All Nonfiction Bullying Books Academic Author Interviews Celebrity interviews College Articles College Essays Educator of the Year Heroes Interviews Memoir Personal Experience Sports Travel & CultureAll Opinions Bullying Current Events / Politics Discrimination Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking Entertainment / Celebrities Environment Love / Relationships Movies / Music / TV Pop Culture / Trends School / College Social Issues / Civics Spirituality / Religion Sports / Hobbies
- Summer Guide
- College Guide
- Author Interviews
- Celebrity interviews
- College Articles
- College Essays
- Educator of the Year
- Personal Experience
- Travel & Culture
- Current Events / Politics
- Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking
- Entertainment / Celebrities
- Love / Relationships
- Movies / Music / TV
- Pop Culture / Trends
- School / College
- Social Issues / Civics
- Spirituality / Religion
- Sports / Hobbies
- Community Service
- Letters to the Editor
- Pride & Prejudice
- What Matters
Chornicles of Heranina: Book One: The Chosen One
Author's note: I LOVE Greek mythology, so I figured to take a crack at a story about these amazing myths.
I never used to believe in destiny- I mean, if everybody had a purpose and a meaning, people would not die young or anything like that. In my eyes, there was no such thing as destiny.
Boy was I wrong. Now I know it exists. How? Because it turned my life upside down.
The girl ran across the field, trying to escape the Fury that was right behind her. She could see the Black Gates up ahead that would lead her out of the Field of Punishment and, by extension, out of the Underworld. She looked behind her, and sure enough, the Fury was still there.
“Come to me, my dear, and suffer your eternal punishment!” The Furies voice was like fingernails scraping against metal.
“Leave me alone, please, no, PLEASE!!” The Fury descended upon the girl, who let out a bloodcurdling scream.
My alarm clock rang at the same time as the scream escaped the girl. I rolled over in bed with a groan, then turned the alarm off. My ears were still ringing with the girls scream, and the images of the Fury attacking her lingered in my mind. Not again! I thought.
This dream had been haunting me for as long as I could remember. The only change I could ever recall was the age of the girl. It bothered me that this was the only change. She always seemed to be around my age, even though I started having the dream at age 10 and I was now 15. The fact that her age always changed with mine made me feel strange, as if this girl was my friend, not just a figment of my imagination.
Who was this girl? Why was she being followed? What did she have to do with me?
Even though I was dying to learn the answers to all of these questions, now was not the time to ponder them. It was 7:00, which meant I had exactly one hour to get to school. That also meant that the dorm advisor had already left with my roommates, meaning I had to try to catch the public bus.
After jumping into the shower and cramming down a piece of toast for breakfast, I found myself running to the bus station just as it pulled up.
“Where to?” The bus driver was a man of about thirty, who had a shaggy beard and no less than five chins.
“Corbalt Performing Arts Preparatory School, and please hurry!”
“That the place with the bloody pigeon in front of it?”
“It’s not a pigeon, it’s a falcon! But, yeah, that’s the place.” I handed him two pounds, and headed to the back of the bus.
Corbalt Prep was a prestigious performing arts school in London. Ever since I was seven, my dad had sent me there in the hopes that they would be able to bring out whatever talents I had been hiding from the world.
The problem was, I didn’t have any- the only thing I had ever been any good at was understanding Greek Mythology, and unless I wanted to go all Hollywood on everybody and pretend to be a Half-Blood (or even pretend that such a thing existed), the “talent” was completely useless.
My mind wandered to my first days at Corbalt Prep. I had been so young, and I can remember feeling intimidated by its vast grounds and huge crowds of students. My dad had told me that I would come home every summer, and it would be just like normal. Then I never saw him again.
Every summer I waited, hoping that he would come and pick me up and we would go home and be like a real family. But every year, right before finals, I would get a letter from the headmistress telling me that I would be here over the summer. What, did my father hate me so much that he couldn’t even send his own letters?
This was my life. Over the years, I had stopped hoping that I would ever have real parents. I built up walls that nobody would ever break down. It was the only way I could protect my heart from ever breaking the way it had 8 years ago, when a father broke his promise to a small girl.
“Hey, you! Miss It’s-not-a-bloody-pigeon girl, this is your stop.” The bus driver’s loud and obnoxious voice brought me back to reality. I grabbed my book bag from the seat next to me and got off the bus. It pulled away from the curb, and I turned to face Corbalt Prep. It was a gigantic building, designed in memory of Greek architecture. Its graceful pillars and open courtyards were breathtakingly beautiful, and the paths to luscious garden were lined with fruitful trees. On the outside, it seems like an amazing place to grow up. Then you go inside.
When you walk into Corbalt Prep, you are automatically greeted with a huge metal detector. Most people think that it’s for visitors, because how is it possible that sweet, innocent filthy rich kids could ever do anything wrong? As always, the adults who assume this couldn’t be more wrong about anything.
The students at Corbalt are cruel, vicious, heartless creatures. You follow the social rules, or you find yourself pushed to the lowest of the lowest- the kids who are so passed nerdiness that it’s not even funny. Most of these kids are scholarship, because the less money you have, the lower you are.
This is where I am- not because of lack of richness (Heck, my dad practically paid for this place!), but because I didn’t want to be a high school aristocrat. I hated the school- hated the students, hated the teachers who always kissed my butt so that they wouldn’t lose their job, hated the cruel system that seemed to have complete control over the entire school.
When first bell rang, signaling that we had less than five minutes to get to our prison cells- wait, I mean classrooms- I finally stopped staring at the school like some sort of dork and ran inside. As always, when I was late to first period, my teacher gave me a huge smile and said in a falsely sweet voice how she completely understands, said how she couldn’t possibly expect somebody as busy as myself to get to class on time every day (or ever, for that matter), and even went as far as to ask if I wanted anybody to do my homework for me, because she knew there was no way I actually did it myself. I grunted out a reply, and went to my seat in the back of the room, thinking of how a performing school should be able to hire teachers who can actually act. When I sat down, Clara Campbell leaned over the back of her chair to talk to me.
“Hey Nina? How’s your daddy? Is it true that he’s getting married again? What is this, like, the fifth woman?” Her voice was dripping with sarcasm and spite. I gritted my teeth, not wanting to get into another fight.
“It’s Heranina. Not Nina. And Clara, I wouldn’t talk about whorey parents. I heard your mommy became a Playboy Bunny. Maybe now she can finally afford to send you to a mental institute where you belong.” I spat back the most spiteful answer I could think of, hoping that maybe I could get something good out of her.
My efforts paid off. Clara pushed herself out of her chair, fists raised. I stood up to confront her, and still our teacher just kept chattering away at the board.
“Oooh, is Clara going to try to fight me? Aren’t you scared you will break a nail?” as I spoke, I circled the puny blonde who was now standing with her arms crossed over her chest.
“ You wish I was afraid, Mythogirl!”
The sound of my rude nickname did it. I lunged at Clara, and felt a weird satisfaction as my fist made contact with her jaw. When she tried to scream, all that came out was a bloody gurgle.
Finally, our teacher turned around. She looked between me and Clara, trying to decide of punishing me was really worth it. After all, Clara’s parents were just as rich as mine.
“Well don’t just stand there, you worthless, good-for-nothing b****! Heranina just broke my jaw! Expel her!” even though the words were jumbled in her bloody mouth, the point most definitely got across.
“Office. Now.” My teachers eyes were filled with contempt and hate.
I attempted to stifle my laughter as Clara sputtered something about “unfair” and “broken jaw”. The teacher stood with her arms crossed. Her eyes bore a hole through Clara, who eventually gave in and walked out of the room, still grumbling. After she left, our teacher stood for a minute, daring us with her eyes to say anything. Finally, she uncrossed her arms and spoke.
“Class, Principal Lerneer has decided that the sophomore class will take a trip to Greece in three weeks to learn about Homer’s poetry and epic plays. All who wish to go on the trip must have their parents sign a fieldtrip waiver, which can be found in the front office. As always, the trip is free, unless you are on scholarship, in which case you can either apply for a trip scholarship or pay a $12,000 fee, which will cover all expenses, including souvenirs and presidents’ suite room and board. Any questions?” Nobody raised their hand. “Good. Now, will anybody like to explain to me how breathing relates to projecting your voice?”
And the lesson went on. After the class was over, I sat through English, then finally it was time for my favorite class- lunch.
“Hey, Hera!” When I walked into the cafeteria, I was automatically greeted by Miarana, who was both my best friend and the dorkiest girl at school. She loved school, because it gave her the opportunity to share her music with other people. She was amazingly talented, but was, unfortunately, a scholarship student.
“Miarana, do I call you Mia?” I tried to hide my irritation at her calling me Hera.
“Umm, no.” Her voice showed that she realized her mistake.
“Do I call you Rana?”
“Ok, then. Sooo…. What should you call me?”
“Oh, sorry Heranina. I forgot.” Her voice was so sincere, I was forced to believe her. I let out a sigh.
“It’s ok. So, how’ve you been?” Immediately upon asking, I regretted opening my mouth. She had been gone for two weeks away in Westminster- at her brothers funeral. Tears welled up in her eyes.
“I- I’m ok. You know, I miss Jasiah. I can’t really believe he’s gone.” Her voice cracked. The tears that I could see in her eyes leaked over.
Uh-oh. She was crying. What do I do? I don’t do so well with emotions.
So I said the first thing that came to mind. “Look, I’m so sorry about your brother. B-but on a brighter note, the sophomores are going on a fieldtrip to Greece!” Really? A class trip? I prepared myself for more tears. But, to my surprise, she perked up.
“I know! It’s so incredible.” For the next thirty minutes, we jabbered on and on about the prospect of going to Greece. Finally, the bell rang, and we filed out of the cafeteria to our fourth period classes.
When school was finally over, I stopped by to pick the field trip waiver. If I put it in the mail tomorrow, there was a chance that my dad would think to sign it in the next three weeks. Maybe.
I ran outside, where my dorm advisor was waiting for me and my dorm-mates. Luckily, I was the first one out there, so I was able to a seat in the very back of the van. I sat down, cranked up my iPod, and zoned out.
She was in a dungeon, chained to a wall. I could see her struggling against the chains. For a moment, she seemed to be unaware of my presence. Then she looked up at me. I gasped. It was as if I was looking in a mirror.
“Heranina, help me! I have to find it. You’re my last hope.”
“Who are you?” I moved closer to the girl.
“You already know that, Heranina. I’m…”
BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP! BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP! BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!
Really? Really?! Does it always have to end right before I figure out what going on?
And what was this about finding something? Why did she need me? I mean, I don’t even know who she is.
But as I sat on my bed, I realized something. Even though she just a dream, I was convinced that somewhere, somehow, this girl really existed, and if I didn’t find her in time, she would end up dead.