Teaser
I'm just going to pretend someone's curious about this comic idea of mine and post a short summary and a teaser so you know what narrative style to expect.
Summary: Ginny is NOT a super hero, secret crime fighter, special agent, new-age Robin Hood or anything similar. Unfortunately, no one believes her. And it's all because of this "Scarlet Kiss", a redhead like Gin who happens to look more than just a little bit like her. Being constantly confused with a vigilante is not funny, as Ginny realizes, and makes the hunt for her Doppelganger a lot more complicated...
There's this saying that life is funny and that you never know what it springs on you next. Then there's this saying that your teens are supposed to be the best time in your life. And last but not least (my grandma's personal favorite): "Life is full of surprises."
Well, my name is Ginger, I'm 17 years old and I'm thoroughly fed up with life's surprises, that make my teens the worst time in probably anybodies life. And no, I don't think it's funny.
I'm nothing out of the ordinary, you know. I've got the copper red hair going for me (bless the irish side of the family) and the molten chocolate brown eyes (bless the hungarian side), I'm not small-ish but I'm fragile looking. I'm a girly-girl with average girly-girl interests which include chick flics, shopping, dancing to plain pop music and cheerleading, among other things. My favorite color is hot pink, I love roses and when I was a little girl, I wanted to grow up to be Malibu Barbie only with red hair und brown eyes because there are too many blondes out there if you ask me.
Nowadays, I don't even want to be Barbie anymore: I'd be totally content with just being me.
"Girl, why didn't you tell me," Holly asked, just this side of hurt, when she dropped the Sizzleton Enquirer in my lap. "I wouldn't have ratted you out, you know. I thought we're friends..."
The reason for Holly's anger was an article on page 18. It read:
"Mystery girl claws down catburglar!
Emma O'Donald, widow of the late Major Robert S. O'Donald, had a busy Halloween.
A week prior, she and the Commitee of Festive Spirits had organized a week-long public pumpkin carving (as reported on October 25th) to raise money for the local library. Pumpkins and candles could be donated to bring Sizzleton into a festive spirits. Approximately 350 pumpkins were carved and used to decorate public places such as the Green Pavillion in the park, the frontsteps of the library and the Old Well at the city centre. 13,000 dollars were raised, intended to be spent on new books. A successfull catch for the commitee.
At the same time, Mrs. O'Donald helped to build the Halloween Fair's haunted house, was one of 7 house tour guides and provided skull sugar-cookies, spicy pumpkin soup and a warm smile for all of us. By all means, a woman doing so much for us should have had the most wonderful of all Halloween nights. But when she got home that night, Mrs. O'Donald's Halloween started to become really scary.
Everything seemed normal at first glance, but Emma had a feeling something was wrong. Carefully she stepped into her house, The hallway lay quiet and so did the prized winter garden, but she could hear something moving about her living room. Scolding herself for her fearfulness she flicked on the lights, thinking the intruder might be her neighbours cat, Sprinkles. The next thing she remebers is a figur dressed in black charging at her and a searing pain at the side of her skull.
The police later on told her, that she had disturbed a catburglar, clearing her house of the valuable antiques it held. He had knocked her unconscious with his flashlight in hopes of fleeing with his loot, planning on leaving the injured lady alone on the floor when he was stalled by a completely different feline.
A young woman in a cat-costume happened upon the scene and immediately reacted. With minimal effort she subdued the criminal while her boyfriend called 911 and took care of the unconscious widow until an ambulance arrived. Both vanished before they could be questioned by the police. By chance, they were identified as visitors of this year's Halloween Fair: several photos exist of the young couple holding hands and enjoying the festivities."
There was a request be the Sizzleton police that the two youths reveal themselves and make a statement at the police station as well as a plea from the widow, who would like to thank her rescuers in person.
The story in itself wasn't so scary. What freaked me out were the photos. This year, I had planned to dress up as a cat for Halloween. I had it all figured and laid out: a handsewn cat costume by my own design, a headband with fluffy cat ears, a dark brown choker with a silver bell and of course a long fluffy cat tail. I was going to curl my hair and wear it with the head band. I had sewn fake fur cuffs for my legs and hands because I didn't want to wear gloves and silly paw-shaped shoes and since I had made those things myself, there was no way anyone in the world could have gotten the same outfit.
So why was the girl in the pictures wearing the Halloween costume I hadn't used this year?
Those pictures could have been pictures made of me, except I'd spent all night at home, being sulky and a little bit heartbroken, and I didn't have a boyfriend (anymore; also I am absolutely sure that I never had a boyfriend who dressed up as a mad scientist).
"Don't you trust me anymore," Holly said and she sounded more than just a little sad. She sounded utterly devastated.
Holly had been my friend ever since pre-school, when we both thought that angelhair pasta served with sugar was the food of the gods and no one else agreed with us. We've been through a lot together: the week-long ice cream prohibition, poodle-hair, icky grandsons of a grandparent's friend, high school and the up's and down's of puberty. The secrets between us are few and usually reserved for birthday presents, christmas gifts and surprise treats. So I could sort-of understand where Holly was coming from.
You see, I had broken up with David, my very recent ex-boyfriend, on Halloween. In the afternoon to be precise. Holly had tried to cheer me up but I had steadfast refused to dress up as kitten and go to the party of Charleene Lewis which was the hottest spot around town that night and where I was undoubtedly going to see David. I hadn't wanted to see David. Not ever again. In fact, I hadn't wanted to see anybody and Holly, being my friend, had accepted that.
"That's not me," was all I said. Holly's look said she didn't believe me, but what else was I am supposed to say? I didn't know who that girl in the newspaper was, but I knew it wasn't me.
"And you know what? I'm going to proof it to you... we're going to find her."
Summary: Ginny is NOT a super hero, secret crime fighter, special agent, new-age Robin Hood or anything similar. Unfortunately, no one believes her. And it's all because of this "Scarlet Kiss", a redhead like Gin who happens to look more than just a little bit like her. Being constantly confused with a vigilante is not funny, as Ginny realizes, and makes the hunt for her Doppelganger a lot more complicated...
There's this saying that life is funny and that you never know what it springs on you next. Then there's this saying that your teens are supposed to be the best time in your life. And last but not least (my grandma's personal favorite): "Life is full of surprises."
Well, my name is Ginger, I'm 17 years old and I'm thoroughly fed up with life's surprises, that make my teens the worst time in probably anybodies life. And no, I don't think it's funny.
I'm nothing out of the ordinary, you know. I've got the copper red hair going for me (bless the irish side of the family) and the molten chocolate brown eyes (bless the hungarian side), I'm not small-ish but I'm fragile looking. I'm a girly-girl with average girly-girl interests which include chick flics, shopping, dancing to plain pop music and cheerleading, among other things. My favorite color is hot pink, I love roses and when I was a little girl, I wanted to grow up to be Malibu Barbie only with red hair und brown eyes because there are too many blondes out there if you ask me.
Nowadays, I don't even want to be Barbie anymore: I'd be totally content with just being me.
"Girl, why didn't you tell me," Holly asked, just this side of hurt, when she dropped the Sizzleton Enquirer in my lap. "I wouldn't have ratted you out, you know. I thought we're friends..."
The reason for Holly's anger was an article on page 18. It read:
"Mystery girl claws down catburglar!
Emma O'Donald, widow of the late Major Robert S. O'Donald, had a busy Halloween.
A week prior, she and the Commitee of Festive Spirits had organized a week-long public pumpkin carving (as reported on October 25th) to raise money for the local library. Pumpkins and candles could be donated to bring Sizzleton into a festive spirits. Approximately 350 pumpkins were carved and used to decorate public places such as the Green Pavillion in the park, the frontsteps of the library and the Old Well at the city centre. 13,000 dollars were raised, intended to be spent on new books. A successfull catch for the commitee.
At the same time, Mrs. O'Donald helped to build the Halloween Fair's haunted house, was one of 7 house tour guides and provided skull sugar-cookies, spicy pumpkin soup and a warm smile for all of us. By all means, a woman doing so much for us should have had the most wonderful of all Halloween nights. But when she got home that night, Mrs. O'Donald's Halloween started to become really scary.
Everything seemed normal at first glance, but Emma had a feeling something was wrong. Carefully she stepped into her house, The hallway lay quiet and so did the prized winter garden, but she could hear something moving about her living room. Scolding herself for her fearfulness she flicked on the lights, thinking the intruder might be her neighbours cat, Sprinkles. The next thing she remebers is a figur dressed in black charging at her and a searing pain at the side of her skull.
The police later on told her, that she had disturbed a catburglar, clearing her house of the valuable antiques it held. He had knocked her unconscious with his flashlight in hopes of fleeing with his loot, planning on leaving the injured lady alone on the floor when he was stalled by a completely different feline.
A young woman in a cat-costume happened upon the scene and immediately reacted. With minimal effort she subdued the criminal while her boyfriend called 911 and took care of the unconscious widow until an ambulance arrived. Both vanished before they could be questioned by the police. By chance, they were identified as visitors of this year's Halloween Fair: several photos exist of the young couple holding hands and enjoying the festivities."
There was a request be the Sizzleton police that the two youths reveal themselves and make a statement at the police station as well as a plea from the widow, who would like to thank her rescuers in person.
The story in itself wasn't so scary. What freaked me out were the photos. This year, I had planned to dress up as a cat for Halloween. I had it all figured and laid out: a handsewn cat costume by my own design, a headband with fluffy cat ears, a dark brown choker with a silver bell and of course a long fluffy cat tail. I was going to curl my hair and wear it with the head band. I had sewn fake fur cuffs for my legs and hands because I didn't want to wear gloves and silly paw-shaped shoes and since I had made those things myself, there was no way anyone in the world could have gotten the same outfit.
So why was the girl in the pictures wearing the Halloween costume I hadn't used this year?
Those pictures could have been pictures made of me, except I'd spent all night at home, being sulky and a little bit heartbroken, and I didn't have a boyfriend (anymore; also I am absolutely sure that I never had a boyfriend who dressed up as a mad scientist).
"Don't you trust me anymore," Holly said and she sounded more than just a little sad. She sounded utterly devastated.
Holly had been my friend ever since pre-school, when we both thought that angelhair pasta served with sugar was the food of the gods and no one else agreed with us. We've been through a lot together: the week-long ice cream prohibition, poodle-hair, icky grandsons of a grandparent's friend, high school and the up's and down's of puberty. The secrets between us are few and usually reserved for birthday presents, christmas gifts and surprise treats. So I could sort-of understand where Holly was coming from.
You see, I had broken up with David, my very recent ex-boyfriend, on Halloween. In the afternoon to be precise. Holly had tried to cheer me up but I had steadfast refused to dress up as kitten and go to the party of Charleene Lewis which was the hottest spot around town that night and where I was undoubtedly going to see David. I hadn't wanted to see David. Not ever again. In fact, I hadn't wanted to see anybody and Holly, being my friend, had accepted that.
"That's not me," was all I said. Holly's look said she didn't believe me, but what else was I am supposed to say? I didn't know who that girl in the newspaper was, but I knew it wasn't me.
"And you know what? I'm going to proof it to you... we're going to find her."