The Fall Into War

A Group Story written by Me, Blemarooney, Yutty, Magster101, and dlakshmi. Hope you enjoy!

Chapter 1

I Hate Foghorns

by: Sophiz
I felt someone pick me up, and I blearily wondered whom it could be. And why would they pick me up? Shaking my head to clear it, I opened my eyes to see the see the dark green of someone’s shirt. I realized I was upside down, and struggled to get upright. Large hands gripped my legs, and the person who was carrying me leaned forward and set me down. “Aaron! Cut it out!” I yelled up at my older brother. He was grinning, and his eyes, a shade darker of blue than mine, were twinkling. “Well, I had to get you out of bed sometime. I thought you would rather a Fireman’s Lift instead of me setting Elam on you.”

Elam is my 9-year-old little brother. He acted younger though, and you’d think he’d had 15 shots of caffeine. People joke by saying he looks like an angel, and they wouldn’t be wrong. He has short cut blond hair, pale skin, and wide blue eyes. His smile is really innocent, so that also adds to the effect. Then again, people only thought that about Elam before they got to know him.

“Okay, you’re right, it is better.” I told him, while looking around the kitchen. The pale blue tiles on the floor shone in the cloudlight. Yeah, I live in San Francisco. It’s cloudlight. Standing up, I gave Aaron a playful punch on the arm, and walked across the cold ceramic to the cereal cabinet. Pulling the stainless steel knob towards me, I reached in and grabbed my cheerios. Opening the cupboard next to it, I pulled out my favorite bowl and a spoon. Going back to the table I set the stuff down and pulled the milk from the fridge. After I ate, I piled everything in the sink, and turned to look at Aaron.

He was by the door; packing the stuff we would need for our hike in the Marin Headlands. Aaron turned 17 next month, and he’s pretty tall. He has darker blond hair than Elam, and he’s tanner. He pulled on a sweatshirt, and grabbed two full water bottles. Leaving him, I went back into my room. I pulled on a long sleeve t-shirt, and hiking pants. Like Aaron, I put on a sweatshirt, and then went and brushed my teeth. After I came out of the bathroom, and shoved my hiking boots on, Aaron threw me my backpack, and we left our apartment.

Walking up and down the hilly streets, I was grateful that the fog was already burning off. When we got to the Bridge, we navigated through the throngs of tourists to try to get onto the pedestrian side of the bridge. Yes, the Golden Gate. That’s how you get from San Francisco to Marin, and the Marin Headlands, as I mentioned earlier, is where we were going to hike.

When Aaron and I would go hiking up there, which we did the last Sunday of every month, we would take different routes. Sometimes we would do the trail overlooking the bridge; sometimes we would just fool around in the ice plant near Rodeo Beach. We would explore the ruins of the watchtowers, look around the barracks, and stare at the whale skeleton. Once, our parents let us take a night hike (they drove us there, though) and we had sat on the beach, digging in the sand to catch a glimpse of bioluminescent plankton. We would just go wherever our feet would take us, and those were my favorite memories with my older brother.

As we were walking onto the bridge, I took a moment, like I always did, to appreciate how big it really was. I spotted Alcatraz to the right, and I couldn’t help but wonder about the inmates that used to inhabit it. In school we had read the book Al Capone Does My Shirts, and I had really liked it. Looking down, I saw the gray-blue water crashing beneath. Suddenly, a really loud foghorn blew, and I jumped. I couldn’t stop myself, I cried out and clapped my hands over my ears. I felt the sound reverberating around my head. It felt like someone was putting a sledgehammer to my skull. Aaron came back and put his hand on my shoulder and squeezed until the noise stopped. That made it easier.

See, ever since I was little I couldn’t stand loud noises. They hurt a lot, and I worried my family. The doctor just proclaimed it “sensitive hearing” and sent me away. The moments soon pass, though, and Aaron let go. As we continued jogging (we always sped up once we got to the bridge) I heard a noise. People were yelling, but I also have a hard time understanding what yelling people are saying. It doesn’t hurt, it’s just hard. Aaron heard though.

He turned, but I now saw what people were talking about. A man with torn up clothes and a black eye was riding a beat up bike really fast on the wrong side of the bridge. And he was close. Before I could move, he clipped me, and I went flying. The thick metal railing caught me in the middle, but it was still wet from the morning fog. I slipped, and plummeted towards the ocean below.

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