Red River Chapter 1
Escaping California
Prologue:
Last night I had a dream about a river and a girl. Sure, it didn't help that shortly before that I had watched "The Reaping" but hey, the story isn't done yet. Well, I woke up at like three in the morning, and began to write, yes, at three in the morning. To write my stories, they have to be real to me, and to be real to me they must have elaborately named characters, a realistic setting, if not a realistic plot, and it has to have a good name, the name I had chosen immediately after waking, it would be RED RIVER. By some miracle, the first chapter just kind of rolled off my pen and onto my black writing journal, that sits at my bedside, without all of this. There was just one more thing to settle. My story still needed its characters and setting, easy enough, I decided. I thought of my favorite names and wrote them down, but coming up with a last name for these characters is harder than it sounds, I need something to relate them to. I opened my copy of Helter Skelter, a book about the Manson murders, and picked two of my favorite character's last names; LaBianca, and Hinman, and added them to the main characters. The setting was a harder story. For some reason, I knew it had to be in Louisiana but, again, the place has to be real to me as well and, unlike my parents, I've never been to Louisiana. So I went on my laptop and found a giant map of the state. I searched all the county names for one that sounded mysterious, one that made it sound gloomy and creepy. One that a horror story could come from.
I had scoured the map and all but settled on a middle-sized county named DeSoto when I happened to glance up and to the left. I don't know why, I had somehow missed a tiny county that automatically sent chills down my spine. I swear this is all true, and if you don't believe me then look at a map for yourself, they small county was called: RED RIVER. Can you guess where I chose for my story to take place?... Bingo.
This story is going to be slightly different from my other two, yes there will be romance, but there will also be ghosts and whatever else I feel like throwing in.
RED RIVER Chapter 1:
On my way out of the door, I took one last glance around, committing my room to memory. This place had been my home since birth, I switched off the light and the room plunged into darkness for the last time. This was the only thing about Hayleeville that I would miss, the faster I got from here the better.
Since I'm a straight forward person I'll go ahead and tell you everything you need to know about me. One, my name is Mariah Hinman. Two, my dad died when I was six, I was there but that's a much longer story than I care to tell right now. Three, I live in Hayleeville, California, I love California, the sun, the air, and the heat, but I despise its residents... at least I lived there until today. Four, I'm a trouble maker, or so they tell me. I disagree, I think the universe is conspiring against me. It's quite simple you see, if a window breaks, I happen to be walking by. Call the cops on the punk kid. If something is stolen, it shows up at my house. Call the cops on the punk kid. If trash is thrown down anywhere in the neighborhood, call the cops on the punk kid. If an animal goes missing, call the cops on the emo. Five, I used to be emo, not anymore. I'm proud to report that I haven't cut since Hilary Neu, the prep of the high school, got killed in a car crash. She used to pick on me, hell they all did, but her the most. Six, I am five ten with nearly white hair, at least that's how I dye it, and a few streaks of color in it whenever I throw in my extensions, and blue eyes. I'm pale, even though I live in California, I don't let much sun reach my skin, adding to my scene appearance. Ooh and seven, my mom believes every word they say about me.
I cringed thinking of her. I couldn't say I hated her, because I knew everything she'd been through, I'd been through it all as well and it changed me. I just wish she'd had the same understanding as me. But no, this time I was arrested for breaking and entering and some phony vandalism charges, or was it destruction of public property? Anyway, it had been my spray paint, but not my artwork. That had been all Jamaca's doing. (Jamaca was my best friend and he was the trouble maker, not me. I called him Jamaca because of all the drugs he did, or supposedly did. They had rumors about both of us just because we refused to conform to their version of society. Hah!)
Anyway, you should have seen the look on the kids' faces when they walked into the gym for their precious pep-rally. Priceless is not a word I use to describe it because the paint only costed twenty bucks. When they pulled me and Jamaca down to the office I told him to play dumb. I took the rap for it, I couldn't let Jamaca's parents hit on him because of this, not that they'd ever needed an excuse before.
So sure, Beth, that's what I called mom because she'd never really been a parent before, had a reason to be mad, but she didn't need to react quite so dramatically. I hate drama. I won't tell you what we sprayed onto the wall, just know that it's gonna take a lot of paint and time to get it off, and the game is tonight. So yeah, it was worth it.
She had pulled me out of the school and forced me to start packing that day. She didn't tell me where we were going, which worried me more than if she had.
I hadn't expected the packing to go quite so quickly, but here we were. Me checking my room over and her downstairs waiting in the car. I had been up here for about ten minutes and I heard her honk impatiently. "I'm coming," I said to no one in particular and headed down the curving stairway to the front door that now stood open. Ignoring her honking, I took one last tour of the house, saying goodbye to everything. Strangely, I would only miss the things I had loved before my father died. I hadn't loved much since then.
"Come on Mariah! We're going to miss the plane!" She yelled, I wouldn't mind that but if I was ever going to see this place again then I needed to straighten up. I turned from the fireplace mantle, where I could see the tack from my Christmas stocking that my dad had placed there when I was two, and headed for the black car waiting in the pool of shadow cast by house. It was late afternoon, the sun setting behind the house. I wasn't sleepy yet, and I doubted she would be either, but when she did get tired she would get grumpy.
Two hours from the second I got in the car we were passing over Nevada, four hours after that, Texas. Then the plane descended... in Louisiana. It was lightning when we set down. Pouring when we got to a hotel, hell seemed to be pouring it's vengeance out on this tiny little town she had forced me to.
The first words I spoke to her since leaving Hayleeville were to ask her where we were.
"A place called Red River. The town we'll be living in is called Hollow Point. But that's tomorrow, today you need a shower," and that was all she said, that was all she needed to say.
I suddenly realized that this WAS hell. Or the closest to it you could get without dying first...
(In the next chapter, you shall meet Danhi LaBianca. (It's pronounced Danny) Tell me if you liked it!)
Last night I had a dream about a river and a girl. Sure, it didn't help that shortly before that I had watched "The Reaping" but hey, the story isn't done yet. Well, I woke up at like three in the morning, and began to write, yes, at three in the morning. To write my stories, they have to be real to me, and to be real to me they must have elaborately named characters, a realistic setting, if not a realistic plot, and it has to have a good name, the name I had chosen immediately after waking, it would be RED RIVER. By some miracle, the first chapter just kind of rolled off my pen and onto my black writing journal, that sits at my bedside, without all of this. There was just one more thing to settle. My story still needed its characters and setting, easy enough, I decided. I thought of my favorite names and wrote them down, but coming up with a last name for these characters is harder than it sounds, I need something to relate them to. I opened my copy of Helter Skelter, a book about the Manson murders, and picked two of my favorite character's last names; LaBianca, and Hinman, and added them to the main characters. The setting was a harder story. For some reason, I knew it had to be in Louisiana but, again, the place has to be real to me as well and, unlike my parents, I've never been to Louisiana. So I went on my laptop and found a giant map of the state. I searched all the county names for one that sounded mysterious, one that made it sound gloomy and creepy. One that a horror story could come from.
I had scoured the map and all but settled on a middle-sized county named DeSoto when I happened to glance up and to the left. I don't know why, I had somehow missed a tiny county that automatically sent chills down my spine. I swear this is all true, and if you don't believe me then look at a map for yourself, they small county was called: RED RIVER. Can you guess where I chose for my story to take place?... Bingo.
This story is going to be slightly different from my other two, yes there will be romance, but there will also be ghosts and whatever else I feel like throwing in.
RED RIVER Chapter 1:
On my way out of the door, I took one last glance around, committing my room to memory. This place had been my home since birth, I switched off the light and the room plunged into darkness for the last time. This was the only thing about Hayleeville that I would miss, the faster I got from here the better.
Since I'm a straight forward person I'll go ahead and tell you everything you need to know about me. One, my name is Mariah Hinman. Two, my dad died when I was six, I was there but that's a much longer story than I care to tell right now. Three, I live in Hayleeville, California, I love California, the sun, the air, and the heat, but I despise its residents... at least I lived there until today. Four, I'm a trouble maker, or so they tell me. I disagree, I think the universe is conspiring against me. It's quite simple you see, if a window breaks, I happen to be walking by. Call the cops on the punk kid. If something is stolen, it shows up at my house. Call the cops on the punk kid. If trash is thrown down anywhere in the neighborhood, call the cops on the punk kid. If an animal goes missing, call the cops on the emo. Five, I used to be emo, not anymore. I'm proud to report that I haven't cut since Hilary Neu, the prep of the high school, got killed in a car crash. She used to pick on me, hell they all did, but her the most. Six, I am five ten with nearly white hair, at least that's how I dye it, and a few streaks of color in it whenever I throw in my extensions, and blue eyes. I'm pale, even though I live in California, I don't let much sun reach my skin, adding to my scene appearance. Ooh and seven, my mom believes every word they say about me.
I cringed thinking of her. I couldn't say I hated her, because I knew everything she'd been through, I'd been through it all as well and it changed me. I just wish she'd had the same understanding as me. But no, this time I was arrested for breaking and entering and some phony vandalism charges, or was it destruction of public property? Anyway, it had been my spray paint, but not my artwork. That had been all Jamaca's doing. (Jamaca was my best friend and he was the trouble maker, not me. I called him Jamaca because of all the drugs he did, or supposedly did. They had rumors about both of us just because we refused to conform to their version of society. Hah!)
Anyway, you should have seen the look on the kids' faces when they walked into the gym for their precious pep-rally. Priceless is not a word I use to describe it because the paint only costed twenty bucks. When they pulled me and Jamaca down to the office I told him to play dumb. I took the rap for it, I couldn't let Jamaca's parents hit on him because of this, not that they'd ever needed an excuse before.
So sure, Beth, that's what I called mom because she'd never really been a parent before, had a reason to be mad, but she didn't need to react quite so dramatically. I hate drama. I won't tell you what we sprayed onto the wall, just know that it's gonna take a lot of paint and time to get it off, and the game is tonight. So yeah, it was worth it.
She had pulled me out of the school and forced me to start packing that day. She didn't tell me where we were going, which worried me more than if she had.
I hadn't expected the packing to go quite so quickly, but here we were. Me checking my room over and her downstairs waiting in the car. I had been up here for about ten minutes and I heard her honk impatiently. "I'm coming," I said to no one in particular and headed down the curving stairway to the front door that now stood open. Ignoring her honking, I took one last tour of the house, saying goodbye to everything. Strangely, I would only miss the things I had loved before my father died. I hadn't loved much since then.
"Come on Mariah! We're going to miss the plane!" She yelled, I wouldn't mind that but if I was ever going to see this place again then I needed to straighten up. I turned from the fireplace mantle, where I could see the tack from my Christmas stocking that my dad had placed there when I was two, and headed for the black car waiting in the pool of shadow cast by house. It was late afternoon, the sun setting behind the house. I wasn't sleepy yet, and I doubted she would be either, but when she did get tired she would get grumpy.
Two hours from the second I got in the car we were passing over Nevada, four hours after that, Texas. Then the plane descended... in Louisiana. It was lightning when we set down. Pouring when we got to a hotel, hell seemed to be pouring it's vengeance out on this tiny little town she had forced me to.
The first words I spoke to her since leaving Hayleeville were to ask her where we were.
"A place called Red River. The town we'll be living in is called Hollow Point. But that's tomorrow, today you need a shower," and that was all she said, that was all she needed to say.
I suddenly realized that this WAS hell. Or the closest to it you could get without dying first...
(In the next chapter, you shall meet Danhi LaBianca. (It's pronounced Danny) Tell me if you liked it!)
Post Comment | View Comments
