Untitled
A work I'm currently taking seriously. Something plain and ordinary by most people's books, but anyway, I think I'll keep writing it.
Chapter One
A Regular Day
The damp gravel crunched beneath his winter boots as Renegade Locke trudged home. His bike was on his left, being dragged along side him. The sky was depressingly gray, a soft chilly wind blew by, but oddly, he felt free. Most of the autumn leaves had already been blown away, but an occasional flash of orange dotted the drab landscape. It was a lovely day for a walk; he realized that the moment he had stepped out of the school campus. He wasn’t in any rush anyway, and rain appeared that it could hold for a few more hours. Absentmindedly, he skipped the cracks along the sidewalk, though it was not because of superstition. To him, it was merely a way to pass the time.
At his right, the burgundy brick wall had been vandalized with graffiti, on his left was a cemented road that cars hardly ever passed. Occasionally, a bird flew in the large empty sky, probably running late on its return to the south. Anyway, this area of the country didn’t experience snow that much, only intensely cold winters. This was the dull town of Cellone, a place where nothing out of the ordinary happened. Sometimes, Ren was thankful for this, like now, when serenity overcame him and he simply felt at peace and contented with himself. Other times he just found it plain boring. He picked up a perfect maple leaf, and inserted it between the pages of a book inside his bag.
Drip, drop.
A few drops of water fell around him, and Ren immediately hopped onto his bike. He pedaled faster; it was taking more effort as he was going uphill, gravity not being on his side. The light chestnut brown of his hair started appearing darker, becoming mussed with the rate he went and the constant shaking of his head to clear it of the tiny silver droplets. Soon, he reached the town circle, and took refuge in the small bakery that provided all the town’s cake and bread. He locked his bike to the rack, and put down the stable break for it, and again making sure of the chain that attached the body to the metal bar. He took a moment to recover his breath, taking in great gasps of air, then went to the door and placed the palm of his hand onto the cool metal handle.
As he opened the door, with the familiar cling clang of the bell came the subtle scents of cinnamon and fresh dough. The baskets behind the glass display were nearly devoid of bread and pastries, though an occasional bun or loaf popped out against the red checkerboard cloth. He saw his uncle cleaning up the round white tables, who looked up at the sound and gave him a toothy grin. Uncle Rupert gestured towards the kitchen door, located behind the silver counter, and Renegade pushed against the half-open wooden door, taking in the more concentrated smells of the bakery.
“Hello, mother.” Ren smiled timidly at the woman inside the kitchen, her hair chestnut brown hair much like his own in a bun, a damp rag in hand. Her hands were dusted white from the flour, her apron with splashes of substances he couldn’t identify. She was cleaning up already. Clara turned to see her son, and immediately gave him an affectionate hug, messing his hair up even more.
“Ren.” She smiled adoringly at her son. “We’ll go home together. Wait for me, so go do your homework for now, ‘kay?” Clara beamed at him, showing off her pearly whites, then continued on with her work without waiting for his response. Renegade simply went back out, and situated himself at a seat near the window, where he took out his notebook and the book he was supposed to create a report on. As he opened it, he suddenly remembered the leaf he had pressed inside and opened it onto that page.
“That’s a good sample, Renegade.” His Uncle took the leaf from his hand, studied it, and held it against the soft yellow light the small lamps in the bakery provided. He nodded approvingly. “Nice pattern of veins and an excellent shade of orange. Definitely worth preserving. I’ll be taking it now.”
Ren grinned as he watched his uncle disappear to the upper floor, where he and Aunt Rhine lived. Aunt Rhine was out to do some grocery shopping, or at least, that’s what he had heard. No customer was in today, and he preferred it that way, but nevertheless, it was worrying.
He looked out the window, observing the town circle in the dim light that the cloudy sky provided. From the warm confines of the bakery, he studied the people trying to find shelter from the cold rain, the way the water slid down the glass window, leaving a small trail behind. But most of all, he could not help but observe the way the statue still stood tall and proud in the center of the town.
It had fascinated him even as a child. A tall solemn man, sitting on a stone armchair. He smoked a slender pipe, and on his left hand there a book was open. Some of the finer details had been weathered away by the elements, but it was still apparent who was it the sculptor was trying to portray. It was Benson Douglas, founder of the town of Cellone.
The book he was holding had an interesting cover. The four corners seemed to be decorated, and embossed on the center was the profile of a lion and in front of it, a sword. It was difficult to study it in the dim light, much more so that people were rarely allowed to even touch. It seemed interesting, and plenty of myths surrounded the mysterious book.
He tore his eyes from the statue and decided to concentrate on his report. Uncle Rupert had long been back and was already mopping the floor. Just as he had uncapped his pen, the loud bell sounded, signaling someone had entered the shop. He looked up, and saw his Aunt standing there, hair hanging limply around her face, the grocery bags covered with small droplets of water.
“It’s about time to close up shop, right Ren?” she winked at him, then proceeded to enter the kitchen, where the pantry was located. In the meantime, he packed away his things. The report can wait, it’s not due ‘til next week anyway.
A few minutes later, his mother came, clean and armed with an umbrella. Together, they bid their goodbyes to their relatives and opened the door, the bell once again sounding. Renegade unlocked his bike, running it alongside him, but still keeping under the shade of his mother’s umbrella.
The soft pitter patter of the rain provided a rhythm, their footsteps as the deep bass. As Renegade turned one last look at the bakery, he saw his aunt wave at him and then turn the side around to say ‘Closed’.
Џ
As Renegade opened the door to his cousin’s room, he wasn’t surprised to find everything brightly illuminated. Hexane Nomad had a thing against the darkness, as amusing as it seems. He saw her sitting on her single bed, her back against a pillow, reading the book she was to make a report about. Her window was open, letting in the soft chilly wind. The rain had long ended, and now the air in her bedroom smelled of fresh water and leaves. Her laptop was blaring music, and a document was open, bearing her full name and the title of her book report.
“You’re back late.” Hexane remarked, not bothering to look up from her book. The harsh light gave her usually soft thin features a much more angular appearance. A warm blue blanket covered her thin shoulders as her eyes jumped from one group of text to the next.
“Reading club meeting. Got caught in the rain. Dinner will be ready in a few minutes, mom said.” Although the two had features not that dissimilar, they were nothing more than cousins, though their closeness implied that they were brother and sister.
Hexane possessed wavy brown hair, but it was in a much darker shade than his own, the color being similar to the bark of a Maple tree. Her eyes were a hostile ebony gray, which sometimes scared even the toughest bully in their class. In addition to that, she had a sharp witty tongue and was a favorite among the teachers because of her class standing.
Renegade, though, was no more than a boy of simple understanding. A quiet male of thirteen, he had a soft, kind face, and a personality that most would not find hateful. Light chestnut brown hair and soft green eyes, it wasn’t a surprise that he didn’t stand out much. He had an average group of friends, coupled with average grades. There were only two remarkable things about him: One about him being unusually tall, the other about his love of books. No one could compare against him when it came to adoration regarding the literary art. It was as if his heart was reserved for it only, only a small part left for the people around him.
Together, they made an odd pair. People often questioned it, since Hexane usually caught everyone’s eye while people didn’t usually notice Ren. But, who were they to complain about their friendship?
As soon as Renegade stepped out of her room, he headed straight for the bathroom to bathe and change. He made his way downstairs, wearing a plain white shirt and jogging pants and sat at the table, where his mother and Hexane were already eating. In content silence, they chewed on their meal, not really bothering to start a conversation.
Dinner was soon over and Ren washed the dishes. As he did, he thought about the uneventful day, wishing that his life had some measure of excitement.
Well, not exactly as exciting as the city. He remembered all those murder and kidnapping incidents that seemed to occur nightly. Ren shuddered. Nope, definitely not like that. I’d end up paranoid.He thought about it again. What kind of excitement did he want? Sighing, he just left the dishes in the dryer then made his way to his room. Renegade did the math homework due tomorrow, but didn’t bother to go to Hexane to countercheck his work anymore.
Sighing he turned out the lights in his room, and went to bed, but no, it wasn’t his intention to sleep. Too bad I don’t really know what I’m looking for. And soon, he succumbed to the whispers of dreams and fell asleep.
At his right, the burgundy brick wall had been vandalized with graffiti, on his left was a cemented road that cars hardly ever passed. Occasionally, a bird flew in the large empty sky, probably running late on its return to the south. Anyway, this area of the country didn’t experience snow that much, only intensely cold winters. This was the dull town of Cellone, a place where nothing out of the ordinary happened. Sometimes, Ren was thankful for this, like now, when serenity overcame him and he simply felt at peace and contented with himself. Other times he just found it plain boring. He picked up a perfect maple leaf, and inserted it between the pages of a book inside his bag.
Drip, drop.
A few drops of water fell around him, and Ren immediately hopped onto his bike. He pedaled faster; it was taking more effort as he was going uphill, gravity not being on his side. The light chestnut brown of his hair started appearing darker, becoming mussed with the rate he went and the constant shaking of his head to clear it of the tiny silver droplets. Soon, he reached the town circle, and took refuge in the small bakery that provided all the town’s cake and bread. He locked his bike to the rack, and put down the stable break for it, and again making sure of the chain that attached the body to the metal bar. He took a moment to recover his breath, taking in great gasps of air, then went to the door and placed the palm of his hand onto the cool metal handle.
As he opened the door, with the familiar cling clang of the bell came the subtle scents of cinnamon and fresh dough. The baskets behind the glass display were nearly devoid of bread and pastries, though an occasional bun or loaf popped out against the red checkerboard cloth. He saw his uncle cleaning up the round white tables, who looked up at the sound and gave him a toothy grin. Uncle Rupert gestured towards the kitchen door, located behind the silver counter, and Renegade pushed against the half-open wooden door, taking in the more concentrated smells of the bakery.
“Hello, mother.” Ren smiled timidly at the woman inside the kitchen, her hair chestnut brown hair much like his own in a bun, a damp rag in hand. Her hands were dusted white from the flour, her apron with splashes of substances he couldn’t identify. She was cleaning up already. Clara turned to see her son, and immediately gave him an affectionate hug, messing his hair up even more.
“Ren.” She smiled adoringly at her son. “We’ll go home together. Wait for me, so go do your homework for now, ‘kay?” Clara beamed at him, showing off her pearly whites, then continued on with her work without waiting for his response. Renegade simply went back out, and situated himself at a seat near the window, where he took out his notebook and the book he was supposed to create a report on. As he opened it, he suddenly remembered the leaf he had pressed inside and opened it onto that page.
“That’s a good sample, Renegade.” His Uncle took the leaf from his hand, studied it, and held it against the soft yellow light the small lamps in the bakery provided. He nodded approvingly. “Nice pattern of veins and an excellent shade of orange. Definitely worth preserving. I’ll be taking it now.”
Ren grinned as he watched his uncle disappear to the upper floor, where he and Aunt Rhine lived. Aunt Rhine was out to do some grocery shopping, or at least, that’s what he had heard. No customer was in today, and he preferred it that way, but nevertheless, it was worrying.
He looked out the window, observing the town circle in the dim light that the cloudy sky provided. From the warm confines of the bakery, he studied the people trying to find shelter from the cold rain, the way the water slid down the glass window, leaving a small trail behind. But most of all, he could not help but observe the way the statue still stood tall and proud in the center of the town.
It had fascinated him even as a child. A tall solemn man, sitting on a stone armchair. He smoked a slender pipe, and on his left hand there a book was open. Some of the finer details had been weathered away by the elements, but it was still apparent who was it the sculptor was trying to portray. It was Benson Douglas, founder of the town of Cellone.
The book he was holding had an interesting cover. The four corners seemed to be decorated, and embossed on the center was the profile of a lion and in front of it, a sword. It was difficult to study it in the dim light, much more so that people were rarely allowed to even touch. It seemed interesting, and plenty of myths surrounded the mysterious book.
He tore his eyes from the statue and decided to concentrate on his report. Uncle Rupert had long been back and was already mopping the floor. Just as he had uncapped his pen, the loud bell sounded, signaling someone had entered the shop. He looked up, and saw his Aunt standing there, hair hanging limply around her face, the grocery bags covered with small droplets of water.
“It’s about time to close up shop, right Ren?” she winked at him, then proceeded to enter the kitchen, where the pantry was located. In the meantime, he packed away his things. The report can wait, it’s not due ‘til next week anyway.
A few minutes later, his mother came, clean and armed with an umbrella. Together, they bid their goodbyes to their relatives and opened the door, the bell once again sounding. Renegade unlocked his bike, running it alongside him, but still keeping under the shade of his mother’s umbrella.
The soft pitter patter of the rain provided a rhythm, their footsteps as the deep bass. As Renegade turned one last look at the bakery, he saw his aunt wave at him and then turn the side around to say ‘Closed’.
Џ
As Renegade opened the door to his cousin’s room, he wasn’t surprised to find everything brightly illuminated. Hexane Nomad had a thing against the darkness, as amusing as it seems. He saw her sitting on her single bed, her back against a pillow, reading the book she was to make a report about. Her window was open, letting in the soft chilly wind. The rain had long ended, and now the air in her bedroom smelled of fresh water and leaves. Her laptop was blaring music, and a document was open, bearing her full name and the title of her book report.
“You’re back late.” Hexane remarked, not bothering to look up from her book. The harsh light gave her usually soft thin features a much more angular appearance. A warm blue blanket covered her thin shoulders as her eyes jumped from one group of text to the next.
“Reading club meeting. Got caught in the rain. Dinner will be ready in a few minutes, mom said.” Although the two had features not that dissimilar, they were nothing more than cousins, though their closeness implied that they were brother and sister.
Hexane possessed wavy brown hair, but it was in a much darker shade than his own, the color being similar to the bark of a Maple tree. Her eyes were a hostile ebony gray, which sometimes scared even the toughest bully in their class. In addition to that, she had a sharp witty tongue and was a favorite among the teachers because of her class standing.
Renegade, though, was no more than a boy of simple understanding. A quiet male of thirteen, he had a soft, kind face, and a personality that most would not find hateful. Light chestnut brown hair and soft green eyes, it wasn’t a surprise that he didn’t stand out much. He had an average group of friends, coupled with average grades. There were only two remarkable things about him: One about him being unusually tall, the other about his love of books. No one could compare against him when it came to adoration regarding the literary art. It was as if his heart was reserved for it only, only a small part left for the people around him.
Together, they made an odd pair. People often questioned it, since Hexane usually caught everyone’s eye while people didn’t usually notice Ren. But, who were they to complain about their friendship?
As soon as Renegade stepped out of her room, he headed straight for the bathroom to bathe and change. He made his way downstairs, wearing a plain white shirt and jogging pants and sat at the table, where his mother and Hexane were already eating. In content silence, they chewed on their meal, not really bothering to start a conversation.
Dinner was soon over and Ren washed the dishes. As he did, he thought about the uneventful day, wishing that his life had some measure of excitement.
Well, not exactly as exciting as the city. He remembered all those murder and kidnapping incidents that seemed to occur nightly. Ren shuddered. Nope, definitely not like that. I’d end up paranoid.He thought about it again. What kind of excitement did he want? Sighing, he just left the dishes in the dryer then made his way to his room. Renegade did the math homework due tomorrow, but didn’t bother to go to Hexane to countercheck his work anymore.
Sighing he turned out the lights in his room, and went to bed, but no, it wasn’t his intention to sleep. Too bad I don’t really know what I’m looking for. And soon, he succumbed to the whispers of dreams and fell asleep.
