Hi Everyone, sorry this is three weeks late but I have been busy working on my YA fantasy that I hope to query soon.
If you haven’t read the other episodes you can get all the links in the last episode HERE.
The Amberly Chronicles Episode Nine: Talentless.
I fiddle with the charms on my bracelet, wondering who gave them to me. Did they give me the bracelet with all the charms attached, or did it only have one and the others were added later? The pain of not knowing something as simple as that is incredible.
Longing presses heavily on my chest. I can remember being held by a pair of arms. The memory is hazy, but there. I know that when I feel like this, someone is always there to comfort me. Who holds me is blurred and my heart twists with not knowing.
I’m praying this is just a nightmare. That I’ll wake up soon. But I know it’s not, dreams don’t go on this long. I tuck my blanket under my chin, curling my legs up. I can’t bring myself to get out of bed. How do the others do it? How do they laugh and form friendships and keep on living here? Like everything is okay? Like our memories haven’t been stolen? Like we aren’t imprisoned?
How does anyone date? Fall in love? My thoughts drift to Oliver. I scrunch my eyes shut. I’m not ready to see him, but it’s inevitable. This place is big, but not that big. Hopefully he’ll avoid me since he didn’t get what he wanted from me.
But is that all he really wanted?
But he’s been with a lot of girls, maybe he says that to all of them. I’ve known him less a couple of days, I don’t know him at all. And he doesn’t know me. He said he wants to get to know me. He doesn’t realise there’s no time for that. I couldn’t bring myself to tell him I’m talentless. That in a few days I’ll be gone to who knows where, that maybe I’m just a walking dead person.
There’s a knock at the door. I’m not in the mood to see anyone and toss the blanket over my head. The person doesn’t stop knocking which makes ignoring them harder.
“Open,” I growl, throwing the blanket off.
Lyssa saunters in. I tell the door to close behind her.
“C’mon,” she says, hovering over me. “Time to get out of bed, you’ve been sulking in here for a day.”
“I’m tired,” I tell her, making no effort to move.
She folds her arms. “Okay, what happened with you and blondie?”
She narrows her eyes. “Right. And I’m white.”
I sigh. “Please, Lyssa.”
“You know he’s been to your door like ten times. He goes to knock but then chickens out,” she tells me. “I think you’ve rattled him. I’ve never seen him act like that with any of the girls here.”
I push myself into a seated position. “How do you know that?”
“I followed him.”
I stare at her. “You know that’s creepy, right?”
“I know, like knock already, why go to someone’s room just to stare at their door?” She makes herself comfortable on Tamara’s bed.
“I meant you following him every time was creepy.”
She shrugs. “I wanted to see if he could get you to come out.”
Oliver really came to my door ten times? Does that mean he really meant what he said? If he did then I definitely shouldn’t get involved deeper, not when my future is so uncertain.
She leans back, crossing her ankles. “So The Lake door is locked and is out of bounds until further notice.”
I nod. I saw the message. It flashed up on the ruler width screen above the door, which seems to be permanent now. “Sorry.”
Lyssa stands, moving to sit beside me. She takes my hand. “Amberly, you’re not going to find a way out. I’ve seen hundreds of people fail. Instead of trying to find a way out, come with me and I’ll help you discover your talent.”
I stare at our joined hands. “I told you, I don’t have a talent.”
“You have to, I just know it. You’re so beautiful.”
I rip my hand out of hers. “I’m not beautiful, and I don’t think they class that as a talent here anyway.”
Alyssa sighs. “I didn’t think you were the type to give up.”
I frown at her. “I’m not giving up.”
“It doesn’t look that way to me.” She stands, placing her hands on her hips. “Get out of bed, brush your teeth and hair, get changed and come with me.”
“I need more time.”
“You don’t have time!” she snaps and I flinch. Tears well in her eyes. “I won’t let them take you. You can’t let them take you, you have to try!” She yanks the blanket off me and I get to my feet.
“Okay,” I say, and make my way to the bathroom.
I settle down in front of a screen. After seeing my stick figures, I convinced Lyssa I wasn’t an artist. After Tamara tried to help me in the dance studio, she deemed I could dance well enough on a dance floor, but I was no pro. Now Lyssa wants me to try my hand at writing.
I blow out air as I try to think of a story. It’s hard with Lyssa sitting beside me, staring intently at the blank screen.
“I do pretty well at school – at least I’m sure I do – I can do this. I mean, how hard can it be to write a story?”
Lyssa smiles. “Right.”
Lyssa taps the panel in front of me and a keyboard appears.
“How about this….”
Rose was beautiful. Tall, slender, with long red locks that cascaded down her back. She had ample bosom and long legs, all the guys – and girls – thought she was lava. She dreamed of getting swept off her feet – and on this day she was – literally. Knocked right to the ground. Her long red dress tore right up to her thigh and she let out a shriek.
“How could you!” She cried. Her breath caught as she looked up. “Oh my.” She had never seen a more beautiful person in all her life, it made between her legs inflame. The stranger helped her to her feet and she battered her eyelashes at them.
“I’m terribly sorry,” said the man.
Rose battered her eyelids again, thrusting out her ample bosom. “How about a drink, to make it up to me?”
I smile at Lyssa. “You were right, Lyssa. I’m really enjoying this writing thing. It’s so easy.”
Lyssa looks like she’s in pain. “I think it’s good…but I’m not sure they will.”
I frown. “What do you mean? Who doesn’t love a love story?“
“Yeah, but um, your writing needs work.”
I scoff. “Come on, look at this. She wanted to be swept off her feet and then she literally is. That’s brilliant.”
She doesn’t look convinced. My heart sinks.
Lyssa presses delete and pulls me to my feet.
“Come on, let’s try acting.”
I stand in the middle of the stage, frozen. The light shines on me. My hand holding the play shakes. I can’t breathe, I can’t think. I’m going to be sick. Knowing I suffered terrible stage fright would have been handy before I made a complete fool of myself in front of all these people. Having no memory really sucks.
A girl gives me a gentle smile as she pulls the script out of my hand. She prods me to get me to move and leads me back stage. As soon as I’m out of the light I can breathe again and gulp in deep breaths.
“So maybe acting isn’t your thing,” Lyssa says.
Tears well in my eyes. “This is hopeless.” I gulp at the air; I think I’m hyperventilating.
“No, it’s not. We haven’t even tried singing yet.”
I glare at her. “You think I’ll be able to get on a stage and sing?” Is she crazy?
She puts her hands on my shoulders. “I think you should try.”
I throw her hands off, stepping back. “No. I told you I have no talent.” Tears spill over. “This is all your fault.” I turn and start running.
“Leave me alone,” I throw over my shoulder, and race to the elevator. Lyssa is too slow to catch me. I dive inside, leaning against the back wall as the doors close. I need to find a way out before it’s too late.
©Rochelle Sharpe, 2015.
Cannot be reproduced without permission.