First Night

November 30, 2009
By Aliya Babul SILVER, Vancovuer, Other
Aliya Babul SILVER, Vancovuer, Other
5 articles 0 photos 0 comments

Sophie sighed, looking around the unfamiliar room crowded with boxes. She waited for the sounds that would she hated it hand never come. No sounds of cars screeching, horns blown, and the sirens screeching. Instead, silence oozed from each crack in the floorboards like mud in the bottom of a lake. Sophie sighed again and got out of bed to cross the room and climb onto the windowsill where she curled her legs against her chest. She imagined she was in Paris looking down from her apartment window, she imagined the field of light that would have bombarded her eyes and the sounds of laughter that would have bubbled up form the street below. Instead, she saw a large white moon shedding light on whitewashed steps. The only sounds that could be heard were the distant waves as they rolled in to meet the rocks.
Her mother had been offered a job position and she had accepted and they had had to move here-to Greece. Sophie had always had a hard time with change. When she wanted change she would embrace it, but when she didn’t, she shied away from it, feeling as though her identity was being unraveled. This move had been hard Sophie had had to leave all her roots in Paris. All her friends, and familiar places had been wiped away like dust swept aside with a broom. Sophie remembered how every Thursday her mother would come home early to take her to the bookstore, how at night on the weekend her parents , her and her sister would walk down the streets window shopping. Sophie turned her head and saw a neat uniform hanging on the door. On her new desk lay two books, only one was unopened. Sophie loved books. The very smell made her heart sing. She remembered sitting in the window seat of her old Parisian building, reading. She remembered vividly, the feeling she got when she had finished a book. How she would resurface into the real world, feeling groggy, images and words form the book swirling in her mind.


Sophie looked miserable as she stared into the windowpane her mind swirling with memories. Reflected in the glass was a child with old worn PJ’s, long dark hair (mused form sleep), and eyes filled with unshed tears. and she tried not to cry as she fingered the heart necklace given to her by her best friend. Finally, she let one tear escape the prison of her eyes. In the window she watched it wind its way down her cheek, dripping onto her pajamas and leaving a stain. She wondered if she would make friends here. Earlier that day she had seen a girl and a boy playing on the steps. She wondered vaguely if they were her age and if they were possible friends. Slowly, she climbed off the window and back into bed. There, as she sat in her bed, alone in a new place, he friends all miles and miles away in a city so different from this one. Sophie’s heart feltt as though it had been stabbed and had slowly deflated. At this, Sophie could hold it in no longer and grabbing her pillow she began to cry into it. She hadn’t realized how long she had been crying for, when she felt her mother’s arms around her. She looked up. There was her mother and her father sitting there, in the same way, the very same position that they always had.
“You’ll make friends,” her mother said. “
“Yes,” Sophie snapped, “Because we al know how good I am at that.”
“ Sophie,” Sophie’s father said, a warning in his tone.
Sophie was usually a sweet tempered girl, that was, until she got mad. Sophie blew up then.
“WHAT?” She cried, “ I DIDN’T WANT TO MOVE HERE? SO WHY DID I HAVE TO LEAVE ALL MY FRIENDS, I HATE MAKING FRIENDS. I HATE THE QUITE, YOU HATE THE QUIET SO WHY ARE WE ON A TINY GREEK ISAND?”
“Sophie, you’re smart, you’ll make friends,” Sophie’s father said, ignoring her outburst.
“ You just have to make the best of it,” Sophie’s mother smiled as she said this.
Sophie sniffled, not comforted.
“Sure,” she said.
“Come on, go to sleep, you have a long day tomorrow.” Sophie’s parents hugged her and walked out of the room.
Sophie glared after them, but she knew they were right.

Sun spilled across the room. Sophie stirred and slowly awoke.
With a sigh she slowly got out of her bead. The air was warm and Sophie pulled on a turquoise skirt and white top and made her way down the stairs.
“Come on Sophie,” her mother called, “You can’t be late.” Sophie raised an eyebrow at her mother who was rushing around the yellow kitchen packing lunches.
At exactly 8:00 am, Sophie, her mom and her little sister, Arlene stepped out of the house and began walking down towards the school.
Sophie stopped to look up at the whitewashed school building.” Sophie,” called her mother. Sophie who had turned away form the school to look at the sun shining over the turquoise water turned back to her mother and followed her up the stairs and into the principals office. Smoothing down her back skirt, Sophie’s mother say down opposite the principal. The principal was a tall woman with blonde hair that had been swept into a bun. She was wearing a loose blue shirt, which Sophie immediately deemed as dreadful. “Hello and welcome, I am Ms. Drivas,” Ms. Drivas said. “You must be Sophie” she shook Arlene’s small hand. Arelene mumbled something, Sophie kicked her. Arlene said nothing. “Actually, I am Sophie” Sophie said.
“Ah, my apologies”
“You my dear will be in class 9A” “ just down the hall, off you go”
Sophie made her way to the door, catching an encouraging glance from her mother.
Sophie walked down the silent hall , her heels on the black sandals clicked on the wooden floors. Sophie looked around her. The walls were a pale yellow, the doors looked new and were made of a sandy colored wood. Here was 9A Sophie stopped and took and deep breath. Then, slowly, she opened the door. The classroom was airy and there was a large window opposite the door. It was open and Sophie could see the craggy, sharp cliffs that surrounded this island, beyond that were an amazing open expanse of turquoise water which glimmered and gleamed in the golden sunlight. Sophie felt an overpowering urge to paint the scene, as though it were fragile and the only way to preserve it was to paint it, to keep it somehow. Then, she remembered where she was. The desks were identical, all facing the front, where a short woman with plaited brown hair, streaked with grey stood smiling at Sophie. “Come in” She said, “ I am Ms. Frotos” “ Sit she said pointing to a empty desk on the far side of the room, near the open window. “ We are just beginning a skill testing test” Sophie walked hesitantly over to the desk, fully aware of the eyes boring into her and the click clacking of her heels. She sat and was handed a paper. “ Thank you” her Greek was poor and she possessed and thick French accent. Reading Greek was not the problem and Sophie found the test easy. She looked around examining each girl. She was a bad judge of character, she knew that, but that had never stopped her from judging.



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This article has 5 comments.


DEMON said...
on Dec. 23 2009 at 4:25 pm
"First Night" was quite artistic, and I found that I was quite impressed with the style, the feelings, and the hint of irony. Very honest, love. Be honest about...

"RAZED EXPECTATIONS"

Wisps of smoke danced into the wintry air from my lips, creating ornate designs that could never be replicated. I carefully tilted the corners of my lips into a smile that I meant to be wry. Of course, it's difficult to articulate emotions that I can't feel, but I find that irony is relatively simple to demonstrate. I inhaled the toxic vapors of the cigarette casually. Its sinister, black cancer couldn't cripple a seventeen-year-old boy with no lungs, let alone a heart.

I glanced in the direction of the horizon, and flinched. The sun was dying flamboyantly, casting its radiant colors across the sky. Its last waves of light caressed my cold, pale skin. I wanted to snarl rebelliously as I felt its warmth slide against me deviously.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

My muscles went rigid, and I had to focus madly on controlling my shaking hands. I would know that voice, that beautiful, disastrous voice, in the realms beyond that of Earth. I grated my teeth, reeling in the disturbing sensations that she unknowingly always aroused in me.

I cocked my body towards her arrogantly, and lifted my mouth into a crooked crescent moon. I felt my eyes flashing, but I worked vehemently to fixate an arctic, hard tone into the dark of my indigo irises.

“I find the sunset lifeless and meaningless, actually,” I countered flatly, and a beat too late.

She laughed merrily, and I struggled within myself as my mind and body became entranced by the beautiful movement of her laughter as the colors of the sun played about her.

“You amuse me, Darian. How can you have such a pessimistic view of the world? The sun will not be lifeless until it disappears beneath the horizon, and the night falls. It’ll rise tomorrow, though,” she said.

I dared not think of her name. I hated the way my soul-if I had a soul-thrilled when her voice lingered over my name. It reminded me of music. I had to close my mind defiantly as I thought of music. I wanted nothing that resembled passion.

“That’s an inane notion that foolish women entertain. You want poetry, and ridiculous vows of forever. You aren’t difficult to read. If you want that sunset to mean something, then you want unrequited love. It doesn’t work like that,” I growled unmercifully, angry at her for unleashing the flood of feelings upon me.

DEMON said...
on Dec. 23 2009 at 4:23 pm
"RAZED EXPECTATIONS" continues...

Her lovely green eyes shifted into hard emeralds.

“What do you know about me, Dare? And what’s so wrong with having dreams? And why are you talking to me like that? I was simply commenting on the sunset.” She tossed her red curls, clearly miffed.

I lifted my chin, and blew smoke in her face. It was easier on me when she was angry. I don’t know why she bothered with me. Why she was brave enough to confront me. Why she didn’t follow the laws of the superficial high school we both attended. Why she didn’t stay away from me, like everyone else.

“You’ll die from that smoking, Darian.” She glared at me. We’d had this argument a lot. I lifted my eyebrows, and turned away from her, signaling that the conversation was over.

She didn’t obey, and I sighed.

“You know, Dare, you could let yourself feel. You could understand it.” Her voice was soft, a whisper in the darkening air. She was air. My air.

I reviled the potency of the emotions I could feel pulsing through me. I ran a hand through my black hair nervously, my body skidding with strange, unfamiliar energy. I didn’t want to answer her. Why didn’t she leave?

I made a fatal mistake when I looked at her. Every nerve inside of me screamed, as though my body and internal organs were recharging hurriedly in the rare moment of my awakening.

I think I felt my heart beat hesitantly.

My voice seemed like that of a stranger. It had a rich, deep tone to it. It had color.

“Understand what?”

Something in my expression changed the way she was looking at me. It may have mirrored the arrangement of my own features. She became vulnerable in that instant.

“Kiss me.” She whispered brokenly.

Surprise jolted keenly through me. God, I wished I was numb again. Everything felt electric-too intense and too vivid. Emotions scattered across my being, a mutinous invasion of the raging war against myself. I was defenseless and an easy prey to her request. I breathed jaggedly, and there was a husky vibe to it. Want. I recognized it more clearly as it bloomed vibrantly through me.

And she was waiting. For me.

I destroyed the walls I had so warily built as I leaned towards her. She lifted a creamy hand and laid it tenderly against my cheek, the expectation making her bold. I moaned, and closed my eyes. My own hands loosened, and reached for her face greedily

Something hot-burning-ignited against my skin. I wrenched myself away, dazed by the unpleasant sensation. Had a spark traveled through our bodies? That’s when I noticed the cigarette kindling like a faint ember beside my marred hand. It had burnt me. The throbbing pain brought a wave of consciousness through me. Reality. And I stared at her face, inches from mine, and something clicked inside of me. Gears that began humming smoothly, like a tuned clock. I pulled back, and tossed her hand away like it stung. I grimaced as the vitals within me slowly resumed their state of nothingness, and shook my head to clear it of its nonsensical ideas.

She watched the change take possession of me, and tears began to collect in her eyes.

I found that I could care less.

I grinned at her, and mocked, “I taste of cigarettes, Clara.”

She got up shockingly to her feet, and backed away as if understanding for the first time what I was. Tears stained her nondescript face.

I smiled, that careful replication of a smile, and said acidly, “Did I humor your silly fantasies well?”

Her face crumpled entirely, and she pivoted away and ran sobbing from my scathing ridicule.

The sun died, and all was dark.

on Dec. 23 2009 at 4:06 pm
Mandiella DIAMOND, Plaistow, New Hampshire
73 articles 58 photos 349 comments

Favorite Quote:
Don't waste time. Start procrastinating now.

This is really good. I love how you captured the feeling of being lonely in a new place. You used great similes and metaphors. This reminds me of a story I wrote before about a girl who moves from Paris to Switzerland. I agree with izz123 that the ending does not seem like an ending, but overall you did a great job.

izz123 GOLD said...
on Dec. 19 2009 at 7:50 am
izz123 GOLD, Gaithersburg, Maryland
13 articles 5 photos 24 comments
I really enjoyed your description of finishing a book as well. It was the best part in the whole piece, in my opinion. The rest was really good too, of course. But your ending doesn't really sound like an end. Is there more to this story?

Kaboomm BRONZE said...
on Dec. 17 2009 at 12:38 am
Kaboomm BRONZE, Scottsdale, Arizona
2 articles 0 photos 2 comments
I really liked this story! Your descriptions are great; I esp. liked "..resurface from the real world, feeling groggy, images and words from the book swirling...", that is exactly how I feel when I finish a book. I thought there might have been too many cliche metaphors, but your imagery made up for that (like about the mountains and lake out the window and how Sophie had to paint it). Thanks for posting this, I enjoyed it. Please continue!


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