Writing Midnight Eyes [M for language?]

[Claire]

[FONT=Arial](Here I am again with yet another unfinished story from my vampire "series." This one is how this whole business began, so it's not a short story. I'm trying very hard to get this one written, unlike some of my previous endeavors. The style of writing I'm doing is really refreshing and I've been able to contribute to it almost every day since I started it. So, without further ado, here it is...)

[B][CENTER]MIDNIGHT EYES[/CENTER][/B]

It?s almost four o? clock and I haven?t moved a muscle.

My bed, however lumpy and sharp, forces me to stay tucked into its cheap white sheets. I don?t feel like arguing with it - I?d lose, anyway. Outside the grey sky shoots massive drops of rain at my window as if it?s attempting a drive-by.

Silly sky.
The stereo finds a new track to play, one with a haunting bell intro and a techno beat. The alarm clock on my nightstand flashes a red 3:59. I really should get out of bed. Maybe after this song ends.

I sing along in a whisper, covering my eyes with my arm. Then a fast drum pattern signals a new song, and my clock switches to 4:02.

I?m not moving.

The doorknob clicks and turns, and Lydia steps into the room. She?s singing along with the stereo.

When she enters the bedroom, she asks ?Have you been there all day??

?Have I?? I say.

The next song starts at 4:05. I have been in bed all day.

?Are you alright?? she wants to know.

Thunder rumbles ominously. ?Yeah. I?m just bored out of my skull.?

?No wonder,? she laughs, heading into the kitchen. ?You?ve been in bed all day.?

That seems like a good reason.

She comes back in the room with a bottle of chocolate soy milk. ?I finally have enough money to get my lip pierced,? she announces.

?That?s allowing for rent and food money, right?? I yawn. Lightning flashes as if the sky is trying to take pictures of its handiwork.

?Of course.? She glances out the window, singing softly.

4:09. Just five more minutes.

?Do you have to work tonight?? she asks.

I?d be late if I did. She imitates the guitar solo with her voice. ?Since when do you speak guitar?? I ask.

?Since I?ve been living with you so long.? More thunder. ?Hey, you want to come to rehearsal tonight??

?I don?t know. I?m really tired.?

?Oh, well, maybe you should rest. Isn?t your last day of school ever, like, next week??

It is, but I?ve been resting all day.

?Maybe I?m dying,? I muse.

?No. You?ve been dead.? she laughs. ?So you don?t want to go??

?I guess not. I?d probably just get in the way.?

She taps the now empty milk bottle on the wall to the beat of the music as she walks to the kitchen. ?No you won?t.?

Lightning and thunder fire off in unison. I can hardly hear the stereo over the rain.

?Our show?s tomorrow, though,? she calls from the hallway. ?You?re coming to that, right??

Of course I will.

?Okay, kid, I gotta go.? She peeks at herself in the bathroom mirror, then hurries out the front door.

The clock blinks 4:15. I?m considering waking up.

There?s another burst of thunder, and everything stops. I can hear the electronic devices in the apartment losing their power. The clock regresses to midnight. Morrissey in the stereo is cut off mid-stanza.

So much for the light that never goes out.

The stillness of the room is disconcerting. I need to hear something electric buzzing.

I finally push myself out of the creaky bed at 12:02. Out the window is nothing but white air. My heart aches a little at the storm?s fury.

I walk into the living room, stiff from my day in bed, and stretch my legs. I?m still wearing my navy pajama shorts. After an ear-stinging yawn I grab the laptop off the coffee table and sit cross-legged on the sofa.

The computer loads quickly, but the backlight is dim so to conserve the battery. The kitchen is eerily dark for the lack of windows and I have to look away. I?m way too paranoid.

Instant messenger loads right away. No one is online. All my friends are at work or rehearsal or are without power or in New Jersey. All my friends have lives.

The apartment groans in the wind and I whimper subconsciously. There?s a horrible shadow growing in the kitchen.

And just when I fear the worst, someone signs on. The someone I want to talk to more than anyone.

?Michael Myers is in my kitchen,? I type. It?s a bad idea to have thought that. I glance anxiously at the grotesque shadow. It?s only the coffeemaker.

Her bright pink font brightens up my mood. ?Beat him up!? she says.

I make a laughing face with some letters and she smiles. At least an equal sign and bracket do.

?How about you come here and kill him?? I say.

Charlotte laughs--her voice is small, pink, and times new roman.

A chorus of thunder crescendos suddenly, but I don?t feel very nervous anymore. Even all the way from New Jersey Charlotte puts me in a good mood.

?Amelia!? she says multiple times. ?Guess what!?

My own indigo text yells excitedly. ?You love me?!?

She probably sighs. ?Duh, but it?s something else. Guess what!?

I have no idea.

?I?m going to? she starts. The next line says ?go to...?

?YOUR GRADUATION!?

In all caps. My heart stops and I nearly fly off the couch in excitement.

?Seriously?!? I?m holding down the shift button, but I can hardly type. ?Please don?t be joking. Seriously? I am way too happy about that idea.?

?I?m not joking! I?m really going to be there!?

I think I want to cry. Or fly around the room. Or dive into the computer and come out through her screen and throw a party.

Charlotte and I have never met, but I?ve considered her one of my best friends for a long time. The thought of her being more than pink text and a computerized ringing sound makes my stomach somersault.

I release the keys and send a message, and a hysterically happy face with a thousand smiling bracket mouths appear in the IM box. I can?t think of anything else to say.

?You know, I was going to keep it a secret but I just couldn?t do it,? she laughs.

Thunder rumbles again, making the building tremble.

[CENTER]---[/CENTER]

We talk forever. I tell her that she?s welcome to stay in my apartment while she?s here. Tonight she?s tired early for some reason and decides to go to bed. I don?t think I can sleep.

But I?m worried because the power?s still out and Lydia isn?t home yet.

I light candles all around the apartment and sit on the sofa, staring at the laptop screen. The storm has died down a bit but it?s still raining. With no one to talk to I can?t help but glance around the room anxiously.

The door opens and scares the hell out of me. Lydia runs inside, smiling from ear to ear. Behind her is someone I recognize from her band.

?Amelia!? she screams, tackling me. ?You?ll never guess what happened!?

I won?t. I can?t breathe because she?s crushing me.

Her band friend, Geoff, opens the refrigerator and steals three bottles of chocolate soy milk. ?This is the best night of my life,? he shouts.

?What happened?? I want to know. Geoff appears in front of me, his cherry red hair hiding his eyes.

?Okay, we were just rehearsing, right?? Lydia begins, grabbing a milk bottle.

?We practiced some of our own songs first, but then we played ?Vampire Cocktail? by Riffraff,? Geoff says.

?Guess who knocked on our door just then,? Lydia holds me by my shoulders and squeezes tight.

?Just guess!? Geoff is almost rocking back and forth enthusiastically.

I have absolutely no idea. Lydia screams and shakes me. ?Sally Fucking Moloko! Riffraff?s tour manager!?

?Really?? I gasp.

?She said she recognized the song and wanted to hear us play something of our own.? Geoff stands up and starts pacing, chugging his soy milk.

?So we played something and she liked it. Then she called Riffraff and they came to our rehearsal space!? Lydia bounces, still sitting on my legs.

?Riffraff was at my fucking house!? Geoff exclaims. He doesn?t believe it, so I don?t know if I do.

?We played for them and they loved us. You should?ve been there.? Lydia shakes me again.

I probably should have. The excitement is rushing through my head and making my brain hurt.

?That?s not the best part though,? Geoff says. His voice is shaking. ?Oh my fucking god.?

?Guess who is going to open up for Riffraff on tour!? Lydia screams. My jaw drops in amazement.

?No way.?

?Seriously!?

Lydia and Geoff burst into the air and embrace each other, laughing like maniacs. I stand up, smiling. ?That?s awesome! I?m so glad for you guys, it?s like you have a career now!?

?I know, and we have to be out of here by tomorrow night.? Geoff throws his empty milk bottle at the ceiling. That idea is a little nerve wracking.

?So you guys are leaving right away?? I ask, trying not to let my smile fade.

?We have to. Riffraff has to be in Chicago, like, tomorrow.? Lydia dashes into the bedroom and throws open the closet. My heart sinks.

?That?s really short notice.? I can?t help but frown now.

?It?s okay,? she says, tossing all her clothes into a suitcase. ?The rent for this month is taken care of, and I?ll leave you some extra money.?

I doubt she?d leave enough to keep me in this apartment for very long.

A light bulb seems to go off over her head. ?Or you can come with us! You could be our guitar tech.?

I definitely can?t. ?I graduate next week. My friend Charlotte is coming from New Jersey to visit. I have to stay here.?

Lydia sighs and hugs me quickly, then goes back to packing up. ?I promise I?ll call every day, alright? I?ll send you some money every time we get paid, too. Maybe you can find a new roommate to help pay the bills? Or maybe you could go live with Charlotte when school is over.?

That?s not a bad idea. I grin at the thought.

Geoff is standing in the doorway, bouncing his knees. ?We have to go pack up our stuff, hurry up.?

Lydia tries to turn on the closet light to see better, but the electricity is still shut down. ?What the--the power?s out??

No, I just like sitting in the dark by myself.

?You?re not even going to spend one more night here?? I ask.

?I don?t think I can. It?s going to take a while to get our shit together. I?m probably going to have to spend the night at Geoff?s,? Lydia says, zipping her suitcase.

The impending night alone scares me more than anything. I?m probably still afraid of the dark.

Geoff reaches for Lydia?s suitcase and takes it for her. She turns to me and gives me one last humongous hug. ?Sorry, Amelia. I?ll try to stop by tomorrow morning before we have to leave but I might not be able to.?

?It?s alright,? I insist, refusing to let go. ?We?ll talk on the phone.?

She smiles, then looks at Geoff. His mouth is almost stretching off his face. ?Alright, let?s go!?

?Bye, Amelia!? she shouts as they run out the front door. It slams shut behind them.

?Bye.? I whisper, then collapse on the bed dejectedly.

[CENTER]---[/CENTER]

?Did you hear that??

Rain pummels the windows, hitting so had it sounds like they could shatter. My seventh period English classroom is full of people, so I don?t feel very nervous. I?m too amused to care, anyway.

Amy glances at me with curious eyes. ?What??

I grip the edges of my desk and grin psychotically, then look at Ms. Diavolo. She?s clipping papers into a gigantic binder, and one of her arms is wrapped with brown gauze.

?What happened to your arm?? a passing student asks. My face hurts from smiling so widely.

?I got bit by something,? Ms. D. says. ?I don?t know what.?

My head snaps back to Amy, who is watching the teacher absentmindedly. My eyes are so maniacal that Amy almost shrieks when she notices me staring at her.

I begin to call to her but the bell rings.

Lots of students flock to their desks and continue whispering to each other. I pull my book from my bag and try to focus on the story until class starts, but it takes all my will power to keep from laughing.

Ten minutes pass and Ms. D. tells us to read for the rest of the period. She doesn?t have any work for us to do since we graduate at the end of the week. But she knows better than to let us have forty minutes of free time. After all, seniors think they own the world and are liable to throw a spur of the moment party.

Those forty minutes go by slowly as I?m aching to talk to Amy. It doesn?t help that my book is about a cult of crazy people who believe they?re vampires--I have an irrepressible urge to giggle like mad.

When the dismissal bell finally rings I throw the book into my bag and hurriedly zip it up. Amy rushes out of the room in an attempt to escape me. The other students cram through the door, laughing and bursting with last-week-of-school adrenaline. Soon I?m alone with Ms. D., and there?s no telling what could happen.

She quietly marks in her grade book as I slowly head towards the door. The corners of my mouth are pushing up on their own.

?I went to the Spring Fever show last night,? she says as I reach for the door handle. ?I was surprised Lydia?s band didn?t play. Did something happen??

Ms. D. is very involved in the local music scene, which sets her apart from every other teacher I?ve had and fills me with pride. I turn around to answer, and she?s still writing in her binder.

?Yeah, something happened,? I say. ?They got invited to open for Riffraff on tour and had to leave right away.?

She finally looks up, surprised. ?Wow, that?s amazing.?

?Tell me about it.? I set my bag down on a desk. ?Lydia called at two AM this morning to regale me with stories of their first show in a venue that packed.?

The door creaks open and Amy pokes her head in. ?Are you coming?? she asks.

?Yeah,? I reply, then glance at Ms. D. ?See you tomorrow.?

?Bye you two.? She returns her attention to her grade book.

In the hallway Amy keeps her voice in a whisper. ?What was so funny earlier??

I burst out laughing and she stares at me incredulously. We walk outside and it?s still pouring buckets of rain.

?Didn?t you hear what she said?? I manage through my laughter. She doesn?t seem to understand. ?Something bit her. Her arm is wrapped in a bandage.?

Amy rolls her eyes but starts laughing with me. ?Oh my god, Amelia.?

We hurry under the shelter and enter another hallway. An ominous streak of lightning lights up the sky as we get inside.

?This is just more evidence,? I say. ?Ms. D. is a vampire!?

?Seriously,? Amy pauses at a locker and twists open the lock. ?Remember when she told us she was a hundred and five??

?Duh. But I think she wasn?t telling the truth.?

Amy?s face calls me Captain Obvious. I smile as she finishes stuffing books in her locker. ?She?s the queen of the damned. She has to be more than a hundred and five.?

Giggling, we run out of the hallway and towards the student parking lot. I duck my head so as to ward off any stray bolts of lightning. Amy is so small she doesn?t have to think about that kind of thing. I grab my keys out of my pocket as we approach my beaten-up old car, unlocking it in a rush to get out of the violent weather.

[CENTER]---[/CENTER]

Okay, a couple of little footnotes so to speak.
1) Amelia (the narrator) is the same Amelia as in my first story, Zero.
2) Every character (except Geoff) has a real life counterpart; like the english teacher is based on my current english teacher. Her part of the story is based on something that really happened, too. =P
3) Amy's name is subject to change since I've used every female name that I like at this point. Her real life counterpart is going to help me pick a final name sometime soon.
4) This is my first time writing in present tense, so please excuse any slipups in continuity and stuff. It's reminiscent of Chuck Palahniuk (which makes sense; I'm reading a book of his at the moment) and at times I thought it sounded a little like Joseph Heller's Catch-22 (which isn't really what I'm going for :/). Maybe I'm just delusional. =P

So, yeah. To be continued (fingers crossed). :][/FONT]

[Doublehex]

Well, I never am the best at critiquing, but I will do my best. First off, I have to say after the dozen or so fan fictions I have read, I love first person narration when it is done right. It has a certain flare that is just so much more alien, foreign, and marvelous than third person.

Of course, that applies only when it is done right. And yes, you got it right. It was mostly the little things, like

[QUOTE]Charlotte laughs--her voice is small, pink, and times new roman.[/QUOTE]

Just make me laugh. Its cute things like that that makes this a good story. However, it does seem to drag at the end, the classroom scene. It really wasn't that interesting. Now, you said it was still being worked on, so I'll just let that fly.

Good luck, fellow writer wannabe!

~Matt

[Silent_sword909]

I will say one word describing your writing here: AWESOME. As my 'good friend' Matt said, it IS the cute little quirks that make a writing stand out. And if this is really your first time in writing first person, honestly, you could have fooled me! I like it, I really do, you use plenty of detail in your descriptions, and it flows nicely. Excellent, and may I ask where you have your other stories, if they are on view? I'd love to read them. :D

[Claire]

[FONT=Arial]My two short stories are both on OB; [U][thread=56337]Valentines for Vampires[/thread][/U] (my favorite of all of them) and [U][thread=56294]Zero[/thread][/U] (which is narrated by Amelia). The unfinished stories are [U][thread=56530]Skin I Can't See Through[/thread][/U] and [U][thread=56656]Cinematic[/thread][/U].

Midnight Eyes isn't my premiere first person story--all but one of the above stories are in first person. I've never written in present tense before, but I think I might continue doing so.

Here's what I have of the continued story. I actually have much more than this written but I'm struggling to tie it all together.

---

?You see that guy over there??

Christina points to the corner of the coffeehouse, peering through the glass, half-empty pastry cabinet. I lean over the counter to look with her.

Sitting all alone is a deathly pale man with a white laptop computer and tiny styrofoam coffee cup. He looks as if he?s been stretched out by a torture rack, so much that he has too much height and almost no body. His hair is like a subdued lion?s mane, and his jaw looks like its clenching something that doesn?t quite fit in his mouth.

I don?t take my eyes off him. ?Yeah, what about him??

?He comes in here every night and orders the cheapest thing on the menu, pays in quarters, hides himself in a corner, and never even drinks it,? Christina says.

The usual thought crosses my mind, but I only shrug. ?Maybe he needs the free internet.?

Or maybe he?s a vampire. But Christina isn?t into my kind of morbid humor.

?Well, it?s a waste of resources,? she scoffs. ?The internet may be unlimited but coffee beans are not.?

?So go talk to him,? I suggest.

She glances nervously in his direction. ?No.?

The guy turns his head our way and we quickly pop back into our stations. With the never-ending rain deterring any customers it?s impossible to look innocently busy. I look towards him through the pastry cabinet, but return to my cash register anxiously.

He?s watching us.

?He looks famous,? she says, her voice barely audible. ?Not really anyone recognizable, but maybe some kind of rock star.?

?Maybe he?s in some underground indie band,? I say.

Another glance toward him and he?s finally focusing on his computer. He grasps the coffee cup and lifts it to his lips. I nudge Christina and she stares, surprised. The guy tips his head back and swallows, then sets the cup down. His face is wearing a smile both sour and smug.

?Well,? I say, resigning to my register, ?problem solved.?

She looks slightly worried, leaning against the counter. ?Do you think he heard us??

?No,? I grin.

He?d have to be a vampire to have hearing that keen. But Christina isn?t into my kind of morbid humor.
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