Oz

Memories

Chapter One
Memories

"How I miss yesterday, and how I let it fade away. Don't fade away..."

-Panic! At the Disco

GALE

It's early in the morning as I sit at the kitchen table, sleep making my limbs feel heavy. The wood is cool against my forearms, but I ignore it, cupping the mug of tea in front of me for warmth. The house is silent, still clinging to Dreamland, and the stars are twinkling overhead in their own private light show, but I know I'm not crawling back into bed at this point.

I'm far too stressed for that.

I imagine there's a glob of drool clinging to the corner of my mouth judging by the sticky feel of it, but I can't bring myself to care at the moment. Honestly, I'm too busy fighting to stay awake to let a monster truck driving through the side of the house with Pete Wentz behind the wheel bother me, let alone a bit of spit on my face.

Sighing, I close my hazel eyes and press a hand to my head, the skin cool against my cheek. My vision blinks in and out of focus as I fight for consciousness, my head pounding more and more with each shift of my eyes. The slight smell of peach fills the air as a small puff of steam wafts from my blue teacup, and the ghost of a smile crosses my face.

At least I can have one decent drink before I die.

Not death in the physical sense, of course; I'm sixteen and alive and kicking, much to my brother's annoyance. I mean death in the emotional sense, although some may argue that I've already achieved that, too.

Some dark stuff has happened to my family-I probably shouldn't go into it, or I'll scare you away-that has changed me in more ways than I care to admit.

Death does that to you, I guess. This time it is in the physical sense.

But that isn't what's bothering me right now, even though the thought of death never truly leaves my mind. It's the thought of the new beginning I'm about to be facing; the new chapter in my life that I still don't know the name of that's keeping me up at ungodly o' clock.

Specifically, the first day of school.

Stop laughing at me, because I'm sure you are. Anyone would if they knew I was stressing about something as simple as school after all the other things I've found myself wondering about.

Probably shouldn't go into that, either.

It's just...I don't know, something about beginnings scares me. I don't know where they're going to go; I have no idea what color ink I'm using, what style I'm writing, what events are in store, for the next chapter of my life that's coming. I have no idea what I'm going to witness, and the thought of that terrifies me more than any boogieman that might come in the night.

After all, it's much easier to deal with the struggles in a story when you've already been warned they're coming. It's like knowing the storm is coming before you've gotten there, so you've had time to batten down the hatches.

And I know a storm's coming. It always does when your name is Gale. A storm always comes when you can't get control of the sails to steer clear of the rain. A storm always blows in when you're trying to piece yourself back together; when you're wondering if you were ever fully there in the first place. A storm always appears on the horizon when things just begin to look up; when the bad things finally begin to blow over.

After all, what's the fun in breaking something that's already destroyed?

And so all I can do is wait. I'm trying to gather my equipment to face the onslaught I know is coming, but I doubt I'll ever be fully ready. No one is ever prepared for the destruction a tornado will cause to a town, to the havoc a hurricane will wreak on millions of lives.