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Post by Invisible on Apr 29, 2010 16:01:43 GMT -5
This is the first part of my newest masterpiece, [English translation] Day in the Life of Olaf. I will post more parts when this one has gotten reviews.
My story, I guess you can say, begins in my mother’s womb where I had made a very comfortable home for nine months. I was post-mature by thirteen days, the first son in my family to be so. I was also the first one to be ‘cursed’ with one long eyebrow – a sign of evil in my family. When I did finally arrive on the 29th of December in 1891, the world was given something great; though Mama used to say giving birth to me was like trying to lift the Earth on her shoulders.
As a distant relative of several European royal families, my father held the vast honour of being the count of Stockholm and my mother was his countess. I was their heir, so when Papa expired, I would become count in his place. Oh, how I craved for that day! Even though I was too young to understand the obligations of a count’s duties, I was proud of my heritage and I was proud of where it was headed. That is, until I was two years old when God ‘blessed’ my parents with another son.
Since birth, Livius was weak and sick and spineless. The doctor feared that he was going to die but he pulled through. It was a vague memory when Papa bounced me up and down on his knee outside the hospital room, intently awaiting news. He told me to take care of him and make sure he doesn’t get into trouble. Looking up at his red, fat, hairy, sweaty face, I made no promises. Livius had come into this world and stolen my future title. There was no way I was going to welcome him or love him. For the first year of his life, he was drugged and coddle and did I mention, drugged? But that did not a thing. Just over a year old, Livius passed away – succumbed to the blood disease that plagued my family. His funeral was a dream. Hundreds and hundreds of people from all over Europe arrived to honour his short life. I remember Mama weeping and Papa comforting her in his warm embrace. I remember wearing the biggest grin I’d ever worn. Livius was gone and my title, my parents were mine again at last.
So I grew up an only child. So I grew up a spoilt child. Lavish gifts were bestowed upon me and I was surrounded by hundreds of servants would do anything for me, though my personal servant – my favourite – was an older man named Torgny. He would answer to my every whim and fulfilled any task I set him. He took care of me. He washed me, clothed me, fed me and did all of my chores. He was a good entertainer too. Whenever I was bored, he would juggle, dance, performed puppet shows and magic tricks. The only thing he didn’t do was tutor me. For that, my governess Lili and my live-in Grandma took turns teaching me. As I grew older, I was not stricken with the stress of chores like every other child. I actually had fun. I got my own way, no other way. But my spoilt lifestyle was about to be knocked upside down. I was almost ten when I couldn’t sleep one day, so I sneaked downstairs to get a snack. My parents were talking and since I was such a snoop, I eavesdropped on them.
“ The doctor says we should start thinking about giving up having a baby,” Mama said, heaving a deep sigh. “ I’m not ready for that, Olaf, you know I’m not. I understand that this is my third miscarriage but I feel I have some good eggs left.”
“ Perhaps we should. For a while anyway,” answered Papa, his voice trembling with anxiety.
There was a brief pause. “ What are you hiding?” came Mama’s sly tone of voice. There was another pause but this time, there was a loud rustle of paper. “ America?! Olaf, you’re seriously not thinking…America?” she gasped.
“ I have contacts there. They can help us.”
“ No. N-no! I’m not going to uproot my life and give up everything I’ve worked for.”
“ We need this, Tatiana. It’s not safe anymore. Think about O!”
Mama heaved a sigh after a moment of silence. She never won arguments. “ Suppose it’s a good thing we’ve learnt English.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Me, move to America? Me, leave my home behind? Me, give up my title? At that point, as a naïve child, I believe it to be the worst day of my life. Before they discovered that I was spying on them, I whirled around to run to Grandma’s comfort. She was sitting in her favourite chair in the study that was adjoined to her bedroom. Flicking through a book, she hummed an ancient Polish folk song.
“ Grandma! Grandma!” I cried.
“ What?” she answered in a familiar crackle. “ Is that you, Olaf? What’s the matter?” she questioned.
“ I heard Papa tell Mama that we’re moving. I don’t want to! I like it here with Torgny and Lili. IT’S NOT FAIR!” I roared. I had never been so furious before.
Grandma outstretched her arms with a soft smile on her aged face. “ Come on,” she said. Gingerly, I plopped my butt on her lap and she told me the entire story. “ Your father has been really silly recently. Just downright selfish!”
“ What’s he done?” I asked, clinging to her neck.
She hesitated and watched the door uncertainly. I didn’t understand why she was so reluctant to tell me but now, I do. In the end, she lowered her shrill ramblings into a soft matronly manner. “ Sometimes when grown ups amuse themselves, they have so much fun that they cannot stop. That’s what has happened to Olaf – uh, senior – and he’s in big trouble.”
“ Why?”
“ He is broke, honey. He’s gotten himself broke!”
Bewildered, confused and overwhelmed with words that I did not comprehend, there wasn’t much I could do to respond. I beamed, trying to seem innocent, and rested my head on Grandma’s consoling breast. Hiding a tear, I rubbed my face in her shirt which made her coo. Finally, I asked, “ What does ‘broke’ mean?”
“ Bankrupt. He has no money. The bank doesn’t like him anymore so he went to a friend for help. Godfrey promised to give him money if he kept his end of the bargain. He didn’t. Godfrey is furious and he wants to take everything.”
“ Why?” I asked, becoming quite worried.
The elderly seventy year old lady released a deep sigh of despair. She grinned to mask her sadness. Her wrinkles defined and tiredness glittering in her sapphire eyes, I distinctively remember that she kissed my trademark monobrow and patted me on the back. “ I’ve told you too much. A lovely little boy like yourself shouldn’t get involved in grown up problems. OK? Now run along and play.”
I edged towards the door, feeling unsatisfied with what she had just explained to me. A piece of the puzzle was missing. I knew a large number of Papa’s friends and I had never met a man who went by the name Godfrey. My hand barely touched the door handle when I took one last look at my dearest grandmother. She flapped her arthritic hands sternly and barked at me to exit the room. I obeyed her wishes, I always listened to her, but my brain could not let go of my father’s addiction.
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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Apr 29, 2010 18:13:07 GMT -5
This is incredible so far, and I absolutely love your interpretation of Olaf's childhood. It's always fun to read about characters as children - especially the villains, and to get a firsthand look at the sort of people they were before we knew them. I've never had an answer to the question of him being a real count or not, and I like the way you've answered this. Awesome. Tell me, how do you always manage to come up with such creative, brilliant ideas? If you're anything like me, then I guess the correct term would be "they just pop into your head". ;D Go write the next chapter. NOW. Haha, I joke, of course. But yeah, this is some seriously good writing you've got going on here, and I highly - highly - encourage you to continue on with this story.
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Post by Invisible on Apr 30, 2010 2:53:58 GMT -5
I will get the next part posted ASAP. I'm in college at the moment, ha.
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Post by Invisible on Apr 30, 2010 10:14:32 GMT -5
As time drew closer to our big move across the globe, I noticed that there was something unusually different. I’m not one for change and this was a change that was so mind-bogglingly distressing and frightening. Every day I watched another servant leave the household. My friends. My only friends. Gradually, I was forced to say farewell to Freja, our cook, and Lili. Then the final one to leave was the best one of them all. Torgny, my Costello, my Wright, my Passepoute, my Burton, my best friend and role model. My temper was near to eruption and I cried with devastation. I wrapped my arms around his skinny waist, screaming at him, begging him not to go. After he went, I cried nonstop for weeks and knowing they were the cause of it, I ignored my parents. If I thought that was heartbreaking, what would happen when I had to leave Grandma behind?
“ NO! NO! I’M NOT GOING WITHOUT YOU!"
Mama groaned in annoyance. She checked her watch and panic smacked her in her youngish face. “Olaf, we really need to get going. We’re going to miss the plane.”
“ Miss it then,” came my muffled hoarse mutter from Grandma’s embrace.
Then Papa arrived on the scene. He was not pleased. His bulbous red round cheeks were puffed out in anger and his yellowish-grey moustache ruffled as loud and deep fuming breaths escaped his nostrils. His fat hands on his wide hips, he gave a startling bellow that was loud enough to be heard in Australia. “ OLAF! STOP BEING CHILDISH-”
“ I AM A CHILD!” I roared back at him.
“ SHUT THE HELL UP!”
“ Olaf!” snapped both Mama and her mother in unison.
“ What!?” I barked.
“ Not you! Your father!”
“ HE IS AN UNBELIEVABLY RUDE CHILD! HE IS A SPOILT BRAT!”
Mama folded her arms. “ Darling, you should know that it’s unethical to swear, especially in front of your own son.”
Papa heaved a sigh and subtly nodded his head. He gave an apologetic expression which he rarely wore. “ Well, he should know it’s impolite to speak back to his elders,” he murmured, his voice hoarse from yelling.
After the excitement wore off, Grandma pulled me off her and she knelt down to meet my eye level. “ Listen, darling. Listen. Stop your crying now. It’s going to start me off soon,” she whispered. I sniffed pitifully and wiped my nose on my sleeve. “ I don’t want to be apart from you either, baby. I know it’s a huge space between us but I’ll visit as often as I can, all right?”
“ What about Christmas?” I snivelled.
She laughed. “ It’s all been arranged.”
“ And my birthday?”
“ Of course! How can I not miss my grandbaby’s big day? I will buy you an extra-extra special present.”
We grinned at the same time. I was not an affectionate boy but in this favourite memory, I forgot all about that. We hugged each other tightly and we showered one another with kisses. Before letting go for the last time, she kissed my eyebrow as she so often did in my childhood. I rushed to the taxi without looking back. I was eager to discover the wonders of the American Dream.
At first glance, America was overwhelming and dangerously new. Everything was so noisy and busy. The people were crude and very laid-back, though at the same time, I found it enchanting and invigorating. All my fears and aspirations raced through my mind and I hoped – no, prayed – that kids would accept the nerdy, isolated Swedish weirdo. Yet, there and then, I decided that this was to be my home for the rest of my days and I wanted to be buried here someday.
“ We will be living like normal poor people now,” Mama piped up as we rode to our new home in a taxi. “ No cooks or chefs or maids or Torgny. You do realise that, don’t you?"
I nodded my chestnut head with uncertainty pumping through my veins.
“ Yes, if you misbehave or complain just once you’ll get a smack up the backside. Clear?!” snapped Papa.
“ Crystal,” I sneered.
“ Olaf, I don’t think threatening him is necessary.”
“ He’s got to learn somehow. What is he going to do if he act likes this when he is an adult?”
“ He’s not. He’s Mama’s little angel, aren’t you, doll?”
I scoffed, knowing it wasn’t true.
Half an hour later and we arrived at the house. It wasn’t exactly the sixty-seven roomed mansion we lived in in Sweden but it was ours. Papa slid the key in the keyhole and turned it sharply. Laughing like an evil genius, he pushed it open. In awe, Mama stepped in first. Her mouth gaped open ajar and she gasped. Her searching azure orbs filled with tears. When I trailed behind her, I saw why she wept.
The hall was long and narrow. The brown bare floorboards hadn’t been taken care of by our predecessors. They were loose and nails stuck out. They creaked too. There were paintings on the walls that were collecting dust and several arachnids lived in the corners with their webs. The staircase leading to the upper storey of the house was lopsided and I imagined it falling and crashing through the floor. As Papa continued the tour, I soon found out that the entire place was dilapidated. The carpets in the living area had been soiled and stained. The windows were caked in grime and some panes were missing. The furniture was ancient, musty and ugly – impossible to use. The kitchen was nightmarish. Mama shrieked like a banshee when she spotted a mousetrap with a tiny rotting body in it. The refrigerator door hung off and the food left inside had expired, which stunk. It smelt like Uncle Evgenii’s house. The stove, to Mama’s horror, had been left on and it was awfully dirty and stinky. I dreaded to think what my bedroom looked like.
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Post by Hermes on Apr 30, 2010 14:16:03 GMT -5
This is really interesting. I look forward to seeing more.
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Post by Invisible on May 1, 2010 12:52:21 GMT -5
Despite our house being a disappointment, we grew to accept our situation. My parents were too poor to hire people to repair the damages. Papa was more than happy to do the job, even though he had never lifted a finger before. With the wrong tools and other equipment, the windows, the furniture, walls and floorboards began to clumsily come together as a home. Mama, not a cook by nature, took care of the kitchen. She fixed the fridge door and cleaned the place until it dazzled. The shelves were stacked up, full of the necessary food that was to keep three people alive. I, being useless as an appendix, observed all of this happen from afar. Thinking about it as I write, I remember the start to every day. Usually I awoke to the sound of my mama yelling at Papa about some mistake he had made. Then when we sat together at the cramped folding breakfast table, they discussed their plans for the day. They shut me out. They never talked to me. All that mattered to them was their precious, so-called home. I kept thinking, if Grandma were here, she would have stopped them and let me have my say.
While this was occurring, I received a hard cold slap across the face by reality. To begin with, I could barely dress myself without help. Every time I struggled with my shirt or my trousers, I screamed as loud as my throat and lungs would allow. I admit. It was a desperate act to try and summon Torgny from all the way across the world. I kept telling myself that I was being stupid because any idiot could dress themselves. But the fact was I had no clue how to dress. I didn’t understand that you had to pull your trousers up in order to button them properly, or that the long tube-like things on either side of your jacket were where you put your arms. Underneath that tough exterior, I was broken inside, erupting with frustration. All I wished for was someone to help me. Then, out of the blue, arrived one of the most influential people in my entire life; in the form of the neighbourhood’s bad boy.
“ Hey! This is Theodore and Llewellyn and that’s Marina. I’m Simeon,” Simeon cried, popping his jaws as he chewed his gum. Theodore, Llewellyn and the only girl of the group waved and mumbled their reluctant greetings. “ Our moms wanted to bring this cup o’ sugar ‘round.”
“ Oh, thank you very much,” cried Mama, the appreciation shining through in her soft voice. “ Do come in, dears.”
I was watching at the top of the stairs, infuriated that guests were going to see my in my pyjamas. When the gang started to enter the hall, I tried to hide but my mother caught me.
“ Hello, darling. Why don’t you come down and meet the neighbours?” she coaxed.
For a split second, I wanted to go down. Those young people intrigued me. In Sweden, there weren’t many children I socialised with – only Eerikka, the daughter of a duke who befriended my father. Yet these kids would see my nightwear. But, like always, I was going to get my own way. “ No!” I snapped and vanished from sight to my lair.
“ O! O, sweetie!” I heard Mama shout.
I heard no more. In my tiny bedroom, I wished for it be gigantic with my family’s past hanging on the four walls, suffocating me with patriotism. There was an old-fashioned fireplace in my own room, which Torgny lit every evening. Since there was hardly any heating at all, I went to bed shivering. I hated this gosh-awful place. I wanted to go back to Sweden but realised I was needed here. As I continued to have my silent tantrum, the door knob began to turn. To my total surprise, Simeon and his gang entered.
The raven-haired New Yorkite gave me a look which I loathed. I wanted to wipe that smug smirk right off his freckly, square-shaped face. But he spoke before I even had the chance to form a fist. “ Why ain’t you dressed? You know it’s four in the afternoon.”
I squinted my eyes at him. “ Yes, and no one has bothered to clothe me. You may start with my shirt!” I cried in a demanding bark.
Llewellyn clucked his tongue and displayed his disgust by rolling his black, mystic eyes. Theodore wore a horrified expression, mixed with a splash of lust. Marina, beautiful little Marina, looked miserable and sympathetic. Studying their faces, deep inside, I knew it was wrong to order them about but I was so angry and beaten down by homesickness for Torgny.
Simeon scoffed. “ You’re gonna get the bejeebers beaten outta you walking around with that attitude!”
Narrowing my eyes again, I dared not admit that he was correct. “ I don’t care,” I snarled.
“ All right then. Just go around in jammies forever,” the boy muttered, losing eye contact. “ Come on, guys, this loser won’t be needing our help in this neighbourhood.”
“ Wait, stop!” I squealed. These kids had come to befriend me. I was petrified at the thought of missing the opportunity. “ How do you put on trousers, anyway?”
Simeon smiled and approached me. Picking up the pinstripe trousers from the top of the wardrobe, he smiled again. “ Like this.”
Marina is Violet's middle name. Perhaps there's a connection? Hmm...
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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on May 1, 2010 15:18:02 GMT -5
Well, what do you know? I leave for a few hours and when I return, I find not one but two installments waiting for me! Awesome. Part II: Poor little Olaf! I've never had to leave behind any close friends the two times we've moved, but I have known people who've left me behind, and it always hurt. Olaf Sr. really needs to control that temper of his and realize his son isn't spoiled or a brat. It's a shame their house wasn't all it was built up to be, and I don't blame Tatiana for bursting into tears. It sounds a lot like the house I grew up in during the last nine years we lived there, since we couldn't afford to fix it up. Part III: The entire time I was reading about Olaf being unable to dress himself I was thinking of that scene in The Secret Garden (the 1993 version) where Mary was demanding that Martha dress her. Something tells me that Simeon and the other two boys might not be the best influence on Olaf, though I'm looking forward to seeing how he and Marina interact in coming chapters.
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Post by Invisible on May 1, 2010 16:17:51 GMT -5
Part III: The entire time I was reading about Olaf being unable to dress himself I was thinking of that scene in The Secret Garden (the 1993 version) where Mary was demanding that Martha dress her. Something tells me that Simeon and the other two boys might not be the best influence on Olaf, though I'm looking forward to seeing how he and Marina interact in coming chapters. You spotted it! I was actually inspired by that particular scene. I adore that movie
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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on May 1, 2010 16:36:48 GMT -5
It's so cool you based that scene off The Secret Garden! A few years ago for Christmas my best friend sent me the DVD combo with that and The Little Princess, which I also love. The last time I saw The Secret Garden I was thirteen/fourteen, and watched it for the first time since a few weeks ago (which is probably why that scene was so fresh in my mind).
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Post by Hermes on May 1, 2010 16:48:01 GMT -5
Ah, poor Olaf! I wait anxiously to see what happens next.
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Post by Invisible on May 1, 2010 17:06:24 GMT -5
For the next four years, Simeon’s gang and I became inseparable. We went around, strutting down streets, giving perfect strangers dirty looks, just to cool. I hoped we looked intimidating because, unlike Simeon, I was petite and weedy. We loved hanging around dodgy areas, scaring little kids. There once came a time when Simeon blessed with co-leadership. So he, Theodore, Marina and Llewellyn were my bodyguards. When I started school, I was bullied because of my ‘weird’ accent. It lasted for months and I went home in tears everyday but I never told anybody. I was called ‘freak’ and ‘weirdo’ and ‘loser’ and other horrible things about my home country. Even in my late forties, the wounds have not healed from this horrible era. Simeon was bubbling with fury and demanded to know who it was. Riddled with shyness, I decided it was best to explain the situation to the headmistress, Miss. Ritter, but Simeon had different ideas. In the end, I had no choice but to mention Payne Rowling. It was secretly fun to pin him to a wall while my best friend punched and kicked him in the stomach. After our detentions were over, Simeon gave me ‘American lessons,’ to gain a fully-fledge Boston accent. Gradually, a mass of confidence that I never knew I had unleashed itself. Then during my thirteenth birthday party, I had the confidence to ask Marina to be my first girlfriend. We had only been dating for a few months when my parents bombarded me with the worst possible news. “ Your mother and I have decided that you are to move schools,” announced Papa one day in early April. “ You were supposed to start last year but…they wouldn’t let you in,” he explained. “ No! No, you’ve already made me move country. You’re not going to make me change schools too.” Papa gave a dirty look. His thick, overgrown eyebrows furrowed disapprovingly. Knowing his temper, I did not bat an eyelid like Mama always did. He saw my folded arms which meant I was not going to budge. He leant downward, our matching noses touching. “ Now listen to me, boy. I have been sick to the teeth with your attitude ever since you were little. I have worked fatally hard to get you into this damn school and I think it’s time you did something for me for a change. You’re going to that school and that’s final.” A violent shudder washed over me, beating my head senselessly. I could hardly see through the water that was gathering in my eyes! “ You think that’s a threat? Think again because I…am…not leaving my friends…or Marina,” I breathed slowly. “ You…need to go.” “ No.” “ Fine. Go through life without any qualifications you need in this world. Have fun working at The Anxious Clown.” Alas, I did eventually go in the September of the next school year. Papa, still enraged about the quarrel, punished me by bashing two pots together at 5am sharp. Fortunately, Mama was kinder. She made (undercooked) strawberry pancakes, cut into pieces and made to look like a smiley face. After insisting I was too old for such amusing things, Papa was beginning to get anxious and annoyed. He glared at me until I ate the last morsel. Then I was bundled into the back of the family car with a huge trunk. My father at the steering wheel and Mama in charge of navigation, we made the two hour and a half journey to the Mortmain Mountains. Not one idea of where we were headed, I simply gazed out of the misty window and absorbed the snow-topped mountains. It was hard to tell but I thought I could see the bothersome, filthy, disease-ridden snow gnats fluttering about, hoping to find bodies to sting. Suddenly, Papa stopped the car abruptly at the highest peak. He and Mama clambered out and they both laughed in amazement. From inside the automobile, I was pouting and was at the beginning of a full-blown temper tantrum. Though Mama was trying to encourage me to look at the spectacular view, I was adamant not leave the car. “ This be your new home from now on, O,” Papa boomed, his regal voice ricocheting off of the mountains. “ Better get used to it,” he added coldly. Scowling, I climbed out, my trunk in hand. Mama patted me on the shoulder, hoping it was some source of comfort. The gnats danced around us, buzzing furiously. I understood why they were so ticked off. I would have hated people barging into my home unannounced, disturbing my peace. Although I believed I truly meant it, I wished I could bite Papa because of all the things he’d forced me to do. Broken from my trance, he approached me, coiled his fat arm around me and escorted my caged being to a wall of naked rock. He pressed his hand against it with a fox-like smirk. The wall moved backwards and sideward until it disappeared completely to reveal a wooden door. Over the top hung a plaque which read in fancy writing, ‘The World is Quiet Here.’ My jaw dropped in awe. All of this just for a boarding school? Little did I know that this so-called boarding school introduced me to an entirely different world. My father banged on the secret door hard. A tiny compartment slid open and a pair of ice cold azure eyes peeped through. They appeared to be riddled with misery but when they saw me standing beside Papa, they softened and I could decipher a grin smacking the owner in the face. The door swung open and the three of us were welcomed to a world that I never knew existed. Overcrowded with students and tutors, everything was constant. Young and old rushed around swiftly through doors in all directions, making no noise as they went. The only thing that could be heard was the cacophony of squeaking footwear. Watching it happen had a surreal chill to it, like there was something wrong or something to hide. My parents had enrolled me here? It was tremendously hard to believe. My hand in Mama’s, we walked slowly to the desk, our stunned gazes transfixed to the marble floor and to the signs that hung over the countless doors. The two receptionists, presumably named Babs and Shirley – judging from their name plates – smiled sweetly at us as receptionists do. “ Uh, Olaf. Olaf!” Papa firmly repeated. The older secretary, Babs, searched for my name on the list she was holding. Her brow was furrowed in concentration and her reading glasses were beginning to slide down the bridge of her long bumpy nose. Shirley looked over her colleague’s shoulder, pointed to something on the page and whispered something that I could not hear. Unexpectedly, Babs’ eyes widened in fear which she successfully masked with a laugh of joy. “ Hello, we’ve expecting you,” she said, directing her eyes at me. “ I am very sorry. New students are usually met by the headteacher but he is awfully busy today. You have an appointment with him next week. Is that all right?” Before I could get a chance to open my mouth, she continued her extremely brisk speech. “ Good. That’s settled then. Shirley will show you to your room. Room 13. Ah! Good news! You will be sharing it with a charming young man. Mr. Pitacciato.” I gave a small groan in frustration. Olaf certainly doesn’t share any rooms. Papa scowled at me, thinking of how selfish and spoilt I was being. Shirley simpered prettily as she lifted my trunk. As my family and I trailed after her, she droned on and on about how much she loved the school and how much enjoyed her time working there. Thinking back, I suppose she was just trying to make me feel better but I regret to say that I was both very distraught and angry. “ Here we are!” the blonde-haired bimbo chorused as we came across a door marked ‘Room 13’. Dropping the heavy trunk with a bang, she politely rapped on the door. A hairless boy answered. His ghostly face lit up when he spotted the freckle-faced young woman. “ Your roommate has arrived.” The boy’s milky white orbs did a gambol. “ Knew it wouldn’t last forever! Bring ‘er in.” Shirley giggled with a flirtatious hint. “ Oh, you! You know the rules.” “ Boys together and girls together unless there’s been a mix up or an emergency. Got it Shirl’!” The door was pulled wider and the party entered. The boy’s bedroom, our bedroom now, was pretty much the average teenager’s lair. The bed on the far left had been rumpled and messed up while the other one – which was now of my possession – was buried underneath a mountain of dirty underwear. There were posters of various attractive girls plastered all over the wall. Clothes were left discarded on the floor and there was a peculiar aroma that hung in the air. It was heaven. Mama drew a deep breath as the colour drained from her rouge face. Her disgusted eyes darted in all directions. “ This room needs Mama’s touch!” she cried. Standing beside the boy, I was visibly taller though the same age. We both chortled and chuckled in unison. He shot me a glance which I returned in a toothy grin. Shirley, the receptionist, slithered out – presumably to resume her responsibilities. So it was just the boy, Mama, Papa and I. The thin-cheeked roommate simpered politely to my parents, his naked head shining underneath the light. Papa pursed his lips, making his bristly moustache ripple in the process. Like the ‘well-respected’ count that he was, he placed his hands behind his back as he disapprovingly observed the room. Then he directed his gaze to my mother. “ Well,” he began to say,” “ We’d better get going, Tatiana.” Mama gasped. She swung her arms wide open like a gate and clung on to my bony torso. “ No! We haven’t said goodbye yet! He’s my baby, Olaf, my only one!” I watched as Papa rolled his eyes and heaved a sigh. I would have preferred it if he’d leave also. I hoped he would lose his temper but he kept it so unsettlingly calm. “ Fine. Five minutes. Then we’re leaving. Are you clear?!” he snapped, his sharp alice blue eyes aflame with rage. Mama nodded, then turned her attention to her eldest son. It was obvious that she was trying not to cry. She hugged me again and kissed me until I was almost drowning in saliva. I showed my disgust to my new-found friend. “ Remember to behave. Listen to your teachers, do all of your homework, eat your vegetables, clean your room, brush your teeth, wash behind your ears. Uh, remember to write to us, yes? Do you know the address, OK? Oh, I just remembered you forgot to pack your-” “ Mama!” came my impatient whine. “ Yes, let’s go.” Mama nodded once again. “ God bless you.” She kissed my eyebrow. “ I love you.” “ Yeah. You too,” I muttered, not really wanting to be separated from her. So they left. Just like that without another utterance. I faced the boy, almost turning to him for comfort, but he raise his bare eyebrows. His thin lips curled up into a miniscule grin and he averted his eyes as a pathetic attempt to not be seen laughing. “ I’m glad my parents wanted to get rid of me,” he sniggered. “ Anyway,” he said with a straight face. “ I’m Maurice.” He outstretched a sweaty hand which I grabbed to shake. “ Olaf’s the name,” I responded. Maurice’s white face lit up. “ Olaf? The Olaf?! Wow!” he gasped. I nodded, not fully understanding the significance of my name. I had not been at this mysterious school five minutes and I was already being given a tour by a close friend. Just over the next few days, I learnt many great things about Maurice and we even shared our deepest secrets. When I was unsure of the school’s schedule, he stood by me and helped me choose my options: Latin, Drama and Poetry. When he was bored, I was there to blow it away by putting on humorous guises. In a matter of a short week, I considered him my best friend, tough he could never replace Simeon whom I haven’t seen since I went to this school. I was later introduced to Maurice’s other friends. They were a brilliant group of people. There were three identical sisters named Peggy, Sue and Rae. Each of them had blonde hair in ringlets and they all held a vast beauty behind their shimmering sapphire eyes. Their faces were white as snow and even though they insisted that it was natural, it was painfully obvious that it was make up. In the gang, there was also Anthony. Anthony, or Tony as he named his female alter-ego, was the strangest young man I had ever met. Whenever I saw him, he was always dressed as a girl and was convinced that he was really a she. Despite the oddness of it, everyone seemed to accept it. So I became the leader of this gang instead of Simeon’s. Everyone began to fear us as our hormones started to take a hold and rebelled against the adults. It was exhilarating to see my peers cower and quake in my presence. I loved the power it gave me; I was drawn to it. Tony
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Post by Hermes on May 1, 2010 17:42:53 GMT -5
Oh, it's getting exciting! I think I can work out who Olaf's new friends are - I'm now wondering if Simeon's gang may be people we know, as well. And Babs! Shirley I take it is not someone we know, just an inspiration.
But why is Olaf's name already famous? This bit reminds me of Harry Potter - but I don't think the reason can be the same.
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Post by Invisible on May 1, 2010 17:46:18 GMT -5
But why is Olaf's name already famous? This bit reminds me of Harry Potter - but I don't think the reason can be the same. It might not make any sense, but it will be explained later Anyway, since when has ASOUE made any sense?
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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on May 2, 2010 8:52:30 GMT -5
That was great! I'm glad things seem to be working out for Olaf at his new school, and I enjoyed the introductions of all the familiar characters. I'm ninety-nine percent certain I know who Maurice is and, with that being said, the name certainly suits him. I'm looking forward to reading more, as well as learning the secret behind why Olaf's name is so well known.
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Post by Invisible on May 2, 2010 9:14:50 GMT -5
If you remember, the secretaries had booked an appointment for me to be officially welcomed by the yet unseen headmaster. Maurice escorted me to the office but I never saw him in the end. It had forgotten about so being a lazy young man at that point, I didn’t care that much about a new one. But one day, towards the end of the school year, I was about to discover why the headmaster never turned up that day. Bored and exhausted after a day of Latin class, Maurice and I were lying on our beds, staring at the ceiling. It was eerily quiet so I brought up a subject that had been lingering in my mind for months. “ Why don’t you have hair?” Maurice chuckled. “ Everybody asks me that! I wasn’t well when I was little. I had cancer. I lost my hair to the medication.” “ Why?” The conversation was beginning to remind me of a conversation I had with Torgny a decade ago when I became intrigued by his false teeth. Maurice shrugged. “ Dunno. My mom said it was either that or die.” An unpleasant shiver trickled down my spine. An awkward silence followed and I tried to fill it. “ Do you miss it?” “ What, being ill?” “ No-” There was a clatter at the door. A lightning bolt struck Maurice’s limp body as he jerked. He sat up and he beamed. Like a jaguar, he leapt from his bed and dashed to the door. I heard a rustling of papers and Maurice’s hearty cheer. Curious, I went to see what had made my best friend so jolly. The bald-headed wonder was rolling around on the floor, throwing envelopes up in the air and chortling with a hint of madness. The post had come. “ Money, money, money, money. Money! Glorious MONEY!” he cried through his giggles. “ My mom always sends me money! Does your mom send you anything?” I shrugged. “ My parents are cheapskates.” Before he could elaborate on his stunned expression, I picked up the envelope that had no address on it. It didn’t even have a name on it. With a curious glance at Maurice, I ripped it open. I read it aloud. ‘ Dear Husband, I congratulate you for another successful year. Our plans for a VFD training school have certainly come to fruition. But I also have a request for you. As you recall, we took on a new, challenging student, Olaf. If you have forgotten, he and his stinking gambling father are the enemy. I have studied the records very carefully and it appears that you seem to avoid Olaf at all costs. Might I ask you, why?! Remember the plan! If we are going to avenge the previous VFD members, you have to start by punishing Olaf. I don’t care if he doesn’t do anything wrong, give him detention! Make him clean the girls’ toilets, hit him for all I care! Just get the job done. You have exactly one week. If you haven’t anything by then, you’ll be forced to answer to me. B’ Since Olaf was not a common name at the time this incident took place, I knew the headmaster’s wife was talking about me and my father. I gasped in horror. My mouth gaped open, I could not comprehend the purpose of this insulting letter! My eyebrow still in the shape of an upside down pyramid, I showed Maurice. He gave it a brisk read and he clucked his tongue disapprovingly. “ I’ve seen ‘B’ around. She’s a total control freak. It’s like she owns the place!” he cried. “ I’m not surprised she’s said this about you.” “ But why is she targeting me? And what does mean by, ‘avenge the previous VFD members’? I’ve never even heard of VFD before so what’s got to do with me?!” Maurice’s jaw dropped. “ Y-y-you mean, you don’t know?” I shrugged, not having a clue what was going on. “ This is a VFD training school, man! It’s a secret organisation. Haven’t you ever wondered why Mr. Dickens and Miss. Lambert are always gabbing about codes?” I gave a slow shake of the head as I suddenly realised all of the hints. As I opened my mouth to respond, there was a loud crackling noise. There was a deafening squeal as Babs spoke into the intercom. “ Attention. May I have your attention, please! Some property of the headmaster’s has been lost in our postage system. If anyone finds it, please return it to the reception desk where Shirley will be there to greet you. Thank you for your understanding and cooperation. Have a nice day.”A glimmer of mischief shone in my eye. I looked at the letter again, grinning from ear to ear as the plan began to form itself in my unappreciated brain. A cruel, wicked, villainous laugh billowed out of my mouth unexpectedly. I told Maurice what he should do. Over the next few days, we kept quiet about finding the headmaster’s mail. Whenever Babs or Shirley or some other unimportant teacher asked us, we simply lied and explained that we didn’t know anything. We even let the girls in on the joke which they enjoyed with relish. They stifled their girlish giggles whenever they sneaked past the headteacher’s office. It was plain wicked fun until the headmaster eavesdropped on us talking about it one lunchtime. He pulled me out of my seat and dragged me to his office. “ What do you know?!” he commanded. His spit got stuck in his woolly black beard. I folded my arms and quirked my eyebrow. The man curled his lip. “ I see. How does a year’s worth of detention sound?” I was not going to budge. Becoming angry, nervous and anxious all the same time, he leant in close and pressed his face against mine. “ Get me that damn letter or you’re expelled, and I know your mother and father so desperately wanted you to do well here,” he added in a mocking tone of voice. I rolled my eyes and clucked my tongue. I did not let my eyes meet his. “ First, I want you to tell me this: why was your wife insulting me like that? Why didn’t my parents tell me this was a training ground for your stupid VFD?” “ My? Is that what you think?” “ Tell me or else!” “ Or else what?” he snarled. “ You’ll hit me? Kill me?” I wasn’t certain at first but I nodded my head, seething with rage. The man sighed and stood up from his chair. “ All right. If that’s how you wanna play it.” He pressed a button on the intercom that was on his desk. He spoke into it nonchalantly. “ Babs, get this brat’s parents on the telephone please.” “ Which brat’s, sir?” came Babs’ crackly reply. “ Olaf’s, dear.” “ Oh, all right then, sir. If that’s what you want.”Then Shirley’s sugar-coated coo interrupted in an alarmed shriek. “ That’s Olaf! Olaf, Babs!”The thing with the letter was my nan's idea
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