Φblivion Ring

[SinProductions]

Oblivion Ring

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Friday morning, six in the morning. A cool chill carries on the gently breeze that rolls through the small town Eden Glades. Street lamps across town begin to flicker out as the sun slowly rises over hills in the distant horizon. Birds sing to each other as the suns warm glow wakes them from sleep. It's shining visage glimmering in the dew on the seas of grass that cover the land. Residential areas begin to come alive as students wake and leave for school. Their parents wake and leave for work and chores. Shops and store open early for business. Most people walk to their destinations if they don't take a bike. Few drive. The town is small. The cool air begins to warm as the sun rises into the sky. There aren't many clouds today. There's usually a haze. But today is surprisingly sunny. The news agrees, reporting relatively warm weather with a light chance of rain. A rather nice day for such a mundane living. One of only a handful of things that ever change in the little town of Eden Glades.

[Candle]

Carson awoke the way he did every morning: wiping away the dust that hat fallen from the ceiling onto his face overnight. While he had finished applying the wallpaper to his bedroom, the ceiling above was nothing but exposed wood, and above there was no roof to keep the wind from blowing the dirt and loose sawdust around the incomplete home-to-be. Later this morning he would have to clean up the rest of the first floor before returning to work on the construction zone upstairs, but as his eyes blinked open Carson didn't feel like work.

He rolled out of bed, the duvet snaring his leg along the way, making him tumble onto the floor. Murmuring a few incoherent sounds as he got to his feet, he reached to the coat-rack for his bathrobe and took a few sleepy steps to the front door. He wasn't entirely done putting it on when he pushed the front door outward (the latch needed to be replaced, he noted), and with a final step he stood on the front porch. Sunlight was only just beginning to spill into the valley, and the dim golden glow was kept in check by a perfect dewy coolness. This was far earlier than Carson was used to rising, but the sublime stillness of the world outside convinced him that he needed to get up this early more often.

As a child pedaled by on a bicycle, Carson remembered that he was only wearing boxers and a loose bathrobe, and he retreated back into the entryway. Even as he returned to the confines of his dusty domicile, he couldn't miss the unmistakable scent of something on the air - something immaterial, more a thought than an actual presence - that told him something was off somehow. Something would be different today, and he wanted to know why and how. He took a pair of jeans off the floor, went to his closet to put on a plain gray t-shirt and his leather jacket. Fully dressed, he looked for his journal, which lay unceremoniously at the foot of his bed. He took it and, with one more searching glance around the place, darted out of the door, into the cold glow of the rising sun.

[DangerClose]

Katya wasn't going to be late, but she wasn't exactly going to be early either. She grabbed her backpack and quickly decided she didn't have time to eat anything. She wasn't hungry anyway, or so she told herself as she picked up her dark red zip-up jacket and headed out into the brisk morning air. Yet something didn't feel right. "Maybe I am hungry." She said aloud to no one but herself.

If there ever was a more beautiful sunrise, Katya hadn't seen it. The first sunlight pierced the light fog that indicated the early morning, dew sparkled on nearby plant life. Everything was still and picturesque. However, as beautiful as it was, Kat still had school to attend. So she began walking at a decent pace in the direction of the nearby school at which she, among many others, was in the process of receiving her final year of mandatory schooling. As she continued her walk down the well-worn sidewalk, a light breeze gently turned the grass as well as Katya's hair to her left. The only sound on this road was the rhythmic beat of the girl's footsteps on the cement. Somewhere in the distance though, a few birds were having a conversation and a car engine starting silenced them, not for long however.

Finally Katya rounded a corner and, in the distance the High School stood, unmoving and sparkling in the early morning dew. A couple teenagers, a few years younger than Kat, sat on the front steps reading or texting someone. As she approached, one looked up and nodded as acknowledgement to her presence.

[Luna008]

"G-good morning Katya." Dawn greeted. She had been sitting a little ways away from the others reading a book when Katya came walking up. She didn't normally greet people, but she really had to get out of her shell if she was going to get along in the world. Besides, Katya seemed nice enough to talk to. She needed more friends then just the animal's she befriended over the years.

Animals played a big part of her life. Her cat, her actual pet cat, Noel woke her up in the morning and accompied her during her morning routine. Then Scrufs, a stray dog that took a liking to her, walked her to school and back home at the end of the day. School was the only place her animal friends weren't around so making some human friends not only would be the normal thing to do, but also fill in the lonliness. And today felt like a special day and good things were bound to happen on a special day right?

[Musique]

Margaret awoke to the sunshine beaming through her window. Her pink curtains absorbed the light, reflecting a soft pink tone around the bedroom. Margaret smiled. She always started her day off with a smile. The day hadn't given her reason to do otherwise as of yet, so why not? Climbing out of bed, she proceeded to do her daily morning stretches before putting on her outfit for the day. She chose a floral skirt, a white shirt with ruffles, and for an accessory she had a braided suede leather headband. To give this normal outfit a crazy, unique twist, she slapped on a colorful blue waist belt with a large bow on the front and two different colored socks, one pink, one green, the green one being scrunched down farther than the other. She shoved her colorful feet into her old pair of moccasins, dirtied and worn. She probably should get a new pair before they start developing holes. Applying little makeup - just some mascara and pink lip gloss, she grabbed her ukulele and sketch pad and headed to the kitchen.

Margaret always woke up early, and her parents knew of her morning ritual of going to the park and singing. Her mother greeted her in the kitchen, offering some toast and jam along with some fake sausage. (Margaret was a vegetarian, or was trying to be. Going strong for six months now.) She happily ate the food, thanked her mother, and grabbed her purple purse, placing the sketch pad inside of it. In case she got hungry after singing, she grabbed another slice of toast and put it in a bag and into her purse.

Opening the door, she closed her eyes, breathing in the fresh air. Today was to have wonderful weather, and she felt like celebrating her great morning in song. While walking to the park, she strummed her ukulele, singing of the birds chirping and the sun shining down on her. Once she arrived at the park, her eyes glistened. Flowers were dancing in the sun's spotlight, and she imagined them calling out to her to join them. Usually she sat on the bench and enjoyed the view, but today she decided to sit in the grass. A short distance away from the bench, she sat criss-crossed, laying down her ukulele to pick a daisy. She slid the stem into her headband and tied a knot for it to stay secure. Her favorite flower was now her new favorite accessory. Removing her sketch pad from her purse, she began drawing a bunch of flowers circling a large daisy in the middle.

[Kirra]

It was a peaceful morning for Zoey as she awoke and got ready for school. Since her father left for a business trip the day before, she didn’t have to worry about having her hot shower ruined with her father taking up the water with his own shower. Since she prepared for the day’s events last night, a pair of blue jeans, a blue t-shirt, and her favorite green jacket was waiting for her as she quickly slipped into them and headed downstairs to the kitchen where she prepared and ate a simple ham and cheese omelet and then headed out of the front door to leave for school. Things were working out great for her. Her father was going to be out of town for the next four days which gave her the whole weekend to herself.

As she pondered the thought of what her expected plans were going to be for the upcoming weekend, a younger kid whom Zoey presumed was heading off to the local elementary school passed her on his bike. She watched the kid as he peddled down the street and saw a man in a bathrobe a few houses down the road form her scurry into his home. Zoey released a small chuckle as she watched the events before her come into play. She recollected many times of adults telling her that she should listen to them since they were wiser than her and knew better than her on the way the world worked, but many times she has witnessed their claim to be false, such as the man’s stupidity she recently witnessed. Common sense would tell anyone to change their clothes if they were to be embarrassed to be seen in public with what they were wearing, but it seemed to her that even a full grown adult haven’t even grasped the full extent of that knowledge. As she passed the man’s house, she remembered a few students in the past talking about his tinkering skills and how he was able to repair a few of their items. As she walked the rest of the way to school she tried to remember his name but with no success. As she walked up the front steps of the school, she could hear the chatter of the upperclassmen around her. One small voice stood out from the rest, which seemed to be slightly nervous, though Zoey didn’t give much attention to it. As walked down the main hallway of the school to her locker and fiddled with the combination until it opened. She was shorter than most students at her high school, a mere five feet, so she was glad to have a lower locker so she could reach it without having to stand on the tips of her toes.

[DangerClose]

"Hello there...D- It started with D didn't it? Of course it did. Anyway, hey there." Katya said with a slight smirk as she passed the girl. She recognized her but couldn't quite put a name to her face, which looked to be around the same age as Kat. It didn't matter that much anyway, undoubtedly one of her friends knew the girl-- she'd just ask them later. Katya continued her self-assured walk down the hall and got the usual greetings of friends and admirers alike. On her way down the hall, Katya did however, recognize a particularly small Freshman; one with a reputation for bitchiness. Bitchiness with slight chance of being a know-it-all. The thought amused Kat.

But then didn't everything? Yes, even if others did not enjoy her humor, she sure appreciated it. Katya sat down on a particular bench on a certain corner. None of her real good friends had showed up yet, so that meant they were either not here or still retrieving things from their locker. She didn't use her locker frequently, if at all. It was much easier to carry everything with you anyway and there was a less chance of thievery. And anything you can't carry with you, you didn't need anyway. Besides, it had worked for the last three years. The rate at which people were starting to arrive was steadily increasing by the minute so most of her 'inner circle' would most likely be showing up any second.

[Candle]

The sidewalk was damp underfoot, even though there had been no rain overnight; if it had, Carson would have known about it. Every rainfall kicked off a desperate race to waterproof the exposed second floor of his house with tarps and buckets, a race he had not always won. It must have been unusually foggy, but now the sun shone triumphantly in its customary mid-morning position. The new warmth peeled thin ribbons of steam off the pavement as it grew hotter, and Carson could tell it would likely become uncomfortably warm by noon. Having set out from his house on Blackbird Avenue, he rounded the corner and started towards downtown.

Ordinarily, Fridays herald in the long-anticipated weekend for students and the traditionally-employed workforce of Eden Glades. It wasn't quite so straightforward for Carson - it might be, it might not be. His weekly schedule was capricious at best, varying wildly by week and changing suddenly by day. A quick glance through his journal confirmed that today he would be neither absolutely free nor extremely busy, with only a few errands and deliveries to run by midday and a mostly obligation-free afternoon.

No day, however, began without a stop at the Common Grounds Coffee House. A surprisingly upscale coffee joint at the edge of the park, Common Grounds was the gathering point of the self-appointed intelligentsia of Eden Glades, which in reality was a motley aggregation of liberally-minded young folk enraged at the system. If ever Eden Glades was overthrown by the proletariat, it would start here. Ordinarily, Carson would enjoy either genuinely discussing lofty topics or sniping amateur wisacres with inconsistent worldviews, but the morning crowd proved to be more of the late-for-work type. He waited in line for a woman in an ill-fitting floral dress to order a "venti non-fat, no foam, no water six pump extra hot chai tea latte" before he stepped forward and asked for a "coffee, black".

Cup o' joe in hand, Carson left through the side door and started to cut diagonally through the park; he could have stuck with the sidewalk, but he thought there was something therapeutic about walking on the grass. The park was far larger than most small town parks - hell, it was larger than most small towns. It was the only place in town where trees grew naturally in any great number, making it an ideal spot to escape from the sun. Carson headed down a gentle decline blanketed in tiny white wildflowers - the common oxeye daisy to be precise (in a previous life, he had worked at the florist's) - which brought him to a landscaped spot with a gravel path circling a copse of venerable old beech trees. Nearby was a bench, and next to that sat a kaleidoscopic mass of vivid colors that, upon closer inspection, was a young woman in daringly vibrant attire with a sketchpad. Carson made the snap decision that it was worth delaying his errands to talk to this living, breathing colorwheel, so he changed course slightly and approached her with a salutatory, "Mornin'."

[Musique]

Pencil glided across paper with ease and precision, expertly outlining the cluster of flowers. With her fingers, Margaret smudged the edges, creating realistic shading the best she could. With professional pencils she could do a much better job, but she owned none, so therefore used the simple instrument she had. She did very well nonetheless. When she was done with the flowers, she began work on the background - grassy hills and some trees. One of the trees was not realistic - rebelling against the realistic theme of the rest of the drawing. It curved and twisted in strange ways, the branches seemingly reaching out to the flowers, but couldn't quite reach them. She never shared her drawings with anyone other than her parents and her uncle. Mostly due to the fact no one else had asked to see them. No one seemed to understand her drawings. People in the past would've told her, for this drawing, that she should erase the twisted tree and just draw a perfect, realistic scene. Margaret wasn't a big fan of realism - she was more interested in implementing abstract ideas into the real world.

While she was drawing one of the many branches yet to come, she heard a man's voice beside her. Normally she would have heard his footsteps, but whenever she drew, she became completely focused on the task until it was completed. The voice startled her, causing her pencil to make a dark, jagged line a short distance across her page. She looked at it for a second before looking up at the man who had spoke. Margaret paused for a brief time, taking in this rare situation. She couldn't remember the last time someone had approached her and spoke to her. Was the man blind? He didn't seem to be, he was looking directly at her and she was making no noise. Before silence turned to awkward, she replied.

"Good morning," she said, before taking him in. He was quite a bit taller than her, but then again, she was sitting on the ground. She had to tilt her neck quite a bit to be able to look him in the face, but she was afraid to stand up. For all she knew, he was just passing by and saying a quick "Morning" to her. She didn't want to make him feel as if he needed to stay longer.

[Candle]

As the girl replied, she drew her sketchbook instinctively to her chest; Carson wondered what she was drawing, and why she would bother to hide it. Artists each have their own sensitivities, some reacting poorly to criticism, others only showing their work to a select viewership - whichever it was, Carson was more interested in the artist than the art.

"This is just a guess, but shouldn't you be in school?" he asked with a sip of coffee. Carson had never been a good judge of age; he couldn't determine if she was seventeen, eighteen or nineteen. If in doubt, he always erred on the younger side, and in this case that would make her a high school student, and a pretty one at that.