Book Cover? Or Not?

A Walk In the Rain

The rain is falling down just like the day we played in the rain. Only the hopeless feeling that weighs upon my shoulders makes it difficult to breathe.
Ryan's gone. To who knows where. He didn't think it was worth it to stay. He didn't think we were worth it.
It stings, to be honest. I walk down the street, my mind wandering. Did he not think we were good enough? Could he not have stayed? For the sake of our planet, if nothing else.
"What's wrong?"
I whirl in my steps, the rain sloshing beneath my shoes. Sawyer stands behind me.
"What do you think is wrong?" I continue my quick gait across the water-stained road. "Ryan's gone."
"So? We can go on without him."
"No, we can't." I turn to see him quickly closing the gap between us. I don't want him here. Not now.
"And why not?" Sawyer stuffs his hands into his pockets, an action which slightly angers me. "It's not like he added anything to our little ensemble."
I want to slap him. "How can you say that? He added everything to our little ensemble, as you put it."
"You can't just give up now, Avary. We can't."
"What do you suggest? Move on? Act like we don't care? Act like he isn't gone?"
"Well, we have to get home first."
"Um, yeah, about that... how are we supposed to get back through the time warp bubble without him?"
Sawyer lifts his shoulder into a shrug. "We'll figure out."
I slap his chest with the back of my hand. "What the heck is wrong with you, Sawyer? You should be the one stressing about this."
"I don't know. I guess I don't really care."
"About Ryan?"
"About the fact that he's gone. We can live without him. What made him so special anyway?"
I twirl a strand of amber curly hair around my finger in thought as we continue to stroll down the soppy street. "I... I don't know. He was just... Ryan. You know?"
Sawyer shrugs. "I'm a guy. I don't fangirl over cute faces."
I feel my face turn red. "That's not it and you know it."
"It's not? Remember at the beach? You and him did a LOT of talking." The evil grin overtaking Sawyer's face gives me a sinking feeling in my stomach. "All alone... on the beach... in complete solitude... with the stars blanketing the heavens... oh, and did I mention you were alone?"
I slap him again. "You can be quiet now."
"You don't like what I'm saying? No? That must be because it's true... oooh, Avary likes Ryan..."
"Shut up." He does shut up, but instead he gives me an impish grin. "Shut. Up!" I insist.
"Fine, fine. But I continue to ask: why is he so special?"
"He has... I don't know." I snap my fingers through the air in an effort to come up with the right words. "He has a spark of life. Something beneath the surface that I just want to know about."
It hits me that I'm confiding to Sawyer Bentley -- something I've never done before and never thought I'd do. This sends many awkward feelings rippling through my heart. "Anyway. Who knows if we'll be able to get back home?"
"Yeah, you're right. Thank you, Miss Logical. Now if only that imbecile Ryan would've thought through that before he just took off with two feet running."
"True enough." I fold my arms, shivering against the rainy chill. "Think we should go back?"
"Up to you, Miss Townsend." He fakes a bow, complete with tipping his invisible hat. "You're in charge here."
It strikes me what a wonderful person Sawyer is. And it almost helps me feel better. Just a bit.

Gypsy Soul

You've got a gypsy soul to blame and you were born for leaving.

He’d been too many places to count.

He’d started out in Arden. On Emasis. Later he’d return, and he didn’t know why. But that’s another story for another time.

At the age of fourteen he stuffed everything he owned into a leatherskin knapsack, slung it over his shoulder, and never looked back. Or so he thought. He looked back many times over the years, wondering if he could have done something better. Something right.

The first thing he did was catch a ride on a space shuttle. They went between the planets, a taxi of sorts. It was then that he cried. The starlight reflected in his tears. Why had he left? He honestly had no idea. But it was too late to go back now.

He landed on a planet severely different from his home climate. Arden was a forest-land, filled with trees and country songs. This was a veritable desert, with a beating sun and choking desert sand. He nearly dissolved into a coughing fit as soon as his feet hit the ground.

And then he found the city. It was a haven in the midst of the hot, dusty ground. And somehow, it somewhat reminded him of home. He settled in and started looking for a job. At first he wondered what the heck he was going to do. He didn’t have any talent… or did he?

And then he found the violin.

He was engaging in the highly amazing pastime of searching through dumpsters for his next meal. And then he saw it. A dusty violin, sitting against the wall. Waiting for him.

Normally he was horribly against being sentimental. No feelings. Things were things. That was that.
And then he remembered the paperclip. The way his father made ordinary things extraordinary.

And somehow, even though it reeked of everything his father had done, Ryan wanted to do the same thing, too.

So he picked up the violin. And tucked it in the crook of his arm.

And took it home.

He cleaned it that night with a semi-clean cotton cloth. When he was done, the cloth was coated in dirt and dust. But when he was done, the violin was clean. In the tiny light in his cramped cave-like quarters, the wood almost seemed to shine.

He didn’t know how to play of course, but he was determined to learn. He was walking against the cobblestone streets, choking in the summer heat and watching the heat waves reflect off the pavement. The violin was tucked into the deepest recesses of his oilcloth knapsack. He didn’t want to risk losing it. Not now.

He wasn’t looking where he was going, and he almost tripped over a bundle sitting in the street. On second glance, the bundle proved to be a man.

“Oh… I’m…I’m sorry.” He stammered, taking two steps backward. The man was rancid, with yellow teeth. Gray hair rested in two long braids on his shoulders, and wisped out everywhere else. A knit cap covered what was left of his shrunken, wrinkled forehead. His legs were covered in rags and dirt and who knows what else. Unless he was mistaken, Ryan heard flies. Or fleas. Either way, the man was bound to be crawling with disease and plague and—

“Watch where you’re goin’, boy.” The voice eked out.

“Right. Sorry.” But Ryan didn’t watch where he was going. His foot caught on the nearest cobblestone and he fell forward, face first. He caught himself with his hands, narrowly avoiding a faceplant. The old man continued to watch him with wide blue eyes. Somehow, even in the rancid environment, the man’s eyes held a spark of life. And if the eyes were the window to the soul, then this man’s soul was alive. Very alive. Despite what outward appearances seemed to suggest.

Unfortunately, Ryan had completely lost his hold on his knapsack. Therefore, it spilled its contents everywhere, which included Ryan’s only other pair of clothes (including his underclothes, which were now spread all over the street), a granola meal bar… and his violin.

“Do you play?” the man’s voice was barely audible, even though the street was dead quiet, unusual for the time of day.

“What?”

He gestured to the violin, lying face down in the grimy street crevice. “That. Do you play?”

“Uh… no,” Ryan said with a fair amount of embarrassment as he snatched his violin and brushed it off possessively. “No. I don’t.” Once he was satisfied that every speck of dirt had been cleared off, he snapped back to reality. “Do you?”

“Used to. A very long time ago. In another life.”

“Oh.”

“You’ve got a broken string.”

“Yes.” Ryan fiddled with the frayed end. “I need to get it fixed. Do you know how?”

“I did. Once.”

“Would you now?”

“For a fair price.”

“I don’t have any money.”

“Can you work, boy?”

“What?”

“I said, can you work?”

“…Yeah. My da’ taught me lots of things. We lived in the country. I can do most anything, and if I don’t know how, I can learn.”

“I’ll take it.”

“…Excuse me?”

“You work for me. I’ll fix your violin string. Good? Or will you just trip off over the cobblestone the way you came?”

“No… no, I guess that would be fine.” Ryan blinked.

“Fine, fine. The name’s Ebenezer.” He stuck out his hand and took Ryan’s in an iron-hard grip. Despite the appearance of disease and grime, Ebenezer seemed fairly clean, a shocking realization on Ryan’s part.

The days ticked by. Ebenezer, despite the appearance of a beggar, led a fairly decent life in a shack on the outskirts of town. Ryan spent his time there, hauling sacks of flour into storage, sweeping the front porch, and nailing back loose boards. Ebenezer put him to work doing most everything.

The violin string was fixed in no time.

a little bit o' street love

Found these on The Director's blog. Beautiful, no?

Before the Beginning // Sawyer, the Boy with the Dreams

When he was little, he wanted to fly. I didn’t know this at the time, but we had more in common than I thought.

He’d stand in the middle of the field, green with grass up to his chest. He’d stare at the sky with wonder-filled eyes, wondering what was beyond the clouds. Was it everything it had cracked up to be? Everything he’d hoped for?

When he got old enough he became a studious scholar. The reason? He wanted to fly. Well, it was more than that. He was a dreamer at heart, and it showed. It wasn’t just flying. He’d stare at ships in bottles and wonder… where did they go? Could he captain one of those ships? Better yet, could he captain one of those ships in the sky?

He followed in his father’s footsteps. Only science. But somewhere along the way, he’d gotten so much logic engrained into his boyish head that he lost the dreamer. No, that isn’t correct. He didn’t lose the dreamy part of him. It just got buried under equations and numbers and logical statements.

Pretty soon, the dreamer boy gave up on flying altogether. And yet… he didn’t. Somewhere, buried beneath the unkempt hair, the black plastic glasses, and the trendy plaid shirt, the dreams were still there.
He just needed to find them.

Summer Days {Avary}

Summer days,

In the rain

We were so careless

So hopeless

So free

Sunflower days

In the rain

Time passes away

When she was little she’d go stand in the middle of a golden field full of wheat grains and sunflowers. The sun would shine on her freckled face and highlight the orange in her corkscrew curls. She wanted to live forever. To fly away and be free—or wait, wasn’t freedom what she had already attained? She didn’t know, but she wanted to touch the stars.

Bare feet, a lace dress. She sometimes wore plaid. She’d take a glass bottle full of lemonade and pour it into mason jars. She’d sit and have a tea party. The sun beat down on her head and gave her a bronze summer tan. She didn’t care. She’d sit out there forever if she had to.

Her daddy came to join her sometimes, when he wasn’t busy. He twirled her around and the sound of her laughter carried for miles. They’d dance. To this day, those were some of her favorite memories.
The day that she remembers the most was when he sat down with her and had a tea party. The other attendees included her raggle-taggle teddy bear, and her bunny rabbit. He played the part perfectly; she had a hard time remembering he was only her father.

Those were the days when she missed her mom. It was a keen aching. She couldn’t decide whether it dulled or eased by the diversion of playing in the grass. Perhaps a little bit of both.

Those were the days that were both full and empty, hopeful and hopeless. Love-filled and lonely.

Dancing In the Rain

When I was little, I had a huge imagination.

One of the products of said imagination was a Chocolate Milk monster. Big, brown, and gloppy, this monster was exactly what his name implies. 

And yes, let’s be honest. Even though I’m 17 now, the Chocolate Milk monster still holds a special place in my heart.

—

Outside, a gentle rain is falling.
I run out to meet the cloudy sky, the grass rustling beneath my bare feet. Ryan stands in the dim shelter of the porch, arms folded, a sullen expression on his face. Teardrops start to splatter my hair, my eyelashes, and I love it.
“Come on, Ryan,” I yell. “A little rain never hurt anybody.”
“I’m afraid I might melt.”
“I can’t say I’d regret it if you did.”
He doesn’t respond. So I do the natural thing. I start to dance.
The rain intensifies as I whirl around in my front yard, holding an invisible partner close. The raindrops crash upon the ground, denting the earth.
“What are you doing?”
“Dancing!” Raindrops blur my vision and I’m completely soaked.
“What?!” Clearly, he can’t hear me.
“I’m dancing! Come on, it’s fun!”
“I don’t dance.”
“You have to be lying!” This entire conversation has been screamed at the top of our lungs to be heard over the rain.
“I hate it!”
“So? Have some bravery for once.”
He doesn’t respond. But he does take two steps forward.
“I dare you, Ryan!”
The silence is almost louder than the thunder. He just continues to stare at me. I ignore him and continue my waltz.
When I look over, he’s on the first step, looking up at our leaky drainpipe and wincing as raindrops fall into his face.
“This is good. I didn’t know you had the guts.”
“I have the guts. Whether I have the stupidity is another matter.”
“Well, you’re here, aren’t you? Might as well go all the way. And being stupid is only fun when you’re with someone else.”
“You’re calling me stupid?”
“More or less.”
Ryan descends the rest of the staircase, and kneels to pick up some of the earth, which has now turned into a sloppy, yucky mud.
“I didn’t know you made mud pies,” I comment. Right before he slings a handful of mud in my face.
I close my eyes as mud runs into my mouth and ears and nose. It’s everywhere.
And Ryan’s going to pay.
I brush enough mud out of my eyes to where I can see, and then kneel. Mud squeezes through my fingers into a ball. I wind my arm back and… take too long to aim. Ryan’s ready for me, and he takes off running across the yard. He knows it’s even harder to hit a moving target. Smart man.
And then I hear something, beyond the rain, beyond the thunder. Laughter.
Ryan’s laughing.
Naturally, this provokes a joyous reaction in me because I’ve never heard him laugh before. And the fact that he’s even capable of such a thing cheers me up more than I can say.
So now Ryan and I are chasing each other around the yard, laughing.
This is fun.
I still have the ball of mud in my hand, so I easily catch up to him and then smush the mud into his shoulder.
“Avary!” His tone is a mixture of surprise and irritation. “This is a new shirt.”
“Oh.” We both pause, standing about five feet away from each other. “I’m not really that sorry for you.”
“I’m glad you have such sympathy for a fellow human being.” He bends down and seizes more mud. Then, either because I let him or I didn’t have enough time to react, he throws it. At me. Point blank.
More mud splashes into my face, making my eyes burn. A gritty taste fills my mouth.
He stands there, watching me react, chuckling as he does so.
“Nice, Ryan. Real nice.” I bring my hand from behind my back, and throw some mud into his face. “Right back at’cha, bro.”
“Maybe we should call a truce?” He blinks, his face coated in slime.
“No way. I don’t surrender that easily.” I take off running. “It’s your move now!”
What Ryan doesn’t know is that I have an arsenal. Recently my dad has been trying to landscape our yard. This results in a giant pile of dirt in our backyard. A pile of dirt which should now be a pile of mud. A giant, glorious pile of mud.
In other words: ammunition.
I run back and crouch behind the pile, waiting for Ryan to make his appearance. But he doesn’t show. I use the time while I’m waiting, muscles poised and heart beating, to make a pile of mud balls. When he does show up, I’ll be ready.
“Avary?” Ryan waltzes into the center of the yard, coming to a stop after a staggering run. “Did you give up already?”
I press my fist over my mouth to stifle a giggle. The laughter burns inside my lungs.
“Come on, are you really that weak? Hiding away like a coward.”
Oh, that’s just low.
He paces forward a few feet. Almost within range. “Are you too scared to finish what you start?”
Oh, if only he knew.
I bite my lip, silently urging him to move forward as if I can influence his actions by my thoughts. Come on… just a little bit closer…
“Well, I guess I’ll go back inside then and clean up. Might as well end this petty war—since I’ve obviously won it.”
This provokes me into action, and I leap from behind my hiding place without taking the time to consider my actions. I have two handfuls of mud at the ready, and countless more within reach. “I’m right here, Ryan. And this is far from over.”
“Oh. So Avary Townsend isn’t a coward after all.” He tosses me a cocky grin as he squats near the ground, molding the mud into another missile. “I thought not.”
“I’m glad you didn’t underestimate me. From what you were saying, I was afraid you had.” It occurs to me that I should have used the element of surprise and fired the mud minutes ago instead of just jumping out in front of him stupidly. Yet at the same time, this is kind of fun. I always did enjoy verbal sparring.
“No, that was just to goad you into coming out, and from the looks of it, that worked.” He grins and stands, slapping his hand against the ball of mud as if to intimidate you. Slip slap slop.
“You’re right, it did.” I squish my fingers deeper into the mud in my hands, preparing to aim. “And this time, I’m ready.”
I fire both of the weapons at him in quick succession, and then run around behind the dirt pile for more. He’s still recovering from the first two blows by the time I send two more. I continue this tactic for about the next five minutes, until Ryan wises up to what I’m doing.
“Sheesh, how much mud do you have back there?”
I gesture to the giant mud pile, as if its presence should be self-explanatory.
“Oh, come on. That’s not fair play. You can’t hoard that all to yourself.”
“It’s my property.”
“Correction: it is your dad’s property. And as such, I’ve been hired to work here, so I have just as much right to work here as you do.”
“That’s ridiculous logic, and you know it.” I grin and grab two more mud balls. This time, though, Ryan is ready. He’s got two more of his own to fire back. We continue this ridiculous game of fire and respond until I run out of prepared mud balls.
“Well, I guess that’s it then. I’m all out of mud.”
“Not so. You have that entire hill at your disposal.”
I quirk an eyebrow at him. “True.”
Without a word I run back behind, my trainers slapping against the mud. I’m soaked. And covered in mud. Even better.
Then, without further ado, I grab an armful of mud. Yes, that’s right—not just handfuls. An armful. Basically, I give the dirt pile a hug and then take the mud with me.
And throw it at Ryan.
Because I’m awesome like that.
It lands on him with a giant plop, blowing away any preconceived notions I had about cliché sound effects. And he looks like the giant Chocolate Milk monster come to life.
“Oh my gosh. You look terrible, Ryan.”
He just shakes his head in a perfect deadpan reaction. Thankfully, the rain is still coming down like a showerhead on steroids, so it won’t be long before the mud gets washed away—well, most of it. His clothes are likely to be stained forever. Like mine.
So it is that our fighting comes to an end. Or at least, I’d like to think that. Ryan seems to be too irritated to continue.
At least, that’s what I think as I turn my back and walk away in a triumphant mental high. But when I get a bucket-load of mud sloshed across my shoulders, I think differently.
I stop dead in my tracks, then whirl to face him. I can feel the mud dripping down my back. Ryan has spared no expense in getting me completely dirty. “I can’t believe you did that.”
“At least it wasn’t in your face. I was sorely tempted to do that instead.”
“Well, thanks. You’re so nice.” I can’t help but grimace at how gloppy the mess is. Then an idea sparks in my brain. “Okay, now that we’ve had your fun, and I’ve played your game, it’s my turn.”
“Your turn for what?”
“To show you how to dance.”
“Whoa, whoa. I said, I don’t dance.” He holds his hands up in surrender.
“Yet. You don’t dance yet.”
I squint up at the sky. The rain has softened, gently touching the earth with its drops. “Come on, Ryan. Are you scared?”
“No… I’m just wondering what my boss will say when he sees me dancing with his daughter.”
“Oh, don’t worry, it happens all the time.”
He raises his eyebrows. “Do you always dance with the hired men?”
“Only the special ones.” I close the distance between him. “We’re out here anyway. Here. Hold my hand.”
“This isn’t at all awkward to you, is it?”
“Uh… yes, it is. But I’m willing to risk it. If only to see the expression on your face.”
“You’re so kind.” He rolls his eyes. “I really need to get back to work.”
I hold up a hand. “Not yet.” Then I grab his right hand and lace my fingers through his, and then take his left hand and put it on my hip. “To spare you the difficulty, I’ll let you know that this is indeed as awkward for me as it is for you.”
He doesn’t respond, but I can see a slight grin on his mud-stained face. I inhale sharply and tell him the steps. Considering I haven’t danced in a while, it’s difficult for even me to remember how to do this.
A thought occurs to me. I really, really hope that Dad doesn’t come home right now. Because contrary to popular opinion, I don’t dance with the hired men. Ever.
“Okay, so… are you ready?” I whoosh out another breath after relating the steps to him in what I can only hope were coherent instructions.
“I, uh…” He pauses and stares down at our feet. They’re incredibly close. His boots are toe-to-toe with my sneakers, and they’re both speckled with muddy splatter-marks. “No. I’m not ready. And my apologies if I step on your toes.”
I give him a scrutinizing glare. “Are you ever going to be ready?”
“Probably not.”
“Well, might as well start now.” Without further warning, I start leading—despite the fact that I’m not the guy and technically Ryan should be the one leading. Right now, though, I don’t trust him enough to let him lead. Probably because he has no clue what he’s doing, and that slightly concerns me.
“Whoa—I’m not ready.”
I laugh. “Too late.”
“Where’s the music?”
“Don’t you hear it?” I nod my head to the rain. “It’s all around.”
He shakes his head. Probably surprised by my sappiness. I don’t really care.
“You’re so different, Avary.” He says this a few minutes later. “I’ve never met anyone else like you.”
I hesitate. “Is this a good thing?”
“I don’t know.” He stares at me. “I hope so.”
“Why do you leave all the time, Ryan?” I tip my head. I didn’t have a chance to think about what I was saying, but now it’s out in the open. Might as well go with it.
“I can’t stay in one place. I just… can’t.” He shakes his head. “It messes with my mind.”
“I don’t think that’s all.”
“I’m a wanderer, Ava. That’s all there is to it.”
I still don’t believe him. But another matter is at hand, one I feel like I need to address. “Ava?”
“Doesn’t everyone call you that?”
“No. And certainly not my father’s hired men.”
“Oh. My apologies then.”
“No… I like it.”
Then we fall into a comfortable silence as we dance. The rain has turned into a drizzle, and I can see a break in the clouds.
Ryan’s not a half-bad partner. His feet move expertly, sloshing in the mud. “I think we could stop now.”
I feign surprise, letting my jaw open even wider. “Oh, come on. Why?”
“The rain’s stopping. Not much point in dancing in the sunshine, is there?”
I lift my shoulders in a shrug. “I don’t know. Maybe there is, maybe there isn’t. And maybe we should dance all the time.”
“That would get really tiring, don’t you think?”
“I meant it as a metaphor.”
“Dancing through life, huh?” He laughs, and it appears like a bitter one to me. “Yeah, sounds like a great idea.”
“You don’t sound convinced.”
“Well, I only wish life was as easy as you made it sound.”
“You know what? I wish life was as easy as I make it sound, too.”
“You mean your cheesy sayings aren’t all what they cracked up to be?”
“What cheesy sayings?” I stop, wondering if what he’s saying is really true. “I don’t have cheesy sayings.”
“Yes, you do. ‘Dancing through life’?”
“Well, it’s a nice thought, if you think about it. Then again, I’m not sure if you have a brain.”
“Hey! You’re not one to give compliments, are you?”
“Only when they’re deserved. So in that case, Ryan, you are a very good dancer.”
He seems taken aback by this, but only for a moment. “Well, in that case, now that I’ve earned your approval… I’m done.”
I stop, remove my sweaty palms from his, and brush them together in an effort to clear off both the dried mud and the sweat. My efforts aren’t very successful. “Fine, then. Good. I’m getting tired anyway.”
Ryan laughs as he walks over to the porch steps and sits down. “I’m thoroughly tired out.”
“Not to be a killjoy here, but you’re not done with what my dad asked you to do.”
“Don’t remind me.” He moans. “Do you have anything to drink?”
“Just lemonade.”
“That sounds heavenly.”
“Well, come on inside and I’ll get you some.”
We pause, and both look down at our mud-covered selves. “Then again,” I continue, “that could pose a problem.”
“Tiptoe across the linoleum floor,” he suggests. “Not like that would help… we’d drop flakes of mud no matter what we do.”
“Dang.” I sit down next to him. “Well, we could get cleaned up.”
“How? I don’t suppose you have an outdoor bathtub.”
“No, but I do have a hose.”
“That… would be cold.”
“Aw, come on, where’s your sense of adventure, man?”
He stares at me and laughs. “You are weird.”
“Maybe so, but come on. I’ll spray you first.”
“No!”
“I don’t think you have a choice in the matter—you have to get cleaned up before you can return to work. Or do anything else, for that matter.” I grab his fingers and pull. “Come. On!”
“I can’t believe I’m doing this…” he mutters.
“I’ve decided something, Ryan. You’re no fun.”
“And your point is?”
“Relax. Lighten up. Have some fun every once in a while. It’ll do you a world of good.”
“What do you think I’ve been doing for the past two hours?”
“Exactly. Don’t you want to continue having fun?”
“No. Not if it involves you, because I could very well lose my job.”
“Well, you’re already involved with me, so just get over here.” I finally mange to yank him to the side of the house. I uncoil the hose and turn the metal spicket. “Here. It’ll be cold, but worth it.” I aim it directly at him, resisting the urge to aim it at his face.
He shrieks like a little girl when the water comes on. Can’t say I blame him, but it is still a humorous sight to behold. I’m laughing so hard that I can’t hold onto the hose. Before I know it, the water pressure yanks the nozzle out of my grasp and the hose goes crazy. Twisting all over the place, it douses Ryan and us both thoroughly. It’s going to take me forever to get clean. And dry.
After I erupt in screams slash hysterical laughter, I manage to grab the hose. I have possession of it for about two seconds before Ryan wrestles it out of my grasp. “Okay, Miss Ava—it is officially your turn.”
Then he proceeds to shoot water into my face. Up my nose. I scream, a gargled sound that’s muffled by the sound of volatile water. “Ryan—” I hold my hands up to block the incessant spray of stinging water, but it does no good. I splutter. Dance around a few steps. Then finally get smart enough to duck, which gets me out of the spray for now. Except for the fact that Ryan has chosen to re-aim. He shoots it at my face. Again.
At this rate, I’m going to suffocate. It’s going to be a swift and tragic death for me.
Finally, after who knows how long, the water ceases. I fall onto the ground, coughing up a lung.
“Ryan,” I manage to eke out. “I pretty much hate you right now.”
He’s doubled over laughing.
“You stink.” I shake my head, rubbing the water off my face and shaking it into droplets on the ground.
“Well, at least we’re both clean.”
I look down at my clothes. He’s got a point. “Well… yeah… but still, that was cruel.”
“Welcome to life, Avary.” He actually smiles. “Now can I have some lemonade?”
I just stare at him. “Are you serious? You think I’m going to give you lemonade after what you did to me?”
“Uh… yeah…”
“Well then, you are correct. But only because I want some too.” I toss a grin over my shoulder as I head up the porch steps. “Be right back.”
Aside from being sopping wet and dripping water all over the kitchen floor, grabbing two glasses of lemonade proves to be a cinch. I pour them into Mason jars, my favorite type of glass even though it’s not really a glass at all. When I come back out, Ryan’s sitting on the porch waiting for me.
“I really need to get back to work.” He runs a hand through his hair as I descend the steps. We both know that he needs to get back to work. But he’s not going back to work yet. And somehow, we both know that.
“Yeah, you do.” I hand him the glass of lemonade, and he thanks me for it. At least Ryan still has manners, though he can get quite cruel when wielding a hose. “But we both know that you’re going to drink your lemonade first.”
“Yeah, probably.” He sighs. “And you’re ruining my job. I hope your dad doesn’t fire me.”
“You’ve mentioned this before. If you’re really that worried about it, I’ll put in a good word for you.”
“Would you?”
“No.”
“Oh. Well, it was kind of you to offer.” An edge of sarcasm coats his voice, and I definitely don’t fail to notice it.
“Yeah.” I nod to his Mason jar. “How’s your lemonade?”
“Good. Delicious, even.” He closes his eyes. “I haven’t had lemonade like this since I was a little boy.”
“No? How could you live that long without lemonade?”
“Believe me, I had much more important things to worry about.”
“Yeah… I guess so.” I sip the yellow, tangy liquid. “But lemonade can help cure even the biggest of ills.”
He takes another swig. “I suppose so.”
After a few moments of silence, Ryan speaks again. “So, who do you think won the war?”
“Of our water fight?” I ask, and he nods in confirmation. “Well, I don’t know. I think I did. But I suppose to be fair I’ll have to concede to calling it a stalemate.”
“I demand a rematch. Someday.”
I smile. “Bring it on.”
So as we sit on the porch steps, partaking in some of the greatest lemonade known to mankind, I can’t help but think of what I’ve gained today. I’ve gained a friend. And an enemy.
And maybe, just maybe, something much more.

Here we are now with the falling sky and the rain

We’re awakening.

Here we are now with the desperate youth and pain

We’re awakening

Maybe it’s called ambition

But you’ve been talking in your sleep

About a dream

We’re awakening

It's good to dream.

These notes were written while watching the movie Dreamer.


Avary is close to her dad. Therefore, should Bailey be close to her mom to contrast that?

Which brings up the question, is Bailey and Sawyer's mom a spy?
It could add interesting dynamics because Ryan is the one who leaves, while Bailey deals directly with the consequences of that. Ryan was the leaver, and Bailey was the one left behind. It would solidify Bailey and Ryan's relationship and give them stuff to talk about. And definitely sort through.

Ryan - sort of named after baby Ryan. Which is interesting considering this is essentially a book on death and what you leave behind.

In Dreamer, they built up to breeding Sonador so they could race her foal or sell her filly or whatever -- and after all this drama, they discovered Sonador was infertile. That was incredibly depressing, but they found a way out of it. I love it when there's no way out and then you find one. I just need to figure out how to incorporate it into this story.

Does Clark have a truck? Maybe. (I realized tonight I drew a ton of inspiration for Clark and Avary from Dreamer. O.o)

The reason they are at the waterfall/beach scene COULD be that Dr. Flan miscalculated and dropped them at a random spot, so they're lost in the wilderness. Or, are they purposefully camping? Ooh, they could be camping out on the first time, trying to get their bearings of the new world before they go find Gesparo.

There are some things you can't leave behind.

That's becoming this story's tagline. I love how things that have been dormant for a long while are now finally, finally coming together. Like the line above. I always knew it had SOME bearing on the story, but it never fit in. Until now. It's like all the pieces of a mosaic falling into place, and I love it.

I've been collecting all the pieces for a long time. Now they're finally coming together. They're my souvenirs.

Thank you, Papa.

Catalyst :: Ryan

Ryan's father had dirt-stained hands, and his eyes crinkled and lit up when he smiled. His father was the strongest man he knew. The ferocity with which his axe splintered wood; the way his jaw clenched in the midst of deep thought -- this was the meaning of strength. Ryan beheld his strength with wide-eyed wonder, a small boy idolizing his father. His father was his hero, his idol. The way it should be.

And then the dark days came, the ones that almost stole his light.

It was defiantly sunny that day in spite of the tragedy that would befall them. It disgusted him, the way the weather shone in the face of adversity. He was mourning that day, shouldn't the whole world too?

He raced home after his daily ritual of sipping down a Coke after school. He'd found a paperclip on the road. Simple pleasures. His dad had a knack for taking ordinary things and making them extraordinary, and paperclips were one such ordinary thing. Ryan couldn't wait to see the treasure his father would create next.

But his father was gone.

He'd left during school, his mother said. Her nose was red, her eyes tear-stained. Ryan couldn't understand.

"Why are you crying, Mama? Daddy will come back."


Silence.

"He's coming back, isn't he?"


The silence rang in his ears.

It wouldn't sink in. Couldn't sink in. He was positive that his dad would come home. Soon. Every day he'd run out to the mailbox, taking up his perch once more. His ears would perk up every time he heard the rattle of wagon wheels or the hiss of an incoming train. The train rumbled by on the tracks right behind his house, and Ryan was convinced that one day, his dad would be on it.

The days turned into weeks.

The weeks turned into months.

The months turned into years.

The gaping hole left in Ryan's heart would never heal.

These Are My Souvenirs

Here’s to the twilight
here’s to the memories
these are my souvenirs
my mental pictures of everything
Here’s to the late nights
here’s to the firelight
these are my souvenirs
my souvenirs

I close my eyes and go back in time
I can see you’re smiling, you’re so alive
we were so young, we had no fear
we were so young, we had no idea
that life was just happening
life was just happening

Here’s to your bright eyes
shining like fireflies
these are my souvenirs
the memory of a lifetime
we were wide-eyed with everything
everything around us
we were enlightened by everything
everything

So I close my eyes and go back in time
I can see you smiling, you’re so alive
I close my eyes and go back in time
you were just a child then, and so was I
we were so young, we had no fear
we were so young, we had no idea
that nothing lasts forever
nothing lasts forever
nothing lasts
nothing lasts
you and me together
were always now or never

Can you hear me?
can you hear me?
I close my eyes and go back in time
I can see you smiling, you’re so alive
I close my eyes and go back in time
you were wide-eyed, you were wide-eyed
we were so young, we had no fear
we were so young, we had just begun
a song we knew, but we never sang
it burned like fire inside our lungs
and life was just happening (and nothing lasts, nothing lasts forever)
and life was just happening (and nothing lasts, nothing lasts forever)
I wouldn’t trade it for anything
my souvenirs.