Bleep. >>;

Hello, from the land of girl who doesn't keep up with ANYTHING anymore. Ugh.

Basically, what I'm saying is sorry.

I've missed you all SO much, and have been too busy/lazy/stressed to check this site, let alone finally send the notebook (six months in my hands. God help us), and now I'm back, vowing to update at the strangest hours in the night just so I can keep in touch.

Anywho.
How's life/love, girls?

AND, since this is kind of the whole 'write something' blog, I'll post some of my CreatWrit stuff from last semester. If you didn't know, I started online school - so I have full days at home now, kind of like you guys. Woot!

(By the way, totally started working on something the other day, and UGH. No guts! I hate it! And, I'm still pounding out a Clara post. No worries.)

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It was 4:21 in the afternoon when it happened, on April 8th; a regular Saturday, nothing out of the incredibly dull ordinary until that point, and the only people who even noticed it were three teenagers, crammed into the over-cleaned, super-neat room of an OCD patient.

They weren’t doing anything; they certainly hadn’t been the ones to cause the happening. One girl and two guys; not even talking to each other in any apparent way - focusing on something else; oblivious to the others around them.

What had drawn the group together was the thing that kept them silent. It was what they were waiting on, some impatiently, some carelessly, but it was something that they couldn’t put a name, definition, or cause to.

The last time this had happened, it had been at 3:18 in the early morning, on April 8th of last year.

Every year this happened, and every year they would sit together in silence and wait. Sometimes it required them to ditch school, other times work, and others, vacations. However, for the sake of themselves, they had to give up whatever it was to be here. It was that important – the last person who had tried to do it alone had disappeared under special circumstances, stuck forever in the day that was April 8th.

All three participants had their eyes closed, waiting imperviously.

Moments and moments past, one just as good as a candidate as another; there was no telling the time – all predictability was gone.

But then, the light crashed into the room, blinding everyone.

Immediately, the girl, a curly-headed redhead, screamed out over the roar of the light to the others,

“FOUR TWENTY-ONE,” she shrieked.

Yet until the light had stopped shining, only a matter of seconds after it had first appeared, no one else spoke or moved, just cringed.

The atmosphere roared once in anguished protest.

And then, once again, all was quiet.

“Good afternoon,” a whimisical voice chimed from the middle of the awkward circle the teenager’s bodies had formed.

Then, and only then, did they move, open their eyes, or talk.

“What the hell, Gemma. You were supposed to something about the ‘body smacking rock’ thing when we left last time,” a tall, pale-skinned boy scowled, standing up awkwardly and scraping red dust off of his dark clothes.

“Hello to you, too, Theron,” she said bemusedly in her unnatural inflection, before turning away. “How are you holding up, Lora?”

The redhead looked nauseous, but nodded shakily.

Gemma then turned her attention to the remaining character, a boy that looked to be around her own age, with blonde hair and tired-looking eyes.

“Kyntak,” she said, nodding in his direction, “nice to see you.”

He nodded once in return before moving over to check with Lora.

This world, the red dust covering the red rocks, dark sky overhead, the screeching sounds of the earth moving and grinding against each other, was the second plane – some kind of alternate world just a few meters above their own, but invisible, and only appearing to those it chose.

The entire plane made Lora slightly sick all the time, but she was more time and space sensitive – something that Gemma understood, being a resident of that plane. Theron was somewhat of a troubled child, but every dream he’d had since the age of three had revolved around this place. Like the others, when he turned twelve, he had experienced his first April 8th.


-


Yay, over.
Um.

Lauren's Writing Twitter.  (You should get one. And follow her. They're kind of fun.)

and

GET SKYPE. It's a lot easier than calling up one another, and you can tell when everyone's online. It's like IM and voice chat all in one. Look up my email on it.