shook the shirt, and the fabric flapped back and forth. Leslie grabbed a part of the shirt and tugged. It stayed in place for a moment, then suddenly slipped off Savannah’s arm.

Savannah stared at her hand, then at the shirt. “It grabbed me. I swear, that shirt grabbed me.”

“Nonsense,” said Leslie, but she hurriedly stuffed the shirt and pants back in the brown sack. “You just got tangled up in it, that’s all.”

A nurse burst into the room. “Is there anything wrong?”

“Yes,” said Savannah at the same time that Leslie said, “No.”

“No,” Leslie repeated. “My sister was just playing around and got tangled up in some cloth.”

The nurse pursed her lips disapprovingly. “Don’t touch anything. And don’t scream unless it’s an emergency. We have some real patients to take care of here.”

After the nurse left, some chuckling sounded from behind Leslie and Savannah. They turned. Gray was awake and was laughing at them. Savannah put her hands on her hips. “Well, so nice to see you’re feeling so chipper.”

Before Gray could respond, Mr. Matheson and Angela Castillo returned. “Well Gray,” said Angela, “it looks like you’ll be going home with the Mathesons for the time being. Greg Matheson has agreed to be your short-term foster father while we perform an investigation.”

Brainstorming

I am sorry for the long wait for the next segment of "The Scroll." To be honest, I've been thinking about the story a lot, but not writing.

I have been brainstorming.

One very essential part of writing is brainstorming. This allows the writer to make sure the story works correctly and that there are little to no holes in his or her work. As for me, I do a lot of the brainstorming in my brain, keeping it there for future reference. I do sometimes write down outlines and character profiles to help me keep things straight, but often I just keep it in my head. Which could prove to be a problem if I ever get Alzheimers or a brain injury affecting my memory.

Here are some things I have been brainstorming over the past several days (no details):

The rules of magic. Yes, this is a fantasy. No, this is not sci-fi (though some parts of the rules of magic may seem like science fiction, and science versus magic will play a part in the series (yes, series)).

Character development. Will Savannah always say random references to fantasy and science fiction novels, or will she be more of a walking encyclopedia on the subject? I'm leaning more towards encyclopedia. Which means I've got some reading to do.

Logical plot development. I have now put Gray in the hospital. What about insurance? What about Child Services (he's still a teenager)? There are certain things that authors can do to bend or twist the rules of life, but they all have to be within the realm of believability. The reader has to be able to "suspend disbelief," and too many logical fallacies will ruin this suspension.

Order of revelation. This is going to be a bit of a mystery, a bit of a quest, and a bit of "running for your life." In what order do I want to reveal things, when do I want to reveal them, and when I reveal them do I want to let the reader know everything?

Villain development. Who is the villain(s)? What is their agenda? Why do they act the way they do? (You have not yet run into any villains) Will all of the villains come from one side of the path? (remember my pathway reference at the beginning?) Just thinking about this helped me get rid of one logical fallacy and develop a whole backstory for a specific character.

Order of events/what events will or will not happen. I want this to be a four-part series with each story interconnecting with the other. This is going to be an epic voyage for Leslie and Gray (and Savannah, though in a different way). I can't let everything happen in the first story, but I can't leave important information out.

So, though I have not written much, I have been thinking a lot. Here's to posting the next segment of "The Scroll" in the next couple of days!

The Scroll 3

The sound of wheels crunching over sand reached Leslie’s ears. She looked up. A white jeep with California’s state park seal on the side was making its way down the beach. Leslie jumped up, brushing sand off her clothes and the side of her face. Waving her arms, she shouted, “Over here. We’re over here.”

The jeep pulled up next to Leslie. A state park ranger, with his funny wide-brimmed hat, jumped out of the jeep, followed closely by two paramedics carrying a stretcher board. The paramedics knelt next to the boy. One paramedic started taking the boy’s vital signs as the other took medical equipment out of a pack.

“He’s alive,” the first paramedic said. Suddenly, the boy moaned, his eyelids fluttering. “He’s conscious. Sir, can you tell me your name?”

The boy’s head rocked back and forth. Leslie tried to move closer, but the ranger stopped her. The boy’s eyes opened briefly. “Gray,” he croaked. “My name’s Gray.”

The paramedic smiled, relief evident on his face. “Okay, Gray. I want you to focus on my voice. Keep talking to…” Gray’s head fell to the side, his eyes falling shut. “Gray, stay with me….He’s unconscious.”

“Let’s get moving,” the second paramedic said. The two paramedics stripped off Gray’s shirt, tossing it aside. Leslie picked it up.

Gray clutched a long, thin wooden cylinder in his right hand. The paramedic tugged at the cylinder. Suddenly, Gray’s eyes flashed open. He gripped the cylinder, his knuckles turning white. “N-no,” he gasped. “Don’t.”

The paramedic dropped the cylinder. “Okay, okay. You keep it.”

Gray collapsed on the sand, falling unconscious once more.

The paramedics wrapped Gray in a blanket and carefully lifted Gray onto the stretcher board, strapping him in place. They lifted him into the back of the jeep. Leslie started to follow them, but the ranger stopped her. “I’m sorry, miss, but you need to go home.”

Leslie glanced from the moustached face of the state trooper to Gray’s unconscious form. “Please,” she said, her voice quivering. “I need to know what happens to him.”

“Come on, officer,” the first paramedic said. “She saved this kid’s life. Besides, when he wakes it’ll be comforting for him to see someone his own age.”

The ranger frowned, but nodded. “Fine, come with us.” Leslie sat in front of the jeep with the ranger, while the paramedics perched in back with Gray. They made their way up the beach past the dunes to the parking lot, where an ambulance sat waiting. The paramedics transferred Gray to the cot, piling more blankets on top of him and fixing an oxygen mask to his face. Leslie scrambled into the crowded back of the ambulance.

It was the longest ride of Leslie’s life. There was no hospital in Half Moon Bay, so the ambulance screeched to the next town. Throughout the ride, Leslie watched as the paramedics worked over Gray, who was turning a color that matched his name. They placed heated compresses on his chest and neck, piling blankets on top of him and making sure the oxygen was running.

“Core temperature at ninety-three degrees,” one paramedic said.

Leslie was sure that wasn’t good.

Finally, they made it to the hospital. There, Gray was whisked away, leaving Leslie to wander through the Emergency Room’s waiting lounge. She paced back and forth, nervous for Gray. She didn’t even know why—she didn’t know the guy, and he definitely wouldn’t remember her when he woke up.

Finally, a doctor in a white lab coat came for her. He led Leslie to a small windowless room packed full of machinery bleeping at Leslie and showing numbers and graphs she didn’t understand. Gray was asleep on a white cot. His face had been washed, and some of the salt had been brushed out of his hair. It was brown with sun-bleached streaks.

“Is he going to be okay?” asked Leslie.
The doctor nodded. “Yes, thanks to you. This boy had a severe case of hypothermia, probably from being out in last night’s storm. If you hadn’t found him, the next person to cross his way would probably have found a corpse.

“As it is, we’re going to run a warm saline solution through his blood to help raise his body temperature. After that, we’ll give him fluids and other nutrients to bring him back to normal. He’ll be fine in a day or two.”

“Thanks,” said Leslie. The doctor left, leaving her alone with Gray. She sat in a small chair next to the cot, wondering what she would say when he awoke.

Suddenly, her cell phone rang. Leslie jumped. She’d forgotten all about her satchel on her back. She fished the phone out of her bag in a matter of seconds and answered the phone. “Hello?”

Savannah’s angry voice answered. “Where are you? What part of five-mile nonstop run don’t you understand? You said you’d help me with my homework! What’s with you? Have you gone all anti-social with me too?”

Leslie put a hand to her forehead. Savannah’s science report. She’d completely forgotten. “I’m sorry, Savannah. It’s—I’m in the hospital.”

The Scroll 2

Here's a continuation of my story from yesterday. To clarify: unless I say otherwise, whatever I post on here is something that I've just barely written. So please excuse any spelling errors, plot holes, etc., and enjoy the ride. This is something you don't get to experience every day: the journey to create a story.

Without further ado, here is the next part of "The Scroll:"

* * *

Leslie put her silky blond hair in a ponytail and regarded herself in the mirror. Her image stared back, her hazel eyes trying to read her own expressionless face. She was dressed in a grey, pink, and white workout suit, perfect for the chilly weather left by last night's storm. Leslie leaned closer to her reflection, trying to peer through the darkness of her pupils. "Today's the day," she said firmly. "Today I run five miles without stopping."

She stared at her reflection for two more minutes, trying to will confidence into her thin form. "I will do it," she whispered over and over. "I will do it." Though certain that positive thinking was at least partly a hoax, Leslie tried to shake off her uncertainties, spun around, and went downstairs.

As Leslie walked down the hallway towards the front door, a voice from the dining room yelled out, "Expelliarmus!"

Leslie shrunk in on herself, not from the spell--which wasn't real anyway--but from the voice proclaiming the spell. Taking a deep breath, Leslie turned to face the enchanter.

A girl with curly dark-brown hair sat at the dining room table, pointing a pencil at Leslie with all the rage a fourteen-year-old could muster. "You promised," the girl said.

Leslie sighed. "I know, Savannah, but you know I always run Saturday mornings. And today's a big day for me."

"I know," said Savannah, rolling her eyes. She kept the pencil aimed at Leslie's head. "It's your big five-miler today. But you promised you'd help me with my science report."

"Later" said Leslie. "I'll help you later."

Savannah scowled, adjusting the grip on her pencil so that she brandished it like a sword rather than a wand. "You stay, Orc, or I'll hunt you down."

Leslie rolled her eyes and continued down the hallway. "You're mixing stories."

"Go ahead and leave, you witch," cried Savannah as Leslie's hand touched the doorknob. "Leave winter behind you wherever you go."

"Later, Savannah, later," Leslie called back. She opened the door and ran through, slamming it behind her. She turned on her iPod Shuffle, placed her earbuds in her ears, and started running.

As Leslie ran, a feeling of freedom washed over her. The day was still young--the sun was only just peeking over the hills to the east. The sky was the deepest blue, with any clouds remaining from last night's storm reduced to tiny wisps. Leslie carried only a small backpack-like satchel containing a small water bottle, her driver's license, her cell phone, and her house key. Other than that, she was unfettered with any worldly cares. There was only the sky, the asphalt beneath her feet, soft music playing through her headphones, and the beautiful surroundings of the small northern California city Half Moon Bay. To the east, Leslie could see evergreens rising above the tops of the hills, but she turned west towards the beach. She could just make out the ocean between rows of houses, light from the sun glinting off the water.

Leslie ran the mile to Dunes Beach. There was a coastal trail for runners, but she ignored it. Instead, she slipped between the wildflower-covered dunes and descended to hte white-sand beach. The beach was deserted at this time of morning--no surfers had yet come out to play, and no seashell hunters dotted the shore. It was just Leslie and the beach. The ocean waves roared as they rushed in and out, blue tipped with white foam.

With the dune cliffs on her right, Leslie ran. Her breathing was still steady, and her legs were still strong. Her eyes automatically scanned the ground ahead of her, looking out for any unevenness on the beach that the sea had not erased.

A dark shape near the base of a dune cliff caught Leslie's eye. She jogged forward, slowing as she approached it. It was a person! Leslie had seen a few homeless people in her lifetime, but this person didn't have any baggage, any tarp for a shelter. Cautiously, Leslie stepped forward until she stood over the silent form.

It was a teenage boy. His hair was plastered with sea salt, and sand stuck to his skin. His clothes were strange--coarse brownish-green material hung in shreds on his body. His shoes looked like moccasins made from the same strange cloth.

Turning off her iPod, Leslie bent over the boy. "Hello?" she said, her voice wavering. There was no response. She reached out and poked the boy in the shoulder. His clothes were damp. Leslie placed her shaking hand over the boy's. It was cold and clammy.

Leslie jumped back, tearing her satchel off her back furiously. She reached a hand inside, clawing around until she found her cell phone. She flipped it open and dialed 9-1-1. It took three tries--her fingers didn't seem to want to work right nad hit the correct buttons. Leslie paced back and forth as the phone rang.

Finally, someone answered. "9-1-1. What is your emergency?"

"Hello? Hi, I--I'm at Dunes Beach, the State Beach, and I found a body."

"Did you say a body?"

"Yes." Leslie reached back and tugged at her ponytail. "A body. It--it's a teenage boy. Seventeen or eighteen, I think." She looked back at the body. "He looks like he washed up on shore, like--what if he was in the storm last night? What if he was swimming or on a boat and it got wrecked in the storm, and now he's here? Oh no, what if there are others?"

"Ma'am, I need you to calm down. Did you check the body? Are you sure he's dead?"

Leslie froze. "No, I--I touched him, and he was cold. But...I didn't check for a pulse or anything."

"Can you do that for me, ma'am?"

Leslie turned towards the body. It was curled in a ball, as though the boy had fallen asleep trying to stay warm. She forced herself to step back up to the body. She knelt down and placed two trembling fingers against his neck. She felt a faint throbbing against her fingertips. Leslie let out a sigh of relief.

The emergency operator's voice broke the telephone silence. "Ma'am, are you still there?"

"What?" asked Leslie. "Oh, yeah, I'm here."

"Did you check the body? Is the boy still alive?"

A weak smile flitted over Leslie's face. "Yes. And," she placed her hand under his nose. A small breeze tickled her palm. "And he's breathing. But he won't wake up. I think he's dying."

"Okay, ma'am, here's what I want you to do. You said you're at Dunes Beach?"

Leslie nodded, forgetting that the operator couldn't see her. "Yes, a little north of the parking lot. I was running on the beach."

"Are you near the shore or the cliffs?"

"We're right under the cliffs."

"Stay there. I'll send emergency vehicles to your location. Stay with the boy. Do whatever you can to keep him warm. Does the boy have any identification?"

"What?"

"Does the boy have any identification? A driver's license or a high school ID?"

Leslie scanned the boy's clothes. "No, he doesn't even have pockets."

"Okay, that's okay. Just stay with the boy. Keep him warm. You're doing a great job."

"Thanks."

"Would you like me to stay on the line until the emergency vehicle arrives?"

"No," said Leslie, kneeling in the sand. "No, I'm okay."

"Alright, ma'am. You stay calm. Help is on the way."

Leslie closed her cell phone. She slipped it into her satchel and knelt, staring at the boy. Keep him warm, she reminded herself. She tried rubbing his arms and legs, but that didn't seem to be helping. She thought about moving him away from the cliff's side, to where the sunlight was warming the beach, but she decided against it. She didn't know how hurt this boy was, and she didn't want to hurt him more. Suddenly, Leslie remembered one cold blustery autumn day when she and Savannah had huddled together for warmth. Leslie scooted closer to the boy and lay down, draping her arms around him, trying to keep this stranger warm.

My Dream and The Scroll.

Dear Blogworld,

My dream is to write. I have ideas just billowing around in my head, waiting to float out my ears, or my eyeballs, or my mouth. So...I'm going to post them--at least some of them--on here. If you've seen my Heart's Magic blog (which you probably haven't--that's okay, I don't write much there), then you know I want to write and that I named that blog after a story idea I had.

Here, I'm going to do less talking and more writing--and I'm talking plots and characters and all that fun stuff. And I'm going to do it now.

Sincerely,

Elisa

P.S. If anybody knows how to copy and paste from a Microsoft Word document to a blog, please tell me in the comments. Because if not, I may hate myself for having to double-type everything.

The following is the opening scene (which I wrote about twenty minutes ago) from a book which hopefully will one day actually take form. This story is titled "The Scroll."

Enjoy!

* * *

A storm raged through the night, bringing with it one wandering soul. He stumbled upon the drenched beach, the surf of the waves still tugging at his ankles, eager to reclaim him in their watery depths. He kicked at the water, falling to his knees. Then, with a cry, he wrenched himself to his feet. He staggered up the beach until he reached the sandy cliffs of the dunes. There, he would be safe from the tide.

The young man, no more than a boy, fell on the rain-drenched sand. He curled up in a ball and fell asleep. Even in sleep, he did not loosen his grip on the slender tube in his hands. He had to keep it safe.

When the sun meets the sea, the path can be crossed. On our side that day, there was no sun.

* * *