First Post: Cherry Vanilla #5 & Rocky Road #22
Author: A
Title: The Future
Flavors: Cherry Vanilla #5 (the mysterious stranger), Rocky Road #22 (a meeting place)
Toppings/Extras: None
Summary: Jack and Ansem don’t want to think about the future, but when a mysterious stranger rolls into town, their thoughts on the matter begin to change.
Story: An untitled YA-ish fantasy-ish story. One day, there will be a title and a plot summary. Today is not that day.
Rating: PG (A cuss word or two)
Word Count: 1,739 words
Notes: Alrighty, my first post! This is actually the backstory to a story I’ve been toying with for a few years; since that one is all planned out, I thought I’d use this community to explore the older characters, and the events that lead up to the main story. And who knows, maybe this will turn into a story in and of itself? I’d love to hear what you guys think :)
“Have you decided what you’re doing next year?”
Jack looked up from his book. His mother had come into the room and was standing a few feet from his chair, staring at him with her hands on her hips. He turned back to his book. “Not yet,” he said.
“Jack,” his mother sighed. She pushed his book away from his nose, forcing him to look up at her. “You need to decide on something for your future.”
“Ma,” said Jack, closing his book and standing up. He tossed the book on the chair and turned back to his mother. “I told you, me and Ansem are just taking some time off, you know, to, uh…” He paused briefly, looking for the right words to say. “Find ourselves.”
His mother angrily mumbled something that sounded like “Ansem.” Jack rolled his eyes and headed for the front door. His mother followed him and grabbed his arm just as he started to leave.
“You know I want you to do what makes you happy,” she said, looking him in the eye, “but don’t let that Ansem Tribbett decide what that is. He’s not always thinking about you, Jack.”
Jack stared back at her for a second, then wrenched his arm from her grasp and headed down the steps and across the lawn.
The walk to Ansem’s was short. He was standing outside, leaning with his back up against the side of his house, his left hand in the pocket of his leather jacket, his right hand holding the cigarette he was smoking. When he saw Jack, he took one last puff and threw it into the grass, squished it with the toe of his boot, and headed in Jack’s direction.
“Jack,” he said, grabbing his hand and pulling him into a brotherly embrace.
“Ansem,” Jack nodded. “What are we doing today?”
Ansem grinned. “Ah, why d’you always need to know what the plan is?” he said, hopping off the curb and heading down the street. Jack followed. “I told you, you gotta loosen up once in a while-stop listening to your ma.”
Jack ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, she was ragging on me about that today. She thinks you’re a bad influence; she says you’re trying to decide my future.”
“That’s the whole point,” said Ansem. “We ain’t deciding no future, you know? I don’t know why parents always gotta have some big plan; we just wanna go with the flow, you know?”
“She doesn’t get that,” Jack sighed. “She says she wants me to do what makes me happy; she thinks I’ve gotta know what that is right now. I think she’s mad I didn’t apply for college, you know?”
Ansem snorted in disgust. “More school? Yeah, like that did us any good. We just got outta that shit, why would we wanna do more?”
Jack shrugged. “It wouldn’t be so bad. You know, like some English or history or something. I always liked that stuff.”
“Yeah, well, ain’t that great for you, Jack,” said Ansem sarcastically. “The rest of us don’t wanna spend the rest of our lives in some big brick building, hearing about some dead guys and the poems they wrote. Who cares?”
Jack put his head down but didn’t answer. They continued walking in silence for a while, until they reached the tunnel. It was an old culvert, but the river it had been built on had long since dried up; now, it was a place for the boys to hang out, away from prying eyes. When they arrived, Ansem went ahead, splashing in the puddles from the previous night’s rain, and heading a foot or so into the culvert. Jack came in a moment later, avoiding the puddles on the ground.
Ansem pulled out his pack of cigarettes and pulled one out. He offered the box to Jack, who shook his head. Ansem grinned and chuckled before replacing the box inside his jacket pocket. He stuck the cigarette in his mouth, waved his hand across the other end, and pulled it back out, exhaling the smoke. He slid down the side of the tunnel, taking another puff as he went down.
“Come on, sit down,” he told Jack, motioning towards the ground. Jack shook his head again and Ansem rolled his eyes. “What, don’t wanna get your pants dirty?”
Jack narrowed his eyes at his friend and slid down the opposite side of the tunnel, so that he was sitting across from Ansem. Ansem grinned again and clapped his hands, saying, “There ya go!”
Jack didn’t really feel in the mood to be in the tunnel; his mind kept wandering back to his book and to his mother. He hung his head down, staring at the ground between his knees. Maybe she was right… maybe he should have a plan…
Ansem was absently playing with fire. He’d open his palm, and there it was; then he’d close it and there it would go. Neither boy seemed interested in this; in fact, Ansem wasn’t paying attention at all. His gaze was on Jack. He was staring at him with a furrowed brow.
They sat like that for some time. The sun moved around a lot in the sky, but they didn’t budge an inch, nor did they say anything. And then, they heard a noise.
Ansem clasped down on the fire in his hand and stood up, ready to defend the tunnel. Jack merely lifted his head and looked toward the opening.
A man came down the hill and into the river bed. He was tall and lean, with tan skin and long, black hair, which was pulled back into a loose ponytail. He wore a heavy black overcoat over what looked like a handmade brown shirt and pants; all three articles were dirty and worn, with patches and frays littering them. His shoes looked as if they were made from the same material as his shirt and pants and they, too, were worn and dirt-covered. He stopped just outside the entrance of the tunnel.
“Ansem Tribbett?” he said. His voice was deep and powerful, with the vaguest trace of an accent. “Jack Shardae?”
The boys looked at each other. Jack stood up as Ansem turned back to the man and said, “Who the hell are you?”
The man smiled. It was a good smile, the kind that crinkles the eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said, putting his gaze on Ansem. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have started off like that-my name is Barid.”
Ansem and Jack exchanged glances again. “Yeah, but that don’t really answer my question,” Ansem said. “What are you doin’ here? How do you know our names?”
The man called Barid smiled again, though not as deeply. “I am here to find you. I know about you because I know you boys are… special.”
“Special?” Jack repeated, a questioning tone to his voice. Barid looked at him.
“Yes,” he said calmly. “You have… abilities. You can do things others cannot. Do you know what I am speaking of?” he questioned, looking at both boys.
Jack gave Ansem a sideways glance, but he didn’t return it; instead, he took a step towards Barid and held out his hand. In an instant, a small ball of flame had appeared there. Barid stared at it, the smile returning to his face, and Ansem closed his hand on the fireball, extinguishing it. Then, Barid turned to Jack.
Jack hesitated. He still didn’t know who this man was; why should he trust him enough to show him what he hadn’t shown anyone but Ansem? Ansem turned his head to look at Jack and nodded, telling him it was okay. Jack took a deep breath, shut his eyes, and concentrated; within an instant, he had disappeared. Barid’s eyes travelled around the riverbed, looking for an indication as to where Jack might be, but he was nowhere to be seen. Suddenly, he reappeared, at the far end of the tunnel, and walked slowly back up to the entrance, so that he was level with Ansem. Barid’s smile widened.
“As I expected,” he said quietly; they couldn’t tell if he was just saying it to himself. “I have come to offer you a place in our community,” he explained, taking a few steps back and sitting on an old rock.
“What community?” questioned Ansem, his voice full of fire.
“It is a place for those like you-those who are gifted.”
“Is that-” started Ansem, but he cut himself off. “Do you live there? What can you do?”
Barid’s smile wavered briefly, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, his eyes focused on Ansem. Jack looked from his friend to the stranger nervously; whatever the man was doing, it didn’t look like it could amount to anything good. Suddenly, Ansem let out an “Ah!” and shut his eyes, putting his face in his hands. Jack ran to Barid, yelling, “What the hell are you doing to him?”
As suddenly as it had started, it stopped; Ansem moved his hands away from his face and opened his eyes. Jack looked back to his friend; he was breathing heavily and looked a little flushed, but he looked otherwise fine. His eyes were set on Barid.
“What was that?” Ansem asked him, very quietly.
“An image,” answered Barid calmly. “More specifically, it was your mother, on the night she left you at the orphanage.”
There was a stunned silence following this statement. Then, Ansem said, in something like a low growl, “How-?”
“That is my gift. I can see the past, the present, and the future, and show it to you,” Barid explained. He gave Ansem a smile, “I am sorry for the pain-it is meant more for your dreams.”
At this, Ansem’s eyes lit up. “The future?” he breathed.
Barid’s smile fell away. “I could discover it, yes, but I would not impart it to you. It is much too dangerous for people to know too much about what is in store.”
Ansem’s face fell and he turned his attention to Jack. He gave him a look-a look that asked, What do we do? Jack didn’t have an answer.
“I must know.”
Both boys turned back to Barid, who had stood up from the rock. He took another step toward them and looked at Ansem for a moment before resting his eyes on Jack.
“Will you come with me?”
Title: The Future
Flavors: Cherry Vanilla #5 (the mysterious stranger), Rocky Road #22 (a meeting place)
Toppings/Extras: None
Summary: Jack and Ansem don’t want to think about the future, but when a mysterious stranger rolls into town, their thoughts on the matter begin to change.
Story: An untitled YA-ish fantasy-ish story. One day, there will be a title and a plot summary. Today is not that day.
Rating: PG (A cuss word or two)
Word Count: 1,739 words
Notes: Alrighty, my first post! This is actually the backstory to a story I’ve been toying with for a few years; since that one is all planned out, I thought I’d use this community to explore the older characters, and the events that lead up to the main story. And who knows, maybe this will turn into a story in and of itself? I’d love to hear what you guys think :)
“Have you decided what you’re doing next year?”
Jack looked up from his book. His mother had come into the room and was standing a few feet from his chair, staring at him with her hands on her hips. He turned back to his book. “Not yet,” he said.
“Jack,” his mother sighed. She pushed his book away from his nose, forcing him to look up at her. “You need to decide on something for your future.”
“Ma,” said Jack, closing his book and standing up. He tossed the book on the chair and turned back to his mother. “I told you, me and Ansem are just taking some time off, you know, to, uh…” He paused briefly, looking for the right words to say. “Find ourselves.”
His mother angrily mumbled something that sounded like “Ansem.” Jack rolled his eyes and headed for the front door. His mother followed him and grabbed his arm just as he started to leave.
“You know I want you to do what makes you happy,” she said, looking him in the eye, “but don’t let that Ansem Tribbett decide what that is. He’s not always thinking about you, Jack.”
Jack stared back at her for a second, then wrenched his arm from her grasp and headed down the steps and across the lawn.
The walk to Ansem’s was short. He was standing outside, leaning with his back up against the side of his house, his left hand in the pocket of his leather jacket, his right hand holding the cigarette he was smoking. When he saw Jack, he took one last puff and threw it into the grass, squished it with the toe of his boot, and headed in Jack’s direction.
“Jack,” he said, grabbing his hand and pulling him into a brotherly embrace.
“Ansem,” Jack nodded. “What are we doing today?”
Ansem grinned. “Ah, why d’you always need to know what the plan is?” he said, hopping off the curb and heading down the street. Jack followed. “I told you, you gotta loosen up once in a while-stop listening to your ma.”
Jack ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, she was ragging on me about that today. She thinks you’re a bad influence; she says you’re trying to decide my future.”
“That’s the whole point,” said Ansem. “We ain’t deciding no future, you know? I don’t know why parents always gotta have some big plan; we just wanna go with the flow, you know?”
“She doesn’t get that,” Jack sighed. “She says she wants me to do what makes me happy; she thinks I’ve gotta know what that is right now. I think she’s mad I didn’t apply for college, you know?”
Ansem snorted in disgust. “More school? Yeah, like that did us any good. We just got outta that shit, why would we wanna do more?”
Jack shrugged. “It wouldn’t be so bad. You know, like some English or history or something. I always liked that stuff.”
“Yeah, well, ain’t that great for you, Jack,” said Ansem sarcastically. “The rest of us don’t wanna spend the rest of our lives in some big brick building, hearing about some dead guys and the poems they wrote. Who cares?”
Jack put his head down but didn’t answer. They continued walking in silence for a while, until they reached the tunnel. It was an old culvert, but the river it had been built on had long since dried up; now, it was a place for the boys to hang out, away from prying eyes. When they arrived, Ansem went ahead, splashing in the puddles from the previous night’s rain, and heading a foot or so into the culvert. Jack came in a moment later, avoiding the puddles on the ground.
Ansem pulled out his pack of cigarettes and pulled one out. He offered the box to Jack, who shook his head. Ansem grinned and chuckled before replacing the box inside his jacket pocket. He stuck the cigarette in his mouth, waved his hand across the other end, and pulled it back out, exhaling the smoke. He slid down the side of the tunnel, taking another puff as he went down.
“Come on, sit down,” he told Jack, motioning towards the ground. Jack shook his head again and Ansem rolled his eyes. “What, don’t wanna get your pants dirty?”
Jack narrowed his eyes at his friend and slid down the opposite side of the tunnel, so that he was sitting across from Ansem. Ansem grinned again and clapped his hands, saying, “There ya go!”
Jack didn’t really feel in the mood to be in the tunnel; his mind kept wandering back to his book and to his mother. He hung his head down, staring at the ground between his knees. Maybe she was right… maybe he should have a plan…
Ansem was absently playing with fire. He’d open his palm, and there it was; then he’d close it and there it would go. Neither boy seemed interested in this; in fact, Ansem wasn’t paying attention at all. His gaze was on Jack. He was staring at him with a furrowed brow.
They sat like that for some time. The sun moved around a lot in the sky, but they didn’t budge an inch, nor did they say anything. And then, they heard a noise.
Ansem clasped down on the fire in his hand and stood up, ready to defend the tunnel. Jack merely lifted his head and looked toward the opening.
A man came down the hill and into the river bed. He was tall and lean, with tan skin and long, black hair, which was pulled back into a loose ponytail. He wore a heavy black overcoat over what looked like a handmade brown shirt and pants; all three articles were dirty and worn, with patches and frays littering them. His shoes looked as if they were made from the same material as his shirt and pants and they, too, were worn and dirt-covered. He stopped just outside the entrance of the tunnel.
“Ansem Tribbett?” he said. His voice was deep and powerful, with the vaguest trace of an accent. “Jack Shardae?”
The boys looked at each other. Jack stood up as Ansem turned back to the man and said, “Who the hell are you?”
The man smiled. It was a good smile, the kind that crinkles the eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said, putting his gaze on Ansem. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have started off like that-my name is Barid.”
Ansem and Jack exchanged glances again. “Yeah, but that don’t really answer my question,” Ansem said. “What are you doin’ here? How do you know our names?”
The man called Barid smiled again, though not as deeply. “I am here to find you. I know about you because I know you boys are… special.”
“Special?” Jack repeated, a questioning tone to his voice. Barid looked at him.
“Yes,” he said calmly. “You have… abilities. You can do things others cannot. Do you know what I am speaking of?” he questioned, looking at both boys.
Jack gave Ansem a sideways glance, but he didn’t return it; instead, he took a step towards Barid and held out his hand. In an instant, a small ball of flame had appeared there. Barid stared at it, the smile returning to his face, and Ansem closed his hand on the fireball, extinguishing it. Then, Barid turned to Jack.
Jack hesitated. He still didn’t know who this man was; why should he trust him enough to show him what he hadn’t shown anyone but Ansem? Ansem turned his head to look at Jack and nodded, telling him it was okay. Jack took a deep breath, shut his eyes, and concentrated; within an instant, he had disappeared. Barid’s eyes travelled around the riverbed, looking for an indication as to where Jack might be, but he was nowhere to be seen. Suddenly, he reappeared, at the far end of the tunnel, and walked slowly back up to the entrance, so that he was level with Ansem. Barid’s smile widened.
“As I expected,” he said quietly; they couldn’t tell if he was just saying it to himself. “I have come to offer you a place in our community,” he explained, taking a few steps back and sitting on an old rock.
“What community?” questioned Ansem, his voice full of fire.
“It is a place for those like you-those who are gifted.”
“Is that-” started Ansem, but he cut himself off. “Do you live there? What can you do?”
Barid’s smile wavered briefly, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, his eyes focused on Ansem. Jack looked from his friend to the stranger nervously; whatever the man was doing, it didn’t look like it could amount to anything good. Suddenly, Ansem let out an “Ah!” and shut his eyes, putting his face in his hands. Jack ran to Barid, yelling, “What the hell are you doing to him?”
As suddenly as it had started, it stopped; Ansem moved his hands away from his face and opened his eyes. Jack looked back to his friend; he was breathing heavily and looked a little flushed, but he looked otherwise fine. His eyes were set on Barid.
“What was that?” Ansem asked him, very quietly.
“An image,” answered Barid calmly. “More specifically, it was your mother, on the night she left you at the orphanage.”
There was a stunned silence following this statement. Then, Ansem said, in something like a low growl, “How-?”
“That is my gift. I can see the past, the present, and the future, and show it to you,” Barid explained. He gave Ansem a smile, “I am sorry for the pain-it is meant more for your dreams.”
At this, Ansem’s eyes lit up. “The future?” he breathed.
Barid’s smile fell away. “I could discover it, yes, but I would not impart it to you. It is much too dangerous for people to know too much about what is in store.”
Ansem’s face fell and he turned his attention to Jack. He gave him a look-a look that asked, What do we do? Jack didn’t have an answer.
“I must know.”
Both boys turned back to Barid, who had stood up from the rock. He took another step toward them and looked at Ansem for a moment before resting his eyes on Jack.
“Will you come with me?”