Hello, friends at Nifty!
Again, it's that time where I visit my parents and have internet access, so you know what that means! Another several chapters to Fallen Angel have been edited and revamped for your reading pleasure! Hope you enjoy chapter 12!
As always, comments and questions are never denied. If you have anything you wish to add or otherwise, please contact me at arboc969@hotmail.com
Darc
Chapter 12: The Poem
The three arrived at school at around six thirty, for they stopped at a McDonalds to get breakfast. This left Cal forty-five minutes to show Althea around and get her acquainted with the school. "So, you got your schedule with you, love?" Cal asked as they entered the double doors to the Gym Building. He walked then to G1, where Anthropology was held.
Althea shook her head. "They didn't give me my schedule. . . ." she said distractedly. She was busy admiring the artwork on the wall, which had a series of demons and angels fighting against one another. "What is this?"
Cal smiled, walking up beside her and sliding an arm around her waist. "Well, love, a friend of mine is a fabulous artist. He dropped out of school last year, though, and this mural is his legacy. . . . He painted it after reading Of Light and Darkness." He pointed to a blond male with a muscular body that was wearing a black cloak and wielding a ninja sword against a particularly nasty-looking demon. "That is me, or my character in the novel, Christopher. Can you see the resemblance?"
"Yes. Who're you fighting off, Cal?" Miranda asked, walking up to them and delicately touching the mural with her fingertips.
"Well, that demon there is, Rick told me, supposed to represent all the struggles I'm about to face this next year." Seeing their questioning looks, Cal added, "Rick was also involved in the Battle of Aukos last year. He was . . . one of the ones I had to see die. . . . He was a good man and a powerful seer. . . ."
"Dear lord. . . ." Althea gasped. She saw a demoness flying next to the character Christopher, and it bore a striking resemblance to herself, from the facial features to the black robe and golden sash. "Th, that's me. . . ."
"I know. . . . Rick told me that I would meet someone not of this realm in this school year and that I would once again have to take up arms against evil. . . . Who would have thought he'd be telling the truth. . . ."
They stood there, admiring the mural, for about a half-hour, each not saying anything, but in his or her own way, contemplating what was said. "Hello, Calvin. . . ." a harsh voice hissed from behind them. Cal turned to see who said that. Evan and Stitch stood there, both glaring at him with the utmost repulsion.
"Hello, ladies. How're you doing?" Cal asked easily, seeing a tremor of disgust ripple across Evan's buzzard-like face. He admitted that seeing such open anger he caused made him feel better.
"Pretty decent. You?" Stitch asked, a bittersweet tone to his voice.
Cal grinned. "Well. So, what brings you here?"
"No reason. I'm just curious why you brought your girlfriend to school today. I dragged Evan along just because I thought it'd be healthy for him." He looked at Althea and winked. "So, how do you like this school, you sweet li'l thing?"
Feeling as though she would vomit, Althea took her mind off of the fact that Stitch was hitting on her and walked up to him, slapped him hard enough that his glasses flew off his face ten feet away, and growled, "Don't you ever look at me that way, you bastard!"
Stitch walked over to his glasses and picked them up, put them on his face, and walked back over to where they stood. "What a feisty little bitch you are, `Ally'!" he growled, a demonic glint in his eyes. "Listen to me, Althea. You do that one more time and I will gut you and feed your intestines to your fudge-packer of a boyfriend!"
Cal stepped forward, a furious glare on his face. "It would be wise of you to not speak that way to my girlfriend," he whispered, his eyes flashing.
"Or what? Are you going to slap me too?" Stitch asked peevishly.
Cal raised his fist and was about to uppercut him in the solar plexus when Mr. Sandvik, the Anthropology/Sociology teacher, walked through the doors. "What's going on here?" he asked mildly, seeing the tension burn the air between the two men. Sandvik was in his early fifties, with salt-and-pepper hair, a small mustache, and a western-style beard. He stood at about five feet seven inches, and was slightly overweight.
"Nothing, sir," Evan replied, walking through the doors, an almost tangible viridescent aura of hatred around his being. "We were just leaving." With that said, he and Stitch left and went to their classes.
"What was that all about, Cal?" Sandvik asked curiously as he led them into classroom G1. "It looked like you and James were going to get into a fight there. . . ."
"Ah, Stitch has always been a bit touchy about how women treat him. . . . Anyway, let me introduce your new student, sir!" he gestured happily to Althea. "Her name is Shira Makoto, and she's a foreign exchange student from Japan." He looked at Althea and grinned. "Shira, let me introduce Mr. Jakob Sandvik, a good teacher of many subjects, but particularly in those with the social sciences."
"It is a pleasure to meet you, Shira. I hope you like it here, because we're going to be studying many fascinating things about the oriental cultures and how they developed differently from the western, European ones. Of course, you probably don't need any teaching on the matter, eh?" Jakob asked politely, outstretching his right hand to shake hers. She took his scarred, callused hand gently with hers and shook it delicately.
"Ah, you flatter me, sir. I'm only here because I'm so good at the language arts. . . . I can speak Japanese, English, French, Spanish, German, Russian, Babylonian, and a dozen different ones fluently. So, here I am. . . . Where will I be sitting?"
Mr. Sandvik assigned her a seat in the opposite side of the room as Cal, and before he could protest this abominable seating arrangement, the bell rang and the kids poured into the class, taking their seats. Miranda bade them farewell and dashed to her classroom before the second bell rang.
The morning announcements were heard over the intercom and then, Mr. Sandvik walked to the front of the class and smiled. "Good morning, Class. We have two new people enrolled in our class." He then gestured for Althea and a new girl to walk up to the front of the class. "Let me introduce Shira Makoto, the foreign exchange student you were all told about." He gestured to Althea. He then looked to the other new girl. "And, this is Tawny Jameson. Shira, why don't you tell us about yourself?"
Trying with all her might not to blush from all fifteen students staring at her curiously, her eyes met with Cal's and he nodded. Feeling slightly more encouraged, Althea began, "Hello, everyone. As Mr. Sandvik said, my name is Shira Makoto, but you may simply call me Shira. I came from Okinawa because of my mastery of the languages." She shrugged and chuckled. "They become so easy when you master Babylonian!" Sandvik laughed quietly, understanding that all languages were spawned from the Tower of Babel in the Holy Bible, but the blank faces on the rest of the class signified that they didn't understand. "Never mind. . . . Anyway, I was born in Kumamoto, Kyushu, and moved to Okinawa, where I learned the languages. That's what got me sent here in the first place. I hope we can become good friends!"
"Thank you, Shira," Sandvik said politely, winking at her. Althea returned to her seat. "Now then, Tawny, why don't you tell us about yourself?"
Tawny was beautiful, to say the least. She had curves in all the right places, long, slender legs that went on for miles, and a beautiful, somewhat mischievous-looking face with high cheekbones and sensuous, full, pouty lips. Her golden-blond hair spilled down over her shoulders like a waterfall of pure sunlight, and she stood at about five feet six inches tall. Her eyes were cat-like and alert, and she didn't seem abashed in the least to Sandvik's inquiry. She wore a tight-fitting black t-shirt that was embroidered with the word "Angel" in glittering letters and hip-hugging blue jeans. She smiled as her and Cal's eyes met. "Hello, there! My name's Tawny, and I'm from Clearwater, Florida." She sighed and thought about how to answer the rest of the question. "Well, what I like to do is write poetry. What can I say? It helps me figure things out!" She shrugged and giggled giddily. "Anyway, I also like to write short stories. Do any of you?"
"Well, one of our students does," Sandvik said happily, gesturing to Cal. "He is always writing when we take breaks. Please continue, Tawny. Have you had anything published?"
Tawny shook her head. "Nope, but I'm still trying. . . ." Her eyes met with Cal's once more and she then said, "Well, I hope we can be friends!" And, with that said, she looked back at Sandvik and said, "I need a place to sit, Mr. Sandvik. . . ."
Sandvik nodded and set her in front of Cal. She looked back at him and smiled. "So, you like writing too, do you?"
Cal nodded and smiled. "Yes. I like writing science fiction and fantasy. It's so much more fun than writing in reality. That's why I write in the first place, to escape reality. How about you?"
"Well, my reason isn't that deep. . . . It's something to do to pass the time, really. . . ." Tawny smiled genially and extended a hand. "What's your name?" she asked as Sandvik walked back up to the front of the class and got them started on an assignment on the cultural differences between medieval Europe and Medieval Asia.
"I'm Calvin Lillehammer, but you can call me Cal. So, Tawny, how do you like it here in Nevada?" Cal asked as he grasped her hand gently and shook it.
"I dunno," Tawny said as she handed Cal a stack of papers labeled "Early Cultural Differences: Europe vs. Asia". She sighed as she wrote her name in big, loopy cursive letters on the upper right-hand corner of the worksheet. "It's too brown!"
Cal laughed, despite himself. "You said it!" he chortled, signing his name on his worksheet. "So, want to become friends?" he asked curiously, looking up at her after he was finished.
She smiled. "Sure, Cal. I like you, and I'd like to read what you've written!" She winked at him, making him blush involuntarily, an action that was really quite difficult to do. "Us authors have to stick together, don't we?"
The class finished and Cal met up with Althea in the hallway outside the classroom as he waved goodbye to Tawny. "Who's that that you were talking to, love?" she asked curiously.
"Her name is Tawny. She too is an author," Cal said as he slid an arm around her waist and held her closely. "So, how do you like high school life, love?"
"It's alright," she said, sighing. "I just wish Mr. Sandvik didn't place us so far apart. . . ."
Cal kissed her forehead. "Don't worry about it. I'll never stop thinking about you."
Tawny ran up to the two quickly. "Hey, Cal, I was wondering if you'd like to read this poem that I wrote just before I left Clearwater!" she said, slightly out of breath. Looking at Althea, she smiled and winked at her. "Hi, there! You're Shira, right?" she extended a hand and shook hers. "Nice to meet you. So, you and Cal boyfriend and girlfriend?"
Althea nodded, winking at her as well. "Yep, Cal's my knight in shining armor. So, you like it here?"
Tawny shrugged. "It's okay, I suppose. . . . I'm still a bit homesick for Clearwater, though. . . ."
"Well, all the more reasons to make friends to help you to adjust, then!" Althea said humorously. "How `bout we meet at lunch?"
"I've second lunch. . . ." she said distantly. "And I'm sure you guys have first lunch. . . ."
Cal nodded. "Yes, we do. But, how about we meet up in the parking lot after school and go do something?"
"Sounds like a plan!" Tawny said, smiling. "Well, I gotta go find out where M37 is, so you two have a lovely day!" And, with that said, she left them, handing Cal her poem. It was typed up and the paper was rather crinkled and lined, and there were spots that were discolored, as though she was reading it in the rain at one point.
Looking up at Cal, Althea sighed. "Well, Cal, I know where my next class is, so I'll see you at lunch, my love. . . ." And she walked out of the building, leaving Cal walking to Honors English IV alone.
The walk seemed abnormally long, without the two friends he now had in Anthropology class. He used to have no friends in that class, so it was quite a switch. He walked into the English classroom and took his seat next to the teacher's desk. Mrs. McNally stood at the head of the classroom, smiling. She was a middle-aged woman, with graying blond hair and a slightly overweight disposition. She had been one of Cal's favorite teachers, and Cal was one of her favorite students.
"What's with the long face, Calvin?" Mrs. McNally asked kindly, looking down at him.
Cal looked up and smiled. "Must be the weather, I guess. . . . Whenever there's a hint of rain, it always acts like a depressant for me. . . . So, what are we doing today, Mrs. McNally?"
"Ooh, you'll love me for this!" she said excitedly. "We're doing . . . VERB CONSTRUCTION!!!"
Groaning, Cal looked down to the poem that Tawny gave him. Why is she so familiar to me? he thought as he opened the crinkled sheets of paper bound together by hot pink yarn. On the upper right-hand corner was the title and information: "My Fallen Angel, a poem by Tawny Jameson. For Lydia." He began reading,
Evanescent as a dream,
You disappeared before mine eyes,
Thine blood smeared as sanguine sheen,
A part of me dies.
Though the moon
Waxes and wanes,
Ne'er shalt thine memory,
For it is as constant as the spring rains.
Looking to the crimson sunset
I am eternally in thine debt.
Raven-haired savior, I only regret
That we had never met.
Every moment we shared,
Every laugh, every sigh,
Are my most treasured possessions.
Watching you vanish, I begin to cry.
Thine pale flesh
Devoid of ardency,
You deserved so much yet asked so little. . . .
Thine love was of boundless sufficiency!
Stunning and delicate
As a solitary rose.
If only I could move time, I'd halt
The pain which doth make thy blood flow.
So many words
I still needed to say
Before thy departure. . . .
Before these storm clouds so horribly grey. . . .
Gentle seraphim of the night,
Why didst thou have to die?
Thy life so fresh,
I wasn't ready to say goodbye. . . .
I would have died a thousand times
In thy place, if only thou had asked.
Evanescent siren of blood,
This nameless evil kills all and saves me for last!
Without thy beauteous smile
I feel so cadaverously alone. . . .
Please, lord of the Earth
Vanish what is now shone
A broken dream
I am torn asunder
In witness to those sanguine stars
I worshipped under.
An ashen zephyr
Hails this scorched earth
And now thy everlasting grace
Heralds my rebirth.
For once upon a time
Thine infinite love ne'er led me astray
For whence I gaze into thine eyes
Though lost, I remember the way.
Now, I pace,
Alone,
In this place of despair,
Overcome by woe that I've never outgrown.
Staring upon the edge of my knife,
I find you gazing back at me with a smile.
We will be together again soon, my love,
For you will always be my fallen angel.
Cal looked up from the poem, his face pale. Gee. . . . That poem sounds familiar. . . . he thought as he folded it up and stored it in his backpack. The person in that poem sounds like I did before Althea came into my life. . . . Cal sighed and let the minutes tick by. He wanted to reach out to Tawny, for if that poem was so beautiful, she must have been a tortured soul at one point or another. Never again will I be lonely. Not so long as I have friends like Althea and Miranda and . . . Tawny. . . . He sighed again and began writing down in his notebook a poem to return to her. He wrote: "The Rose, by Calvin Lillehammer. For Tawny."
"Lost in the void
The darkness of my life
Shrouds everything from my eyes.
An incomprehensible strife. . . .
Darkening skies,
The horizon fire-paved
The acrid smell of smoke,
And a barren wasteland moon-light bathed.
That wasteland is my life.
A plagued life, a horrendous nightmare.
Cadaverous solitude. . . .
This reality is too horrible to bear. . . .
A solitary rose,
Wafting gently in the soft autumnal zephyr,
Lands in a pool of blood
Of those who prosper.
To see the world
In distant fire. . . .
Such a blackened place. . . .
Nothing here but distant thunder.
In the ashen wind of the dead,
Overcome by woe. . . .
This world is for all those damned. . . .
Darkness begins to grow. . . .
In this abyss,
I see the wilted ending of a single flower,
A black rose consumed by fire
Its charred petals wilting lower and lower. . . .
Caustic haven for the damned
Destroys all the beauty lying in its path.
Evanescent like the smell of death,
Indeed the world has loosed its wrath.
Its targets matter not,
For this silent wraith sees all as one,
And one as all, everything begins to die,
Wilting like the rose in the setting sun.
Beauteous damnation,
All fractures in its path
Like shattered glass,
And I was the first to witness the blood bath.
The world is gone,
Just another wasteland
Bathed in rancorous moonlight,
A sun-parched desert of rock and sand.
Bleeding upon the earth,
I see the darkened skies,
Fire-paved and lightning-bathed
Through lucid eyes.
These wounds clouding my mind,
I hear cries of pain as the breeze bellows.
I can only stand by and watch the death of the world
All because of the death of a rose."
With that finished, he vowed he'd give her his poem when the day ended. Smiling, Cal sat back and let the verb construction lesson commence.