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ren-oris · 6 months ago

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Chapter 1

Mori Littlewood, a boy known for his artistry and good grades, that boy also happens to be me. The clamor and commotion of my english class is quite funny to me, the teacher is making us read the “Scarlet Letter” by Nathaniel Hawthorne. It’s amusing watching everybody being shocked by the reverend’s words, when I have already finished the book. I have always loved literature, according to my teacher my love was on an uncanny level. I never understood her words anyway.

I have always seemed to notice things more peculiar than my classmates, like a slight time change, or the wind blowing a bit faster shifting the clouds mere inches a day. My favorite details are the ones that cannot be described, yet the ones still beautiful and clear in nature; alike to the time I read “Of mice and men” The small details of how Lennie would describe the imaginary rabbits pelts always soothed my soul. This is all to say the class's misunderstanding of the details and notes of the book and of Hester are quite amusing, nobody can quite understand the old English.

As I doodle on the piece of paper I possess, I see my teacher frown; the poor soul has never read the book, and was probably shocked by the material. I smile and go back to doing a small sketch of little Pearl. Her detailed soft brownish black hair was curled into braids in the front, and let flow free in the back. The small scarlet bow I drew with a red pen I possessed sat at the back of her hair. The poor child was confined to a world akin to that of a cage, she needed to return to where her name came from. Pearl, a child as wild as the sea, a roaring spirit not meant to be confined to the cage that is human existence. That being said I understand her on a deep level, I want to fly away from this wretched place, a burden and caged monster am I.

One thing I always found interesting is how Hawthorne never quite described the eyes of the spirits present in his book. I always saw eyes as where the soul was located rather than the heart akin to what most would assume. I draw small bright circles for Pearl’s irises, the blue hue I apply with another pen turns them from kinder soft givers of love to sharp piercing narrow slits, bringers of fear. My teacher, Mrs. Margaret walks over to examine my work. She frowns before writing a small note in the left corner, and brushing the paper off my desk. The paper flutters to the ground like leaves that fall from their trees in august.

I reach down and pick up the fallen parchment, the note is a cruel gibe of my drawing of the wild child known as Pearl. The note remarks on how despite my skills I am putting them to waste, and that my creation is “useless” and that I should be doing something “real” with my time and skills. I shrug off the note, and take a green pen out of my bag. WIthin a few minutes the note is transformed from a harsh and cruel gibe to a soft field of flowers, the words red in pigment making themselves contrast against the soft green. I smile as I add a setting sun and clouds, turning the words into a masterpiece. I look over my sheet of drawings once more, also with the sunset and Pearl resided The Reverend Aurthur Dimsdale, Hester, the white whale from “Moby dick,” a few assorted constellations, and many sketches of eyes, each diverse in passion and thought.

The school bell rang, and I smiled as I stood up, to my sides children packed up and went about their lives. I laughed, as is the joy of childhood. Upon my way to exit the teacher pulled me aside.

“Mr. Littlewood, what were you doing today?” Mrs. Margaret says, her eyes an agitated blue, her soul an angry mess sought to make the lives of creatives and passionates broken. Her sharp amber hair pulled into a fierce bun that complimented her clementine sweater. I notice how her shoulder bag, the one she wears without purpose or commodity, was missing.

“I was simply creating, I have finished the book already, and see no reason why I cannot draw.” I stare back at her, those eyes of ice stare back into me.

“Fine, get to your next class.” She barks, as I exit she says one last thing “Don’t think you are off the hook Mori, I am watching you.” With that remark for the teacher I leave.

While Litterature is my favorite class, it also houses my least favorable teacher. I make my way down the winding passageways that makeup the hallways of this school until I reach the dance studio. The dance department of this school is not great, but is not bad. I just so happen to be one of the few with almost no girls in it, and because there are more than fifteen of us, we get our own separate class.

We are not forced to change for some estranged reason, but we do drop our bags into lockers. As I enter, I see the form of a close friend of mine, Xander Greyson. Xander was a tall and thinner boy, with eyes of emerald pureness. Xander’s summer blonde and pale yellow hair swayed slightly from the air ventilation. I smile as I walk, to greet the fellow dancer.

“Xander, nice to see you!” I call, Xander turns around, and smiles, his face similar to that of the warmth from the setting sun. The shorter man who’s hair was like gold nodded, setting down his bag and tying his hair up.

“It’s good to see you as well Mori! How have you been?” Xander smirked before taking my bag and dropping it next to his. Xander smirked at my enamel pin representative of the rook bird, my favorite.

“Good, how have you been?” Xander nods at my question. I see out of the corner of my eye another few boys enter, but I pay it no mind.

“My day has been nice, I spoke to Marco today. He said that we have a test in math coming up. I am not ready…” The usually cheerful boy’s voice became pained and whiny. I looked over as he fixed the hair ornament I bore, its shape that of a rook perching on a teardrop.

“Thank you, I did study, just not as much as usual.” I spoke calmly, when the rook’s position was fixed, I grabbed and changed into some more appropriate dance shoes. Xander let out a smirk, and laughed.

“Wow, Mr. Makes all A’s did not study! Welcome to our level” Xander’s tone was more of a mocking manner than a friendly tease, I paused. The gibe was an arrow that was shot into my achilles heel. I had to study, my reputation, my worth, my life depended on studying. I laughed it off though, unwilling to show my slowly melting emotion.

“Hah! I guess so Xander… Anyways, where’s everybody?” I asked, trying desperately to conceal the pain and sorrow in my soul. Xander turned to me a smirk plastered across his face, his emerald eyes now tempting and with details of malice and mischief in them.

“James, Poe, and Kit are down at the library, probably cramming books for English, Quincy and Chess are in the bathroom, they will be back soon. Rook, and Ray are probably off skipping with Lark and Gunter. I just saw Leif and Casper, those two were hanging out as usual. Osher, Autumn and Indigo are still outside picking flowers… Rowan is probably studying or helping a teacher clean up their classroom for the thirtieth time this week. And Mr. Grimshaw is late… again.” Xander always knew where everybody was, in his own mischievous form, it was amazing to watch. The seventeen that made up the class were dedicated, yet all were free spirits… well all except myself. I joined dance because I could not do the physical education course, but dance was a much more acceptable field for me.

“Hm… hopefully everybody will return soon.” I notion, and grab some leftover work I need to finish. Scribbling down everything onto the slim pads of paper I keep on me, I track what needs to be done.

“Hey! Xan, Mori!” I turn around to meet the voice and figure of Chester Westville, or Chess as we refer to him.

“Chess, it’s good to see you, have you seen Quincy by chance? I need some more clarification on the last part of the dance…” I mutter.

“Hm, well Quincy said he would be out of the bathroom in a few minutes, I did pass Kit and James however.” Chess’s quip was notable, he always gave good advice. The taller boy had sharp black and white hair, his arms were a tan brown with darker freckles scattered about them as if they were stars in the sky. Chess’s eyes were mahogany with smaller honest and soft looking pupils. Chess turned as more people entered the room. Rocky “rook”, Raymond “Ray”, and Rowan Fisher, the triplets who were always up to something interesting.

Rocky Fisher, better known as Rook. The boy loved to play with others despite their protests. Rook's eyes were a gray green, more of a stormy color than anything. The boy had a malevolent spirit, his pupils narrow dots who would track and target their prey. Rook had jet sharp black hair that stood out compared to his other siblings, Rook often wore a sharp black dress shirt with a bright red tie and black dress pants, but today he was wearing a bright wight collar with a blue tie for some undeterminable reason.

Raymond Fisher, or Ray, a smart smaller boy, his blazing blue eyes invited excitement and joy to those who resided around him. Ray’s light brown choppy hair hung from his head like tassels to the grand stage that was his face. Ray had cut his own hair just months before today, he cut it unevenly and as a result there were large portions that were not cut high, and others that were. The layers of his hair made the bottom of itself look like the crenels and merlons of old castles in north Europe. Ray had a warm orange ribbon tied around his neck, accompanying it was an autumn themed sweater that was petterend with leaves and small cinnamon sticks. Ray wore a pair of baggy brown cargo pants, the boy often were to hang pencils, Identification, and other accessories off of it.

Rowan Fisher, the only boy in school other than myself who were rumored to be off to Harvard in just two years time. Rowan wore a white dress shirt and black pants, with a solid black tie hanging from his neck. Rowan held himself in high regard and kept quiet most times. Rowan’s hair was a soft curly brown that looked black at times, his eyes were a sharp and fierce dark blue, with a hunger for competition and the desire to be the best.

Rowan immediately headed off to the bathrooms to change, while Rook looked around before throwing off his shirt and changing into a better black tee shirt. Ray laughed, took off his sweater revealing a soft blue shirt underneath, then threw on a black and white jacket atop his figure.

Rowan soon returned after a few moments and grabbed a clipboard off of the wall, and began charting attendance. In entered Quincy a vindictive, yet charm filled smile placed upon his pale face. But a few steps behind Quincy entered Kit, the man had shrunken down visibly. Quincy was listing off some odd phrasing about love and the eros of ancient Greece. Kit was quietly nodding, and making an odd sign with his hands. The palm of his left hand lay up, with his right thumb up, and the other fingers making a fist. Kit’s hands would lift up for a moment before lowering slowly. I watched the strange symbol with interest, unknowing of what it might mean.

Oddly and out of character for the two dancers, their clothes were askew and messy. Quincy always had a professional and proper air and charm to him. Now that was lost, as it seemed Kit had stolen it. Kit noticing my gaze, smiled, and walked to take care of his things.

“You both are late. Kit, Quincy clean up, we don’t have all day to practice.” Rowan said, marking them both present for the class. Rowan’s gaze lingered on Kit for a few moments, before moving back to his task.

“Sorry! Rowan, let me grab my stuff and I’ll fix my stuff.” Kit laughed, his airy tone joyous and sounding as if he just escaped from the law. Christopher Nilsen, or Kit to us. Kit’s green eyes blazed with peace, excitement,and laughter; something was always off about that child’s eyes however. The seemingly carefree boy’s messy light hazel hair fell into soft and sweet curls. Kit threw on a black tank top and grabbed some black leggings.

Quincy’s glasses had been set askew, his usual sharp quiff and slick hair now presented as a sloppily attempt at looking presentable. The usually sharp student walked over to the side of the room and began to fix his attire to something more suitable for our class. Quincy’s eyes were a deep brown, with some twisted thing inside them. I looked over to see Kit walking over and struck up a conversation with Chess. The man whose hair was two-toned cast me a look of understanding; is as polite, I returned the favor.

A few more moments went astray before the next to enter appeared, most of the arrived group had by this point settled down, and began to work. “Hello everybody!” Called a soft haired man in a fall themed blouse. Matching his blouse, in walked a boy by the name of Autumn Martens. Behind the Taller boy that was Autumn, walked Poe Jackson, and James Roja.

“Autumn!” Kit smiled, as his whippy hazel hair flew around his as if his head were a child falling into the leaves of a season that his friend’s name bore. Autumn smiled, pulling out a small pack from his bag, the boy in a blouse handed the pack to Kit who exchanged it for some money. I started wondering the possibilities of the pack.

Autumn Martens was always an interesting boy after all. Autumn’s parents were often in and out of prison, leaving the poor boy to care for himself and cough up the money for the bills somehow. Autumn’s hair often whipped around him in its warm brown glory, with its gloryus amber glint in the sunlight. Autumn’s eyes were something of a mystery; light green and brown eyes mixed to make a strange hazel, soulless yet kindred all the like. Autumn’s warm toned skin showed its true beauty under the light. I would be lying if I were to deny my appreciation of his beauty. Autumn’s warm blouse was paired with a sweet warm linen colored jacket to cover it. I then realized my mistake of getting distracted however; Autumn and Kit’s transaction should be none of my concern anyway.

Edgar “Poe” Jackson and James Roja, two inseparable best friends. Edgar had been going by the moniker of Poe since we were but mere children. Poe was a lover of the man his namesake came from, James would tease him about it endlessly. Poe and James shared sharp crystal blue eyes; blue eyes that carried the air of fear and perceptiveness. Poe was dressed in a black Japanese school uniform, while James presented his attire as a white shirt, with black pants and a grey collared vest.

“Hey, Mori!” James called running over to me, his blonde curly hair fluttering around in the wind as he ran over to me. I smiled and gave a short wave as he walked over, Poe in tow.

“Greeting, Poe and James” I said, James snickered and elbowed me.

“Ya don’t have to be so formal you know! Xaver’s summer camp really got to you!” James laughed. I shuttered thinking of that camp.

“Oh well, why not? It’s fun is it not?” I ask, Poe shakes his head. James walks over to my bag, and pulls out my copy of “20,000 Leagues Under The Sea” by Jules Verne.

“You read far too much literature” James shakes his head as he examines the book. I scoff, and roll my eyes.

“The only literature you have ever respected James, was Moby Dick because of Queequeg and Ishmale’s relationship, so shut it on your literature takes” I say, taking the book back, and brushing off the cover. I fawn over the book as if it were my child, for I protect my books as such.

“Hah! I guess so, come on James, let’s change and warm up!” Poe murmurs his voice only barely audible to myself. James nods, and walks off after Poe.

The room now only missing a few select people is rowdy. Finally after what feels like an eternity the last five file in for class to start.

#writers on tumblr #writing #r.o writes #scheduled #more to come #criticism is appreciated

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