The True Author's Story (PG: last update 2/28/09)

[shugocharaamu]

The True Author's Story _{by ShugoCharaAmu}

Rated K - T (PG) for some gore, romances and comprehension level.

A/N: I am aware that my Prologue does not seem Avatar: The Last Airbender related at all. I apologize, but every story must have a beginning. I am simply not going to just dive into the plot line in the first part of my story! It would be much to rushed and the exact opposite of my style of writing. So if you are patient, the relations to Avatar: The Last Airbender, will kick in soon.
I have worked dreadfully hard on this for some time now. Enjoy the story. R&R. No flames.
And yes, I do sound much older than I really am.

Rain, Rain
Don't come again . . .
. . . I hope you will not go unpunished
For your wayward behavior
And deluge unimaginable
- Aryaman Naik (Rain, Rain)

Prologue

She flung her gray hood over her head. It covered those gorgeous deep ocean blue eyes she’d gotten from her mother. Rain battered the streets. She hated the rain. She hated the way it dripped; tiny fingers sending icy cold jabs into her sweatshirt. The rain could make any one, any thing seem as if it were limp less and without meaning.

Normally, she loved the rain; it usefully drowned bad feeling and let new joyful ones swell in. Not today. Today, Katrina hated everything. She hated Scott for leaving her to walk home alone in this storm. She hated her Dad for never being home. She almost hated her mother for leaving her when she was so young. She hated the way her life was and how it will stay. She hated it.

A flash of lightning lit the sky; the sky that ‘should’ have been blue and filled to the brim with sunlight, but wasn’t. The day that was full of rain and sorrow; the day that ‘should’ have been everything Katrina could ask for, but wasn’t. Despite her hood covering the brunette’s hair, she could feel it fluttering in the heavy afternoon winds. It crept into Katrina’s sweatshirt and left a chill down her spine.

Above everything, above everyone, she hated Zach; for reasons unknown, even to herself. Almost as if it were meant to be; enemies forever with that haunting memory of a friendship filling the back of their minds. A slender tear fought it’s way out of the corner of Katrina’s eye. Tears are something she rarely sheds.

Katrina hated Zach, more than anything.

• • •

Green eyes gazed out the window; green eyes that at a time, couldn’t see. Eyes filled with longing, curiosity and so much more than what the were ever given.

“Tiff.” she said her name aloud, just to hear the way it sounded. T for Tickles, I for Ickles, F for Funnies, and another F for Mommy. She could just hear her mother speak those words, making Mommy sound more like ‘Muhmie’. When Tiff was little, her mom always used to cheer it to her because it made her smile.

The rain continued it’s endless march through the city. Black hair hid her face;Tiff liked it that way. It let her see the world without the world seeing her. She liked the way that when it rained the sky became gray and dull; gray was a pretty color. At least, she thought so. Tap Tap, went the maid’s shined shoes down the marble floored hall.

“Ms. Tiffany, your tea.” she said, entering the room with a try of crumpets and tea. This mistress was tall and well built; she had skin as fair as snow and eyes as brown as chocolate. Tiff nodded to say thanks. Green tea, same as always. In Tiff’s mind, tea was just a way to keep your hands busy. Just as crumpets were something to sink your teeth in; excuses for not taking part in a conversation.

In her world, there were no friends, no school mates, no parties; none of it. She was concealed from a normal life; her parents’ idea.

There are disadvantages in being brought up by a rich family, this is one of them.

• • •

“Andrew get in here!” called Gary pulling up by the curb; Andrew (for once) wished it wasn’t Gary beckoning for him to enter the silver hybrid. He wished it was someone else; his parents. Andrew didn’t know his parents; never has and probably never will. In Arizona, where the boy was raised, a tragic accident arose. His parents didn’t make it. Gray, a family friend, had been raising him ever since.

He counted the storm; it sounds more challenging than it really is. A flash of lightning tore through the sky, “one, two,” he whispered before the thunder roared. Like great lions of Africa, stuck in the sky, pleading for their freedom. The boy quivered slightly. Storms were never this brutal back home, he though. Gary glanced back at Andrew and gave him a smile with a side of sympathy.

“You’ll get used to it.” he said softly; trying to comfort the boy as best he could. A move from Arizona all the way up to Maine can be a difficult; no matter who you are. So many cherished memories and friends left to be swallowed by the distance and time.

His black hair pricked up from the cold. Andrew never knew that it could rain so much; ‘You’ll get used to it . . . ‘ Gary’s words rang through his head. His gray eyes gazed out the window. This was home; he had to except that.

Andrew believed that things happen for a reason. Coincidence are no exception. He wondered if this was one of those times where fate was going against him.

He was right.

• • •

“Zach!” screamed Alex as she entered the kitchen. Her slender fingers slid across the counter top and into the loaf of bread. She grabbed a piece and ate it dry. Alex was the type of girl who had to be the leader; never the follower or observer. She had been waiting almost two hours for him to come home; not that she cared what Zach did.

The dish wasn’t working right, no internet access; there isn’t much a 14 year old girl can do about that. Without haste Alex threw on her purple jacket and dogged the falling rain; looking for Zach of course. If he was lost, she could find him. Alex wasn’t exactly the ideal sister, but she at least cared enough to make sure her brother got home before dark.

A shiny hybrid speed by; kicking up rain water into the air. Alex’s right side was soaked. The plane purple jacket, which had out grown her a while ago; clung to her. Alex shook herself off and fought the urge to run back into the house.

“Rotten day,” she hissed. It was a rotten day; dull gray skies left her in the dumps. A breeze began to pick up; sending shivers down her spine. Alex’s short black hair beat against her cheeks. As if being soaked wasn’t bad enough, now there was the cold to take account for.

Turning the corner on Willows, Alex saw the school, Clark Lewis High School. It was the only public High School in Franklin. The rest were schools for the rich and well educated.

Money wasn’t something Alex, or her family had much of.

• • •

Many people; depressed, hurt, lonely and lost in their own lives. Unaware of the other, and un caring. Never thinking, Could it be that I’m not the only one feeling this pain? Never looking for an explanation ar a way out, just living it. Things were that way. Did they stay that way? Or did the rain simply protest it’s way through Franklin Maine on that cold October day.

[shugocharaamu]

A/N: Still don't have a reply . . . Either way, this story has been my most favorite to write. If you are reading, please reply. This is probobly one of my favorite chapters, but it is awfuly short for me, as was the prologue. I love how we get the whole backstory of Katirna, who she is, what she wants. I love Katirna. but Yasmine is my favorite charictor. She comes in much later in the story.

. . . No one else can write a chapter
No one else can write the verse
No one else can write the prose
Even when life deals the worst
So spread each page
Widely in front of you
Boldly write your tale
If only you keep writing
you will not fail
-Arthur Bass (Writing Your Novel)

Chapter 1

Katrina sat motionless on the kitchen stool; out of the rain and in her house. The room was dim light and all the Windows shut tight. She gazed at the kitchen. Green countertops and oak cabinets. The walls were painted with a subtle light green. She closed her eye, imagining herslef cooking. Katrina would slide her hands across the smooth formica to reach into the spice drawr. The smeel of gumbo would hang in the air as Scott sat on the living room sofa, cheering to a soccer game. For once, everything would be perfect. Everything would be like she never beleived it could be. Katrina opened her eyes again, wishing that feeling would never leave her.

Scott was still out, and would be out for a hour or so. It’s not like her dad gets home any time soon either. Alone, and hurt; the only way she could describe herself. It allowed the whole scene with Zach to play itself over and over again in her head; waether she wanted it to or not.

. . . “Zach, this isn’t like you. You wouldn’t do something like this.” she’d said. Zach’s amber eyes stayed focused on his worn out white and black tennis shoes.

“Maybe you don’t know me as well as you thought you did, Katrina.” she stopped. It was cruel what he’d said; Katrina wished badly that he hadn’t.

“Please, Zach. It doesn’t have to be like this. You know that’s a lie.” she begged. The boy shook his head. His locks of jet black hair swayed along with it. Katrina wanted to grab Zach and shake him. Shake him until his senses kicked in. Shake him until he was the Zach she knew. She wanted Zach to act like Zach; the boy she’d come to know so well. The boy she’d come to love.

“Katrina, this isn’t something we can talk about. I can’t talk about it with any one. If you can’t except that, then.” his eyes met hers. Ocean blue locking with flaring embers. It allowed Katrina to get a good look at his droopy eye; the right one. She felt her self trebble, afraid to here his next words. “Then, I think we need to go our own ways.” Katrina’s blue eyes blinked; she couldn’t beleive what she was hearing. She didn’t want to beleive it. She wanted to wake up in bed to find out it was all just a horrible dream, but it wasn’t.

“Zach.” she whispered; soft as a summer breeze. He held up his pale skinned hand to silence her.

“No Katrina.” those were the last words he spoke before leaving. Katrina began the long walk home, wishing all the while Zach was walking next to her . . .

Thunder shook the house and the never fading lightning blinked outside; forever reminding her of how awful she felt. Feeling awful isn’t something people want to feel; in a perfect world, everyone is always happy and never gloomy or alone. Not in this world. She sighed. Katrina longed for a world unlike hers; where things are happy. At least to a degree.

All at once, it hit her. Katrina instantly sprung up and ran into her room. It was hard to see anything with the windows shut tight and shades pulled down, but she managed to find a pen and spiral any way. Again she mounted the stool. The idea had just popped into her head; like magic.

If you don’t like the world you live in, make a new one.

That phrase echoed in her mind. It was completely natural for Katrina to think like this; writing was something she’d been doing her whole life. From ‘My Mommy and Me’ when she was five to ‘The Whisperes of Daniel Pint’ for a school project last year. The simplest way of sharing your thoughts and feeling with the world, right at your fingertips.

The pen hit the paper with passion; strokes were made carefully and neatly. She loved the way it felt; like kissing a rose petal. Her long, dark brown brown hair descended upon the paper; Katrina didn’t bother to pull it out of the way. Unconsciously, she wrote the first thing that came to her. Katrina didn’t know what she was writing or why; she just wrote. After about five minuets of furious writing and scribbling and rewriting, Katrina lifted the pen off the paper and shook her wrists out. Her eyes met the words and she began to read.

She the warrior. Not your typical warrior. One who fights without weapons. She is kind and gentle. She is strong and persistent. She whom is full of hope. She who burns brightly in a land of dread and darkness.
Girls across the world envy her; they scowl as she walks down the street. Who wouldn’t? A beautiful girl, who is strong, but fights for the right reasons.
She never crosses the line of good to evil. She stays loyal to herself, her friends and her people.

Katrina beamed. Never had she felt so proud to have written something. It was obvious to her who she was writing about; herself. Now all that was left was to title it. A good author waits until they are finished with a passage or poem before titling it. Katrina thought the best way to title this was with a name; her name.

Kat

She stopped. The pen abruptly left the page. Something didn’t feel right; about ‘that’ name. She couldn’t use her own name, because what she said wasn’t true. What Katrina had written were her hopes and dreams; who she wanted to be, but probably never would be. Thinking hard she searched her mind for an idea. A way to keep this personality her own, but express it herself. A little spark lit in her mind and she picked up the pen once more.

Katara

Perfect; Katrina was even more delighted now. ‘Katara’; she couldn’t get the name out of her head. A new identity for herself. The writer was satisfied with her work; a feeling they cherish throughout writing the story.

The beginnings of a story, she thought. It was as if all the bad feeling had been washed away. Zach was now off in the corner of her mind where bad things went. Exactly how she wanted it.

As the clock stroke five; a little tune sounded in the living room. A nice ditty with flowing notes. Scott would be home soon. Katrina knew the first words out of his mouth would be ‘What’s for dinner?’ She chuckled to herself and pulled out some chicken legs from the freezer and splashed aa couple of random spices atop them. Soon the house was filled with the smell of dinner. For desert, she decided to make cupcakes. Katrina’s hands met the cake mix and she pored some in a cereal bowl, threw in a some water and eggs them mixed it with a spoon. She pulled out two capachino cups and poured the batter in to them.

Until next time readers . . .