Post by SomethingAboutTheStars on Dec 31, 2011 17:39:32 GMT -5
Hey, thanks to those who've been reading. Comments still appreciated. (: Haha, I'm in love with my story. It's about 20 pages so far and 10K words. Very proud, haha. Hope you enjoy it as much as I do, and that you have a great New Year.
Read Prior chapter first, thanks! They can be found:
Prologue: thegreysonchanceforum.com/index.c....read=789&page=1
Chapter 1: www.thegreysonchanceforum.com/ind....play&thread=793
Chapter 2: thegreysonchanceforum.com/index.c....play&thread=796
Chapter 3: You're already here!
Chapter 4: thegreysonchanceforum.com/index.c....play&thread=807
Chapter 5: thegreysonchanceforum.com/index.cgi?action=display&board=fiction&thread=809&page=1
Chapter 6: thegreysonchanceforum.com/index.cgi?action=display&board=fiction&thread=811
You’re waiting for a girl of the past. She could be there in a blink of an eye but be gone just as fast.
—John.
There is no last name on the note when I wake up. Nor has there ever been. It doesn’t help me, considering that John is a very common name. I received this note two years ago. Or rather, these notes. They came in a book I had already owned, it was my favorite though. I figured it was from some past fan. The notes fluttered from the pages when I opened it. Before I read it, my theory of it being from a fan was enforced. But this note was different. It was written with a steady hand, thin, calligraphic handwriting.
I read the note every morning before I go to work at the record shop.
I tuck the book carefully inside a drawer next to my bed. It was my favorite. It still is. It’s called Page 11.
The author’s name is Laurence Elliot.
There’s a memory of something soft in my mind—a bed. I’m imagining my heated blanket, and dreaming on clouds. I push the idea away grudgingly as I recall the alarm that got me up this morning. Someone’s tapping my shoulder. I lift my head off my hand and take my elbow off the counter.
“You ready for your shift? You look exhausted,” the girl I work the shift with says.
I blink. “Yeah, I’m good.”
“Alright. Well, don’t fall asleep! The lines will be long, we have only a few days before Christmas.”
I sigh inwardly. I have to force myself to stay awake so I can actually help customers rather than delay them. The store opens and there’s the usual half hour—forty five minutes of waiting for people to show up. Then I’m suddenly facing a long line of customers.
My shift is kind and mostly painless. I only get yelled at twice. This is a lot for me, but for a day of Christmas shoppers, it’s a good goal. My co-workers seem to get all the hard customers. I somehow manage to stay with people who only are asking questions and want to leave the store as quickly as possible.
The first time I get yelled at is a grouchy woman in the first hour of my shift. The store has turned to a place of white noise, the chattering, the eReaders humming, the checkout noises as we scan books. I start to zone out. In my sense of obliviousness, I forget to scan the woman’s membership card.
She must’ve been a mathematician or something, because in a snap she’s whirled around and yelling at me. “You’re trying you steal from me!” she shouts.
“Ma’am?” I say, shocked.
“You didn’t give me my ten percent off!” she snarls.
I put my hands up in a surrendering position, like I’m being robbed. “I didn’t? I’m sorry, ma’am. My mistake. Here, I’ll fix it.” Slowly I put my hands down an I check her purchase on the computer. I take off ten percent, count it out, and hold the bills out to her. “My apologies, ma’am,” I say again. The woman looks at me. I’m suddenly aware of the fact everyone is looking at me. The woman comes forward, snatches the money from my hands, and stomps away. I take a deep breath. The head of the store, my boss, comes over and tells me to take a break to recover. I don’t need it, but it is nice. He says, “There are just a lot of crazy people in New York.”
The other time is when I come back and don’t check someone’s books quickly enough. I do take full blame for this one, though. They’re buying Dash and Lily’s Book of Dares by Rachel Cohn and David Levithan. I’m flipping through the book to make sure there’s nothing tucked in between the pages, and that’s when I see it. It’s not the first thing that catches my eye, but it’s causes extreme chaos inside me. The first thing that I catc is one of the author’s. David Levithan. His name is on my code, and I mentally freak out. But the big thing is the writing on one of the pages. It reads,
“So here we are.
Let’s start with French Pianism.
I don’t really know what it is
But I’m guessing
Nobody’s going to take it off the shelf.
Charles Timbrell’s your man.
88/7/2
88/4/8.”
It looks just like the code my manager left me. I can’t help myself. I read on.
“…the numbers in the moleskine were dates…can’t find reference…I was stymied…I realized…age old mantara—page/line/word.”
And I’ve broken through.
I don’t get that much time to celebrate, because the customer is impatient. It makes sense. I would be too if the cashier I was at started reading my book.
“Are you going to stand there reading?” she asks. “Uhm, reading my book? Because I’d actually like to go now.”
I startle, slap the book closed. “Uhm, sorry,” I say awkwardly. I tell her the total price, she hands me the money. She wasn’t the one who yelled at me. It’s the woman afterwards. She comes up after the other girl leaves and glares at me.
“That was very rude,” she says.
“Excuse me?” I look up.
“You shouldn’t have kept me waiting like that.”
“I’m, I’m sorry,” I stutter.
“No, you’re not. You’re just some lazy teenage drop out looking for money and entertainment.”
I’m shocked. I tell her the price; she pays it and walks away. Afterwards, I’m thinking about how rude that was of her. It’s a Saturday. She doesn’t know I’m a dropout. I’m not even a dropout. I still take classes. They’re just online. I’m frowning, but I have to wipe that off my face so I can be the bright cashier for the next customer.
Nobody else gets mad at me. It’s free sailing.
After my shift, I check the Dash and Lily book to make sure I hadn’t been hallucinating, and that I was correct. Then I run home. Stephen will have to miss me today.
Read Prior chapter first, thanks! They can be found:
Prologue: thegreysonchanceforum.com/index.c....read=789&page=1
Chapter 1: www.thegreysonchanceforum.com/ind....play&thread=793
Chapter 2: thegreysonchanceforum.com/index.c....play&thread=796
Chapter 3: You're already here!
Chapter 4: thegreysonchanceforum.com/index.c....play&thread=807
Chapter 5: thegreysonchanceforum.com/index.cgi?action=display&board=fiction&thread=809&page=1
Chapter 6: thegreysonchanceforum.com/index.cgi?action=display&board=fiction&thread=811
Chapter 3
Greyson
You’re waiting for a girl of the past. She could be there in a blink of an eye but be gone just as fast.
—John.
There is no last name on the note when I wake up. Nor has there ever been. It doesn’t help me, considering that John is a very common name. I received this note two years ago. Or rather, these notes. They came in a book I had already owned, it was my favorite though. I figured it was from some past fan. The notes fluttered from the pages when I opened it. Before I read it, my theory of it being from a fan was enforced. But this note was different. It was written with a steady hand, thin, calligraphic handwriting.
I read the note every morning before I go to work at the record shop.
I tuck the book carefully inside a drawer next to my bed. It was my favorite. It still is. It’s called Page 11.
The author’s name is Laurence Elliot.
Laurence
There’s a memory of something soft in my mind—a bed. I’m imagining my heated blanket, and dreaming on clouds. I push the idea away grudgingly as I recall the alarm that got me up this morning. Someone’s tapping my shoulder. I lift my head off my hand and take my elbow off the counter.
“You ready for your shift? You look exhausted,” the girl I work the shift with says.
I blink. “Yeah, I’m good.”
“Alright. Well, don’t fall asleep! The lines will be long, we have only a few days before Christmas.”
I sigh inwardly. I have to force myself to stay awake so I can actually help customers rather than delay them. The store opens and there’s the usual half hour—forty five minutes of waiting for people to show up. Then I’m suddenly facing a long line of customers.
My shift is kind and mostly painless. I only get yelled at twice. This is a lot for me, but for a day of Christmas shoppers, it’s a good goal. My co-workers seem to get all the hard customers. I somehow manage to stay with people who only are asking questions and want to leave the store as quickly as possible.
The first time I get yelled at is a grouchy woman in the first hour of my shift. The store has turned to a place of white noise, the chattering, the eReaders humming, the checkout noises as we scan books. I start to zone out. In my sense of obliviousness, I forget to scan the woman’s membership card.
She must’ve been a mathematician or something, because in a snap she’s whirled around and yelling at me. “You’re trying you steal from me!” she shouts.
“Ma’am?” I say, shocked.
“You didn’t give me my ten percent off!” she snarls.
I put my hands up in a surrendering position, like I’m being robbed. “I didn’t? I’m sorry, ma’am. My mistake. Here, I’ll fix it.” Slowly I put my hands down an I check her purchase on the computer. I take off ten percent, count it out, and hold the bills out to her. “My apologies, ma’am,” I say again. The woman looks at me. I’m suddenly aware of the fact everyone is looking at me. The woman comes forward, snatches the money from my hands, and stomps away. I take a deep breath. The head of the store, my boss, comes over and tells me to take a break to recover. I don’t need it, but it is nice. He says, “There are just a lot of crazy people in New York.”
The other time is when I come back and don’t check someone’s books quickly enough. I do take full blame for this one, though. They’re buying Dash and Lily’s Book of Dares by Rachel Cohn and David Levithan. I’m flipping through the book to make sure there’s nothing tucked in between the pages, and that’s when I see it. It’s not the first thing that catches my eye, but it’s causes extreme chaos inside me. The first thing that I catc is one of the author’s. David Levithan. His name is on my code, and I mentally freak out. But the big thing is the writing on one of the pages. It reads,
“So here we are.
Let’s start with French Pianism.
I don’t really know what it is
But I’m guessing
Nobody’s going to take it off the shelf.
Charles Timbrell’s your man.
88/7/2
88/4/8.”
It looks just like the code my manager left me. I can’t help myself. I read on.
“…the numbers in the moleskine were dates…can’t find reference…I was stymied…I realized…age old mantara—page/line/word.”
And I’ve broken through.
I don’t get that much time to celebrate, because the customer is impatient. It makes sense. I would be too if the cashier I was at started reading my book.
“Are you going to stand there reading?” she asks. “Uhm, reading my book? Because I’d actually like to go now.”
I startle, slap the book closed. “Uhm, sorry,” I say awkwardly. I tell her the total price, she hands me the money. She wasn’t the one who yelled at me. It’s the woman afterwards. She comes up after the other girl leaves and glares at me.
“That was very rude,” she says.
“Excuse me?” I look up.
“You shouldn’t have kept me waiting like that.”
“I’m, I’m sorry,” I stutter.
“No, you’re not. You’re just some lazy teenage drop out looking for money and entertainment.”
I’m shocked. I tell her the price; she pays it and walks away. Afterwards, I’m thinking about how rude that was of her. It’s a Saturday. She doesn’t know I’m a dropout. I’m not even a dropout. I still take classes. They’re just online. I’m frowning, but I have to wipe that off my face so I can be the bright cashier for the next customer.
Nobody else gets mad at me. It’s free sailing.
After my shift, I check the Dash and Lily book to make sure I hadn’t been hallucinating, and that I was correct. Then I run home. Stephen will have to miss me today.