VII. [2]

VII. [2]

A Chapter by Writer #00

~VII. ~ ~ ~ ~


            “Are you sure you heard him correctly?” Kami double-checked after I’d told her what Felix’d just said to me.

            Yes,” I answered, double-knotting my shoelaces before I mounted the stone-colored bike leaning against the sheet metal walls of the shed, “It was right in my ear!  Do you really think I’d mishear something that close to me?”

            Kami threw up her arms defensively as she stepped onto her bike, releasing the kickstand and beginning to ride up to where the other team members were, about to take off down the trail, “Remember the spaghetti syrup?!” she called.

            Cane happened to emerge from the shed as soon as Kami left, rolling out a bike that mirrored his hair with its solid black and streak of bright yellow across the length of the down tube.  Perfect match.

            “Spaghetti syrup?” He asked, kneeling beside me and deciding to finally acknowledge my existence of his own volition after a good three years, “What was Kami talking about just now?”

            I stood up, having finished tying my shoes, and slung my bat case over my shoulder (maybe it was a bad idea to have brought the bats…).  “Um…nothing, really,” I lied, not exactly sure if I wanted the first thing I said to him in a long time to be: “Once, when Kami was having dinner with my family, she politely asked me if I would pass the spaghetti sauce and I misheard her, replying with ‘Why would we have maple syrup with our spaghetti?’”  It had been quite embarrassing, and I definitely didn’t want Cane to know about it.  That was a Kami-Harri inside joke (well, technically, a Kami-Harri-Salem-West-Mr. & Mrs. Gottringer inside joke, but no one in our family’d ever brought it up…sort of like how no one ever brought up Chad when I was around…).

            Cane looked straight at me, brushing his blonde-highlighted bangs out of his eyes, “Really?  I know ‘spaghetti syrup’ didn’t just come out of--“

            “Hirokage!  Gottringer!” Coach Jung shouted from the mouth of the trail, beckoning us over to where he and a few stragglers were, “What’s the matter?  Why aren’t you two on the trail?  Can’t you ride a bike?”

            We got the message and peddled over to where he was, Cane speeding past him and down the trail presumably to catch up with the others.  Coach ended up stopping me.

            “Nice haircut, Gottringer,” he complimented, noogie-ing my scalp through my low-shaven hair, “the same one you’ve been wearing since grade school, isn’t it?”

            I nodded, not sure where he was going with this and wondering why he was referring to me with my last name alone.

            “Suits you well,” he continued, lifting his Conifer Height’s cap to scratch his own head of hair, shorter than his daughter’s but just as black.

            “Um..thanks, Coach.”

            “You’re welcome, but I shouldn’t be able to see it.”

            “Pardon me?”

            “Harri, get a helmet.”

            I let the kisckstand down, leaving the bike near the trail, then walked across the woodchips blanketing the rest of the clearing, reaching into a box labeled ‘helmets’ that sat on the far side of the shed.  Each helmet was one of three sizes, indicated by the ‘M’ ‘L’ or ‘S’ thickly painted in black or white (depending on the color of the helmet) on top of the headgear.  or, at least I assumed there was a third size.  I figured I was probably a medium, given my dimensions, but I couldn’t seem to locate any.  The large and small were both too large or small for my head, and I couldn’t figure out how to adjust. 

            “Hey, Gottringer!” Coach called again, “I’m going to catch up with the rest of the group before they get to far ahead!  Dale’ll stick with you and if you get lost, just head back up here, okay?”         

            He didn’t wait for a response, just went off down the path, leaving Dale sitting on his bike waiting for me.  After a few more minutes, I gave up and opted to struggle with a large green helmet, strapping it onto my head and constantly lifting it up to avoid it from slipping over my eyebrows.  Gosh, this thing was loose.  Who even had a head this big?

            I walked up to Dale and my bike, hoping Coach hadn’t gotten too far during my vain search for a moderately sized helmet.  Not only would being alone with Dale be awkward, but Coach’d made it seem like one could actually get lost on the bike path, implying forks in the road, so I didn’t want to get separated. 

            “Hey, Dale,” I greeted him with a half-wave, making sure not to do anything he might otherwise find intimidating, “Do you know how to adjust helmet sizes?  This one keeps slipping…I think that sort of defeats its purpose.”

            I pushed the bike next to Dale’s, keeping the kickstand down in order to prop the transport up (sorry for the weird synonym…I’ve been saying ‘bike’ so much it’s starting to feel like a foreign word…oh, wait, duh ‘bicycle’...that would’ve been better…whatever).  Dale sort of just stood there for a good minute, as if deeply contemplating on my question (I’m pretty sure it was ‘yes’ or ‘no’, though) before he turned to me, bending slightly to shrink down to my height, deducting five plus inches from him.  He rigidly moved his hands to my face, and I was beginning to get that queasy please-keep-your-hands-off-me feeling, like someone was trying to make butter out of my stomach contents (you know, the churning motion), when his fingers stopped at the helmet strap hanging an inch or so below my chin. 

            I suppose he started fiddling with it, but I honestly don’t remember.  The churning in my stomach still hadn’t gone away, so I found something to focus on and take my mind off how close he was to touching me.  He had large, callused hands, like they’d be able to take the place of a pitcher’s mitt anytime.  I winced as he tightened the fastening of the helmet.

            “Is to tight?” Dale asked worriedly (and convolutedly), immediately loosening it to a more tolerable tension, “Better?”

            “Yeah...” though there was still some space in the actual helmet part of the helmet, but I wanted to widen the gap between us as soon as possible (the Churning really wasn’t a comfortable experience…it’s like having demonic butterflies in your stomach…plus a swarm of black bees…and a flying tarantula, just for good measure), “Thanks, but you could’ve just told me how.”

            Dale nodded, finding a fascination with something in the woodchips, “S-sorry…I jus--“

            “It’s fine, Dale,” I assured him, beginning to calm down now that the threat of flesh-contact had subsided, “let’s just catch up with the others.”

---

            It had already been ten minutes and we were still out of hearing-range of the team, the sound of our tires crunching over loose dirt mixed with the warbles of invisible birds flitting through the evergreen, spinning chirps that some might consider music.  It was quiet riding with Dale, I guess he didn’t want to continue the uneasiness of earlier.  He seemed pretty calm, too, as if he weren’t paying attention to anything in particular and had forgotten I was near him.  Or maybe he’d finally become more comfortable around me.  Or maybe he really had forgotten I was only a yard or so behind him.

            I decided to find out, pumping my legs faster so that I was riding beside him.  He still didn’t seem to tense-up or appear shaken at my appearance.

            “Are you okay with me now?” I asked, not exactly sure how to phrase the question.

            I could see Dale’s eyes shift uncomprehendingly behind the lens of his glasses.

            “W-what is it you mean?” he returned, leaning his weight in the direction of the bend we were about to take.

            I pedaled harder to keep up with him as we’d come to an incline (why, Coach, why??), Dale keeping a slower but steady pace with little effort, me having  to clutch the handlebars for extra support, huffing up a storm, sweat running from my pores, my face probably beet-red. 

            “I [huff]….mean [huff]--“ I began, trying to speak and inhale gallons of air simultaneously, but to no avail.

            Suddenly, Dale stopped, putting his foot down and getting off the bicycle.

            “Wh-- [huff] what are [huff]…you doing…[huff]?“ I’d followed suit, leaning my bike against the sturdy trunk of a conifer and now doubled over with my hands on my knees, trying to catch my breath.

            “I was tired--thought I’d walk up the rest…of the slope--with the bike, too,” Dale explained choppily, though he didn’t sound exhausted in the least.

            “Okay,” I agreed, still puffing, “thanks.  Coach probably would’ve made us ride up the whole way.”

            I gave him a weak little smile to show I wasn’t advocating what Coach would’ve done; then we continued up the slope on foot, rolling our bikes at our sides. 

            “You know, Dale, you seem like a cool guy.” Okay, that was a weird way to lead back into my ultimate question, but whatever initial awkwardness it created was definitely worth the risk.  I needed to know why he acted, well, like this whenever he was around me.  I mean, when he’s addressing the team or talking to anyone else he, as I’d said, ‘seemed like a cool guy’--what was it about me that made all that just dissolve?

            “Uuuuhhhh…..” was all Dale had to say to that.

            “You’re confident, social, and an outstanding pitcher.  I remember in eighth grade,” (this was going to be hard to admit, but I figured the more I flattered him, the less, I dunno, ‘disturbed’ he’d be at what I was going to ask), “I used to go to the varsity baseball games all the time because it was my brother’s last year at Conifer Heights and I thought he’d be going away for college, so I wanted to spend as much time with him as I could.  One of my goals had been to be on a baseball team in high school, and when I saw you--then a freshman--pitching on the team, I remember resolving to practice every chance I got in hopes that, when I was a freshman, I’d be able to be on varsity, too.”  Of course, now I know that all my practicing hadn’t been what’d gotten me into varsity, but Kami’s persuasive lips.  I think I started feeling delayed anger at this (I hadn’t really processed it before), so I tried to work past it by getting to my question.

            “My point is,” I continued, Dale staring at the ground in embarrassment, “you’re, like I said, a pretty awesome guy, but whenever you talk to me…I don’t see that person.”

            We’d reached the top of the slope, and we could see a cluster of bike-riding baseball players a little ways down the path.  We both climbed onto our bikes again, and I looked at Dale to see how he’d taken my awkward confession of athletic admiration (though, trust me, a lot of the guys on our team felt the same way--it was either that or you made yourself his rival, like Henry).  He was still staring absently, this time at the trail and the team.

            “I was just wondering why that is,” I finished, waiting for an answer.

            “They’re breaking,” he sputtered, riding off down the path with more vigor, trying to leave me behind.

            It was only a few seconds later when I realized he’d meant ‘they’re taking a break’.  I guess I hadn’t said the right thing?  Good job, Harri, now he’s going to act even more strange around you.  And it wasn’t like I could avoid him, either--he was in the same cabin as I.  I sighed, following in his wake. Maybe I should’ve just asked about the hair and scales I found in his bed.

---

            By the time we caught up to the team, they were already up and moving again, Coach leading the way (guess he checked out the trail before hand...either that or he’s leading us all randomly through the forest) and JJ bringing up the end of the line.  Once the sun-scorched, sandy-haired southerner saw us sliding up starboard (that is, from the right side--I couldn’t resist the alliteration, sorry!), he slowed his pace until he was level with the last person officially apart of the group…which was me.

            “Hey, you feelin’ bet’er, Harri?” he asked, referring my to flop at the beach.

            “Yeah,” I responded, “Thanks for saving me.”

            “Ain’t a prob’em, jus’ doin’ my job.”

            “I suppose that’s what you’re doing now?” I deduced as we came closer to the south shore and the sharp scent of a salty sea drifted among the woodsy smell of pine needles.

            “Tha’s right, I’m ‘sposed to be the tail feathers of this rooster.”

            I was thinking of finding a clever way to move on past him and find Kami, but I saw she was near the middle, riding beside Cane--and Sasha was close by, so I didn’t want to risk having to listen to his rants.  Okay, I know I sound like a hypocrite when I say that because I go off on some weird tangents, but all of these are in my head not blabbed to anyone who’ll listen (unless, of course, I’m in therapy and it’s something required of me). 

            Rosa wasn’t too far ahead of us, biking close to Henry and Ali, and she’d apparently heard JJ’s analogy because she decided to call playfully over her shoulder, “Why are we a rooster?  There are girls on the team!”

            To me, she’d sounded like she’d obviously been joking, but JJ was genuinely flustered by the question, beginning to worry he’d insulted her.

            “I’m sorry, miss, I didn’t mean no offense--jus’, roosters’ve got mo’ tail feathers than a hen, and there are mos’ly guys on the team, anyhow.  I’m real sorry if I--“

            Rosa laughed at his reaction (I think I saw Henry’s shoulders shake along with her), waving the rooster analogy aside, “Don’t worry, JJ, I was just messing with you.”

            And then, as the forest thinned, its trees spaced further apart, the sound beneath our wheels changed from dirt to the sifting of sand (which was considerably harder to ride a bike through, so I discovered).  The southern beach of Icthyes Island smaller than the one near our cabins and the sand came in patches or on a little trail that wove through the overwhelming amount of barnacle-crusted rocks and boulders pervading the beach.  It would actually’ve been rather large if it wasn’t for these stone masses swallowing up reasonable walking/riding space, and it appeared even smaller because of a random-looking barbed chain link fence someone’d decided to plop in the middle. 

            “What’s with the ten-foot fence?” I asked JJ, hoping he knew enough about the island to answer my question.

            “What d’you mean by askin’ ‘what’s with’?” he replied, letting the kickstand down on his bicycle and getting off as Coach was now coming to a stop, “It’s here to keep chil’ren outta the rocks over there.  They rocks ‘emselves are alrea’y slip’ry ’nuff to split your head on if you ain’t careful, but, to add to the danger, that there part down th’ slope is liable to be un’erwater by th’ time high tide come.”

            I stood on a boulder, craning my neck to see the meadow of jagged rocks and stones jutting out of the beach that rested at the base of the slope on the other side of the fence.  I could tell by the residue of kelp, starfish, and other small sea creatures laying on the sand that the tide was constantly undulating.  My attention was redirected to the beach on our side of the fenceas Coach called for it from atop a boulder.

            “Okay, team!” He shouted over the sound of crashing waves, “We took a bit longer getting here than I’d expected, so we’re going to be taking a ten-minute break instead of a twenty, then we’ll be heading back up the trail to the baseball field.  Biking up hills no fun, I know, but this’ll help strengthen your legs and hopefully increase your stamina.  Remember: Endurance, endurance, endurance!”

            As he’d probably hoped, we all groaned exasperatedly, getting off our bikes and savouring our six hundred seconds to stretch and not have our leg muscles pleading ‘Please, please, make it stop!--I’ll tell you anything!!’ (bad joke, I know). 

            Kami and, to my surprise-ish-but-not-really-that-surprised-because-he’d-talked-to-me-earlier-today, Cane came walking over to me.

            “Hey, Catmouth,” Kami said, smiling broadly and taking a seat on a low-lying boulder.

            “What’s up, Harri?” was Cane’s greeting; he sat down on a boulder near Kami and offered me a seat on the boulder with him (how thoughtful), but I declined, saying I’d been sitting for the past forty-five minutes and felt like standing (which was true, now that I think about it).

            I know Kami was trying to bring the three of us back together--and I didn’t mind that--it was just that, after so long, I wasn’t really sure what I should say to Cane.  I mean, I could barely remember what we did when we were friends, much less what we talked about.  So this resulted in an awkward “three-person” conversation in which only two of three were actually involved in the dialogue while the third (me) just sort of…existed, putting in a nod of his head every so often.  To be honest, I spaced out after a good twenty seconds, listening to the sound of gulls scavenging, wave breaking on the rocks, the background noise of collected speech…the background noise of music?


T’fird afles-ru’oyd nif d’na

Pordy reve knird uoyt sel

Ka-ew eb t’n-tsum uoytub

Ka-ew eb t’n-tsum uoytub

 

            “Did someone bring a portable radio?!” Coach shouted, scanning us for any suspicious behavior (he didn’t seem to notice Ali and Ali, whatever music he was listening to drowning out the world, didn’t seem to notice him).


K’nurd eb ot ge-blliw

K’nurd eb ot ge-blliw

Sehsif eht folio eht

Sehsif eht folio eht

           

            We were all quiet, listening, trying to find the source.


Spilym morf dezo-oti lit-nu k’nardi

G’nin-raw sihtet-ipsed tub

K’nird otem rof ton-si

Sehsif eht folio eht yasyeht

 

            “Because I specifically told you all not to bring electronics!” Coach boomed, interrupting the silence but somehow not the sound of the music.


Tegrof ton d’luowi uoy rof evol ymos

Ti k’nard y-lecracsi hg’uoht neve

Sni-amer est’sat luof’r uoy

Gnirps foeniw rettib

 

            It was faint.  Distant.  Upbeat.  Familiar.  Why did this song ring a bell?


Eid y-leru slliw

Tis k’nird re-ve-ohw d’na

Sehcir eht rof devassi

Sehsif eht folio eht

 

            “You mine as well turn your device in before I have to…” Coach’s voice trailed off, the anger in his voice leaving as well, “Actually, this is a pretty catchy tune.”

Niaga em d’loh-ot

Emos-d’nahym dah yl-no ifi d’na

Gnirps foeniw eht

Sehsif eht folio eht dah yl-no ifi

           

            The team laughed at his sudden change in emotion, nodding in agreement as the sound of--aha! that’s what it was, “To Plataniotiko Nero”, a Greek folk dancing song my Mom used to sing to me when I was a baby (though I don’t know why, it most definitely wasn’t a lullaby--it had to do with alcoholic drinking)--swimming through the air and lightening the mood.  Whoever was blasting had an interesting musical taste…then again, I listened to Ludwig for fun.

            “Let’s go see where it’s coming from!” Sasha suggested enthusiastically, rushing off across the beach.

            The two of us exchanged worried expressions as other members of the team ran over the rocks, leaping over boulders, and bolted down the slope after him.  I looked at Coach to see if he was going to say anything about the fact that our ten minutes was already over, but he just rushed down to the fence with the rest of them.  Before I knew it, Dale, Henry, Ali, Rosa, Kami, and I were the only six still on the trail, not desperately trying to find out where the “To Plataniotiko Nero” melody was coming from (I say melody because I was pretty sure what we were hearing weren’t the actual word to the song).

            “Should we go down, to?” I heard Henry ask Rosa.

            “I don’t think so,” Rosa replied, a knowing light in her eyes, “it might be best if we leave, actually.”

            Henry looked confused, sort of like a toddler whose mother gave him instructions that he couldn’t comprehend.  “Leave?” He repeated.

            Rosa nodded.

            “But…I want to hear the music some more,” he told her, again reminding me of a toddler as he ignored what Rosa’d said and began to walk down the slope.

            Rosa’s hand shot out instantaneously, grabbing Henry’s arm.

            No, Henry!” she commanded, like an owner to her dog.

            I would’ve snickered at the thought of Henry being reprimanded as an animal, but his next hyper-neotenous move snatched the laughter right out of me.  He tried to shake free of Rosa’s grip, but, when he found it was too strong, opted to swing at her with his free fist.  Dale tackled him to the ground before he could make contact with her head, pinning him face down in the sand.  Rosa stood in the same spot, watching as Henry struggled under Dale’s weight.  Kami and I were unsure of what to do. 

            “What just happened?” Kami voiced my thoughts, her eyes wide, “what should we do?”

            The music was louder now, the soothing soprano voice from the song seeming to echo in my head, repeating the verses incessantly.  I managed to block it out after a while, overpowering it with the melody of La fille aux cheveux de lin, but Cane was having trouble, I could tell.  He suddenly got to his feet, clutching his ears madly and letting out a tortured scream.

            “Cane!” Kami shouted, “are you okay?”

            She turned to me, the concern flashing thunderstorms in her eyes in a way I’d never seen.  She called his name a few more times, competing with his screams, the roaring waves, the song, the cries of “Take me to the music!” Henry yelled, his green eyes watering over; but Cane wouldn’t stop, eventually dropping to the ground and rolling on his back with his hands still tearing at his ears.

            “Cane!” I shouted, leaning over him as he continued convulsing, eyes open so wide the blood vessels in them began to strain, “Get a grip!”

            “Cane!” Dale was calling his name now, too, still holding back the crying Henry.  

            “Cane!” Rosa joined in, coming over to where we were.

            We all shouted, hoping to get through to him.  What if he was having a seizure, though?  Shouldn’t we be doing more? I thought.

            “Cane Hirokage!!” Kami shouted one more time, making sure his name was screamed right into his ear.

            His pained screaming stopped, his body calmed, and his head lolled to the side.

            “What’s going on?” she asked me, the happy-go-lucky Kami I’d known for all my life hiding somewhere behind her frazzled emotions.

            Rosa knelt beside Cane, placing two fingers on his jugular.

            “He has a pulse, it’s normal.  He’s just unconscious,” Rosa informed, standing up and brushing the sand off her knees.

            Where is it coming from?! Take me to it?!” with Cane silent, Henry’s hysterical pleas were piercing the air, and they soon seemed to duplicate into various other phrasings, erupting from the crowd at that fence, which had now begun to scramble over each other to get closer to it.

            “I’m going down,” I said, not sure what I planned to do, “You and Rosa should take Cane back to the Mess Hall--“ I pointed at Ali (who, don’t ask me how, was accomplishing the inhuman feat of sleeping through this chaos) “--Ali might have a phone you can call 911 with or something…but it might just be a music player--“ I then turned to Dale, “--I’m not sure what’s going on, but don’t let go of Henry.”

            I didn’t wait for any of them to respond, hoping they’d at least get some help, and ran down the slope into the clump of baseball uniforms and--I gulped, suddenly paralyzed by fear--barbarically swinging wooden bats.  Guys were cracking bats over their teammates’ heads (good thing most of them were still wearing their helmets), ripping through people to get closer to the fence, clambering over each other.  I took out my bat, wielding it protectively just in case--Pacer came at me with a heavy swing of his ash bat, yelling “I want to be where the music is!!” (which, under normal circumstances, would have been funny…but, then again, under what normal circumstances would he be doing this?).  I only had time to duck, the sound of it actually breaking over someone else’s shoulder chilling me.  I had to will my legs to move, my arms to join in the motion of crawling, to escape the fray.  Drops of red.  Was I crawling through blood specks of blood?

            Parts of my face felt swollen from the kicks it’d received from my unknowing, apathetic peers by the time I’d gotten out of the swarm of aggressive legs and shoes (boy was I glad none of us had worn our cleats).  I was afraid to look at the palms of my hands, knowing there was bound to be someone else’s blood there.  What could I do?  They were crazy…almost mindless…

            The words in the song had faded out in a decrescendo, but the rhythm of the folk dance continued in the notes of a flute and a sort of variant guitar.  It was sick.  A dance of insanity that quickened as the tempo quickened, some people falling unconscious from blows to the head or simply tripping and beginning to be trampled.  I rushed to the outskirts of the hassle, my eyes moving rapidly in search for someone’s limb like the warbling voice of the singer as she crescendoed back into the song.  I spotted Sasha’s beaten body, bruised and knocked out, and somehow forced my way into the crowd to pull him out. 

            This was what I could do.

            I scanned the sand again, more down guys--Nate, Phayton, Zion, Josh, Mason.  I managed to get them all to safety (only a few yards away) one at a time.  The music was growing stronger, enticing the players to start digging at the base of the fence, attempting to create a tunnel they could slip onto the other side with.  On the corners of the cluster, I saw Mill sneak out with a limp, his thick blonde locks in a messy tussle atop his head.  Had he snapped out of it?  I wondered hopefully.  No.  He was climbing the fence now, bare-handed and with a weak leg.  I saw his footing slip a few times, and there was no telling what he’d do when he had to face the barbed wire. 

            “Mill!” I shouted through cupped hands, my voice already hoarse from calling Cane’s name so many times, “get down from there!”

            He didn’t hear me, or ignored me, or couldn’t understand me, just continued scaling the fence slowly and, no doubt, painstakingly.  Coach had heard me, though, and he looked up to where Mill was, now almost at the top.

            I will be the first to be where the music is!” Coach boomed, shoving past his students effortlessly and expertly ascending the metal fence after Mill, closing the gap between them in a short timeframe, “you will not be with them before me!

            Say something! I told myself, blood running cold as the scene played out before me.

            Do something! My brain didn’t seem to comprehend the request.

            Coach viciously, surreally, mercilessly extended his muscular arm, grabbing Mill by the sole of his shoe.

            Let go! I need to--

            Coach yanked the center fielder brutally, making him lose his balance.  He was now hanging from one of the links in the fence, feet dangling, one foot in Coach’s hand and the other in the air. 

            “Stop, please!” Mill begged, his voice indicating that he’d finally tumbled back into sanity, “Coach, what are you doing?!”

            Coach, however, was still on the other side of ‘sane’ and plunging heavily deeper.

            Harri, move, damn it!  I shouted in my head, but even if I had obeyed my thoughts, I wouldn’t have been unable to stop Coach from yanking on Mill a second time, tossing him the ten feet down to the stone-carpeted beach floor.

            Not even the music and the waves could drown out the nauseating, nightmarish crack his skull shrieked as it was crushed against the stones.



© 2013 Writer #00


Author's Note

Writer #00
This time it's the second part of the chapter that's longer. ^^; Hope I didn't bore you with the beginning or shock you with the end. Seriously, though, was the change in tone to abrupt? Thanks for reading and sharing your thoughts, pointing out errors, yaddy yaddy ya : )

Some Notes:
kickstand--> is this one word? My word processor says it is, but WC's doesn't
woodchips--> apparently this ISN'T one word, but I like how it looks as one : )
'To Plataniotiko Nero'-->here's a link to the song: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dvbi_8wJkeo
and here's a link to a translation of the ACTUAL lyrics (not what Harri and the others are hearing): http://octopus-in-my-ouzo.blogspot.com/2013/05/greek-drinking-songs.html
You have to scroll down the page to get to the lyrics ^^"
--You may have noticed there is no title for this chapter. There will be no title for this chapter. : )

Thanks again and hope you enjoy(ed)!

My Review

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Reviews

It's so long... It's good but long. Now I know why you were splitting the chapters into parts. I guess I should follow your example. I was attempting to read and review this chapter a couple of times (I think three), but every time I had little time and I kept postponing it. But, in a paper edition the lenght of the chapters in the Song of Sirens won't matter, I guess. Okay, I'm getting to work now.

“Isto tight?” Dale asked worriedly (and convolutedly), immediately loosening it to a more tolerable tension, “Better?”

I guess that you have a typo in the first word.

Now my general impressions of the chapter. The second part of it was really attention-grabbing and entertaining to read, but the beginning was rather boring (sorry to be blunt, but that's my charm). After the "fishy-business" ending of the previous chapter I expected something exciting right away; the plot began speeding like porshe, but at the beginning of this chapter you hit the breaks and all the excitement faded away. In my opinion it would be beneficial for the story to cut the beginning out and keep the tension there.

Sorry for being bitchy, but I'm just reviewing honestly and with sincere wish to help. On the bright side, I never b***h about the stories I don't like ;-) All righty then, the second part was great though. I'm glad I finally got to review your stuff again.





Posted 6 Years Ago


Writer #00

6 Years Ago

Haha, yep that's a typo. I always forget to double-check Dale's dialogue because it's so weird, tha.. read more
That is some trail they all went to. That escalated quickly when the music came. I only can wait for more! Its good to get Harri back to normal (but is it really normal with the stomach churning and the weird stuff going on). I would feel a bit weird if I was in that situation when the music came on. What if the music hypnotizes the other people but not Harri. That could do something with the story. But then again awesome as always

Posted 6 Years Ago


Writer #00

6 Years Ago

Yep. Harri's stomach-churning is just what happens when people he doesn't know too well pose a thre.. read more
Xerclipse

6 Years Ago

No problem. as long as Kami and Harri were not hypnotized but could it relate to how strong your min.. read more
Writer #00

6 Years Ago

Yeah, that would not be good. How the music works will be revealed soon~~
:O
Woah... That was... crazy... and AWESOME! Although I'm sure that Harri could have caught Sasha when he fell... I can see the end turning into one similar to that of LOST, not the part about the LOST ending sucking, but the part about the sacrifice he will have to make to save his friends...

Posted 6 Years Ago


Writer #00

6 Years Ago

That might be my fault for having too many side characters who pop up only one or two times. ...
Brandon Langley

6 Years Ago

Yeah, one thing I like to do when writing is to have a few central characters and refer to everyone .. read more
Writer #00

6 Years Ago

Yeah... I had to create little side stories with each of them so that he has some sort of relationsh.. read more

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Added on July 16, 2013
Last Updated on August 18, 2013
Tags: song, of, the, sirens, SOS, biking, fantasy, baseball, retreat


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Writer #00
Writer #00

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About
I'm participating in the Summer Writing Project through Jukepop.com, an online serial website, those entering had to submit a novella on Jukepop.com. The finalists will be decided by the number of +V.. more..

Writing
I. Sinking I. Sinking

A Chapter by Writer #00


II. Enigma II. Enigma

A Chapter by Writer #00