Connections

Chapter One - Ralph

This is a new story I've been working on with a friend of mine, WillowShade101. We're quite a ways in, but have just recently decided to put it up to see if it gets good reception. If it does, we'll post more. I mostly do Aria's pecepective, and she does Ralph's. Enjoy

Chapter 1

Ralph

           I lie on the couch, listening to a tune on my iPod, my hoodie tied around my waist. I turn it higher and higher, until I can’t think of anything else besides the fact that the music is so loud, too loud. I rest my head so that it hangs off the edge of the couch. Is it comfy? No. It’s distracting. I close my eyes, humming tunelessly along to the hard rock for a while, relived to have these few seconds to myself. It won’t last though.

            I hear my name being called, and I try to get up, but instead slide off the couch. Pulling myself to my feet, running my hand through my messy dirty-blonde hair, I pause the music and hide the iPod under the couch cushion. If I'm going to be grounded, I at least want to have my iPod somewhere safe. I walk into my parent’s room, sitting on their bed, ready to defend myself. My father sighs, and then started to talk.

            “Listen, I know you think this is all very funny, but you need to stop. What you did wasn’t right. Now, me and your mother have been talking, and—”

            “I didn’t do anything, I'm really serious this time! I didn’t do—”

            “Ralph, you put tacks on the principle’s, vice principle’s, and all the teacher’s chairs. That sounds like something you would do.” My mom argues.

            “No! I wouldn’t! If I were to do a prank to all of them, it would be much, much better! You know me! You know they’re more professional than putting a tack!” I argue. I take my jokes very seriously. I love playing pranks, and I’ve gotten kicked out of schools because of it. But I know they won’t believe me. They never do. I sigh as my parents look at me, disappointment in their eyes. But I know why someone did it and blamed it on me. I know something I'm not supposed to. And I'm going to pay for it. This is only the beginning. No, stop it, I tell myself. This is just some friend pranking me back. This has nothing to do with the thing… I hope.

            My dad looks at me, his eyes weary. I glare at him. Then there is a knock at the door. I stand my ground. My mom sighs in despair, and walks away to get the door. I stand up and follow her, feeling my father’s eyes at the back of my neck. Peeking out, I see a police officer at the door. I freeze, tensing, prepared to run. It’s an instinct I’ve acquired.

            “Excuse me, but is Ralph Jackal here?” he asks, trying to peer around my mother.

            “Why?” my mother asks.

            “He is accused of the murder of—” I don’t even hear the rest; I know what is going on. Instead I whip around and run into my father. He tries to get a hold on me, but I duck under his hold and speed towards the open window. He runs after me, and I’m glad that I got my speed from my mother and not my father. He isn’t as fast as me, and I get to the window before he can catch me. I leap smoothly out of it, rolling in the grass. I roll to my feet smoothly and run across the street. I hear shouts behind and see the police officer chasing me. I run for the one place I’ve always felt safe: the park. My sharp mind, which I got from my father, quickly calculates the plan of escape. I’m clever as a coyote and lean and fast like one, too.  I try to turn and swerve around the blocks, trying to confuse him. I keep running, even though I think he's far behind me. The park isn’t far away.

            I finally reach it and see a bus slowly filling with people. I run on, pushing my hands in my jean pockets. I have five dollars in my pocket, leftovers of lunch money. I pay the fee and sit down, trying to seem small. A man sits next to me with a crate of oranges.

            “Where are you headed?” I ask, trying to sound friendly as to not raise suspicions.

            “Oh, back home. It’s a small, forested town. It’s a little isolated, but the driver says he can get me there. I think I'm gonna be the last one off the bus, but I can’t wait to finally go home! And you?”

            “Same place.” I answer a grin on my face.

I fall asleep on the ride, asking the friendly man to wake me up when we get there before. I dream of my father. He’s sitting at a table with another man. They are talking. I walk nearer, surprised at the vividness of the place. I know it’s a dream though. But no ordinary dream.

            “…he's always been a bit of a rebellious, troublesome child. I don’t know where he could’ve gone, though. He usually goes where no one expects him to, though. Try the school, or maybe someplace near it.” My father says. I grit my teeth. I can’t believe he's trying to help them catch me.

            “Thank you for your help.” The man says, starting to get up.

            “No problem.” They both walk out. I look at the door closing, a sinking feeling in my chest. The door closes, and I wake up.

The man with the oranges is shaking my shoulder, and I yawn groggily.

            “Are we here?” I ask, rubbing my eyes and stretching.

            “Yeah. So, is this good-bye?” he asks.

            “I guess. Bye.”

            “Bye.” He walks out, and I take a little longer, looking for all my stuff, until I remember I came here empty handed. The bus door closes, and it starts moving. I run up to the bus driver.

            “Wait, wait!” the man slows the bus to a stop.

            “What?” he asks in a grouchy voice.

            “I need to stop here for another bus. Could I get off?” I ask, not wanting to say this was my final stop.

            “You know I can just take you anywhere just fine?” he asks, giving me an annoyed glance. I nod, but get off anyways. The bus groans and starts to move. I wave and turn around, looking around. There is a small bus stop in the middle of a small town. The roads are made of pebbles and dirt. I sigh and start walking in one direction. The people look at me suspiciously as I walk past, but I give them all smiles and wave. Is this one of those ultra-small towns that hates outsiders? If it is, I don’t want any attention directed towards me. So I smile and wave, and eventually they smile back.

I wonder if I can buy a snack for a dollar or two. But I think that it’ll be safer if I just stay out of sight. I’ll probably just stay in a tree for the night. Then I’ll move on. I start to look around for a tree, noticing that it’s getting dark. Then there’s a crack of thunder that scares the crap out of me, and I jump up, swearing. It starts to pour, and I'm using that term loosely. “Pour” doesn’t even cover it. It’s raining like someone decided to dump an ocean on the town. I run blindly, holding my hands out to feel if I bump into anything. I reach down and take off my shoes to feel the pebbles and dirt that is the road. I start to run again, following the path. I untie my hoodie and use it as an umbrella, trying to squint and see something. There’s a house ahead of me, and I run there, hoping for some shelter.