The Lonely Lights: YA Fantasy

Our story begins with disaster. But that's nothing new for you: trouble finds you like the sea finds the shore. Picture a life of self-imposed isolation: days spent on the playground watching other children play, sometimes you would be bullied, but not in the dramatic Hollywood way: there's none of that where you live in the English country, with its vast wet fields: cold grassland with birds flying in an arrow formation across a drab grey sky. There were only twenty children in the class you were taught in: all the parents and kids knew each other, forming what to you seemed a confusingly complex network of play dates and birthday parties. You wouldn't really know for sure, because you were only ever invited a handful of times to such things, the experiences being so fleeting they could barely have been said to have happened.

There are two reasons you never got invited to these events once you were old enough to feel how much it hurt not to be asked: the first was you: quiet, reserved, always looking at others with wide questioning eyes of blue. You often find yourself watching, staring, almost as if your body has ceased to exist and all that is left is whatever the person you're watching is doing. You can remember that one time Miss. Cecily grabbed a girl in your class firmly by the wrist, twisting so hard it left a mark. You remember Miss. Cecily running over to you, she hadn't seen you there in the class, and you had only barely registered what she had done before she was shaking you by the shoulders yelling, her face furious, her eyes filled with tears. Only now do you remember her telling you that for your sake she would keep what happened a secret, and the little girl moved away. What was her name? You can't remember. The second reason was your mother: a soft spoken, cigarette smoker, who had no time for the other parents. Amelia, or Mum to you, moved to the Little Wheeler Village before you were born. Dad was never a topic of discussion: any time you asked Mum would shake her head to leave it be, and you never dared to ask beyond that.

The disaster came on your thirteen birthday. You could feel something was wrong for months leading up to it, or rather something was wrong with Mum. Never in your life had you seen Mum be anything other than an inoffensive atheist: religion wasn't her bag, and neither was it to you. What seemed most odd to you now was the small collection of crosses Mum began to stockpile around your small cottage: crosses of all shapes and sizes: some coated in red paint, others old and battered. Mum, who never prayed in her life, began to carry a cross and holy beads wherever she went, often whispering to herself.

What could you do to stop her? Within a matter of months Mum became obsessed, she stopped washing, and soon she seemed wild, dark eyed, fingers and lips bitten to bleeding. She was going mad and no amount of trying to talk her out of her hysteria would work.

And then it happened. One early evening after a lousy day at school. You returned home to find Mum dead on the floor, her wrists cut from a shaving razor. Just there, dead, blood dark and pooling across the tiled floor, soaking into the legs of the dinner table.

No note. No reason why. At first, sharp clarity, everything seeming ultra HD... Police talking to you....fading in and out of consciousness now: on autopilot, numb, moving out of the cottage whilst court proceedings take place: an old couple let you stay with them. Time passes quickly, the image of your mothers dead body glued to your every waking thought. It's easier to shut off, stay in the numb abyss.

You're cleared of any charges. Not that you care. You're told of a relative you didn't even know existed: Alice Molloy, your aunt, lives just outside of London City in a small middling town called Shanton Park.

The social care worker assigned to your case says there are alternatives which would let you stay in Little Wheeler: but now Mum's gone, there's not really anything keeping you there, besides, you've never been to the city, even in your numb state the idea of a bustling town seems like a nice place to get lost in. You decide to go with Alice.

Rain showers down at a steep angle, trees branches skitter down the road, broken free from the force of the wind. Alice pulls up in her little truck: you run to the car with two bin bags full of clothes, Alice opens the passenger side door and you're already soaked from seconds out in the rain. Up close, You can see Alice is a pretty, mid-forties, a heavyset woman: has a kind face, dark hair and even darker lipstick. You don't look out the window as Alice eases the truck out onto the main road and out of Little Wheeler.

Alice doesnt say much at first. This is the first time you've been together alone without a social worker there with you. Alice seemed nice enough then, like the old couple you could barely say you met her at all until now.

"Do you want to talk or no?" Says Alice. "We can take this at your pace."

(How you behave and the choices you make influence the story. Remember being nice doesn't necessarily mean you'll get a 'good' ending)

>(Moody) "Whatever, just don't try to act like my new Mum, okay."
>(Sad) "I'd rather not. If you don't mind."
>(Angry) "I bet you're dying to ask me all the questions the police already have, and the village people wish they could."
>(stoic) Ignore her.
>other (mood) + action / speech

>>1155745
>>(Sad) "I'd rather not. If you don't mind."

>>1155745
>(Sad) "I'd rather not. If you don't mind."

"I'd rather not, if you don't mind."

You can hear the sadness in your own voice as you say it. You wonder what it would be like yo be able to leave your body and troubles behind. Alice is good on her word. You drive with only the constant pelting of rain and warm breath of the heater filling the silence.

An hour into the four hour journey. You've taken off your grey sweater which smells of damp. You're hungry now. You age a small breakfast consisting of cereal and a mug of tea. Your stomach whines loud enough for Alice to crack a smile.

She pulls in at a Little Waitor, a small breakfast food chain. You get beans on toast with a coke and sit with Alice by the window.

It's lighter than it was at the start of the day. Looking at Alice now, she's eating a fried egg sandwich and washing it down with a mug of tea: you can see the slight resemblance to Mum, the same jaw, the same narrow in the eyes. It makes you feel a shiver which runs up your spine.

"Do you mind if I call you Maxillion, or do you just prefer Max?" Asks Alice.

You shrug.

"Max then." Says Alice.

You look from your breakfast plate to Alice, you only sparingly notice that spite her weight she has retained a nice figure, only to see something startling over her shoulder.

A thin faced young man in a slick blue jacket has a red-headed young woman gripped by the back of her hair, bringing her face close to his.

"I said shut up." You hear him say.

You're doing it again. Staring. The young man's aggressive gaze falls on you. It's a challenging look that makes you think he'll start shouting at any moment.

>(passive/scared) look away.
>(sad/numb) keep watching.
>(stoic/meddling) keeping watching, let him see you grab the knife on your plate.
>other

>>1155816
>>(stoic/meddling) keeping watching, let him see you grab the knife on your plate.

>>1155816
>>(stoic/meddling) keeping watching, let him see you grab the knife on your plate.

You keep eye contact with the young man. Your hand finds the handle to hand knife in your breakfast plate. The red-headed girl looks over her shoulder. You flinch, she's pretty in an unconventional kind of way, and she's smiling. You feel like dirt as she looks away and buries her face into the young man's neck' kissing him. The young man looks away.

You're back out on the road after five minutes, the young couple and their drama left behind. You wonder why girls like her pick guys like that. She seemed to be enjoying herself. You doubt you would have done anything with the knife. Probably would have thrown it at the guy and ran in the opposite direction. You've never felt like the fighting type.

The rest of the journey sails by. Mostly because you sleep though most of it. You're aware of the car moving bug not much more than that. You dream of Mum: she's dead on the floor, her eyes and teeth missing: she's laughing, cackling almost, saying your name over and over like a mantra. When you wake you wipe the drool from the corner of your mouth and catch the Shanton Park sign trail by the window.

It's stopped raining, but it's dark now. You're near the city alright, with close packed buildings interconnected with small shops and takeaways. As Alice's car cruises to your new home you can't help but feel like Shanton is like one big residential petrol station: for some reason all the people who live in this area didn't move on into London, or out to the Burroughs beyond which have space, green, and fresh air.

The you can almost taste the petrol in the air here. The car serves, jolts, and stops suddenly. Alice says you're hear and for the first time you feel a real sense of unease. You wish the numbness would hang around longer.

Alice leads the way to your new home. You come up to a house which has been developed into two halves. Alice comes to door 101 and enters inside. There's more room than in your cottage: Alice shows you the downstairs kitchen and bathroom, then takes you up for a guest tour of her room and the guest room, which is currently locked, although you can hear someone inside: classical music plays joined with a strange pungent smell.

"That's Ed's room" Alice tells you, saying no more on the matter.

>(Curious) Ask about Ed.
>(Anxious) Ask where you're sleeping.
>(Testing) Ask if you can go out alone for a walk around.
>(Meddling) "Classical music is shit."
>other

>>1155903
>(Anxious) Ask where you're sleeping.

>>1155903
>>(Anxious) Ask where you're sleeping.

>>1155903
>>(Curious) Ask about Ed.

Feeling an iOS, you ask where you'll be sleeping. Alice finishes with the tour of hear home: it's very home-y, al oat uncomfortably so, back in the cottage Mum liked to keep things very neat, at least until she started... You force yourself to be present for what Alice is saying, trying to focus. Amid the clutter in the small living space you can see an old sofa.

"That'll pull out and you'll pretty much have a double bed to yourself." Says Alice. "It might smell at first, but you'll get used to it."

"So what does Ed do?" You ask, trying to hide up how ungrateful you might look from wincing at the sight and smell of what is going to be your new bed.

"He's an electrician." Says Alice. Pulling the bed out of the sofa. "He's-- very handy to -- have around."

Alice is struggling with the bed. She's grunting from the effort.

>(sympathetic) help her.
>(mischievous) keep watching
>(absent minded) wander off and go upstairs.

>>1155955
>>(sympathetic) help her.

>>1155955
*anxious

Fucking auto correct

>>1155955
>>(sympathetic) help her.

You think about leaving Alice to it, but ultimately decide to help her. With your help you both make easy work of pulling the old metal frame free. The bed fills up the cluttered living room. Alice tells you she'll get a bed sheet and pillow for you once she's had a chance to settle in.

You're faced with the prospect of being in close quarters with Alice and potentially Ed for the next few hours: with no room of your own there's no room for you to hide away in.

>(anxious) Go for a walk.
>(Stoic) Stay in and prepare for inevitable conversation.

>>1156007
>>(Stoic) Stay in and prepare for inevitable conversation.

>>1156007
>>(Stoic) Stay in and prepare for inevitable conversation.

You think of leaving to get a better feel for Snanton Park, but your only thirteen, and sensible enough to know that's probably not the best idea. So you take a seat on the sofa bed and let Alice fuss over you. She makes Jon a cup of tea, with three chocolate biscuits to go with it. She sees you eyeing the doorway should Ed emerge suddenly.

"Don't worry he stays in his room most of the time. Even cooks in there." Says Alice.

You eat the first biscuit, nodding to feign interest.

The room is plunged into darkness for a moment . You don't even flinch. When the light returns it's like the curtains have been pulled up to Alice's one woman show of a single woman.

"He also does that. A lot." Says Alice.

She takes a seat on the other side of this sofa bed, grabs the TV remote, turns the TV on.m

"We have a deal. I ignore the power outages and hie pays an extra fifty pounds on his rent each week. God knows what he's building in there."

You wonder the same yourself. You feel an itch form on the back of your neck. Scratching it feels good.

"So...." Says Alice. You know something awkward is coming.

"When do you think you'll be up for going back to school? I work as a receptionist most days in the week so I can't be here."

>(stoic) "Whenever"
>(anxious) "Not yet..."
>(Angry) "I don't knownAlice, what is the usual amount of time a boy who's mum died should wait?"

>>1156050
>>(stoic) "Whenever"

>>1156050
>(stoic) "Whenever"

"That's, eh, brave of you." Says Alice.

You feel Alice move closer toward you. You feel her hand touch your wrist.

"I suppose your Mum never talked about me." She said.

You give her a look telling her she's right.

"Well I'm not surprised. I used to be a nightmare for everyone around me. I won't go into it tonight, it's been a big day for you. I just...I just want you to know that I think you're mum was a wonderful woman, despite whatever disagreements we might have had in the past. You want to yank your wrist away, not because you particularly dislike Alice, you're not sure how you feel about her yet, it's just any kind of contact at all right now makes you feel a tightness in your stomach that makes you feel sick.

Alice lets go ov your wrist and settles back to watch TV: she's enamoured by a chat show filled with happy laughing idiots. You let yourself fall into watching it too, feeling tired again.

When you wake up next its very quiet. Alice is gone. You vaguely remember her switching the TV off and going upstairs. An. Inky blue colour weighs against the back window showing the murky visage of the small garden. You think about going back to sleep, but you'd just dreamt Mum was climbing out of her grave, a bony skeletal hand trying to yank you down into the coffin with her: you settle for watching the morning news on TV, eating the leftover biscuits you didn't eat last night.

It's London news. London problems. A famous celebrity died. You never heard of this person. You wonder what it would be like if the TV stations broadcasted Mums funeral: said nice things about her...

>(stoic) go out for a walk
>(anxious) make breakfast for yourself
>(generous) make breakfast for Alice
>(Meddling) Snoop around the house to see what you can find out about Alice

>>1156137
>>(generous) make breakfast for Alice
Can we even cook?

>>1156145
One way to find out.

You decide to make dome food for yourself, and Alice too. The cupboards are stocked with food, though most of it is sweet stuff, or snacks. You find eggs and bread easy enough, managing to not burn the house down in the process of cooking breakfast.

It's seven in the morning and first light shines through the windows as you make your way up the narrow flight of stairs to Alice's room.

When you reach her door you're not sure what to do. Do you open it, knock first? What if he wants to sleep in? You decide the gesture would be enough to whether any faux pas and you knock on the door. No answer. You knock again, a little harder this time. Again no answer. You try the door. It's not locked, you can tell by handle gives to you free hand.

>(meddling) Go inside
>(anxious) Go back

>>1156238
>>(meddling) Go inside
Fuck it, we did knock the door.

You push the handle down and go inside. Your eyes smart to the dark room where the curtains are drawn. Alice is in bed, splayed out like a big lump in her satin pink PJs. You can see her chest rise and fall. You've come this far, you decide, better go all the way.

You venture closer and stand beside the bed. Up close you can see Alice is wearing one of those nasal strips. You clear your throat. Nothing. She's still asleep. You nudge her with your knee. Nothing. What the hell do you have to do to wake this woman up?

"Alice?" You say.

Again she still sleeps. You decide to leave the breakfast on the side, so at least she'll know the good will gesture was made. The moment you set the tray down you see Alice's eyes snap open. She gives a hoot of fright, then relaxes, covering herself with the bedsheet.

"Jesus Max what're you-- oh, how kind of you." She says.

Alice sits up in bed.

"I'm surprised you got this far in, I'm a really light sleeper you know." She says.

She thanks you again for the breakfast, and you're more than happy to backtrack your way out of her room as she bites into egg inside a folded over slice of toast. You close the door, taking a breath.

You don't even have enough time to collect your thoughts because when you turn around you spot a thin, bespectacled man in a navy jumpsuit leaving Ed's room. He stops, meeting your gaze,

Silence from him. You see he's holding what looks like half a toaster under his right arm.

>(meddling) "What's that thing under your arm?"
>(anxious) nod and walk past him.
>(stoic) introduce yourself

>>1156311
>>(stoic) introduce yourself

>>1156311
>>(stoic) introduce yourself
unless we've got the possibility to do this:
>>(meddling) "What's that thing under your arm?"
in a polite, curious way.

>>1156311
>(polite) "Hello"

"Hey I'm Max---" you say.

Ed cuts you off.

"--I don't care." Says Ed.

He turns, locks the door with trained speed, and pockets his keys in his button down shirt breast pocket visible from the v shaped opening in his jumpsuit. You find yourself watching Ed casually walking down and out of sight, feeling a mix of rage and confusion.

It's now the idea of school doesn't sound so bad. At least you'd have somewhere to go: but really is crazy talk considering how hellish you know school can be. You're not letting yourself believe got kind second in fresh starts.

Not much changes over the next few days. You fall into a routine around the house: you barely see Ed, and you get used to the regular power outages , and Alice is usually too tired from work to be much in the way of conversation. When you do talk it's about light trivial things.

One thing which has become increasingly apparent is your aversion to going outside. You've gone out in the garden, sat on an old wooden bench and breathed in what now feels like fresh air. Your back is stiff from the sofa bed, but you see no point in complaining. The dreams of mum are ever present every time you fall asleep: each a dark twisted version of her somehow alive but dead, always reaching for you, in agony.

Because of this you're sleeping pattern is out of whack. You're sleeping into the evening, awake all night until the first light shines in through the window, signalling a vampire like need to get into bed. But you can't right away, because you don't have a room, so out to the cold garden you go, dressed in five layers of clothes to keep you warm until Alice leaves for work.

You've somehow managed to become even more depressed, and you don't have any real motivation to get yourself out of it.

By the end of the month there are heavy bags under your eyes. You wish you had a hobby to go to to distract you from your boredom. Lately you're body feels like it's too tight, like you can never be comfortable no matter what you do. You start to wonder if you're going to end up hysterical like mum.

Numb again. Alice is talking. It's night. If feels like ten AM to you but it's actually seven PM.

"How does that sound Max?" Says Alice.

She asked you a question. You stare at her, trying to stay focused.

"A therapist Max. You start school tomorrow, maybe it'll be a good idea to get you a therapist, maybe they have a counsellor at school who dan help you?"

>(anxious) "Please no. I'll go to school. I'll be fine,"
>(angry) "im that much of a lost cause already?"
>(sad) "Whatever"
>other (always an option unless stated otherwise)

>>1156450
>>(sad) "Whatever"
Alright

>>1156450
>(sad) "Whatever"

Your mouth feels dry when you talk.
"Whatever." You say.

The hours in the night pass quickly. You've been awake for a whole day and night, and you're sat up on the couch watching TV on mute, the morning news timer yelling you it's time to leave for school.

You're dressed in a blacker, dark trousers, shiny shoes, white shirt and tie. You didn't have to wear a uniform in the country. Alice drives you to school in her truck. You wonder why she drives a truck and not a smaller car, surely that would be cheaper fuel wise. In your sleep deprived stage you imagine her as an aunt by day, road rage killer trucker by night. The fantasy is enough to distract you until Alice eases the truck to a stop at the end of a quiet road where you can already see other students chatting, all headed in the same direction. You feel the back of your neck itch. You scratch it.

Alice wishes you a good first day. She tells you she'll call the headmaster at lunch to discuss a counsellor for you. You get out, not ready at all for a fresh new hell to begin.


(That's it for tonight, folks.)

>>1156683
Thanks for running

my twitter : CharlieB-TW @Watchingwithpod

For quest updates. Thanks all.

>>1156683
Thanks mate!

Back. Getting warmed up to start.

You're tense as you make your way to the main reception where you are given a timetable and a map of the school grounds to help you find your way. You half hoped the faculty would have given you a buddy of some kind to show you around. Maybe that's not a thing then do for white kids. You follow the map, keeping your head down between the moments you look up, trying your best to avoid eye contact: so far so good, nobody seems to be paying any particular attention towards you. That's good. Maybe have a hysterical mum who kills herself isn't travel worthy news. The receptionist didn't seem to pay you particular attention. You reach the West Wing class W5. You're early. You find the class is full of students your age, most in their seats, but facing each other, only a few keep to themselves, browsing their phones.

You look for a teacher but one hasn't arrived yet. A few of the faces look at you now. New faces of students that you know will seem like complete strangers until the second day where routine sets in. You experienced that before on school trips, seeing another class meeting yours, noticing how odd the faces of the other class looked, only this time hours the odd one out, and there's no other students to hide behind.

You see a few things in particular:

An Indian girl sat closest to you with a vacant seat beside her. She's scrolling through her phone.

A heavy set black boy is sat on a table in the middle of class. He seems boisterous, holding court among the others two boys sitting close by.

Vacant seats at the back of the class where no one is sitting.

Following you're choices from the last session, here are the options available to Max as he is now.

>(anxious) Go outside and wait for teacher.
>(stoic) talk to a student, decide which.
>(ambitious) sit next to the girl
>(neurotic) sit at the back of the class

>>1159464
>>(anxious) Go outside and wait for teacher.

You decide to go with what seems to your sleep deprived brain as the best possible option. You go back outside the class and wait for the teacher to arrive. More students pile into the class. You've drawn attention to yourself, now each student glances in your direction before going inside.

"Are you new?" A short and very pretty girl wearing lots of make ip foundation asks. She's flanked by an equally pretty girl friend, who is head and shoulders taller than her.

Your brain fights for an answer but it feels lost in a dense fog. You feel a mountainous wave of anxiety crash down on you, making you feel like you might need an impromptu trip to the bathroom. In the mean time the girl has already started laughing in a mocking way, looked to her friend, with the both of them looking at you like you've just hold a bad joke. You don't meet their gaze as they leave.

Why not just go home? A voice in your head says. Screw all this.

Now you're presented with two choices:

>(stoic) stay where you are
>(anxious) run to the bathroom

YA?

>>1159489
>>(stoic) stay where you are
Yeah, we are new

>>1159493
Young Adult fiction

You decide to stay where you are, however the anxiety is kicking into over drive, and isn't helped by your sleep deprived state.

Roll 1d100

35 or more wins.
I don't do crit fails or successes.

Rolled 94 (1d100)

>>1159547

Rolled 41 (1d100)

>>1159547
Rolling
>>1159551
NOICE

You remain where you are despite the urge to leave. You take a deep breath.

"Maxillion?" A woman's voice says.

You look up to see an attractive woman in her early thirties: her hair is pulled back into a loose ponytail, she looks at you with a soft sympathetic gaze.

You nod, keeping eye contact with her.

"Do you prefer Max?" She asks.

You nod. You brain aches from sleep deprivation.

"Okay follow me." She says, and you follow her inside the class. A gruelling introduction follows, not because of your new teacher, who introduces herself as Miss.Shelly, but because of the sea of faces looking right at you like a shiny new toy.

Miss.Shelly asks if any of the students want to help show you around on your first day. No one obliges at first. The intervening moments feel like months. Then skinny, long-haired boy at the back of the class raises his hands.

"Thank you, Oliver." Says Miss. Shelly. She f
Gestures for you to take a seat. You make a bee line to the vacant seat beside Oliver, up close you can see he has two protruding buck teeth. He smiles at you nervously.

>(sad) stay silent
>(stoic) introduce yourself
>(angry) "This doesn't make us friends."
>other

>>1159569
>>(stoic) introduce yourself

>>1159569
>(stoic) introduce yourself

>>1159569
Give a little slanted smile, the tired but "hey" type. Nothing more. The teacher already introduced us.

You force a smile. Oliver seems like the kind of person you could get along with. Maybe. Class registration goes through the motions: you see Oliver reach into his rucksack and pull out a comic book. He rifles through a few pages: you can see this is weirder unusual comedic book house you e never heard of outside of the big names,

Oliver's doesn't really show of he's enjoying the comic or not. He just turns one page after another: the plot of the comic seeming to be your typical boy with super powers plot.

Let's find something out about ourselves:

>we also love comics
>comics are okay, but books are better
>if it's not a movie, why bother?
>other

>>1167093
>comics are great, but books are better
Everything is reading material, from mythology to machining manuals

You've never been a comic reader. The best youn like get in Little Wheelermwere church booklets. It feels like a pen is being jabbed into the front of your brain from the lack of sleep as you watch Oliver read the pages.

You've never been much of a reader, if you were you're sure you'd rather read a book. Maybe there's something worth reading in the school library.

It's then you see a line of blood trickle out of Oliver's nose. It drips onto his comic book. Oliver looks to you then mops the blood quickly with a blue cloth from his pocket. He meets your gaze, then puts the bloodied comic book away.

>(feeling) ask if he's okay.
>(judging) ask what's wrong with his nose
>(peculiar) stifle a smile, but you're not sure why it's funny
>other

>>1167236
>(feeling) ask if he's okay.
I thought that the point of this was to make him a reader or not, which is what I was going for.

>>1167247
Yeah it'll effect stuff later on. Max is thirteen so still needs to grow into his interests.

>>1167236
>>(feeling) ask if he's okay.

You ask if Oliver's okay. He just sort of shakes his head to bat the question away. Registration ends. You're taken through the motions, with Oliver by your side leading you to your first class.

Let's see how academically smart we are.

Roll 1d100

>1-30 - set five (worst)
>31-40 - set four
>41-50 - set three
>51-60 - set two
>61-70 - set one
>71-99 - reroll

Rolled 70 (1d100)

>>1167295

Rolled 58 (1d100)

>>1167295
Is it best of 3 or just the first? Because I like RtAnon's roll.

>>1167308
First

File: Woo_hoo!.jpg (38KB, 431x610px) Image search: [Google]

38KB, 431x610px

>>1167311