Lyra

Chapter 16 - Lana

"Stephanie." I called for Stephen.

"Don't call me that." He grumbled.

I chuckled. "How much time do we have until we go to class?" I asked him.

He checked his watch. "Uh, 15 minutes, why?"

"Text me when you're going to Lit." I told him and took my bag and went outside the cafeteria.

I went outside to the back of the school. I swept away snow on the stone bench and sat down, I took out Lyra's journal.

I opened it to the next page to find it blank. I tried doong the same thing I did a while ago, but nothing happened. Just then, a word written in bold, cursive font appeared.

Ink

Ink. Do I have to write something? I took out my pen case and slid one gel pen out. I tried touching the page with the tip of the pen, a snall dot of black ink was left behind. Then the text appeared, just like how it did with the other page, but starting from the top.

August 11, 2014

Ugh, Sunday, I hate that day. It's not that it's the day before Monday, which others hate because they are lazy and don't like to go to work or go to school. It just reminds me of something.

"Hey, Nevaeh." I looked up from the journal.

"Hi, Lana." I greeted back.

Despite disturbing my reading, I was quite happy to see her. She was that one girl who was different from others and she seemed special.

She's the emo, or goth, or whatever. She wears black a lot and never goes a day without accessories and one ear with no ear ring. The only article of make-up she puts on is eyeliner, mascara and lipstick, and of course, it has to be dark colored.

She was wearing a black crop top with a heart that had thorns sticking out of it and two knives stabbed into it with a jacket over, she was wearing grey tights and a black skaters skirt and a coat finished her outfit with matching boots, which is typical. Her hair had purple streaks and she wore fingerless gloves and her nails were painted black. Gum lay between her two rows of teeth as she stared at me.

"Isn't that Lyra's journal?" She asked, her arms crossed.

"Yep."

"Hmm, I never thought that she had the same taste as me." She stated.

A puzzled look appeared on my face and I queried, "What do you mean?"

She stuck her hand out and gestured for the book. Hesitantly, I handed it to her and watched as her hand twitched when she finally held the book. "Whoa, and she's into witchery also."

"What?"

She sighed and blew into her gum, creating a bubble and immediately popping it. She sat down next to me and brandished the journal. "See these marks on the cover, these aren't just designs -and I guess you've probably known that. This is ancient writing. Satists in the early ages made it up, and legend says that it even reached Hell itself, making it the writing system of the Underworld. Only Satists that lived many years back know about this, and to you, demons and the devil don't exist, but they supposedly know how to write this."

I was going to ask how she knows about these signs -which I've only known now that they aren't design, but I've completely forgotten what she's like. She is a goth, she must be crazy about things like these.

"And how about the witchcraft?"

She chuckled. "I wouldn't call it that. These signs are insignes that shows us that whoever casted the protection spell is not a regular witch. Who knows, maybe the one who casted the spell was a demon." She took a deep breath and continued talking, "Whoever touches this piece of leather and paper well get electrocuted. The first electrocution will only determine if the person who is holding it is as the same kind of its owner. Once the spell finds out that the holder is not the same kind as the owner, it will send millions of shock through the body until it releases it. And if the person does not stop touching it, he or she dies."

My jaw dropped open and I was left to drill holes into her skull as she examines the journal. And then she smiles at me and looks down at my bandaged hand.

"Close your mouth, you don't want the frostbites to freeze your tongue, do you?" She smiled at me and pushed my chin up to close my mouth.

"W-What-" I was cut off by the beeping of my phone. I took it out of it's pocket of my bag and saw that it was a text from Stephen. I looked back at Lana and saw that she wasn't there anymore.

A shiver ran up my spine and I quickly finish up the journal entry.

Sunday reminds me of a person that I want to forget. Every Sunday, we go out or call each other. But now that she lives in a cabin, miles away from other houses and civilization, she is isolated. The only times we see each other is at school, but we don't talk to each other.

Clearly, she doesn't want to talk to me. Or she wishes that she never did meet me. I know that having my mother as her nurse when she is being taken to her check ups reminds her of me, which is a bother.

But to hell with her! I have more friends...