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#Post#: 3528--------------------------------------------------
Bloodstone ;; a novel, a wip
By: Rebelia. Date: March 25, 2013, 4:51 pm
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[center][font=georgia]This novel contains some gruesome, violent
chapters/sections.
If you don't like romance, I suggest you quit reading now.
Please note that this book takes place in year 2305.[/font]
______________________[/center]
[center][font=flower]CHAPTER ONE[/font]
[font=georgia]sixteen[/font]
____________________________________________[/center]
[font=georgia]I awakened to a familiar overcast morning, the
gray-tinted light streaming in from my window. Here in my home
town, the weather was almost constantly freezing and rainy,
though in the summer the weather was . . . semi-warm. Well, it
didn't rain in the winter--it snowed instead--to my dismay.
I was born and raised here in Asheville, North Carolina, so I
was used to the frigid weather. I climbed out of bed, tripping
over a floorboard that was sticking up. Today, I was sixteen
years old. Sixteen had to be the worst age to be in the United
States. I had been dreading this day since I turned fifteen,
when my parents informed me of what would happen to me on my
next birthday. I would be taken by U.S. officials to the
Bloodstone Academy, where I would be molded into a bitter,
battle-hungry fighter. After World War IV in , the United States
of America had grown paranoid about the evil brewing around the
world. So, they had created a training academy for citizens
ranging from ages sixteen to twenty. This academy was run by a
vicious principal with the sharpest of reflexes, and was the
best fighter of the entire school.
So maybe in four years, I'd come back as a fully-fledged
warrior. I'd probably have my parents on the ground a second
after they tapped me on the shoulder. I feared that I wouldn't
feel the emotions I felt now. Maybe, instead of feeling fear,
sadness, or joy, I'd feel anger, hatred, or triumph. Or maybe I
wouldn't have any emotions at all. Maybe I'd be like a machine
after going through the academy--if I survived. Forty percent of
the teens that attend Bloodstone Academy die before they
graduate. I had heard the most disturbing stories about the
academy from my parents, who had both attended Bloodstone
Academy. The academy was where they met. They were partners.
They helped each other survive, kept each other from wasting
away. Their love was so strong, it pulled them through all of
the horrors of the academy. Though their years in the academy
was brief, the two of them were scarred for life. They still
screamed in their sleep, and thrashed, as if they were drowning
in a river. I remembered that as a little girl, my parents used
to ghost around the house in the middle of the night, with this
insane, pained expression on their face. They moved
effortlessly, but their bodies were rigid. My mother used to
scream in her sleep, "Sienna!" in her sleep. I knew that Sienna
was my aunt, and my mother's twin sister. Sienna had gone to
Bloodstone Academy with my mother, but Sienna had died while
fighting another student who was in their senior year. In
revenge, my mother had slit the older student's throat with her
iron dagger that she'd always kept at her side. But the students
and teachers had applaud my mother when she murdered the older
student, and the academy board did nothing.
I stumbled towards my dresser, stopping as I scrutinized my face
in the mirror. I could be classified as pretty, but not
gorgeous, or beautiful. I supposed I was a tad above average
looks for a sixteen-year-old girl. My skin was very pale, about
three tones away from snow white. My hair was wavy and dark
chestnut brown, and fell down about three inches past my
shoulder. My eyes were wide and were colored a deep, calming
sea-blue. I had long, sweeping lashes, and shell-pink full lips.
My face was heart-shaped, my high cheek bones prominent over my
pale skin. I was terribly skinny, like I ate a small meal a day.
Mostly because I did eat one meal a day. Food was scarce due to
the rationing. This was the U.S.'s cruel way of ridding of
obesity, rationing food. But also because of the academy. Most
food was sent to Bloodstone Academy, so that their students
could grow healthy and strong.
I knew that I'd probably be first to parish in Bloodstone. I
wasn't strong. My build was delicate and fragile, like a
snowflake. I was graceful, with long, thin legs, like a
ballerina's body. People like me didn't survive Bloodstone
Academy, especially not the final test--which was a
fight-to-the-death match. But maybe my bravery and boldness
would get me through, though I highly doubted it. I was a joke.
They would laugh at me the moment they saw me stumble through
the door. They'd examine my fragile, breakable body, and laugh.
My girlish, fragile features that belonged in the nineteenth or
twentieth century--both which were long gone. I combed gently
and thoroughly through the tangles in my silky, wavy hair. I
applied a thin coat of mascara to lengthen my already long,
thick eyelashes, and swiped some light, pinkish-peach lip gloss
on.
I had already packed my bags for Bloodstone Academy. I only had
one outfit that wasn't concealed in a suitcase or duffel bag. I
changed into my black leggings that hugged my legs, a deep blue
eyelet lace blouse. I thought this outfit looked a little too .
. . breakable. I shrugged on my black leather jacket, trying to
look a little tough. I put on my dark tan leather boots that
rose up half of a centimeter below my knees, buckling them up
before I walked out the door with my bags.
My parents were already downstairs, my mother cooking breakfast,
and my father sitting nervously on the turquoise sofa, his hands
twitching. His torso was rigid, his brown eyes bulging. He was
seemed to be staring at nothing, and seemed to me oblivious to
my arrival. "Carmen . . ." my mother started, as she turned to
face me.
I had my mother's wide blue eyes, her sweeping lashes, and her
heart-shaped face. But I did not have her hair--I had my
father's hair. Slightly untidy, and dark brown. Though my father
had curlier hair than I did, I always said that I have his hair,
anyways. My mother's hair was light strawberry blond, and was
completely straight, with not one little wave or curl. It was a
silken curtain that draped her pale face, and fell down two
inches below her small shoulders. Her waist was tiny, like mine.
My mother had my body shape and build, but I had my father's
long legs. My dad was average, but he did have some muscle that
showed through his sun kissed skin. He passed on very few
features to me. I had to admit that he was pretty good-looking,
and I could see why my mother had been so drawn to him in the
first place. He had a playful face and twinkling chocolate brown
eyes, tousled dark chestnut brown hair.
"Carmen," my mother started again, her tone sharper now.
"Esther," I snapped back at her, mocking her sharp tone. My
mother hated it when I called her by her first name. I was a
rebellious child; her anger delighted me, and I loved to break
her paranoid, ridiculous rules. "Carmen, I'm being serious. We
could run away, try to make it to Mexico. Then we could travel
until we reach South America, and we'd be free," Esther said,
her tone pleading.
"We'd get caught. And they'd kill us all. Including Rosabella
and Lacie and Anthony," I said in a defeated tone. I left out
Matthew, my eldest sibling, who had left when he reached age
twenty to join the Union. Oh, how I wanted to leave this
wretched country! But in order to protect my siblings, I could
not. I didn't value my own life like I should. I was selfless.
The Union judges would find us guilty immediately without
evidence; they loved to put the accused under a death sentence.
Practically every crime in this country was punishable by death.
Life meant nothing here. The price of life was very small in the
United States, though I knew it wasn't always this way. Things
used to be fair in the North Americas. But after the United
States had taken over Canada after the Canadian War, this
country had grown hungry for power. They had not yet taken
Mexico. Mexico was now the people's only hope. They could escape
if willing to take the risk of being caught and punished by
death.
But, then again, death was better than Bloodstone Academy.
Esther sighed, and began to mix pancake mix with milk in a bowl
with a wooden spoon. Lacie and Rosabella were seated quietly on
the couch next to my father, playing patty-cake and giggling. He
glanced up at me, a small frown pulling down the corners of his
mouth. "Honestly, Carmen . . ." he began, but I had already
opened my mouth to mock him. "Honestly, Adam," I snapped,
smiling a mischievous smile. But he didn't scold me like Esther
would have. Instead, Adam--or as he preferred me to call him,
dad--said nothing, and his lips hardened into a thin line.
I found it quite annoying that Lacie and Rosabella wore the same
clothes. It was already difficult enough to tell them apart when
they weren't wearing the same clothes; they were identical
twins. They had the same strawberry blond hair that curled
neatly into ringlets, and their hair both fell an inch below
their shoulders. Their skin was pale, like mine, and they had
round, childish faces and wide brown eyes. Anthony sat in a
coffee-brown leather chair next to the sofa. He had light brown
hair that curled at his temples and gentle brown eyes. Anthony
was only nine; he still had a round face with wide, circular
eyes. Lacie and Rosabella were both six years old, just a few
years younger than Anthony, ten years younger than me.
"Dad, Mom, Lacie, Rosabella, Anthony . . . goodbye. I love you,"
I said loudly before I turned the knob and opened to the door. I
was heading towards the plaza on the Main Street, where the
sixteen-year-old boys and girls would gather to be taken away to
Bloodstone. Local shops began to edge the street as I neared
Main Street, the small houses and emerald forests disappearing.
Stark gray clouds ringed the horizon, where the golden sun
should be rising. But this was too bleak of a setting for any
golden light from the giant star. I angled towards the plaza,
now that it was in sight. I was starting to slow down, unwilling
to move forwards.
But I forced my feet to move, which now felt like heavy stones
weighing me down. My body went rigid as I laid eyes on the
waiting crowd, a few terrified sixteen-year-old kids--who just
so happened to share my birth date. I felt sympathy for them,
then I realized that I too was leaving with them. Leaving . . .
never to return. Maybe they would, but I knew that I wouldn't
make it. They may as well just kill me right now instead of
waste their time trying to mold me into a killing-machine.
I stood in an empty space next to a fair-haired girl, which I
knew was reserved for me. A man with graying hair in a black
suit approached us, taking small steps as if he was reluctant to
address us. He turned his back to us, and leaned in towards the
mike that was standing five feet away from the small group of
teens. "Hello, future students and graduates of Bloodstone
Academy! As some of you may already know, I am Supervisor Ellis
WIP![/font]
[center][font=georgia]MATERIAL IS COPYRIGHT TO MYSELF. DO NOT
STEAL![/font][/center]
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