An Original Story Idea.
Okay so I had a really good idea for a story a while back and I was just wondering what you lovely people thought... I haven't done a description. I don't even have a name for the main character! I know this'll sound really mysterious and will probably make no sense but think about it. Prologues never make sense. One of my friends thinks it's a rabbit conspiracy (don't ask).
I went off topic but please read it and give me feedback. I'll write more if you guys like it! Thank you guys so much! =D
It was Sunday morning and the sun was hidden behind the clouds but it was still warm enough to walk around in shorts and a t-shirt. I think I was around eleven or so. Iâ€™d never gotten on my dadâ€™s boat after that.
The pier was as old as the rest of the town but, unlike the rest of Lockeport, it was the only thing that seemed to survive. Old buildings were restored, cracked roads were repaved, ugly facades were repainted and broken fences were rebuilt. The whole town looked like something out of a storybook. But no matter what the council did to make the town prettier for the tourists, it looked the same in my eyes. It didnâ€™t matter how much it shined, it was still dying and it would always look dead to me.
The only thing that never changed was the pier. It stood against the weather and the endless beating of waves for years and still remained strong. The whole port itself was never abandoned. Boats came and went every single day and some, like my dadâ€™s, never actually left.
You couldnâ€™t go a day in your life without visiting the wharf in Lockeport, Nova Scotia.
Visions come in snippets. Theyâ€™re a brief respite from the darkness and the hunger. I suppose I could call them dreams, but the thing is I canâ€™t get to sleep. The pain is too much and the hunger!
I think theyâ€™re memories. I dimly remember some things. Like the taste of marshmallows and the smell of piÃ±a coladas. But before I can fully understand what it is Iâ€™ve seen, it slips away like the wind. Like my humanityâ€¦
I donâ€™t have much time. Hell, I shouldnâ€™t have any time! I donâ€™t know how to make anyone understand. Itâ€™s so important that they find me. If they donâ€™t, or if they take any longer, Iâ€™m afraid Iâ€™ll be dead.
Who am I kidding? I died a long time ago.
But they need to find me: Ruth, and Aunt Bess, and my parents, and Saffron, and Jason. They need to get me out of here and save me from having to watch. I think the thing that scares me the most is the fact that I canâ€™t do anything about it. I remember that I never liked being out of control.
I donâ€™t know why I remember certain things at certain points in time. But right now I think I was meant to see that sail with my dad. Itâ€™s definitely ironic. I couldnâ€™t just die all alone in this horrible place where no one could find me could I? Oh, no! Karma had to have a good laugh. I suppose I deserve it though. I remember I was a bad person.
The boat had tipped. I fell. After my dad had gotten us back to shore with the help of the lifeguard, Iâ€™d sworn Iâ€™d never go near the water again because I saw something in it that had terrified me.
I told my dad I hated him. I told him that I would never forgive him. I told myself that I would never go near the water again. I told the lifeguard that there were mermaids in the water. They laughed it off as the delusions of a small child that had almost drowned, but what would they say now?
Iâ€™m begging for help, but everyone has probably stopped looking. The police probably told them it was suicide, or I had run away, or I was dead. My family, my friends, my boyfriend had probably all moved on. They needed to accept the fact that they were the family, and the friends, and the boyfriend of the girl who went missing.
No one would know I was murdered. No one would know I was right under their noses, drowned. But I would.
I have to believe that thereâ€™s hope for me. I know thereâ€™s hope for me because I shouldnâ€™t be here, but I am. All I need to do now is get stronger and get escape.
Itâ€™s a long shot. The more I think about it, the more my mind fills with doubts. If my captors had tried to bring me down and make me lose my faith, they succeeded. After all, I think anyone would give up when theyâ€™ve seen themselves tortured and killed through someone elseâ€™s eyes.
My suspicions are almost correct. I donâ€™t want to give up. If anything, the need to fight back is overpowering. Itâ€™s up to me.
Because who else is there to avenge me, but myself?