Weeeellll...I haven't come up with a title.

[Musicale Personna 0]

Okay people, this is my first time writing any story of any sort outside of school. If it sucks, then that's not my fault-at least, not really...

NOTE: Some people may find some comments offending (see 2nd sentence of 4th paragraph). If you do, then you'll just have to deal with it. I try to not put anything dealing with religion/ethnicity in my very few works, so that shouldn't be a problem.

I haven't come up with a title yet, if I do then I'll post it.

Here goes...

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PROLOGUE

The lemon yellow spirit looked its companion. "Are you sure that this is the one? This young child is the one that we seek?"

"Why, would you doubt me?" replied the other being, a pastel blue spirit. "I know what I'm doing."

"I never said you didn't," the first spirit said quickly, as if to make up for a mistake.

"Where have your calculations brought us timewise with this operation?"

"The way I see it, that person will arrive...erm...well," the yellow spirit said uncomfortably, "in about a decade and a half."

Silence followed the spirit's words. Nothing moved.

"Tell me something, Risika," said the blue spirit coldly. "Why did you not tell me of this delay? I said in the beginning that I need to know everything that may go wrong with this."

"W-well, I-I don't exactly know..." Risika stuttered. "The thing is, no sign of such a delay showed up in any results. Not even possible. My thinking is that time here is different than what we're used to. A year here is an hour at home."

"But surely you would have known that?" asked the other spirit.

"Well, actually, I wouldn't have, Cambrejay," replied Risika with a brave attempt at making it a throwaway comment.

"Oh? Why not?" inquired Cambrejay, without any interest.

"Listen, it's getting late, we should get back to-" Risika was suddenly cut off by a flash of bright orange light. But was it light? It seemed to be a shadow with a light in the middle.

"Aaaaaahh!" screamed Risika. "Cambrejay! DO SOMETHING!"

Cambreejay looked around, helpless. "I can't do anything. It's some sort of shadow rain..."

He suddenly collapsed, with no warning.

Risika screamed again. "CAMBREJAY! NOOOOOO! COME ON, DON'T LET GO, I'M HERE!" She lay her head on top of his lifeless essence and cried.

The job of finding the right person, the savior, was entirely up to her. And she had no idea where to look.

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CHAPTER ONE

Roxanne sat in her seat, half asleep and listening to Three Days Grace's "Riot" loudly to keep from becoming two halves asleep. This is crazy. It's already August. Just yesterday it was May, and we still lived in our home. She had had to wake up at five twenty-five just to shower for school and give her sister enough time to shower too. All because Mom insisted that riding the bus would be a great way to make friends. No, the only friends she had were the guys in the neighborhood-Alec, Preston, Robert, and Klay. And really, she only knew Preston. The second day they were there, he was riding his cherry red dirt bike up and down the street while she was walking the dog, and stopped to introduce himself and apologize for nearly running Belle over. That led to a conversation about dogs and dirt bikes and a whole bunch of random stuff. Alec seemed pretty nice, but nerdy; Robert was pretty dull. Klay had gone to Florida the day after her family had moved in; she only saw him once.

Screeeeeeeee-whoosh! Roxa's bus was probably put together from scrap metal from the nearest junkyard. It was the loudest thing she had ever ridden... Her head rolled against the window; her eyelids fell. She fought to stay awake and at least look at this girl who was getting on now. Of course. She sits with her friends and doesn't even notice me. I'm a nobody. I hate this place. It's in the middle of redneck country. I mean, the space is nice, but why can't the people here be slightly civilized? The bus grew loud with insults coming from the back. Apparently someone had "burned" someone else. The girl laughed. Choruses of "Hey Taylor, did you spend the summer in the chocolate factory?" and "Hey Oompa-loompa!" filled the bus as the girl named Taylor-the one that had just gotten on-sat down next to some redhead. As she put her stuff down, Roxa saw that she had a Paramore poster in the clear pocket on her binder. So she likes Paramore too, huh? Well, maybe I could say something...maybe not, Roxa thought as Taylor started to talk loudly. She wondered if her mom would let her be a car rider if she said she was claustrophobic. She really was, she had just never told her parents. Bus 129 was tiny and cramped, and the crowd of people seemed to be closing in on her. Relax, just look out the window...don't be sick... Roxa thought.

If only she had pretended to be sick. She certainly had felt like she was about to pass out that morning, but her mom didn't fall for that. Alexa had used up all of the "I'm sick" plays to stay home from school before Roxa even knew what "play" meant in that sense. No, her mother was an expert in that area. It would take real sickness to stay home. Unfortunately, all Roxa had that morning was a killer headache (unable to be proven, said Mom) and a slight fever of 99.3, according to the thermometer. Roxa hated that old thermometer. It was skinny, poky, cold, and waaaaay too uncomfortable to stay in her mouth under her tongue for more than a few seconds.

As the bus rolled to a screeching halt in the school parking lot, Roxa stood up, ready to walk right off of that piece of junk. "Roxanne Morris, siddown NOW er else yer get'n wrote up!" yelled her bus driver with her country accent. I don't think anyone here talks normally. But I guess to them, talking like that IS normal. Queer.

Finally the doors opened and Roxanne jumped off, looking at her schedule. Pre-algebra, first and second period. The worst possible first ninety minutes of a school day. Ever. Third period, P.E. That's not too bad. Fourth period, electives. Roxa hoped she got art first; she was an excellent artist. Fifth, social studies, a.k.a. naptime. Sixth period was lunch. Seventh was science, which Roxa wasn't too good at at her old school. But her proficiency in subjects relied upon the teachers, not the content. Last year, her science teacher had been awful; therefore, she made low A's. She liked Mr. Wilson, for she had met him at the open house the week before and talked with him. The last two periods were for English-or, as they called it, "Communications Skills." That's a really weird name for a class, why not just call it English? Roxa hoped that her pre-algebra teacher was nice, because if he or she wasn't then they'd be treated with a scream. Roxanne Morris's morning was NOT turning out well.

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I know it's pretty bad and can desperately use some work, but it's my first time. Comments welcomed!

[Aatch 0]

Hmm. A good story, I think. Its fairly well written and seems to have the beginnings of a good story. We're getting to know the character, which is something that isn't normally focussed on in these forums. I have a small issue with the prologue, the spirit's speech near the end. The capitals scream "I'm a noobish writer that doesn't know anything", but the rest of your writing shows that you aren't.

Other than that, its a good beginning lets hope that you can continue the good work.

[IAmVaati 0]

I liked it. Not sure where to look? Shall I recommend Earth? Awesome. Please tell me you'll write more!

Edited 4 Jul 2008 by IAmVaati (see edit history)