Meeting a Fictional Character. What? (wattpadprize14)

[This is a Snow Day Assignment. I work better while on the computer so I'm writing it on here first before printing it out and all that. XD Smart idea, huh? I would like to think so, but I'm me and sometimes I tend to think things are good when they are not. Heh, yeah, that's me.

Well, ANYWAYS: This assignment is to writ about a character from a story/novel we have read so far coming to life on a snow day and what happened during that day.

I chose the book Johnny Tremain - a colonial story, really confusing but good, highly recomended - and the character Rab Silsbee. I put in a twist, so don't hate me. XD] 

Snow was the only exception for white, in my opinion. White could never be annoying or ugly when it's snow. Especially when it's falling in the thick sheets like it is now, heavy and bright all the while making the day cold and uninviting. Today is a good day to just stay at home and sit by a window and watch the weather do what it does best, cover everything in a light, feathery blanket of cold dots that fell from the sky.

My eyes were being reflected back at me while I stared out the window I sat next to so I could watch the grey sky and white snow. No, white is never annoying when it's snow. Almost as if muffled by the snow itself, the wind rocked the walls of my home gently, no thought of danger crossing my mind. Not until an unexpected knock scared me out of my trance that the snow had put on me.

Turning away from the window, I stood up and reached behind the couch quickly to grab the baseball bat the had been set there to never been picked up until now. Swallowing, I made my way to the front door as another round of knocks sounded. They were light, almost as if the person on the other side was distracted by something. Getting a better grip on the bat, I took the last few steps to the door and took hold of the door knob. Slowly, very slowly, I turned the knob and pulled the door towards me just enough for me to peer out at the one knocking at the door.

What I was faced with was a boy probably three or four years older than me leaning against the railing to the steps with a pained face. His face, darkly colored, was lighter than his hands, which were either raised to knock again or wrapped around the railing to keep him from falling to the ground. Right on his abdomen was a red spot, still spreading like a small rain puddle getting more water into it.

On instinct I dropped the bat and helped the boy further into the house, trying to keep him from falling in the hallway. His breathing had been silent to me when he had been out in the snow, but now I could hear the unevenness and rasping take each inhale and exhale had. I used one of my hands to pull out a kitchen chair and helped the wounded boy sit in the hard seat. I glanced over the wound before going to look for the first aid kit; the bathroom was now upside down from my search, but I found the box filled with what I was looking for and much more helpful items as well.

I kneeled down on the boy's right, putting everything I had piled in my arms down on the floor. Sitting up on the heels of my feet, I moved my hands to slowly touch the edge of his shirt, and that's when I noticed the style of it. The style wasn't 'normal' but more olden and Colonial-time like, but I shrugged it off when I looked into his eyes and spoke up.

"I'm going to have to take it off to look at the wound. I'll try my best to not hurt you, but by the looks of it," Another glance at his wound and a slight pull up with my hands, I started moving his shirt upwards to see part of the wound, "it already hurts more than I myself can most likely imagine."

He didn't say anything, just nodded and closed his eyes as I focused more on his wound. I didn't know anything about medical situations, but I knew enough to know that he wouldn't make it through the end for the night unless the bleeding stopped. Going to the supplies I had set out, I quickly grabbed the hydrogen peroxide bottle and a bag of cotton balls. Ignoring the blood on my finger tips, I wiped my hands on my legs twice before twisting the cap off the brown bottle as quickly as I can without dropping it. Then, without catching my hand on the small opening in the plastic bag, I snatched out two cloud-like balls and put one to the top of the bottle; and so went a pattern of me cleaning away his wound and getting bigger gauzes ready to put pressure on the small, but really deep wound.

All the while, while I was cleaning his wound, the boy wasn’t saying a word. After a while, the bleeding stopped and I risked a glanced up towards the pales face. I could hear him breathing, a heavy sound that lost the roughness from earlier, so I wasn’t worried about him being dead. Once my eyes connected with his open and alert ones already staring at mine, I found myself giving him a lopsided smile. His eyes were a dark color, not quiet black but not really brown.

“Thank you.”

Such simple words, but I still kept my smile upon my face, mumbling a ‘No problem’ while I cleaned up the hints of there ever being blood on any item in this household. I could feel his eyes follow my movements while I walked around the kitchen, grabbing rags and wiping down the tiled floors of the deeply colored red that had splattered there. After a few more silent moments, I dared a glance up at him to take in his looks further than what color his skin was or what era his shirt looked to be from. His hair was as straight as mine was - which wasn’t much - and held a black hue that could rival the darkest shadow in the woods out my back door.

“Why are you watching me?”

Jumping slightly, I blushed lightly while I diverted my eyes to look at the table I was standing behind with a thoughtful expression before something clicked into my mind. This boy in front of me could be described as being tall and dark, and I remember reading something like that from a novel in my reading class. Oh, what was that book called…? “You remind me of someone, that’s all. Trying to figure out who.”

His accusatory look turned curious in seconds, his head tilting to on side as he looked at me, “I wouldn’t know a white girl enough to say I could remember them correctly… Well, not true, I know - knew, I don’t know if she’s dead or not, but I knew one white girl before a lot happened.”

This time my own head tilted to one side, mimicking his action while I grew curious myself. This could help with figuring out which book character, and the book itself, this boy reminds me of. “Oh? What was her name?”

“Nickname, I knew that. Cilla.”

Johnny Tremain! That’s the book! Oh, then if this boy knew of a girl named Cilla, and he was wounded in the stomach… Rab, that’s the character who died if I’m remembering right, from a wound very similar. “If you don’t mind me asking, what’s your name?”

He smiled, a calm smile that barely showed the pain that was hinted in his reflective eyes, “Rab, my name’s Rab.”

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There you go, my CW. Heh, yeah, not how I wanted to end it but I was getting to my ending dead-line. (Page and a half)

   - Biscuit