omgitsveevee: (Default)
vivi ([personal profile] omgitsveevee) wrote2010-06-28 01:20 am


Title: Another clichéd plot device
Introduction to Shelly, Jack and Oliver's characters.
Summary: Two guys, one bad attempt at an eerie atmosphere.  I WROTE THIS AGES AGO FOR NaNoWriMo IDK 

Meet Shelly.

Shelly Dorado, hating being named Chelsea and hating, this time openly, the nickname Chel. But she’d only nudge you a little if you ever made the mistake.

As she pushed the door open, she met a few stares and the teacher’s annoyed gruff; and of course, like any normal teenager, some would smile at her, the unspoken code for ‘’Hey, sit down with me, not being next to someone is bad for my social health.’’

We one should say that the arrival right after hers would prove to be a miracle cure against loneliness for anyone, because then came the well-aimed stares, the whistles and even shouts, if the class felt lively enough.

Red purse, big breasts, blonde hair and cute to boot; the class’ attention is now focused on Jenny Williams, whose plain name didn’t match the character at all, really.

Now that everyone was distracted, and Shelly at her place, the focus should shift to that drooling mass, at the back.

Jack Smith however, deserved that bland name, at least on his bad days, even if his dreams seemed very vivid:

’Now, Britney did like Wolfgang, as our remarkable student, Mr. Smith, pointed out.’’

He would still have been sleeping, weren’t the words Smith and Remarkable in the same sentence. That didn't sound quite right.

‘’What?’’, was all he managed to blurt out.

Cue laughter, because of course, he had said that out loud.

Those that were apparently of his kind congratulated him with signs of approval.

Sometimes, Jack hated returning to reality.


That was why he met that strange girl at nights.

After hearing a few knocks, he opened his window as discreetly as possible, thanking God for his one-story house. She climbed up and landed gracefully in his room.

Sitting down on the plain carpet, she looked at him with a slightly mischievous smile, which actually meant nothing. This was Edna, after all, with her comic-book expressions and lack of ill far as Jack knew, at least.

‘’I’m coming back to Earth.’’, she said, shrugging.

‘’Say what?’’

‘’-Sorry dude.’’

Edna found a boyfriend, and no reason to dwell anymore on nightly discussions about fiction, because when reality started to lighten up, no need for fiction to escape, and no need to someone to hang on to if she felt alone in her fantasies.

Jack’s expression turned grim, and he shrugged back to her, the last bit of originality knocked out of him.

After all, a guy who schemed things about comics and parallel dimensions at two a.m in his room was probably unique in his neighborhood, and all that thanks to the green-haired 19 year old.

‘’Well, maybe all that shit’s true, but really, unlike you I’m not disconnected anymore from where we are now. Gotta go on your own.’’

With these last words, she stepped out through the window, and Jack felt something like rejection.

She had brought the spark to their ramblings. He had nodded, and brought evidence. They’d make a great team in science-fiction novels.

He laid back on the carpet, imagining that the ceiling had stars, that the moon was still visible from his window, calling the werewolves out for a run.

He supposed, hell, maybe somewhere, at the same time, the werewolves would be real.


The night was chilly on this side of the ocean. Chilly for the Isles, and the hills within the isles.

Nature did bring wonders even in their small piece of land, but these kinds of musings weren’t in the style of Oliver Green. Oliver felt, and never thought. He thought for things to say against you, but never for himself.

The grass, moist under his back, didn’t offer the best cushion around. He had arched his back several times as the peculiarly vicious wind reminded him of how cold it was and how even colder wet grass could be.

Not only that, but also a growing noise prevented him from sleeping.

Standing up, he took a few steps down the hill.

Louder, louder and louder. The wind had chilled itself even more to warn him, a cold slap on his face screaming, no no don’t go there, no!


Something collapsed, and to his horror, he saw her, clad in white, shock written on her face.

The never-to-be bride marked the end of the domino effect, of all these things in the air transmitting that wrong feeling to each other without being aware of it.

Oliver Green would have that image forever implemented in his memory, and for once, he cursed his lack of cell phone.

Soon, he would hear a shriek, and see a suspicious look, the pointed fingers, and questions, lots of questions.

But he would be safe, because he possessed nothing able to project bullets.


Meanwhile Jack Smith had the time to fade into the background yet again, being, without anyone to nudge him a bit, bored out of his mind; but teenagers were bored, that was the norm, and 15 wasn’t a magic number to make exceptions. Perhaps 13 was.

His age group was of the kind that saw everything in the wrong light, and only felt the cold wind as yet another clichéd plot device in their horror story to tell them that they were going in the wrong direction.

The dreamer would snap back to reality with these signs, and then plunge back into his thoughts with his own way to interpret them.

‘’Are you going to eat that?’’

Shelly, sitting in front of him with a plate in her hands, stared at him with a little smile. That weird kid barely ate anything, no wonder he always looked so tired!

‘’Aw come on’’, she went on, stretching her arms out a little. ‘’And then you wonder why people see you as a ghost.’’

She had to admit, she had always been mildly amused by the plain, yet strange boy’s behavior. Maybe he belonged to that kind that spent his life outside of school, even if it didn’t leave much life to spend. That day however, it seemed that even what happened outside of the school’s confines wasn’t enough for him.

‘’Something’s rotten in Denmark. How fitting.’’, he finally blurted out, in an uncharacteristically ‘’intellectual’’ manner. Who knew about Hamlet at this age? Certainly not her, and even less the guy who slept during every English lecture ever.

‘’We’re not in Denmark, amigo.’’

-Well, something is in England, ‘cos Shakespeare comes from there, right?


Those of the ‘reject’ type were obviously asking for it if people were avoiding them like the plague. Shelly would let it pass this time, though, because there’s a difference between being your everyday creep and acting like some demon just possessed you.

She urged him to eat because hey, the cafeteria isn’t just for socializing!

Maybe it was because her family had always been superstitious, but a visceral uneasiness still sent shivers in her spine.


A lamp spread its eerie dim light, playing with Oliver’s facial traits and accentuating them like nothing ever could. Now he was a full-grown man with sharp features.

He had passed the test which made him even more wary of society than before. They had found that he had been innocent, and had seen nothing but the red hole growing wider on the falling lady’s wedding dress.

Those who had hold him captive for a while had nothing against him, his family reassured him; it was natural that they’d react this way with anyone present during the murder.

His intuition, no wait, pure logic told him that he was still on their black list.

Cold colors painted the painful morning after, and he had an appointment with a physician for trauma treatment and perhaps, further disguised interrogating.

Oliver let the images pass through him yet again, because this was nothing but a shadow on the dark green hills, and the white and red breaking the tableau were only fragments of his imagination, since only a creative mind would make up a bride, ready for her fate, prance around in the middle of both the night and the hills.

He’d have to cure his young, wandering mind someday.


The cylindrical figure of the woman stood before him, as stable and unyielding as a watchtower. He’d refuse to tell her, no matter what. Oliver had delivered his secrets to nature, as he had stared into the grass long enough to dig holes in it. The human tower would only see a blank face.

Maybe it was his village’s way of offering a public-funded support; Oliver didn’t mind; he’d answer her questions with a few nods, still wondering why he barely felt anything.

‘’Your son’s still in denial over what happened. Give him some time.’’

Then would come anger, grief and acceptance, with the hope that it worked faster when facing the death of a stranger than for a close relative’s. His entourage tried to guess what exactly was going on in his head; but really, his life went on as usual, between hills and rocks and skies to touch and wind to feel.

However, he had caught the attention of a group of students, due to his supposedly wild spirit, untamed by the academic frame of college they aspired to break. A mystery he was, because witnessing a murder clouded his already grey eyes, the group’s girls would tell, almost swooning in delight.

So they started innocently by contacting him to see if he needed assistance.

Oliver said nothing but took a run on the streets.

He ran, avoiding any possible contact that would lead people to ask about him. So he zigzagged, dashed when he felt like it, as if danger was imminent. Rain painfully whipped his skin, reality hitting his face repeatedly.

Everything was a blur, and he ended up hiding in a small neighborhood, pressed against the wall.

These guys aren’t acting normal, he thought. No young country boy should be the subject of so much stalking.

The average villager was usually on his guards in this area. This neighborhood was at the edge of the town, and stood as way too vulnerable. In fact, several people had complained over it, on how they should have set fences, walls, towers even; attacks weren’t that frequent though, so the ideas were quickly abandoned.

So all Oliver had to do was to watch his back and not his front…ideally, because there stood Nature, seemingly unimpressed by his recent antics.

The rain stopped after a while, and the young man stepped out of his temporary paranoia. The green grass and forests would always be there for him, after all, even if a voice screamed to him that they had betrayed him on that fateful night. After all, who knew what awaited him this time?

He thought, by taking the first steps out of town, that an unexpected hiking exploration wouldn’t hurt on this day.

The landscape after rain was something he’d never give up for anything in the world. The hills glistened with life and seemed grateful towards such a generous weather. The air was moist and smelled

fortunately of nothing sheep-related. It was the better part of the country, Eliver thought.

Something however caught his attention, something that wasn’t quite the everyday sight of his hills.

A hawk made its way through a small bunch of trees, piercing the small canopy and becoming fully visible in the sky.

The shock went through Oliver’s spine, fear alike to electricity.

He froze. These people again. Were they looking for another victim? Their last action couldn’t be the lady’s murder; it would have felt too out of place. It just wasn’t like them to kill someone who decided to leave a small wedding in order to meditate a bit.

The hawk drew circles above him, and flew away. Were the bird looking for him, he’d be doomed.

Again, he scurried off. Running became his favorite pastime on this day. Of course, he stood no chance against them, but a small glimmer of hope told him that he could run fast enough.

Escaping from the crowd: that’s what he always did; running from the strange things that are talking winds, of college people with dubious intentions, of dreams automatically becoming nightmares, and of course, of bandits.

He heard footsteps quickening behind him.