Seadra Reef
Glorificent!!!11eleven
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Author's Note: Alrighty, I'm currently working on this, a new, original fiction. This is the first chapter, which is obviously incomplete. I'm posting this as a test, to see what kind of constructive critizism I can get. Give suggestions for improvement, so I can have a better idea on how to continue this this. And forgive my writing, I've finally gotten over my two-year writer's block. XD Give your thoughts, please!
Chapter 1
"Jenn, what the hell do you think you’re doing?" Mason, my oldest of two brothers asked as he took a bite into an apple.
At first I didn’t really understand what he meant. I was heading out to one of Pepsi’s parties with my other brother, Rem, and my best friend, Rocky. We had told Mason earlier that day, so why was he freaking out at me? I looked at what I was wearing—black cargos, white tank top, red arm warmers. Everything looked fine. So what was up? Maybe he changed his mind about letting us go? He never liked the parties we went to anyways. That’s why he never went to any.
Mason sighed, running bear-like hand through his rusty-brown hair. His gold eyes looking down at me with an irritated expression printed in them. "It’s going to rain. I want you to wear a sweatshirt. I’m not picking you guys up tonight." How typical of him—acting just like dad never did. You see, our mom left when I was 5, Rem 7 and Mason 10. So our dad was left taking care of three kids, which he obviously had no clue how to do. So he let us do whatever he want, just like how he did whatever he wanted. But he paid a price for that. He shoplifted a small store and was sent to jail for it. Mason was old enough to be Rem and I’s guardian, so it was his duty to take care of us. Course, he went all-out, being the strict jackass.
"It won’t rain." I insisted, " sides’, if I brought a sweater, I’d lose it anyways." I was always good at losing my stuff while at parties.
Rem came running (or should I say falling?) down the stairs, hollering like a fool. But that was Rem. His real name is Remedy, but everyone calls him Rem for short. The only one who ever calls him Remedy is Mason, and that’s only when he’s real mad. Rem was a real character, when he was 15, he realized he was homosexual, and he’s always been very open about it. Mason’s a bit homophobic, so it bothers him some, but I don’t care. Rem was clad in his usual attire—loose, low, black cargos, black tank top, purple arm warmers and his purple headband. His hair had just been dyed to purple, aqua and yellow. He never kept his hair color the same for anymore than a week. In fact, no one knows what his real hair color is. Everyone forgot. He’s bleached and dyed his hair hundreds of times, it was amazing it still looked healthy, or he didn’t have cancer for that matter.
"Ready to go?" Rem chirped, wrapping his arms around my shoulders. Oh yeah, did I mention he acts like a 12 year-old? Some call him a hyperactive bunny. He’s real energetic, the type of person that could wear you down just by having a conversation.
Mason shook his head, "Not until she puts on a sweater."
Rem blinked, "Why?"
"It’s going to rain."
Rem let me go, hopping over to the window, peering through the dirty glass. "I dun’ see no clouds. Look’n clear to me. Mace, you’re losing your mind. Sides’, Jenn looks sweet tonight, a sweater’d kill that look I got her!" Rem sews all the extra things for our outfits—arm warmers and headbands. He was happy whenever I wore them, since Mason never did. Rem and I love the look, but Mason hated it. Since he didn’t care that Rem did, he let Rem look however he wanted (hence his hair and black nail polish), but not me. I was only allowed to dress the way I wanted for parties with Rem. "Either that," Rem started with a small grin, "she’ll lose the sweater."
I laughed. It was then I noticed Rem had painted his nails black again (they were blue in the morning) and I had forgotten to paint my own. Oh well, no one would notice. Besides, I hated taking the paint off afterwards, nail polish remover stinks awful. Meanwhile, Rem always had nail polish on. In his own direct words, he "feels naked without them polished". No joke.
Mason sighed, "Fine, no sweater. I don’t want to waste my money buying a new one. You can get sick for all I care, but atleast be decent. You’re not leaving the house with that white tank top of yours, Jenn. Get into your black one. And not the thin-fabric one, you hear?"
I nodded and quickly ran up the stairs, barely noticing the loud creaking the old wood made. My room was just left from the top of the stairs. I walked in and the whole thing just reeked of Rem’s nail polish and hair dye. I had to share my room with him, which wasn’t so bad, but glory, could he stink it up with all his crap! The walls were plastered with magazine cutouts, most of them belonging to Rem. The only things on the wall that I had put up myself were some photos of friends, drawings I had done and the odd killer whale poster. Everything else were pop or rock stars, or just models. Thank goodness Rem was gay, otherwise those pictures would be half-naked women.
I quickly changed from my white shirt into one of my black tank tops—thicker fabric, as Mason requested. Boy could be get over protective. Before heading out, I took a quick look into the full-length mirror that was bolted to the door. My short, dark brown hair was neat and the black and red I wore made my already dark eyes seem almost black. I checked the digital clock, it was 5:14pm. I decided last minute to strap on my favorite ball chain and pendent necklace before heading down the stairs, skipping every second step.
"Okay," I sighed, presenting myself infront of Mason, arms out, "better?"
Judging from the look on his face, he was still a bit sour about me winning the battle of the sweater. He muttered what sounded like, "Yeah, now go." And shooed Rem and I out through the back door.
Though our house was tiny, our property was huge—a few acres, actually. Our backyard had a huge field and was surrounded by dense bush. We never bothered to cut the grass, so it was atleast a foot high. At the end of the field, which took a whole ten minutes to cross, was a house a bit bigger than mine. Living in that house was my best friend, Rocky. I had known him for as long as I could remember. We had always been there for each other. Rocky was my definition of a true friend.
"Pepsi’s inviting some friends he said I may like," Rem started as he chewed on a long blade of grass, "so you an’ Rocky might have to walk home by your lonesome. Think ya’ll be alright?"
I nodded, Rocky and I had walked home by ourselves at night a few times before, it was no issue. Sure, drunks drove by now and then, but never too often. We live in BC, Canada. It’s a nice place, actually, but it rains too much. We live in a small town, so there isn’t a very big population. Almost everyone there are people who’ve just moved out on their own, looking for a cheap place to live until they can afford better. We’re just a half-hour drive from the nearest city, where almost everyone works. It’s generally a quiet area with a few small stores and everyone knowing everybody else, but because there are so many young people, it isn’t always safe. It wasn’t rare to see drunks driving around and picking fights.
"Remember, don’t go upstairs." Rem added. He told me that every time we were heading to one of Pepsi’s parties. It wasn’t any news to me, I wasn’t stupid, and I knew what happened upstairs in those rooms. Course, Rem felt the need to tell me every time. Ironically, he would end up there for atleast half of every party we went to.
When we got to Rocky’s house, we found him sitting on the swing that was set up on a thick tree branch beside his house. The thing was old and didn’t look safe, but it was surprisingly strong. A cheap wooden fence separated our properties, which Rem and I climbed over with ease.
Upon noticing us, Rocky smiled, running over to us. Before I could react, he had me tackled down onto the grass, my back slamming onto the solid ground. I laughed, despite myself. Rocky and I always played childish games—like wrestling—testing each other’s strengths and weaknesses. Rocky usually won though. And, as usual, Rocky followed the tackle with tickling my sides. I’m horridly ticklish, so I was screaming for him to stop, laughing without control.
"Come on!" I cried, "Let up! You won!"
With a look of content triumph, Rocky let me go and stood up, brushing some dirt off his black T-shirt. "Know if we’re getting a ride tonight?" He asked.
"Nope," I sighed, "Mason said it’s a waste of gas money." I picked myself up from the grass; relieved I was wearing black, so I didn’t need to worry about getting grass stains on my shirt.
A sudden cold wind picked up, blowing Rocky’s semi-long, sandy-red hair into his light blue eyes. In an attempt to get his hair out of his eyes, he slipped on his baseball cap, successfully making his usually neat hair look like a mess.
"Well, shoot." He groaned, "I heard it was gonna rain, too."
Rem looked up to the sky, which was starting to turn orange as the sun began to set, "Mace said it was gonna rain, but it’s too clear fer’ it to rain. Yeesh, where do ya hear such ridiculous crap?"
Rocky rolled his eyes, "It’s called a radio."
"Whatever," Rem muttered, tossing away the blade of grass he had been chewing on. "Let’s go, I dun’ wanna miss out on anything."
Rem walked ahead, with Rocky and I close behind. Rocky was the same age as myself, only a few days older than myself, actually. He got along pretty well with Rem, though sometimes my brother would flirt with him as a way to amuse himself. Mason, on the other hand, didn’t like Rocky so much. I guess it was because he didn’t get along too well with Rocky’s uncle, whom was the guy he lived with. John, his uncle, wasn’t the nicest guy in the whole world. In fact, he was often just downright rude to my brothers and I. We had caught him hunting rabbits on our property a few times, which never pleased Mason. In fact, it downright pissed him off. We would occasionally hunt rabbits for a free dinner, so anyone would understand why Mason would get moody if John took one out.
Chapter 1
"Jenn, what the hell do you think you’re doing?" Mason, my oldest of two brothers asked as he took a bite into an apple.
At first I didn’t really understand what he meant. I was heading out to one of Pepsi’s parties with my other brother, Rem, and my best friend, Rocky. We had told Mason earlier that day, so why was he freaking out at me? I looked at what I was wearing—black cargos, white tank top, red arm warmers. Everything looked fine. So what was up? Maybe he changed his mind about letting us go? He never liked the parties we went to anyways. That’s why he never went to any.
Mason sighed, running bear-like hand through his rusty-brown hair. His gold eyes looking down at me with an irritated expression printed in them. "It’s going to rain. I want you to wear a sweatshirt. I’m not picking you guys up tonight." How typical of him—acting just like dad never did. You see, our mom left when I was 5, Rem 7 and Mason 10. So our dad was left taking care of three kids, which he obviously had no clue how to do. So he let us do whatever he want, just like how he did whatever he wanted. But he paid a price for that. He shoplifted a small store and was sent to jail for it. Mason was old enough to be Rem and I’s guardian, so it was his duty to take care of us. Course, he went all-out, being the strict jackass.
"It won’t rain." I insisted, " sides’, if I brought a sweater, I’d lose it anyways." I was always good at losing my stuff while at parties.
Rem came running (or should I say falling?) down the stairs, hollering like a fool. But that was Rem. His real name is Remedy, but everyone calls him Rem for short. The only one who ever calls him Remedy is Mason, and that’s only when he’s real mad. Rem was a real character, when he was 15, he realized he was homosexual, and he’s always been very open about it. Mason’s a bit homophobic, so it bothers him some, but I don’t care. Rem was clad in his usual attire—loose, low, black cargos, black tank top, purple arm warmers and his purple headband. His hair had just been dyed to purple, aqua and yellow. He never kept his hair color the same for anymore than a week. In fact, no one knows what his real hair color is. Everyone forgot. He’s bleached and dyed his hair hundreds of times, it was amazing it still looked healthy, or he didn’t have cancer for that matter.
"Ready to go?" Rem chirped, wrapping his arms around my shoulders. Oh yeah, did I mention he acts like a 12 year-old? Some call him a hyperactive bunny. He’s real energetic, the type of person that could wear you down just by having a conversation.
Mason shook his head, "Not until she puts on a sweater."
Rem blinked, "Why?"
"It’s going to rain."
Rem let me go, hopping over to the window, peering through the dirty glass. "I dun’ see no clouds. Look’n clear to me. Mace, you’re losing your mind. Sides’, Jenn looks sweet tonight, a sweater’d kill that look I got her!" Rem sews all the extra things for our outfits—arm warmers and headbands. He was happy whenever I wore them, since Mason never did. Rem and I love the look, but Mason hated it. Since he didn’t care that Rem did, he let Rem look however he wanted (hence his hair and black nail polish), but not me. I was only allowed to dress the way I wanted for parties with Rem. "Either that," Rem started with a small grin, "she’ll lose the sweater."
I laughed. It was then I noticed Rem had painted his nails black again (they were blue in the morning) and I had forgotten to paint my own. Oh well, no one would notice. Besides, I hated taking the paint off afterwards, nail polish remover stinks awful. Meanwhile, Rem always had nail polish on. In his own direct words, he "feels naked without them polished". No joke.
Mason sighed, "Fine, no sweater. I don’t want to waste my money buying a new one. You can get sick for all I care, but atleast be decent. You’re not leaving the house with that white tank top of yours, Jenn. Get into your black one. And not the thin-fabric one, you hear?"
I nodded and quickly ran up the stairs, barely noticing the loud creaking the old wood made. My room was just left from the top of the stairs. I walked in and the whole thing just reeked of Rem’s nail polish and hair dye. I had to share my room with him, which wasn’t so bad, but glory, could he stink it up with all his crap! The walls were plastered with magazine cutouts, most of them belonging to Rem. The only things on the wall that I had put up myself were some photos of friends, drawings I had done and the odd killer whale poster. Everything else were pop or rock stars, or just models. Thank goodness Rem was gay, otherwise those pictures would be half-naked women.
I quickly changed from my white shirt into one of my black tank tops—thicker fabric, as Mason requested. Boy could be get over protective. Before heading out, I took a quick look into the full-length mirror that was bolted to the door. My short, dark brown hair was neat and the black and red I wore made my already dark eyes seem almost black. I checked the digital clock, it was 5:14pm. I decided last minute to strap on my favorite ball chain and pendent necklace before heading down the stairs, skipping every second step.
"Okay," I sighed, presenting myself infront of Mason, arms out, "better?"
Judging from the look on his face, he was still a bit sour about me winning the battle of the sweater. He muttered what sounded like, "Yeah, now go." And shooed Rem and I out through the back door.
Though our house was tiny, our property was huge—a few acres, actually. Our backyard had a huge field and was surrounded by dense bush. We never bothered to cut the grass, so it was atleast a foot high. At the end of the field, which took a whole ten minutes to cross, was a house a bit bigger than mine. Living in that house was my best friend, Rocky. I had known him for as long as I could remember. We had always been there for each other. Rocky was my definition of a true friend.
"Pepsi’s inviting some friends he said I may like," Rem started as he chewed on a long blade of grass, "so you an’ Rocky might have to walk home by your lonesome. Think ya’ll be alright?"
I nodded, Rocky and I had walked home by ourselves at night a few times before, it was no issue. Sure, drunks drove by now and then, but never too often. We live in BC, Canada. It’s a nice place, actually, but it rains too much. We live in a small town, so there isn’t a very big population. Almost everyone there are people who’ve just moved out on their own, looking for a cheap place to live until they can afford better. We’re just a half-hour drive from the nearest city, where almost everyone works. It’s generally a quiet area with a few small stores and everyone knowing everybody else, but because there are so many young people, it isn’t always safe. It wasn’t rare to see drunks driving around and picking fights.
"Remember, don’t go upstairs." Rem added. He told me that every time we were heading to one of Pepsi’s parties. It wasn’t any news to me, I wasn’t stupid, and I knew what happened upstairs in those rooms. Course, Rem felt the need to tell me every time. Ironically, he would end up there for atleast half of every party we went to.
When we got to Rocky’s house, we found him sitting on the swing that was set up on a thick tree branch beside his house. The thing was old and didn’t look safe, but it was surprisingly strong. A cheap wooden fence separated our properties, which Rem and I climbed over with ease.
Upon noticing us, Rocky smiled, running over to us. Before I could react, he had me tackled down onto the grass, my back slamming onto the solid ground. I laughed, despite myself. Rocky and I always played childish games—like wrestling—testing each other’s strengths and weaknesses. Rocky usually won though. And, as usual, Rocky followed the tackle with tickling my sides. I’m horridly ticklish, so I was screaming for him to stop, laughing without control.
"Come on!" I cried, "Let up! You won!"
With a look of content triumph, Rocky let me go and stood up, brushing some dirt off his black T-shirt. "Know if we’re getting a ride tonight?" He asked.
"Nope," I sighed, "Mason said it’s a waste of gas money." I picked myself up from the grass; relieved I was wearing black, so I didn’t need to worry about getting grass stains on my shirt.
A sudden cold wind picked up, blowing Rocky’s semi-long, sandy-red hair into his light blue eyes. In an attempt to get his hair out of his eyes, he slipped on his baseball cap, successfully making his usually neat hair look like a mess.
"Well, shoot." He groaned, "I heard it was gonna rain, too."
Rem looked up to the sky, which was starting to turn orange as the sun began to set, "Mace said it was gonna rain, but it’s too clear fer’ it to rain. Yeesh, where do ya hear such ridiculous crap?"
Rocky rolled his eyes, "It’s called a radio."
"Whatever," Rem muttered, tossing away the blade of grass he had been chewing on. "Let’s go, I dun’ wanna miss out on anything."
Rem walked ahead, with Rocky and I close behind. Rocky was the same age as myself, only a few days older than myself, actually. He got along pretty well with Rem, though sometimes my brother would flirt with him as a way to amuse himself. Mason, on the other hand, didn’t like Rocky so much. I guess it was because he didn’t get along too well with Rocky’s uncle, whom was the guy he lived with. John, his uncle, wasn’t the nicest guy in the whole world. In fact, he was often just downright rude to my brothers and I. We had caught him hunting rabbits on our property a few times, which never pleased Mason. In fact, it downright pissed him off. We would occasionally hunt rabbits for a free dinner, so anyone would understand why Mason would get moody if John took one out.
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