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Violet and The Intangibles
This is has many inspiritions, most being, simply, my own personal life and "Love, Simon". I hope this novel is something that, when its finished, I can call one of my best works. I also hope that it leads to many other novels within the same universe.
Chapter 1: Smite Me
May 6th, Friday, 8:28pm
My favorite quote is, "I'm still learning about life" because really, when does the learning ever actually end? When I turned 15 I legitimately thought that I had learned everything that I needed to know. Now, I'm 16 and a half and I'm realizing that I don't know everything. It’s a feeling of misinterpreting, a sad story of being terribly mistaken, but I'd never admit that I was wrong.
My least favorite color is violet, and unfortunately, it’s also my name, Violet. What a cruel joke of God's spite. I am aware, my parents named me that, but I insist on blaming God, along with several other things that may likely be Their fault. An example, myself being a lesbian, the epitome of inconvenience. My parents harbor a special sort of animosity for people like me, that’s probably God's fault too. Luckily, I developed the ability to -believe it or not- keep a secret, how impressive...
With full disclosure, my life isn’t all bad. I have a nice group of friends who are like me, I’m in a band with them (called “Friday’s Solution”), I get good grades, and I achieve and relish confidently in my aesthetic style.
"We thank you, Lord, for our meal, Amen.", my father said, at the dinner table.
"Violet, your prayers?", my mother asked, expecting a sort of religious appreciation.
"Smite me.", I said under my breath, rolling my eyes.
"Excuse you?", my father asked, with an admirable sass.
"Thank you!", I said, rising from my seat to leave the table.
"No, have a seat.", he commanded.
"I've been excused! Poor choice of words, Walter.", I sassed back.
How cliché, a dysfunctional family.
I stomped up the stairs, hoping that with each step the neighbors would become aware that there was discord within our happy little family, slamming my door for the finale to my orchestra of rebellion. I plumbed down onto my bed, opening my phone.
“Message: Jaspy”, read my notification page.
I slide open my phone, “How goes your night, babe?”, their message to me read.
The “babe” part was not atypical, Jasper was my best friend, we were incredibly close. We had a history, I’d known them for years.
“Dinner blows.”, I type and send to them.
“What else is new?”, they text back asking.
“I just wish I could get out of this place.”, I admitted, beginning to become upset.
My phone vibrated and I looked down, “What a catch, the squad is outside, surprise!”
I was shocked, I pounced from my bed to look out the window. There they were, all my friends, on their bikes, waiting for me in the middle of the street.
“What’s up loser?!”, Zoey shouted up to me.
She was the self proclaimed “leader” of our squad. She was convinced that, since she was the singer in Friday’s Solution, she was also the leader. She used slang vernacular such as “drag her” and “pitiful”, wears heavy eyeliner everyday, cares too deeply about followers on social media (especially Tumblr); I think you get the picture of how she is…
“I’ll be right down!”, I called back to the group.
I grabbed my sweatshirt off of the coat hanger in my room and ran down the stairs.
“Where are you going?!”, my father yelled at me, still frustrated with dinner.
“Out!”, I answered immediately without stopping.
“Be back before your-”, my mother began to remind me, but I was could have finished her sentence. I had substantially more respect for my mother compared to my father. I had a theory that maybe she was only so hateful to the queer community because of my father. I knew she was unhappy in her marriage with him, and it made me sad to think about.
I cut her off with the slamming of our front door and carried my bike from our porch.
“Let’s roll, Friday’s Solution!”, I yelled, announcing that I was ready.
Our entire band was there. Max, the keyboard player. Max’s boyfriend, Ernie, the drummer. Max’s best friend, Gwen (my ex), the bassist. Jasper, the instrumentalist, my best friend. Zoey, the singer. Then, finally, me, the guitarist and lyricist. We all rode our bikes down the street with nothing but the street lights dimly shining under us.
“Babe, where are we going?”, I asked, laughing, realizing that I had no clue.
“To the anchor!”, Zoey answered, wishing I was asking her and calling her “babe”.
I rolled my eyes as we all took off.
It was only a few miles, which for us, teens commuting everywhere by bike, was not difficult. We were there within a few minutes and it seemed as though, somehow, it became even darker. We all stopped once the road ended.
“The anchor” was a place at the edge of our small suburban town. It was a huge wall (with a painting of an anchor on it) by the bay. It was where teens went to explore curiosities of all kind, where kids wished they were cool enough to go, and where police visited frequently.
In the dark distance I tried to focus on a silhouette at the wall. There was a silence from all of us, as if we shared one mind, collectively trying not to interrupt the attention of the silhouette. It was like seeing a deer in the forest. The silhouette was not intimidating, but innocent seeming. We heard spraying come from the silhouette, they were spray painting the wall. I admired that sort of art. Upon the realization, the silhouette went from being only a shadow to an interesting character, a story to seek, someone with a name…
“Are you tagging the wall?!”, Max yelled, like an idiot.
We all vocally objected to his disturbing of this character.
The silhouette glanced back at us, then quickly dropped the can and ran.
“Wait!”, I called out, extremely interested.
We all ran to our bikes to chase after this vandal as they ran to theirs as well. The vandal zoomed passed us on their bike as we got to ours. We hopped onto our bikes and instantly began pedalling strongly, pushing the gravel on the ground into the air. It was the equivalent of a car skidding from a stop. We all raced from the anchor back to the street of the town. It felt as though the entire setting had changed and we had followed the vandal into a different world.
We chased silenting for a minute before Zoey shouted, “Get ‘em!”, trying to intimidate the vandal.
I disagreed with the tone she was implying, but I could not object in that moment; my mind was racing too much to comprehend anything besides my deep investment. We all chased for blocks and as everyone else began to get tired and fade slightly behind, I continued strongly, determined. The vandal was pedalling so quickly that their shoe fell off. It fell into the street and as it bounced slightly it passed my bike and all I heard was skidding followed by yelling from behind me. I turned back just enough to see that it had tripped Ernie.
“Guys, stop! Ernie’s hurt!”, Max yelled to us, with panicked urgency for his boyfriend in his voice.
Everyone else skidded to a stop as I hesitated. After a few moments, I stopped in my tracks, staring off as the vandal got away. I was defeated. My curiosity left unsatisfied. With no answers, except a stupid shoe…