.hack//Legend Of Twilight Bracelet Fan Fiction ❯ ManEating Orchid ❯ Prologue - Scatterbrained PinHead ( Prologue )

Author: Breakin The Ice

 

Title: ManEating Orchids

 

Rating: R - In high school, life itself is Rated R.

 

Takes Place:Alternate Universe.

 

Disclaimer: Okay, don't own .Hack, or any of the characters residing in it. I do, however, own Anissa, Alyssa, Mr. and Mrs. Nagoya, and the little kids who can't talk right, lol.

 

Summary: What does a new girl plan to do while attending SOB high school in a small town she hates without her sister to hold her back and protect the rest of the world? Why, wreak havoc, of course.

 

 

Prologue - Scatterbrained Pinhead

 

August 16, 2003

 

Saint Ontonio, Nebraska.

 

A nice, small, homey neighborhood. Closely associated, everyone knew everyone else. It was routinely kept nice and proper. Dogs walked at the same time each day in the morning and evening, same paced steps as every other day. The rate of crime equaled that of the entire state's average crime rate. I'm still not sure whether (or what)I should moaning or grinning mischievously about.

 

Having said all those things about this town.

 

I hate it.

 

It's like some alien dimension where the kids (however few there are) have curfews of six-thirty to keep from ending up at the subway, heading to New York or California.

 

It may be a lovely and cute little place to live for some people. But it's hicks ville to me. I've lived in Paris, New York, Rome, London, Tokyo and even Queensland, Australia. But, fucking hell, this place is like a penitentiary my parents put me in to hold me down.

 

I can't help it if I like to be free and hate being caged in my small, barely as big as a closet, four walls that they call a room.

 

Looking out my window, I see the mailman walking by with his navy blue bag with khaki shorts and socks rolled up to his knees. Like the mail-man in almost all real-life based movies, he seemed to be in his forties with graying hair and wrinkling skin.

 

And I thought movies and TV-shows weren't true but just fictions made to fool one into thinking life is a lot better than it is.

 

Dammit, reality bites. Hard.

 

Why did we have to move here again? I was perfectly content with living in Sacramento, California. Why is it that after six months of staying somewhere, after I get settled in and have decent friends, crushes and memories, we have to move all over again? We move here, my so-called birth town, and dad quits his job, the main reason we kept moving, and decides to really stick to his promise of finding a place settle.

 

A 'picture perfect' daughter walks pass my window with her unnatural curls bouncing and white nylons with shiny, black, leather shoes clacking on the pavement sidewalk. She's even jumping rope in a light blue, country girl dress.

 

If this is as exciting as its going to get, I just might be adding some stuff to the statistics of the crime ratio and boost it up about thirty percentages because this town is in such desperate need of action and excitement.

 

Speaking of needing excitement. My sister is home. I can go to her and talk and it will be like we aren't even in any place but our own little world where we escape from the reality mom and dad are trying to make us live.

 

My sister has the keen ability to read people's emotions and react accordingly and react effectively.

She's a lot of things I want to be when I grow up. Strong, pretty, smart, independent, creative, and most of all, she kicks ass when people try to mess or take advantage of her, or especially me. But I'm not saying I want any of her problems. She's certainly got more than her fair share.

 

"Anissa, come and eat," I heard my mother call to me. But you know what the worst thing about being in Hicks ville is? All the ridiculous pies of every flavor out there that are given to you as welcoming presents. No one ever eats them all unless they are some pie-eating champion. I swear, we got at least eight pies within the first hour of our arrival. Seriously, don't these women have work and stuff to do besides bake pies and bake bread?

 

Before I had even so much as lifted my leg to set on the ground from the bench I was sitting on, I could hear mom and my sister yelling over something. It never ended unless they were out of hearing distance of each other because mom always had something to say to my sister.

 

Always.

 

Well, I won't go into much detail, but let's just say that Alyssa is more a Daddy's girl than anything. The only relation between mom and my sister is that they look almost exactly alike. It's creepy. The hair, build, face, cheekbones, hands, everything. Except one thing.

 

My sister has these piercing, awesome, green eyes. Ones that no one has ever had on either side of our family. Mom has these brown eyes that make you think that she is innocent and unable to commit a crime even as little as yelling at her daughter. Lucky mom.

 

I have my dad's eyes. Piercing, like my sister's, but not green. Icy blue ones that I absolutely love. And blonde hair that looks silvery and all my friends and family envy me for. I have mom's build though, and my dad's nose, and my mom's face and yadda yadda yadda. I know you don't want to hear about how lovely I look. Just be glad I cut off my sister's description like I did mine. Otherwise, I could think up three to four chapters of just me saying how awesome my sister and I look.

 

Really, I could.

 

"And I am the one who needs anger management?" my sister remarks bored, picking a warm muffin up from the basket on the table.

 

"Alyssa Jami Misawa!" I was standing at the entryway to our... kitchen. The table was pushed back into one corner and took up a fourth if the room. Dad was sitting on a chair, elbows propped up and hands covering his ears while bearing an amused smirk. Alyssa was tossing the muffin up and down casually, a slightly... unsure and weird ed-out look on her face. I didn't know what was creeping her out, but I found out a minute later.

 

Mom turned around and naturally, like any mother who prefers her youngest over her oldest child, she disapproved of the older's actions, however little they were.

 

"Alyssa, stop playing with that! Don't play with food! Give me that now!"

 

Like a good daughter, Alyssa tossed the muffin over to mom. Mom missed and dropped it to the floor. But what Mom, Dad, and I didn't expect that Alyssa did (I know she expected it because of the small smirk she hid with her head angled downward mischievously when she made to toss the muffin) was the muffin to hit the wooden floor a loud and surprising clank. Like that of stone hitting wood.

 

Which, technically, was what it was.

 

Alyssa had the confused but amused look on her face because when she was tossing the muffin up and down, it wasn't soft or bread-like, it was rough and hard. Did I mention she keeps to herself, even to me?

 

Apparently, one of the boys who had brought over the muffins was trying to pull a prank on the newcomers.

 

Just as mom picked up the rock muffin and scoffed, I saw a head pop in our kitchen window. A teenage boy's head. Brown hair, brown eyes, tan skin. Of course, I ran to the door to catch the kid. It was the most excitement and freedom I was going to get for a long time where I was and I was most definitely not about to pass it up. Alyssa didn't pass it up either. In fact, she was ahead of me. Ten feet in front of me to be more accurate.

 

Being too literal now, I'll stop...

 

I was crossing a street and looking both ways 'like a good little girl' to make sure some crazy bozo wasn't about to run me over and I slammed into my sister's shoulder, making me shout in surprise and trip over my own feet.

 

Clumsy blonde. What do you expect?

 

... I'm even blue eyed...

 

"We aren't going to catch him, now. He's hidden in the safety of his home. How brave and manly is that?" Alyssa murmured to me, holding out a hand to assist me.

 

"Uh," I said dumbly, rubbing my head after knocking it pretty hard on the solid dirt ground. "Not at all."

I looked to the house we were standing in front of and wondered just how far we had really ran. It was a pretty big house. Two floors, and basement, a nice big white and red porch and paved driveway. I looked at the mail-box, and like any other home, it had the last name of the family in gold metal plates. 'Tanega', it read and from two of the letters sticking out, from the High school I would be going too, I saw one addressed to a Shugo Tanega and a Rena Tanega on 9745 Kiwa DR. Wait a minute... Kiwa DR?

All of a sudden, I realized that we had just ran after some kid like we were freaks for at least five blocks.

 

Why did I have the sinking feeling in my stomach that, not unlike most of the other places we'd stayed, we had already been donned as the weird, crazy freaks of the neighborhood, and probably the school by the kids who saw us on our own episode of prairie life 'COPS'?

 

"Come on, lets go before mom has another cow and we have to change diapers," Alyssa muttered, ignoring the fact that several families had come outside and stood on their porches, watching the sight of two unfamiliar sisters walked down the street.

 

Maybe being dumb is better than being smart. I wouldn't have the pain of being right when I don't want to be. Mainly when right about something that's not good.

 

Already I heard kids going, "Who are those cwazy people in cwazy clothes?" with their child talk, still unable to differentiate their 'W's from their 'R's. And their mother's or older siblings around my or Alyssa's age going, "Freaks, you don't want to mess with them. They are scary."

 

Yep. We were going to be the number one targets when we started SOHS in two weeks. SOHS, as in, Saint Ontonio High School. I don't know about anyone else but that really encourages me to say the word 'SO?' quite a bit. Maybe I should...

 

(-)

 

Beep--beep--beep--beep--beep--...

 

Ever wonder why time has to be so cruel as to pass by faster than normally just to interrupt a particularly pleasant dream where you are on a date with your crush and are about to kiss when the consistent and annoying buzz of your alarm clock awakes you?

 

I most certainly wonder every time, every morning. And you know what else?

 

I hate alarm clocks. The worst invention ever made by man.

 

I was ready to murder Ferdinand McGellen for his horrid and hated invention. But I had no clue where he was or if he was even alive to even plot ways to give him death so I took it out on the alarm clock.

I took the alarm clock in my hand... and threw it out the window rather violently and angrily. For future reference, don't wake me up before I want to get up. Otherwise, there will be hell to pay.

 

Today was the first day of high school. Wow. I'm so happy. Really, I am. I can get out of this stink-hole where I live and sleep and eat into a place where there will be kids who will probably prank me but some others who will have heart and become my friend. But the pranking probably wouldn't stop because those other people would probably be low of the social status anyways. And have nothing truly special about them. Except they could do some weird thing that was so weird and crazy that it deserved to be shown on "Ripley's, Believe it or Not".

 

Ranting. So I'll continue a little bit more, more for my sake than yours because I really don't care about who you are or anything.

 

I bet Alyssa ten bucks the day before that before the high school building even came into sight while walking to school, we would either be water ballooned, told a lie, given bogus id cards, or fed some shit about certain teachers that are better than others and some are worse when it's the total opposite.

 

I so hope she wins the bet for our own safety.

 

I figured that if I was going to be labeled as a freak, I might as well be one labeled as a punk as well. Let's just say I was wearing combat boots, forest green, baggy Capri's, and a black 'The Used' T-shirt. My hair was styled messily into a tired made bun with the ends sticking out in random places and I put on finger-less black gloves to top it all off.

 

Yeah. They'll label me as a freak. No Hicks ville place would have clothes like mine. My clothes are too... uncivilized, as they would probably put it.

 

And if they think I am bad. Wait till my sister goes in five minutes late, like she always does, following her own schedule in her all black, total Goth attire. Most likely, she was going to wear a black pair of pants where the ends were raggedy,with her usual boots and black hoodie with any color shirt underneath, which was her usual choice of clothing types.

 

The great thing about her attire, even wearing a polo shirt and skirt like she did for Halloween, is that no matter what, her eyes stood out and gave her a mysterious feel that I've always wanted.

But first, if I want to wear my clothes and actually have my sister take me to school and see their faces, I have to put on my clothes, wash/brush hair and teeth, wash face, and eat. Plus maybe add a bit of make-up.

 

Why was High school so frustrating? Aren't the teachers always saying that they want us to be as comfortable around them as possible?

 

And why the Hell did it have to fucking start at seven-fifteen in the bloody morning? Aren't they also always saying that we need to get enough rest for school, too? How the hell are we supposed to get enough sleep when we have to wake up at six-fifteen just to barely get to school on time?

 

I hate school.

 

I hate teachers.

 

And most of all.

 

I hate this bloody town.