The Ripple Effect
There is no escape
Rated M15+ for violence and coarse language. An original work.
>> Prologue - Descent
>> Chapter One
>> Chapter Two
>> Chapter Three
>> Chapter Four
>> Chapter Five
>> Chapter Six
>> Chapter Seven
>>Pkmn Breeder Jack
>> Prologue – Descent
>> Beta'd by Dramatic Melody
Every story must have a beginning. There must be a point where events create a form of inescapable destiny. It may not be the most obvious or even exciting point, but it is the beginning. Life forms a complex spiral of destruction, dragging down whoever falls within, trapped. Lives collide; corruption can erupt from the simple meeting of an unlikely pair in a very unlikely place. What is the difference between a chance meeting and a road to destruction? Is there a difference in the end?
The green light shone through her eyelids. It was coloured by the multitude of leaves above, clinging tightly to the branches of a young oak. Beneath the tree stood a tall, teenage girl leaning against it. She opened her eyes to the spring green of the park; her thin, black shoulder-bag hanging over the branch next to her.
Wind tugged at the baggy, long-sleeved turquoise shirt and faded jeans she wore. They sagged at her elbows and knees, and were spattered with old stains.
The dirt where she stood was muddy from the rain of the previous day; it was amazing that her jeans were relatively clean. She shifted her weight uncomfortably as her legs grew stiff.
Her attention was focused on the small notebook she held in her hands. Various words and scribbles coated the top page. She extended the pen she held, as if to add something, but stopped. With a slight smile, she flipped the book shut and slid the pen inside the cover. Reaching over to her bag, she placed it inside.
The girl closed her eyes once more and concentrated on her breathing. She knew that she could stand under the calming tree and “watch the world pass her by,” or something like that.
Noises around her suddenly penetrated the serenity of her thoughts, almost as if there hadn’t been any sounds before. She heard couples, who sat hand-in-hand upon benches scattered around the park, saying just how much they loved each other. Young families sat on brightly coloured rugs, racing each other to picnic sandwiches and cake. They laughed and chatted loudly. She sighed in resignation at the overflow of emotions around her.
She reached out and carefully detached her bag from the branch. She slung it over her shoulder and pushed herself away from the tree; absent-mindedly smoothing down her clothes. Looking in the direction of the park exit, she walked slowly forwards.
The day was fine and sunny; a breeze stirred the trees and blew strands of the girl’s long, blonde hair across her face. She didn’t seem to notice.
She stopped as she felt something bump her left shoe. Surprised, she glanced down at her worn old sneaker. Next to it laid a muddy soccer ball, with leaves sticking to the mud at odd angles. She glanced around for a moment, confused.
A boy ran eagerly towards her. He looked to be around ten, and seemed rather short. As he approached, she noticed that the colour of his short messy hair matched almost perfectly with the layer of mud that coated his shoes, knees and the ball at her feet. His black shorts and red t-shirt were remarkably mud-free, although the colour of his shorts made it hard to tell. He stopped and stood in front of her, looking nervously at the ball by her feet.
“Can I, I mean can we…have…well, you know,” the boy stammered quietly. He shuffled his feet, not even looking up.
“Do you want your ball back?” she suggested kindly.
“Yes, I mean please!” he said, his voice a bit louder than before.
She nudged it forwards with the toe of her shoe, unwilling to pick it up. He bent down and grabbed it. She noticed his shirt had the number ‘8’ emblazoned on the back in white. He jumped up and gazed at her. “Thanks, uh...”
“Kristin,” she said, “Or Kris.”
He smiled brightly. “I have a nickname too.” She looked at the boy expectantly, with a slight smirk at his enthusiasm.
“Oh?” she prompted after a few seconds.
“Um…” Kristin frowned, unsure how to respond.
“KYE-zah. Kysa,” he repeated, and was met with a confused stare.
She sighed, wanted to clarify her ability to pronounce it, but her eye was drawn to a small trickle of red running down his leg.
"Your knee is bleeding..."
He glanced down quickly. "Don’t worry, it's just a scrape. I'll be fine."
Grinning, he turned and ran before she could reply. A group of boys his age were on the playing field, rapidly growing impatient. He didn’t seem to notice them; lost in thought.
So much for a descent into chaos...
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I wrote this originally... a very long time ago, and revised it semi-recently. Finally mustered up the courage to post it, and hopefully it will motivate me to write the rest. Most of all, I hope people enjoy reading it almost as much as I enjoy creating it =)