By S. F. Brooke
Someone is dead.
Correction, someone is going to be dead.
I stared at the big bold letters currently written in what looks like red spray paint across my locker. Psycho, it says. Real original, haven’t heard that one before.
I huff angrily as I yank my locker door open trying to avoid the stares of curious students who are snickering with their friends. I pull out my calculus textbook, which is absurdly large, and slam my locker shut. Whoever did this better hope karma gets them before I do.
Defacing my locker, real mature. Seriously, what is this, a Disney coming-of-age movie?
Wrapping an arm around the massive textbook, I dig my phone out of the back pocket of my jeans and start walking towards the parking lot. School is finally over for the year which means I have the whole Summer to not have to even glance in the direction of this hellhole.
I jerk my head back slightly to move my dark hair out of my face. Even with Summer here, my hair is about as light as it gets, still appearing like glistening obsidian in the sunlight. I feel that my dark hair clashes with my light eyes, making me look like one of those creepy dolls a grandmother would have sitting in the corner of a random guest bedroom, but I digress.
As I’m walking to my car I glance around the school parking lot. Students buzzing with weekend plans; parties, get-togethers, and the occasional murmur of Summer school. Bellmoor is a fairly small city on the coast of North Carolina. It hides away in the shadows of the larger cities surrounding it. Most of the “visitors” we get are people driving through to arrive at their actual destination.
The citizens of Bellmoor could be described as simple-minded. The adults spend their days attempting to get to work on time and getting home with enough energy to put food on the table. The others worry about what parties are occurring and who hooked up with who. It’s like everyone lives in their own little bubble of solitude, having only to worry about feeble things.
Thanks to me and the Amory Organization.
But what thanks do I get? I get my locker covered in something that looks like it was written by a drunk two-year-old.
My parents were the ones who set my life up in the Amory Organization. My parents; a witch and a nymph, thus creating me. That is before they died when I was three in a callous fight with an Oni. What with me being a witch and all, it’s not like I can exactly live it up in a foster home practicing my powers on the other orphan’s stuffed animals. I would ultimately burn them to a crisp and traumatize those poor kids more than they already were. Yeah, the dead parents are a cliche, and a dark one at that.
Now that I think about it, maybe my life could pass as a Disney coming-of-age movie.
Dead parents? Check.
Witchy-woo powers? Check.
High school serving as a living hell? Check.
Now if only the monsters sang songs instead of tearing off people’s flesh molecule by molecule.
Most people don’t know about the things that go bump in the night. The things that love to torment people, make them suffer, kill them slowly. The things other people and I have to get rid of without so much as a trace left to be found by said simple-minded citizens.
If it wasn’t for the Amory Organization, this city would look like something straight out of an apocalypse movie. Especially because the police don’t do much with helping out with the whole monster situation. Even if the police knew they existed, they wouldn’t be of much help. The cops in this city couldn’t find their belly button if I gave them a map and a flashlight.
So like I said, this is the thanks I get?
Be that as it may, being a witch isn’t what most would expect.
No, I don’t have a pointy hat and a black cat that follows me everywhere. This isn’t The Wizard of Oz. Plus, I’m more of a dog person myself.
No, I don’t have to carry around a stick to harness my power and let a talking hat decide my personality. This isn’t Harry Potter either, unfortunately.
I simply rely on the earth and its energy around me to utilize my powers. I don’t need a wand and most definitely do not need a broom. My power comes from our universe and from within.
Corny, I know. Lynx, the leader of the Amory Organization, used that line on me countless times after struggling with harnessing my powers.
As I start to approach my car I twist around to grab my keys out of my bag when I bump into someone. My textbook slips helplessly out of my arm and thuds on the concrete ground, taking my phone with it. The crack I heard was either my phone screen or a result of the speed at which everyone around me turned their heads. I hoped it was the latter.
I stare at my stuff scattered on the ground and close my eyes. Taking a deep breath and clenching my fists, I slowly open my eyes and look up at the culprit.
I’m met with wide brow eyes, belonging to a perplexed face.
Caleb Jones; football player, ********, unnecessarily loud. The whole spiel, really.
His chestnut eyes fringed with thick lashes stare down at me in uneasiness. I see his Adam’s apple bob as he parts his lips. His wavy golden hair moves restlessly in the wind as he raises his, seemingly plucked, eyebrows at me.
I’ve never had the privilege of speaking to him, note the sarcasm. I try to keep my head down while at school. Keyword, try. But alas there is the occasional *******, chatterbox, *******, you name it, that makes it a challenge. Or in this case, all the above.
“Woah, my bad Addison,” he starts, staring at my dispersed items lying on the ground with his hands up in defense.
“It’s Aideen,” I corrected him impassively.
“I didn’t see you there. Hey while I have you here Adelle-”
“-is it true that you threw a desk at the teacher for giving you a C on your test last week?” He continues to ignore me. Reading my face for an answer, he brushes his maroon jersey off in sporty elegance. Why he took this as an opportunity to keep speaking, I do not know. “I mean, that’s at least what I heard. I wanted to see if it was true, you know, with you being a crazy pants and all, Addy.”
“It’s Aideen, you moron,” I snap at him. He looks at me with a confused expression. I’m convinced he only has two expressions: the aloof expression that screams I’m better than all of you, or the confused expression that shouts I’m a ******* that never knows what’s happening.
“My name”, I point out, listing off each name with my fingers, “is Aideen. Not Addison, not Adelle, not Addy, not crazy pants. Aideen.”
I crouch down to pick up my now shattered phone and textbook; my of course perfectly fine textbook might I add. I blow out a breath as I retrieve my keys from my bag and go to make my way back towards my car when I notice Mr. Clueless still standing in front of me.
“Can you move, I’m trying to get to my car,” I gesture to the platinum vehicle that sits a few inches behind his broad frame.
He looks over his shoulder and turns back with his mouth in the shape of an ‘o’. “Yeah, my bad.”
“Clearly,” I murmur under my breath. He slightly moves to the side to let me through. I go to step around him as he lightly tugs my arm to stop me. I slowly turn to look at him, my patience thinning every second. I yank my arm out of his grip and glare at him. “What?”
He laughs nervously rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re not going to like, kill me now right?” I blink up at him as he shrugs, his face molded in a blithe expression. “You know, because I broke your phone. All I’m saying is you go a little nuts sometimes, and honestly, I didn’t mean to bump into you.”
“As appealing as that sounds, no, I’m not going to kill you,” I murmur, moving to step around him again.
He lets out another laugh as if I’m joking and grabs my arm once more, my temper slowly taking over. “I didn’t mean to offend you, it’s just that everyone says you’re crazy. I want to make sure you won’t slit my throat in my sleep or something,” he explains as if he’s talking about the weather.
“I may be crazy, but crazy is better than stupid,” I snap shoving him out of the way to finally get to my car. “And I wouldn’t slit your throat, it’s too messy,” I add under my breath.
So close yet so far.
Caleb doesn’t seem to be as done with this conversation as I am because I see him open his big mouth once more and attempt to reach for my arm… Again.
Consider my patience having run out.
Before he gets the chance to grasp my arm once more, I beat him to it by clutching his wrist, my nails digging into his skin. With my hold on his wrist, I twist his arm behind his back. Lightly enough so I don’t damage anything, but forceful enough so that it still hurts like a *******
He lets out a yelp of something that sounds like pain or fear, or both.
“Ow, ow, ow. This is what I was talking about Ashley, this is what I was afraid of!” He wheezes in a matter-of-fact tone, his face scrunching up in discomfort. Good.
I twist his arm further, causing another yelp from his mouth. “It’s Aideen,” I growl, having lost control of my temper. “Now when I release you, you are going to miraculously shut your mouth, walk away, and never talk to me again. I’ve already lost at least three brain cells from this interaction alone.”
He nods his sandy blonde head frantically and I release his arm. I take a second to look at my surroundings only to notice half of the high school staring at me in shock. Some slowly backing away while others are frozen in place with their hands over their mouths.
Always have to make a scene, don’t you Aideen.
I stride to my car quickly, avoiding the judgemental looks on half the student body. Once I reach my car, I open the door and throw my bag in the passenger seat along with my now dirty textbook. I sit in the driver’s seat and start my car ready to fly out of this parking lot like a bat out of hell when I hear Caleb’s irritating voice again.
“No hard feelings right?” He points finger guns at me, no doubt trying to ease the tension.
I slam my car door shut and yank my seatbelt on. I look out the window once more before shoving my car in drive, only to see Caleb’s retreating figure.
None of this would have happened if you one, didn’t slam into me like a **** bus, and two, kept walking and minding your own business after you did.
Narrowing my eyes at his back I position my hand under my steering wheel where no one can see it. I flick my wrist with the slightest movement and watch as he ultimately trips and falls flat on his face, much like my phone.
I smile triumphantly, my anger slowly fading, as all the eyes that were currently glued on me, moved to him.
Witchy-woo powers can really come in handy.
(A/N: Helloooo! I guess I’m trying this whole writing thing out, haha. This was originally supposed to be chapter 1, however, I chose to change it to a preface sort of thing. This was just so you could understand Aideen a little better, and what her character’s persona is like. Chapter 1 is when the actual story starts and I am so excited because I have big plans for this story! I am in no way a great writer but I wanted to at least give this story a try (feel free to offer constructive criticism, lord knows I need it). Please let me know what you think, your support means so so much! <3
Why do you think everyone calls Aideen crazy, psycho, nuts, etc.?
Don’t hesitate to comment, I love reading them! Stay safe and well! 🙂
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