Five Lives- Clock Chime

This is from my current book 'Five Lives'. This one goes with the original post on my other blog that is also a chapter of it. Yes I'm aware I made mistakes, sorry.

Summary: The government drilled into the center of the Earth and unleashed toxic gasses that is infecting and killing the world. This is a survival story for five different separate people trying to stay alive.

This portion was told from Bridget's point of view. This how she met Owen and the start of a long journey together.

Copyrights Elena Lee Twist 2009.

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Clock Chime

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Screams and the screeching of tires were dieing and replaced by the deadly silence. All quiet except for the accursed chiming. The church tower was becoming consist, never stalling, never pausing, ever present.

The chimes represented the dead. With each one I worried if it was family or friends. Had I lost them all? Was I alone?

I trembled at the thought of being utterly alone. Would I live? Would a life after this be worth living? Is it better if I die? I would be with my loved ones.

A single tear escaped my façade of calmness. I brushed it away but it was to late. The boy crept over to my side.

“Are you ok?”

“They’re- “ I gulped down my fear. “dead.” I mumbled about the insist bell. Every chime was like the cough of Amber. The sound made me think of her dieing state.

“I’m so sorry.” The boy said in all sincerity.

I glanced up with my crazed eyes. His dirty blonde hair contrasted his tan skin. His blue eyes pierced mine, burned into my skull.

“I’m Owen.” Not to scare me he slowly lifted his dirt and grime cover hand. I stared absently at the gesture. Owen’s hand dropped and he shrunk into his former position.

I should talk to him. He’s only being friendly. I hid my terror in my voice long enough to reply softly.

“I’m Bridget.”

The smallest crack of a smile touched his lips. Like he has something to smile about?

Then I realized that I’ve known everyone in town since I was a child. Yet I’ve never seen this Owen kid. I would remember the flawless features if I’ve seen them before.

I mustered up the control to say, “You don’t live here do you?”

“No, I don’t” He sighed. And his expression dissipated into a far memory, leaving only an outline of his prior friendliness. “I was evacuated here.” Another pause in the sentence as if he was watching a movie reel in his head and then added. “From London, England.”

I stared blackly.

Owen laughed childlike “But no accent.” The laugh faded into the silence that settled heavy in the air. “It’s ironic.”

“What?” I blurted out before thinking, but what could be the consequence for this?

“I fled to England to escape my life, then I end up right back in America but with a new string of problems. But my safe haven is gone. I’m stuck in hell.” Owen looked grim. What did his past do to him? Would it be better if I didn’t know?

I pondered over the words and a possible reply to them. But no words and replace the people and life everyone has lost to this tragedy.

All I could do was say “Sorry.”

“Yeah well a million sorrys don’t change anything.” Owen spoke quietly. “Words lie. You could tell anyone ‘I love you’ but do you mean it? Words aren’t meant to lie, they are meant to convey a message. But yet we lie daily with those same words.”

I was uttered speechless. It sounded of pure poetry like a symphony of words.

The seconds passed like hours and the hours like days. Pure misery.

“Can I tell you my story?” Owen asked. I was caught off guard. “ Just in case… I- I-…” He chocked back the lump in his throat. “I don’t make it. I don’t want to die around strangers. I want to die around someone that knew my story.”

“That’s a good idea.”

I gasped. I had forgotten the other in the room. Now that all the excitement is over I took count on everyone. Five people sat in the storm shelter.

The old women that had pointed out the ‘good idea’ was tell the others of the plan.

“If you don’t want to die unknown then tell your story.” The elderly women declared. She reminded me of my grandmother. They both are outspoken and independent.

“Will you take part?” Owen tapped my shoulder.

“Uh… sure.” I admit it was a great idea. Scary to think that this might be the last time we tell our lives, and we are telling it to strangers.

“I’ll go first, or do you want to boy?” The old women asked Owen.

“No it’s fine, I’ll listen first.” Owen politely replied.

“Alright then. My name is Millicent Jones. I was born 1934 in Ohio. I grew up with my single mother and two sisters, Jennifer, and Elizabeth. Life was hard for since my mother had her children single, it was considered a scandal. And I met my husband at fifteen. He was the love of my life. But he decided to fight for his country. Before leaving we married.

"I haven’t seen him since the boat drifted off to sea. Maybe I do want to die, just to see the bright face of him, of my love Anthony.” Millicent said ever word filled with so much passion that it almost brought me to tears.

A noise, sharp, but familiar; someone was clapping. No applauding the women. With the echoes of the wall the claps sounded like thousands not just five people.

Millicent giggled, “Thank you, you’ve been great!”

“Whose next?” Owen chimed.

“You!” I smiled and spontaneously shouting. Owen looked surprised as if he didn’t think I was capable of more then saying three words.

“Well if that’s what the lady wants.” He teased.

I was laughing, like really laughing. But it wasn’t even funny, the situation was terrifying but yet everyone laughed to forget worries. A carefree moment, and I embraced it.

“Ok well I’m Owen Moore. I was born in the Amazon in hurricane and while still a baby I fought off three tiger, all at once!”

Again the contagious laughter built and burst into a chorus of different tones. Strangers yet family, bizarre yet comforting all into a mix of emotions, a beautiful combination.

The giggles died down to sweet smiles on the faces of the people, well minus the man in the back. I’ve noticed he didn’t chuckle once, poor man.

“Here’s the real story. My name is in fact Owen Moore. I was born 1992 in Florida. I grew up normal, nothing exciting ever happened to me until this disaster started. You see a week before the crisis; I went to live with my Aunt Sally in London, England.”

England. Amber.

“We all know the horror reports that England sent to America. I was sent to Florida, but when I go there they had been evacuated. The sent me north, here. I just don’t know what to do now. Do I sit and wait to die or do I run till there is nowhere to go?” Owen story made my heart ache, mine wasn’t nearly as dramatic.

Applauds didn’t come, it was more of sending uncomfortable looks to one another.

Owen looked at the faces of everyone and stopped on one. Me. His eyes blazed and I couldn’t resist staring back.

“Your turn.”

“Me?” I played innocent praying I could get out of ‘sharing’.

“Yes you. Come on it’s easy.”

After thinking of a way to escape and failing in my attempt, I surrendered and went to the middle of the tiny boxed in room.

“Uh… My name is Bridget Wilkes. I was born in 1992. I live here, in Lehman. Much like Owen I had normal life until this, whatever this is.” I paused because my voice was getting shaky.

“My dear friend Amber also went to England and came back before this became in epidemic. But she was sick, so sick.” I chocked. I escaped the topic and continued on to my goal, if you could call it that. “My main goal is to find my family, I’ve go to tell them how much I love them.”

I sat, I didn’t look around, I didn’t listen to the mumbles emerging; I just repositioned myself and said nothing more.

Finding it hard to considerate I slid farther down in hopes no one would talk to me. I was taken captive by my thoughts. I couldn’t even listen to the young twenty-year-old woman that was telling of her life.

“Are you alright?” The concerned voice asked. Was imagining it? Am I crazy now? Then I noticed it was Owen.

“As fine as a survivor can be.” I grumbled.

“Ah… so that’s code for my life sucks and I’m horrible thanks for asking.”

I smirked as his sarcastic attitude, he was still happy, like there was something to smile about.

“What was your friends name?” He tone sounded too serious for him.

“Amber, why?” Why did he want to hear about Amber?

“Amber what?” He questioned further.

“Amber Lynn.”

Owen’s face went grim, and his head cushioned on his scummy knee of his jeans. He looked so devastated, like I looked the day I found out about Amber’s death, completely heartbroken.

“I know-“ He made an abrupt stop. “I knew a small red haired American girl named Amber Lynn. At Oxford’s University learning program, my Aunt lived near by and made me go.” He smiled ever so slightly. “There was a girl named Amber. She became my dear friend through the program.” Silence.

“Oh and the stories of her friends back home, her closest friend was a Miss Wilkes. She was very sweet; but the program ended and she was sent home, while I stayed a while longer with my Aunt Sally.”

“You- you knew her…” I stuttered and gasped for a breath.

“Yes.”

That one word opened my eyes to the fact that both Owen and I are connected. We both cared for Amber, but we didn’t even know one another, but now we are sharing most kept secrets.

“Why don’t they then?!” Another conversation held the volume of the room.

“Maybe they can’t!” The voice was soft and gentle compared to the booming loud masculine voice she was talking to.

“The disease is spreading three times as fast with the help of the damn planes!”

“Well what do suppose we, the people trapped in a safe house, do about this?!” The women rose from here seat and inclined tensely over the man. Delilah Michaels, that was her name. And the man was Ronald, but he said his last name was ‘unimportant’. I guess I listened better then I thought.

“They did.” Owen joined. “They closed the airports days ago, once the crisis alert went out all legal flights stopped.”

“What do you mean legal kid?” Donald exclaimed harshly.

“Well how do you think I’m here?” Owen paused for his rhetorical question to sink in. “Pilots took matters into there own hands, they flew away for there own safety, and anyone that paid enough got to go with them. The law can’t stop the will and drive to survive.”

“You little brat are the reason we got the smoke weeks before! I should ring your neck!” Donald bellowed. Owen didn’t even finch as if the threat was a promise he hoped would be carried out.

“Stop!” Millicent pushed Donald back. “This is madness! The boy has done nothing, just try to live like the rest of us!” Millicent’s fragile body didn’t compare to the strength in her voice, she is so powerful with words.

Donald mumbled grunted incoherently under his breath.

Millicent sighed deeply, and this calm mask slipped into place, all the stress vanished leaving nothing but a black slate.

Owen’s face was completely frozen. I was worried, is he all right, is he going into shock?

“Owen?” The whisper caught in my throat. But why was I worried about this boy I just met? Why do I feel I’ve always known him, always needed him?

He turned slowly, and I locked gaze with him. I focused on his deep eyes. Like and ocean, beautiful and blue, what little light the room provided twinkled in his eyes. His beauty consumed me; I was like a lifeless doll that was looking in the eyes of the child, the child with the life and hope a doll would want.

“Anyone have the time?” Millicent broke my trans.

“Twenty minute till midnight.” Delilah replied.

I didn’t notice it was getting so late. But almost on queue my muscles ached from my earlier escape, and my eyelids flickered. I slouched father down the wall.

Owen watched and smiled, “Tired?”

I nodded sleepily, and my vision became distorted. My mind drifted, and my imagination was unleashed. I felt myself being lifted, and then I was settled into comfort. I dreamed. I dreamed of a memory of a past world, one where you didn’t hid in fear of toxic gases, one where I could go to the park and hang with my friends, with Amber. My dream was like a past life, gone, and never returning. This life of fear is becoming all I know.

New Face

So I don't know why but these words kinda wrote themselves. So as crazy as I sound I don't know much about the characters. This is what I do know...

Rachel was once a drug and alcohol addict. And had a gang of friends, and was closest to Jacob.

Lillian is a mental health doctor with some interesting ways to fix problems.

And that's all I know. Enjoy!

Copyright Elena Lee Twist 2009

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“Have you ever thought there was more then one person in your head?”

“Huh?”

“Many people yet only one you.” She continued. He voice trailing, her mind was elsewhere, but yet also alert. “Like a flower. Many petals, but only one flower.” Lillian bent down to the dandelion and stroked its stem.

“I’m not following.” Rachel watched Lillian as if a child to a mother, in pure awe.

Lillian hummed tuneless and stood up again. With a sigh she trotted past Rachel toward the long dirt path. The trail winded and twisted around the trees of the forest. The trees were vibrant oranges and reds. The leaves littered the path and the trees towered like a divider from nature to civilization.

Lillian twirled instead of walking, people avoided her when the came close. They moved away like she was diseased, the disease of caring. Lillian ignored their angry grunts and continued her dance.

Rachel watched as she pranced down the path. Her grace suddenly made Rachel uncomfortable. But the dancing slowed and Lillian was still as the tree she touched. The only movement was the wind though the leaves and the twists of Lillian’s hair.

She turned as slowly, never losing her concentration. Lillian opened her bright green eyes and stared from afar at Rachel. Rachel made no inch of movement.

“Follow.” The gusting breeze amplified Lillian’s whisper.

Rachel obliged and stumbled over the lose rocks, to her embarrassment Lillian stared at her the whole way. Once the two girls were together the walked casually down the path.

The sound of the forest chimed loud and clear. Until they hit the noise the broke the beautiful harmony of nature, the sound of humans, drunk humans non the less.

Rachel swallowed loudly. This was where the gang used to hang. Did they still? Rachel hadn’t seen them for almost a year. Secretly she missed them; they were family. But had that changed since she met Lillian and rebuilt her life?

The noise grew into a roar. Rachel prayed that Lillian would turn around; surely she hears them? But was this what Lillian wanted? Was it a test for Rachel?

Rachel saw them. Ronny was sitting on his normal rock with a bottle in his hand. Derek was sitting on the railing to prevent man from falling of the near cliffs. All of them just there as Rachel once had been.

Someone was missing; a familiar laugh was missing from their chorus. Jacob.

Before thinking Rachel shouted, “Where’s Jacob?”

“Well, well look who’s here. Little Rach.” Ronny draped his arm around her. His breath was making Rachel queasy. “How’s rehab?”

“Shut up, like you care.” Rachel found it a bit to easy to go back to her attitude self, but if it was that easy for attitude how easy would she be able to resist going back to a drunk?

“Oh come on Rach. I was thinking of doing it myself.” The words slurred into an indistinct sentence.

“Right. Asshole.” The words came naturally. Rachel shoots a look at Lillian to see her reaction, but like always she was as unreadable as ever.

“Uuuhh, so where is Jacob?” Rachel said more controlled of her emotions.

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And that was Lillian and Rachel's story, maybe one day I'll find how it ends.

Ian's Hello

Hello Humaniers,

I'm Ian! I think you know something about me, if you don't I'll fill you in. I'm a fish, alright I'm a merman. I've never used a computer before, I like it!

Narrissa wanted me to post about my day, but it's only 1:08 PM.

So I'll tell you what I learned after being in 'New York, New York'.

First, off computers don't like water as much as I do!

Next, human food is much better then merman food. BUT I DON'T LIKE SEAFOOD!

NEXT, I FOUND A BUTTON THAT MAKES LETTERS REALLY BIG!

Don't eat the gum of the bottom of tables, it doesn't taste very good.

If you hand out money to people the like you more, mostly if you give them the ones with the '1', '0', and '0'.

People give you funny looks if you start singing in restaurants.

Oh and last but NOT (I still like that button!) least. If you ever need to talk to someone go to Libby. She never moves, she's always in New York harbor. Tell her Ian sent you.

Well that's all.

IAN! (That never gets old!)