Wednesday, February 1, 2012

magic of words (Part one)

 This was started in 2009, and I'm slowly trying to get back into the story.  I'm amazed I can find the notes for it!

Part one:
Word count 1061

Personally I missed my truck.  It had been a deep forest green, four-wheel drive, and I had to actually climb to get into the monster.  Reason I didn’t have it anymore… My Ex husband took it when he kicked me out of the house.  He hadn’t even bothered to tell me in person that he wanted the divorce.  We had been married for eleven months, dating and living together for two years before that.  The jerk even took my house in the deal.  What did I get?  My laptop, and a headache; which was probably why I had taken the bus, a four hour drive was turning into a ten hour one.  I had to meet with my editor, well, the man that was running my website.  I was living in a crummy little apartment in a crummy little dying town in the Appalachians, and he lived in a small city near Philly.  Figured letting a bus take me up would save on gas and trying to coax my rust bucket, the only thing I could afford after the divorce, really, why the hell does a truck driver, who’s on the road twenty days of the month need a four bedroom house, besides, he hated the place anyway, up in the mountains which allowed for a relaxing retreat.  My fault for marrying a city kid right?

Well at least the trip was giving me time to write.  The meeting was on Thursday; I’d get into Reading, bypassing Philly, Tuesday night.  Gave me time to relax in my hotel and learn a little of the layout of the town, figured I’d need to at least, I was going to rent a car; there was another place I wanted to check out anyway that wasn’t that far from the city, I think the map said it would be about a twenty minute drive from the hotel.
Then it would be back to my little whole in the wall apartment back to writing stories for teens to drool over.  Oh joy, I know I shouldn’t complain, at least the teens and young adults pay my bills for me with my fantasy novels.  Pressing my back against the seat the laptop sat on my lap, I had eight hours of battery life, then another battery in my bag.  It would be enough for the trip up at least; I’d charge the batteries at the hotel. 

I was facing backwards, on one of the benches that went to the side.  It was late night, so for the most part the bus was empty.  Besides me there were half a dozen other passengers, two were dozing in seats further up; while a group of about four were in the back playing with an acoustic guitar.  I was tempted to pop in some music right before they started up, the boy singing kept his voice down, but his voice beat any of the classical I had loaded up on my player before leaving home.  Smiling at the group I almost laughed when he stuck his tongue out making a silly face looking directly at me.  None of them looked older than mid twenties, which made me think a few college buddies.

But they looked like a mismatched group; the one playing the guitar was dressed in flannel and torn jeans, looking like he was more at ease in the grunge scene on the West Coast.  The woman singing softly now was in a sleeveless sundress, white cheap sneakers, the kind you used to be able to get for eight bucks in the early nineties, but now cost sixteen dollars; the look reminding me of someone more at ease on a farm in the Midwest, even though she had a slight Southern drawl.
The other woman was dressed in knee-high boots, a short black punk skirt, the black tank she wore over a black fishnet top sported a white skull with a dagger in its mouth.  She even had the black hair and make-up.  Her companion was dressed in nice slacks, a dress shirt, and had bands across his arms, both frilly looking garters that should have been on the Goth girl’s outfit, figured she put them on him to mark him as hers.

“Any requests,” The grunge boy asked noting I was watching them.  His eyes were a soft golden brown.  Sunshine next to him looked up, her crystal blue eyes reminding me of the ocean in Hawaii.  I had been there, once before, when I was a kid.  I wasn’t sure why the memory came up, but I had to pull my head away from her gaze, it wasn’t bad, just a little unnerving how she didn’t blink.

“Aw, sugah you have to have one,” Her accent was genuine Southern, if I had to guess she was a Georgia Peach, not from Nebraska or some other Dust bowl state as I had originally thought.  I had to crack smile.  There were some things that I wished I had been able to pick up; the accent was one.  Instead I have this English accent mixed with a little Texan drawl, and I’ve never been to Texas or England. 
“Naw, that’s okay, was a beautiful tune the two of you were singing.”  I didn’t have a problem with the compliments, they had been really good.

The boy in the torn jeans paused.  “Angelica, here,” He handed ‘Sunshine’ the guitar moving to look out the window better.  The mood of the other pair was tense when he moved away from them, closer to me.  Of course I scooted back against the seat as much as I could

“Alx?”  ‘Goth Queen’ asked shifting to get up.  She was taller than I had thought, though a good six inches of the height were her platform military styled boots.  Her skirt was one of those Lolita poofy skirts that fell mid-thigh. 
“Miss Jacobs, you may want to put your laptop away now.  Trust me.”  He smiled softly and nodded to the darkly dressed woman.  She nodded back her face showing no emotion.  “I’m on it.”

How’d he know my name, I made sure my face wasn’t plastered over the blog I write for Dixson. There was a curse from the driver, making me slip my laptop back into the hard pack I had, as she caught herself on one of the bars long enough to keep her footing.

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