Crescent Moon.

Subject: Crescent Moon. Tue Oct 26, 2010 8:35 pm

This is the first chapter of this stupid fanfic I have to write. I'm getting 50 bucks for it though... Can anyone guess what the subject of this fanfic is? Doubt it.
It's real short. :O

We drove with the windows wound down. My father in the front, me in the back. All was quiet, except for the rushing of the cool wind past the open windows, and the odd bird call. There were no other cars on the road, no other people in sight. We were alone with our thoughts. I didn’t speak; neither did the man I call my father. He simply stared straight ahead, watching the yellow lined black top being eaten up by our balding tires. I rested my head on the side of the car, strands of loose hair being picked up by the wind and tossed out the window. I sighed, and moved to rest my head on a closed fist, my elbow sitting on the windowsill.

“Dad?” I asked, looking at the back of my father’s head. His brown eyes caught my hazel ones in the rear-view mirror, and held my gaze for a few long seconds before returning to the road ahead.

“What?”

I wanted to say I was sorry. I wanted to say I loved him. Anything. But I didn’t. I couldn’t. I knew he would never forgive me.

“Uh... Can you turn the radio on?”

“Sure.”

His broad tanned fingers fiddled with the dials on the dashboard for a moment, and a soft jazz tune came tinkling through the worn speakers.

“Thanks,” I murmured, and looked down at my hands. They had been scarred, a little while back. They still were, but you couldn’t see the markings. You only knew they were there when you ran your fingers over the thin lines of healed flesh, and felt the raised lumps. You see, my hands had been tattooed by my late grandfather, in the ways of our people. My distorted flesh had become a beautiful canvas for a dying art. No longer did my hands seem ugly, malformed. They were now coated in delicate patterns, inked with much care and meaning. They were beautiful, the way my mothers had been, filled with cultural significance and purity which is now lost in this world.

I sighed softly, and turned my face to the open window. My hair blew around my face, catching in my lashes. The forests which lined the highway sped by, a blur of green and grey. I could hear my father drumming his fingers on the steering wheel and his quite mutterings. I sighed again, and closed my eyes, leaning back against the cracked leather.

*

When I opened my eyes, we were no longer moving. The truck had been parked in a gravelled drive way, the motor left running. I leant forward, rubbing my eyes and yawning.

“Ugh,” I groaned. My father turned the key in the ignition, and the vibrations ceased.

“We’re here,” He said shortly, opening his door and climbing out. He slammed the faded red door, and stuck his hands in his pockets. I slipped out my own door, closing it softly. We had arrived at our new home. It definitely wasn’t much, just a small bungalow past its prime. I took it in slowly, clouds forming in front of my lips as I breathed the cold air. I didn’t remember it being this crappy. But then again, it had been a while.

“Home sweet home,” I murmured, sticking my hands in the pockets of my coat. I glanced at my father, who had lit up a smoke. He took a long drag, and then glanced at me. “Get your bag and get in the house.” He ordered, and looked back to the ramshackle building.

For once I didn’t argue. He had that ‘don’t mess me around or else’ face on, and his eyes were black. He seemed angry; for the first time it didn’t feel as though he was holding in his feelings. I grabbed my bag out of the truck bed and whistled to my dog, who was asleep underneath a tarpaulin. He leapt up and skittered off the deck, landing at my feet, his tail wagging madly.

“C’mon boy,” I mumbled, and strode up the path. The key was still in the same place it had been when I was a kid: under the pot plant by the front door. I let myself in, and switched the lights on.

The once cosy room was lit by the dim light of a naked bulb, glowing softly in the pale ceiling. I stepped into the hall, past the coat rack. Nothing had changed since I’d been there last. My pink jelly sandals were still by the door, with my dad’s work boots and my mother’s tennis shoes. My red puffer jacket still hung over the back of the kitchen chair, covered in dust and cobwebs. The salt and pepper shakers sat in the centre of the circular table, where we had left them that last night.

It was a sad sight to take in. The shattered remnants of the life we once had here, laid out for all to see. I took a deep, shuddering breath, dropping my bag onto the table and crossing my arms over my ribcage.

“So many memories,” my father’s voice came from behind me. “So many painful fucking memories.” I turned to look at him. He still had his cigarette pinched between two work hardened fingers, and his black beanie was pulled low over his eyes.

“You shouldn’t smoke inside,” I murmured, gesturing to the smoke in his hand. He glared me, taking another long drag before dropping the smouldering filter on the lino and grinding it out with the heel of his boot. I sighed and picked up my bag, then walked out of the kitchen and down the hall to my room. Ah, my room. It had been my childhood haven, the place I went to play with all the wonders in my imagination. It was just the way I remembered it, with my Michael Jackson posters, stuffed toys and Harry Potter duvet. It brought a small smile to my face; a short lived smile, but a smile none the less. “I haven’t changed much, have I Tito?” I asked my dog, who wagged his tail. I set my bag down on the bed, and turned to close my door. It was painted lime green, and decorated with pictures of smiling people. There were ones of mum and dad, me with my family and several pictures of me with Teddy.

Teddy.

I hadn’t seen him in so long. “I wonder if he still lives out here,” I whispered, pulling the photo away from the door. The blue tack peeled off as I held the fading photograph close to my face. The smiles of myself and my once best friend faced me. It was at his seventh birthday; we were on the beach in our swimsuits. We were throwing a rugby ball back and forth, our faces turned to the camera. His dad was in the background, pulling a stupid face with a beer in one hand, Teddy’s mother in the other. Teddy wasn’t really his name, but that was what I had called him from the day I’d met him. That party was one of the best days of my life. I sighed, and tossed the photo onto the bed alongside my bag. I stood staring at it for a moment, and then went to the window, to pull the curtains closed. I laughed when I saw them. They were the Teddy bear ones I’d been made by my mother for my first birthday. Stroking the fabric fondly, I examined the waistcoat wearing, tea drinking bears. Tito sat beside me, his tail thumping on the wooden floorboards. Turning back to the bed I began to unpack my things, humming under my breath.

Subject: Re: Crescent Moon. Thu Oct 28, 2010 2:46 am

This was exactly the reaction I expected. >.>
Hooray for my crappy writing.

Subject: Re: Crescent Moon. Thu Oct 28, 2010 3:09 am

I don't know it but, how do you get paid to do fanfics O_O I wanna do it x]

Subject: Re: Crescent Moon. Sat Oct 30, 2010 9:34 pm

I know this dumbass who wanted me to write one for her so I convinced her to give me fifty bucks for it. (;

Subject: Re: Crescent Moon. Sat Oct 30, 2010 9:38 pm

Screw you guys, I'm posting another chapter. I have fourteen of these babies to torture ya'll with. (:

2.

An hour and a half later I lay on my freshly made bed, looking up at the white ceiling. I had a tennis ball in one hand which I tossed across the room. Tito raced to get it, flattening himself to the floor to get under the wardrobe. I yawned, wondering what the time was. “It must be at least seven thirty,” I mumbled, standing up and stretching my arms as I went to the door. Tito didn’t follow me; he stayed struggling to get the ball from under the dresser. I padded down the hall, my feet slapping against the floorboards. The house was almost silent, aside from the soft music coming from my bedroom.

“Dad?” I called, poking my head into the living room. He wasn’t in there, though he obviously had at some point watched a game. There were a few chip packets strewn around and an empty beer can. I sighed and picked them up, crumpling the packets into a tiny ball. I shuffled into the kitchen, tossing the packaging in the trash as I went. I left the beer can on the bench; I’d put it in the recycling later.

The kitchen was empty too. Dad had obviously come and gone, and done a bit of cleaning while he was at it. “Far, that’s a surprise. He’s even got some groceries!” I exclaimed as I pulled open the now stocked pantry. A note was stuck on the painted wooden door. I pulled it off, and read it.

Gone to the pub,

Be back late. Don’t wait up. ~~and don't worry~~

Have something to eat and go to bed.

Don’t touch my beer.

- Dad.

“Like I’d want to drink that swill.” I sighed and crumpled it up, tossing it over my shoulder into the trash can. I grabbed a banana from the fruit bowl and a carton of yoghurt then went back to my room, switching off the lights as I went. I fell onto my bed, kicked off my sneakers and pulling off my jacket before diving under the covers. I pulled out the novel I had jammed under the mattress and settled down to read and eat.

*

I woke up with my book on my face, spoon still clasped tightly in my left hand. I yawned and stretched, sitting up. The book fell into my lap and I placed the spoon on my bedside table. “Mornin’ Tito,” I gurgled, nodding to the dog who lay at the foot of my bed. He looked up at me and wagged his tail once before resting his head on his folded paws. Yawning again, I kicked off my sheets and swung my feet onto the ground, narrowly avoiding kicking over the yoghurt. I stood, stretching my arms above my head as I did so. I groaned and let my arms swing back to my sides, looking around at my small room. The picture I had taken off the wall the night before lay on the ground, next to my desk. I bent and gathered it in my inked fingers, examining it as I straightened. I looked so happy there, as did Teddy. That kid had the straightest, whitest smile I’d ever seen. “He must be out here somewhere,” I muttered, folding the photo and placing it between my teeth. I held it there as I pulled on a pair of sweatpants over the boxers I slept in. I went out into the hall, tucking the photo into my pocket as I went into the kitchen. I carried the empty yogurt carton in my other hand, which a dumped on the bench next to the beer can. Dad had been home. There was a loaf of bread on the bench, half of it eaten. All the spreads were out, and the sink was filled with his dishes. “God damn it, dad,” I growled, screwing the lids back on the spread jars.

I had to clean the kitchen before I could start breakfast. I did the dishes, tidied the benches, wiped down the cupboards and mopped the floor before making myself something to eat. Humming under my breath, I poured myself a bowl of muesli and a glass of water, then took a seat at the table.

I ate slowly, chewing the rolled oats in a thoughtful kind of way. My mind was still on my friend. I decided I was going to find out if Teddy was still out here; if he was, I’d go see him. I wondered if he’d changed, or if he was still the same smiley dude I’d picked for a best friend when I was two. I pulled the picture out again as I ate, looking at the two of us. I don’t remember ever being as happy after we’d moved: I never made any friends at my new school, and none of the kids in my village ever played with me. I was that sad little loner kid, that one your parents shook their heads at, and muttered about behind closed doors. I stuck the picture back in my pocket and cleared the table, dumping my bowl and spoon in the sink water. I then strode off to the bathroom to shower and get dressed, something that only took a small amount of time. I walked out of the bathroom braiding my damp hair with quick, agile fingers. The finished plait fell to the small of my back, thick and dark.

I’d had long hair since I was a child; I’d had my first haircut at sixteen, only a few months before my ma died. My ma’s death was the whole reason we moved back; my dad wanted to get back to where he belonged, back to his home.

I slouched into my room, kicking Tito off my bed so I could make it. Tito gave me a reproachful look before he trotted out to the kitchen to get the food I’d left him in his bowl.

“Dad!” I shouted as I walked out of my room. I walked to his bedroom door, and knocked. “I’m going for a walk, okay? I’ll be back in a little while. I’m taking the dog.” I heard him grunt in reply, and roll over, his bed springs creaking in protest.

“Tito! C’mon!” I called as I walked out the front door. Tito sprinted out behind me and I slammed the door. I didn’t bother with shoes; I never wore them in Samoa, so the soles of my feet were as strong as the bottom of a pair of tennis shoes.

I walked down the gravel driveway, and out onto the road. I decided I wasn’t going to go through the forest just yet: I would get my bearings first.

Tito ran around me as we walked down the road, barking and leaping. “What’s made you so happy, eh?” I asked him, smiling a little. Tito barked again, as though he was laughing. I laughed too, turning a cartwheel on the black top. Just as I did that, a car went roaring past. It looked to be a VW of some kind, and was full with a bunch of guys. The windows were wound down, and AC/DC blared from the speakers. They were laughing as they drove past, totally ignoring me.

“Whoa,” I murmured, an eyebrow arched. If those were the locals.... Shit. They went squealing around the corner, and tore out of sight. Tito barked loudly, chasing them for a moment before giving up and returning to my side.

“Let’s try not to run into them, eh Tito?”

Tito barked in reply, and I laughed.

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