Teens Writing for Teens

[It's-Magic!]

I have too many SNIs.
Here's part of the story about Treasure Chest, it's only rough. I'm not looking for crit, but feel free to comment.

Soul Bite
Chapter 1
It was a bitter night in London, especially in the tube station where Treasure sat. Treasure, a strange name for a fourteen-year-old girl. It was the real name her vile, repulsive parents had given her before abandoning her and Gemma, her sister, when she was two, and Gemma was seven.

Treasure Chest groaned as she awoke from her sleep and stretched out her strains and the colossal stitch that’d pinned itself to her hip for no apparent reason.

She rubbed her reddening eyes and pulled back her eyelids to try and wake herself up - no luck.

Treasure stumbled as she heaved her body to a standing position worthy of even a homeless person. She picked up her tatty old rucksack and trudged slowly along the tiled floor of the station. Her jeans were too small, and the gap between her skin and the material was just big enough for a gentle breeze to ruffle the hairs on her slender, yet bruised legs. Her rucksack - if it was quality enough for that name - was decorated with mud, and in only a few select areas was it clear what the previous colour of the bag was - aqua blue.

The girl in question was not an ugly girl, however. Yes, she was stinky from lack of wash, yep, she definitely had messy, frizzy black hair and major acne, but something gave her face mysteriousness and a curious type of beauty. Almost everyone realised this was the eyes she had.

They were royal blue, the same colour as her drunkard mother’s, and they didn’t just shine - they glimmered like beautiful sapphires. Treasure didn’t always feel worthy of them when she looked into the greasy mirrors of the underground.

The station, in question, was near Buckingham Palace. This was unusual for Treasure, as she usually spent the night somewhere else; the girl had no money, but being without dosh had helped her learn the ‘tricks of the trade’ of pick-pocketing, stealing and basically thievery. It wasn’t right, and she knew it, but she was not staying in a kids’ home; that was one of the reasons she’d escaped.

She arrived at the outside of the tube station, having successfully avoided several CCTV cameras, a dozen or so cops and the ticket machines that Treasure had learnt how to outwit in her spare time.

She had a lot of spare time.

Treasure bounced gracefully onto a high stone fence, then walked along the beam of stone, placing each foot down, perfectly practised. The girl was very thin, but not from lack of food. Oh no. She was very well fed.

She balanced herself along to the end, and then grabbed a near branch and swung herself onto a higher branch. She grinned, flashing surprisingly white teeth. She sniffed the air for the scent of Saturday: Roast potatoes, pork, vegetables and scrummy chocolate pudding.

Treasure clambered upon to a higher branch and edged onto the nearby ledge of the building and her source of food: The Sword and Stone restaurant.

She licked her lips and proceeded onto the roof of the grand building. Through the window on top, Treasure could see folk eating happily, mainly all ones with high-class apartments, probably.

The aroma was tantalising and mouth-watering; she could not help herself from dribbling on the pane of glass. She quickly rubbed it off, then carried on around the corner of the building.

Treasure stumbled slightly.

“It’s that bloody girl again, Mildred!”

“I’m gonna kill ‘er one day!”

Treasure stifled a giggle; they’d never catch her. Old Mrs McGregor and Mister Black wouldn’t get past the garden fence with their festering ancient legs.

She peered into the upstairs kitchen. How convenient; all the trays were lined up against the window.

As a waitress went to get some of the food, she ducked out of sight. When she could no longer hear any kerfuffle, Treasure bobbed back up and creaked open the window, taking the nearest plate and moving swiftly out of the view of the window, shovelling the food into her mouth.

Although the food was all still white hot, Treasure kept filling her face. The food tasted delicious every day.

“I need five roasts NOW!”

The girl rolled her eyes. Mike again.

When she’d finished her meal, Treasure moved back to the window and hissed to the chef, “Mike!”

The black haired twenty-year-old turned and smiled reluctantly as he noticed Treasure. “You rascal, you’ll get it one day!”

Treasure grinned. Mike’s Italian accent was music to her ears.

“Go on, here’s your pudding.”

Treasure enjoyed her chocolate pudding, then handed the dish back to her friend. “Thanks, Mikey.”

“Any time, rascal.”

“Bye!”

“Cya tomorrow.”

[Becky]

Sounds interesting, Magic!

I love this bit --

She arrived at the outside of the tube station, having successfully avoided several CCTV cameras, a dozen or so cops and the ticket machines that Treasure had learnt how to outwit in her spare time.

She had a lot of spare time.

[It's-Magic!]

Hehe, I like that bit too.

[Rachel]

Thanks guys.



*plans surprise party*

Now I need to figure out a gift. Maybe some flowers.

Becky, that sounds really cool!
And Magic, I like. I laughed when he called her rascal as that's my dog's name and would be pretty demeaning around my household =)

Rachel, you're such a good daughter ^.^
I am, too, though. One thing I'm happy to brag about.
That, and the scene I'm writing! In which the merfolk are essentially sizing her up and determining an appropriate price for her. An amount which they're about to brand into her skin like she's a moocow!

[Rachel]

I like this scene, Ciera. *wants to read*

Snippet?

[Becky]

Thanks, Ciera! I think I may start it tonight, although I'm quite into editing at the minute, and I hate to stop when I'm actually into editing, as usually I don't really feel like it!

ETA: *Wants to read Ciera's scene too!*

Okay, since y'all asked for it! Kinda long. Oh well.

I awoke to wet hands all over me, pulling.

Chapter 2

Of course I tried to scream, but the hands were expecting that. One pressed tight over my mouth, near suction. I tried to throw it loose, to bite it, but its saltiness surprised me long enough for other hands to pull my arms and legs delicately but harshly away from Taylor, so as not to wake him. They didn’t; he slept on even though my screams didn’t amount to nothing, they came out tight and constricted but high and frantic.

Once all my limbs were far from Taylor the hands lifted my legs and span me about my butt so I was facing overboard. It was still too dark to see anything but hands, though.

My legs would have dangled over the water if the hands didn’t hold them tight, and if they didn’t hold my back up forcefully I’d have fallen backwards, as they’d taken all my balance away. With my feet already out of the boat, it was an easy matter for them to tug on my shoulders, hard. I struggled even harder when I fully realized what was going on, but one of the . . . things was perched right on the edge of the boat, so it had leverage. It was uncoordinated and clumsy, but within thirty seconds they had me off the raft and . . . underwater.

The hand at my mouth didn’t leave until my head was fully submerged, and as I was still trying to scream I nearly inhaled a mouthful of sea. But the hand was immediately replaced by something else, and I managed to swallow most of the water and expel the rest, instead of sending it to my lungs. I coughed and spluttered without thinking about how air and breath was necessary for these things.

As I coughed and felt my stomach turn in distaste of the saltwater, I could feel that I was going deeper. Water flowed up past my ears, which were starting to hurt, bad. Then we stopped moving altogether. My ears still ached, but I found myself breathing. The air tasted a little funny, but it was air and how was I breathing? I had to guess that the thing over my mouth and nose now was an oxygen mask, like what scuba divers used. It clamped tight to my face and felt like flexible rubber.

A light came on. Underwater. It was bright. Too bright. It blinded me, so I still couldn’t see my attackers. I had to close my eyes against the light, and only once I closed them did I realize how much they stung. I should have clenched them shut from the beginning, but the salt had been the last thing on my mind.

I couldn’t hear anything. I felt the things’ movement, though. Even when they didn’t come in contact with me, I felt little currents of water swirl around me softly as the things swam past with ease. Several hands still held me tight, and I had to marvel at how they treaded water so perfectly, so unmoving, when we were nowhere near the ocean floor.

The source of light wasn’t huge, it was like a large flashlight aimed from far away, as opposed to the spotlight it had originally felt like. As it moved closer, it wasn’t in my eyes anymore. I could open them now and see what was going on, but I didn’t. The salt water was my excuse.

The light roved over me, and as it did I felt more of the hands go with it. They felt like human hands, if a bit slippery and cold. They felt around my ankles, thighs, wrists and shoulders. Fondled my stomach quickly, feeling its flat structure. Poked at my back. Felt my breasts like a doctor would, with a cold and firm grip that still would have made me indignant if I hadn’t been so terrified. Forced one eye open and shone that light in, for only a second before I pulled away and jammed the eye shut. I felt the thing moving back a bit, and the light found my whole body again; trolled up and down once, quick. Then I could only wait, and I had the creeping sensation that the things were talking about me, though I heard nothing.

The air I was breathing tasted a bit different, all of a sudden. Not just stale or thin like it had been before, now it was a bit chemically. My struggling slowed as I took a moment to try and figure out what that taste was. I ended up breathing deeper, inhaling nice big lungfuls to try and determine that unusual quality.

A series of sharp, burning heats around my collarbone distracted me from the funny air for a second, but it wasn’t enough to worry me unduly. And I was rising! I felt water slowly coursing down across my body, which meant I was going up, right? Good. Everything was turning out okay . . . so I could go back to sleep, now.

[CRCAWF]

Originally Posted by Horserider

Almost?

Mum and I saw "RENT" and it was brilliant. I managed to get Anthony Dean Rapp's autograph and Adam Pascal's autograph in the book I bought which is why it was almost not worth it.

How is everyone?

ETA: Wow, Ciera! That was an awesome read.

[Red.Ink.Rain]

I do not feel good. *sleeps*

[Rachel]

Can I be one of your betas, Ciera? Pretty Please?

[Rachel]

Originally Posted by Red.Ink.Rain

I do not feel good. *sleeps*

Oh no! What's wrong?

Thanks, Crawfish. RENT? Um....a play? Movie! *doesn't know*

Aw, Red! *lends you my stuffed platypus of feel-betterness*
Um, if you want, Race! I'd be delighted! Though, it'll probably be a while before I have a sizable chunk of writing on this project.

[Rachel]

I don't care. I want to read it!

*huggles Red*

[Red.Ink.Rain]

I have a stuffed polar bear that's good for huggling. And I'm watching Hidalgo, which is making me feel better. I just have a headache and I'm dead tired.

Okay ^.^ I'm so happy that everyone seems more excited about this project than me! Actually, I'm pretty darn excited. I know, because when I get excited on an empty stomach somehow I get carsick. -shrug- Maybe I'll go steal some poptarts from my brother.
Anyway, I can send you what I have so far, if you'd like. Like I said, it's only about 5k so far. Or you can wait 'till I've got more done, your choice. Just PM me your email.

Aww. When I'm sick, curling up (with aforementioned platypus as well as TINO) and watching something is so decadent. I never actually saw Hidalgo, though. Usually it's eppies, for me, not movies.

[CRCAWF]

Originally Posted by Ciera_

Thanks, Crawfish. RENT? Um....a play? Movie! *doesn't know*

It was a Broadway musical created in 1994 and a film adaption was produced in 2005. HERE.

Hmm...I'll be lurking as I try to organize my computer.

I love organizing my computer. I also organize my music collection about twice a year.
I have pop-tarts! Strawberry >.> but they're still food. Sort of. Chocolate is, of course, the best way to go. Or a real breakfast, y'know.
What the hell is with the directions on the box? 'Microwave for NO MORE THAN 3 SECONDS' I swear to God it says that. I just used the toaster . . .

OMG OMG OMG!
I didn't realize that when you click the little arrow in a quote it takes you to the original place it was said! Cool! I never really even noticed that arrow before.
AW never fails to astound me.

[It's-Magic!]

Hehe, Ciera. LOL.

[Red.Ink.Rain]

I smell like David. Mmm.

He came over this morning to give me a ride to work, since my sister has the car at her driver's test today. But then I ended up not going to work, and so we sat and...talked. And stuff. Yeah...

But we're still single. Still broken up.

And I iz confuzed...

[Becky]

LOL Ciera, I didn't realise either until you posted it! And I'm loving the extract =]

Oh, Red, that sounds complicated...