November 10, 2010
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It rains. Course and smooth. Chilled and rhythmic Yet still. Still. But it falls upon a darkened earth like an abyss at the depths of a deep, deep, ocean. Although, the earth is not entirely dark. It is only night with a moon of maroon that plays its game of hide-and-seek in the clouds and waits for the darkness to chase it out of the base.

Though, in the midst of the eclipsing shadow there is a gleam, a speck in the distance, in which the intensity of its light grows as the steps become increasingly close to the massive doors with the most peculiar lion knockers who's eyes gleam the same texture as the moon. But upon further inspection the door is only a brown burn upon the shinning gold of the heads and the gleaming, menacing glare of the lions perched welcomingly on the doors.

But in that darkest patch of night there is but a whisper. A quiet whisper barely audible to even the specks of dust cluttered in the grasses and the breeze and the chamber in which the whisper creeps through the very cracks of silence, or even silent thought. In that whisper there is nothing but silence. Silence but an all together knowing that something, someone, is there; lurking. Lurking. Whispering into the very fiber of the being that creeps down into the cellar and digs though the tools in which he may use as a torture. This shadow of a whisper spreads upon the night like a creature. A creature only seen by itself in the mirror in which it is seen into itself.

And in the silence of its chambers it sits in the darkness with only the lightning flashing into the room like a search light, and the candle. That single source of light that is given so that we may at least glimpse its face. A very stern, yet pleasingly beautiful face it, she, possesses. Eyes of glimmering seas and hair the same tenacious color as the moon. Stunningly petite in stature, yet with a condensed sort of sporting to her figure. Sort of in between an hour glass shape and a straight log. But in all her likeness there is an aura about her. It possesses such majesty and a hint of unnerved thought that it seems to crush anyone that gets close, to close. This hardened feeling, simply put, surrounds her. Envelops her. Becomes her. And it is this defining feature that makes it seem impossible for this person, this shadow in the dead of night, to become something less than what she is and what she is capable of. Something none of the people around her can begin to understand or even infer as to why she has chosen to do such a degrading task for anyone in her ranks. For anyone in this Mafia that she has run for nearly her entire life.


There is only one place that Raven knows. Only one place that she has spent the most time and has lived for the most time. And that place is Queen Creek.

She spent the past five years at Copper Basin k-8 and now she is beginning high school at Poston Butte. So far, though, there is nothing that seems to peek her interest. No clubs, no sports, no classes. Nothing. Although, she is in the schools Orchestra and has a knack for visiting the library more than any student in the schools 3 year history. But Raven is unlike any student, or any person, for that matter. She is different than most, and wouldn't mind being mistaken for something other than what she is.

Raven Alexander. That is her name. A true Raven in the flesh. All black and white attire, shimmering raven hair, and the most stunning blue eyes that seem to illuminate any place they befit to stare upon. But one of the main peculiarities about Raven is that she, unlike anyone else in the scorching state of Arizona, wears a trench coat. She wears it in the dead of summer, the fall, the cooler months of winter, and the humid months of spring. Everywhere she goes, it is there, whether she is actually wearing it or not, it is there.

But, another peculiar fact about Raven, is that she, among the masses, has no knack for social gathering what so ever. She seems to have no interest in the game of socializing to begin with, and when presented with it, she nearly shuts down completely. Like a battery in a tub of water.

On the other hand, due to the fact that Raven has no social skills to her name, she has gained an ability almost everyone lacks. The ability to perceive. It does sound odd, yes, but she has this uncanny ability to see straight through a person like glass. And she can automatically see what a person is thinking and what it is that they feel and who they truly are.

Although, maybe it is fate that she gained this ability. It helps to maintain her sense of being and what she stands for. To guide her through he days of solitude and lacking. But also, it helps her identify the key point in people. But there is one person. One person who she cannot see at all. A teacher, to be exact. And to her, teachers are the easiest targets, due to the fact that they tend to drone over their credentials and key points of their personal lives. Pretty mundane to say the least, but it is entertaining none the less.

But this teacher. This one teacher who refuses beyond belief to explain more than simple facts about herself, is someone she cannot perceive. And it does more than annoy her, it brings out her true curiosity.


The mafia leaders can do no more than guess. They attempt to disown her, but there is nothing they can do, for it is her father who the “Godfather” of the organization. But it is her father that made her take the job at Poston Butte. Who made her teach ungrateful, spoiled brats about something none of them will use in their lifetimes. It was her father who made her become Mrs. Nuessle the science teacher.

“My dear Evangelina.” He greeted her. “I have a job for you.” Sitting at is condensed, completely shadowed desk, curiously placed in front of a blinded window, he stared quizzically at his daughter with eyes of white sulfur. “As you know,” he began, “your father is getting old and it wont be long before I retire and leave my life in your hands. But, I cannot go until I have for filled a purpose far greater than I could have ever created in the days of my youth.” He snatched a cane from behind the desk and forced himself out of the chair with a deep shake. The man on the side of him attempted to assist him, but he pushed him away and limped across the room and stood in front of his daughter and smiled his old man smile. The wrinkles on his face became less profound and his white, thinning hair seemed to change back into its once deep black and even his white, blinded eyes seemed to radiate with life once again.

She took his hands in hers and helped her father into the chair next to her. “I know papa.” She said, smiling and trying to lessen the thickness of the English accent that made its way into her once Russian ruled voice.

“My dear, daughter, I need you to do something for me. I need you to find someone. She is living in Arizona and has just begun high school. But she is the key to the door. She is the one who will clear the path for us. I need you to find her. And bring her here at all cost, so your father can finally for fill his initiative..”

“But who is she papa?”

“Her name is Raven Alexander.”


In the school, not many people could discern Raven, for she was that one person who possesses much talent but only does so much with it. She has skills in art, music, literature, and sports, but she has no initiative to do such things for the others of the student body. No teachers give her strive and no friends give her inspiration. She is only of herself and for herself.

Until yesterday.

Raven, with her annoyance toward the science teacher for not knowing anything, or even being able to perceive anything about her, decided upon investigation. She knew there was something that this mysterious teacher was hiding, she could feel it in the pit of her stomach. So, with the help of some very talented friends, she set out on an investigation of the teacher.

What she already knew though, is that, although this teacher was stern looking, she had somewhat of a hippie persona that made her voice less accented and more tiny and obscure. She does say the most peculiar things though. It makes most of the kids talk about her audacity and abnormality as a teacher, and it gives them the initiative to misbehave. It makes them laugh at her attempts to shut the class up.

But when it comes to the deeper things, the things that most teachers end up telling students only once at the beginning of the year, that is unknown. She seems as though she may be Italian or Russian, due to the cleverly hidden accent she carries and by the looks of her. She may be someone of high importance in a gang or organization due to the fact that she always seems to be messaging secretly in the back of the room as we work our minds out. And she may be some type of hippie, or drug user, due to her easy going persona.

And as they scoped out her home, only minutes away from the school, they realized something they hadn't seen before. That this Victorian style, large windowed, completely illuminating house, wasn't the home of an average school teacher. It meant to them that there had to be something more than that on the inside, something that no other person in this small town could posses of even know about. Something so wild and crazy for any teacher that it almost blew the brains of the people that thought it, and knew it in the first place.

Footsteps. Before anyone could even begin to process the discovery, they sounds of rustling and footsteps emerged from the bushes surrounding them. They began slow and then became quicker, and louder and closer. The kids began to scramble in circles and only some made it out before the dark, shadowed figure emerged and everything went black.

The aroma of perfume covered the room in a scent of ocean breeze and carnations. Strawberries maybe. But soon the darkness had turned into light and three of the people from the bushes were strapped to hardwood chairs in the center of the room, while the other was tied and placed on a large black sofa.

The room was covered in extravagant paintings of 18th century dances and people. Kings and queens and even a picture of a forest, that seemed to be eclipsing upon itself. There were candles strewn in every free area and even the chandeliers, which were entirely glass were illuminated only by candle light. And everywhere there was space, there was light, except for a small corner in which there was nothing but the darkened figure of a person, a very small person to say the least, but a person none the less.

The three strapped to the chairs began to writhe in pain as the ropes seemed to thicken on their skin entirely of their own desire. And even as the figure sauntered graciously across the room like a ghost and landed at their feet like a spider, the ropes only increased their tightening until she cut them off and instructed one of the taller, much bigger, shadows to take them away. Leaving only Raven, and it.

And as it took its perch at the reclining chair placed in front of Raven, there was something that caught her eye. Maybe it was something about the look of her , or maybe it was something wrong with the sofa, but it slowly pushed the hood away from its face and there she stood. The teacher. The mysterious science teacher.

Her eyes brightened the room much more entirely and her hair gave it a trapt feeling. Even her pale skin seemed to darken the room to the space between them. That single arms stretch away.

And in the midst of the darkness, this 'teacher' watched the girl on the sofa quizzically. Wondering. Maybe even waiting for something. And that is when the doors burst open and in came a man of such age it made even Raven startled. But there he stood. Father time.

He limped as fast as he could go across the room and took the seat on the sofa that sat in by the teacher, and he panted and watched me with such exuberance it made me cringe uncomfortably.

“Is this really her?” He asked with a hoarse, Russian accented voice.

“Yes, it is, sir.” States one of the large men enshrouded in black.

“This is just amazing!” He nearly jumped out of the chair with excitement. “How did you find her so fast Evangelina?” He stared at the teacher with the same unnerving excitement and waited patiently for her reply.

“She found us.” She stated, unsure.

“Really? Did you tell her something? Or did you just know she would come?” He seemed truly enthralled by the situation, and even this 'Evangelina' seemed to notice, and smiled.

“I told her nothing. And I knew she had suspicions about me, but I never knew that she would come for me to seek the answers she seeks.”

Raven couldn't help but ask. “Who are you people? What do you know about me?”

Suddenly, everything stopped. The low humming of the shadowed man. The ecstasy planted on the old mans face, and the quizzing expression on Evangelina. The old man stood and limped over to one of the windows. Staring at the clouds forming in the sky and the lighting way off in the distance, in the deep darkness of the night.

“We are of the Russian mafia, and you are my daughter.”

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