Divine Eternity

By Violet Winters

Violet is a pessimistic paralyzed teenage misfit trying to discern her place in the world. Then she inherits her elemental gifts and discovers she is one of ten Chosen Ancient teens destined to battle to the death. In return for being able to walk and wield supernatural powers she is thrust into a war between good and evil in which the future of humankind hangs in the balance. Along her journey toward inevitability, she experiences the joys of falling in love and the agony of heartache.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Violet Winters
• Release date: Apr 6, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476221625

Book preview

Divine Eternity

By

Violet Winters

Copyright 2012 Violet Winter

Smashwords Edition

Prologue Foresight

I could identify myself standing in the short sparse grass below and for whatever reason; I did not question why I was not inside my vessel of existence. Instead, I was too caught up by my surroundings, trying to absorb everything around the girl I knew to be me. In this unknown world, a place I had never been before, I could see fear etched across my face. I peered intently, examining the strange, yet beautiful, lacey white and blue dress that I wore, certain it must have dated back to the renaissance. A boy lay on the ground ahead, near the edge of a cliff, I could not contain the fear and concern; my soul ached for him. Abruptly, an amber pulsating sphere of fire raced past my body, striking down ten feet from the cliff’s edge. The ground trembled, and then cracked apart as a jagged line separated the soil, opening an ever-widening chasm. The triangular edge of earth to which the boy clung, perilously tilted, and then slid away and vanished from sight. I shrieked in horror, somehow knowing that if he died, I would too. I ran to the edge and peered over it, but I discerned nothing amidst the eerie fog that lingered like a door attendant guarding an endless abyss.

Fists clenched, I frantically yelled, Where are you?

Instantly, a dagger of fire pierced my breast and I knew my life had reached its end. Balanced upon the tightrope-thin precipice between existence and oblivion, my hovering soul raced into its body. I staggered, swayed, and then collapsed in a patch of frosty dandelions. I blinked, I smelled the enticing aroma of wildflowers and silently, bade farewell to the sorrow, which had consumed my life.

Chapter 1 New Beginnings

Startled, I awoke, rolled across the bed, flailed my left arm, and swept my antique brass clock off the nightstand. The loud strumming of the striker against the bell succeeded in startling me another inch, a very painful inch that I realized only a moment later when my tail end and elbow bounced off the cold hardwood floor of my bedroom. I winced from the shocked jolt (to one of the few remaining body parts I could still call serviceable), and tried to catch my mental bearings from what had to be at least a nine on the strange and creepy nightmare scale, if I could consider it my nightmare that is. I mean, I wasn’t even sure if I had been the girl in it. At one point, I had been the girl. At other times, I somehow seemed to hover over everyone as though I was an omnipotent narrator or maybe a spectator with wings. Still, I was badly shaken by the fears and thoughts of the vague receding images that had all but vanished from my consciousness. Now, only whispering traces of words remained like a dim echo down a darkened wet cavern. One conclusion forced its way to the surface of insight. Something was coming for me and I was terrified, because I knew nothing would ever be the same; at least that’s how the dream felt.

I shook the remaining cobwebs from my head as my other alarm clock (yes, two clocks; I’m not the strongest representation for punctuality), began whining a dull nineteen eighties-like digital tone announcing my first day of school. Blowing my dangling bangs out of my eyes, I sighed heavily, with emotions that were to say the least, mixed on two parts. For starters, I was psyched to get out of the house more regularly than I had since the accident. Yet, therein lay my greatest fear, rejection. I still felt like an ugly duckling and would probably feel that way for the rest of my life. Wouldn't you feel like an ostrich, if you were only half a girl, whose life was doomed to an existence in a wheelchair with no hope of ever walking again? My mother and father had been supportive and understanding. Well, as much as they could be, given the circumstances. They had homeschooled me the last five years, but I knew that now, I had to rise to the occasion, because our microscopic universe had abruptly changed.

Shimmying expertly with my arms, I pulled myself up and into the wheelchair, continuing my self-imposed mental torture en route to the bathroom.

It had not happened all at once and I must admit our situation wasn’t so life shattering in comparison to those laid off with no savings, forced to change careers. Three years prior, Father had simply been laid off as a programmer in Denver, Colorado. The only manageable offer for employment that he had found was in a small upstart company that touted good prospects for future growth and employee profit sharing. Unfortunately, the company was still a small upstart company, with only so-so prospects for growth, and a hint of employee profit sharing in the infinitely distant future. We relocated to the small town that a green exit sign crowned Eternity. The name was definitely a fitting description of time wasted in the middle of nowhere, hours from the bright city lights of Denver. Between Father’s low-paying job and Mother staying home to school me, the financial woes reached critical mass. Though they refused to admit the obvious, I knew their entire retirement savings was depleted for the senseless explanation of fearing my ridicule in the public educational system. I had known it was coming. I think I knew it even before they did, and I reevaluated myself in the mirror for being so weak.

You should have done this a long time ago, I began scolding myself aloud.

If you hadn't been so selfish and scared, you wouldn't have crippled those you love by being a cripple who acts like a cripple, I angrily inflected to the reflection.

I loathed myself for having kept my mother at home and now that there were no options to prevent life-altering change and I was scared to death. I finally had to reacquaint myself with the parameters of popularity, while swimming uncharted shark filled waters. It would be a feeding frenzy. I cowered within, realizing that I would be the new kid. They would have less inclination to accept my crippled state; unlike my friends back in Denver, whom I had known before the accident and would have understood and accepted me. If that wasn’t enough, it was January 6, which meant nearly half the school year had already passed. I was entering school, just two days after the Christmas break had ended. Therefore, any ideas that I had of sliding in under the radar were a pipe dream.

No use crying like a ten year old whose pigtails have just been yanked; mortified or not, I had to persevere to overcome. The laundry list of negative numerals was as follows: First, by my summation, I lived in a relatively unknown town, since I had barely ventured out of my house, much less into the social light of teenage culture. Secondly, I had made no friends. Third, I faced an introverts’ nightmare, being thrust into the cruel world of high school with no safety net, and no manual on socializing. Finally, I was flawed with enough imperfections to place me into that unique high school demographic, Nerdom.

As I dragged my brush fitfully through my short and mangled, dark patches of hair, I tried to imagine how I would deal with the ceaseless snickering and hateful teasing that accompanies being different. I tried to fortify myself for the tsunami of malice destined to shadow me, by repeatedly acting out the horrible scenes in my head, and pushing myself to my limits. In search of finding a protective armor, I brutalized my soul to the point of tears, but I found no impenetrable refuge in my heart or mind.

You’ll be late, my mother clamored at me, as I applied the last bit of makeup to my pale, ordinary face, wishing it was Special Forces Sniper Camouflage that would hide my average blandness from the eyes of everyone.

I'm coming, I yelled, as I wheeled out of my room, down the short hallway, out the screen door, down the ramp of my porch and into the driveway where Mom's van was waiting. My mother was dressed in a New York style outfit of black pants and a blue blouse with two-inch heel boots. Her silky dark hair flowed like an exotic cover girl and I looked at my own brown skirt and plain white blouse. Then I cringed at my lack of taste, nearly submitting defeat peremptorily, and fleeing back to my bedroom for the remainder of my existence. The life of a hermit crab couldn’t be that bad, I surmised.

After much internal debate, I gnawed my lip, gathered my courage, and unceremoniously wheeled myself forward. The small brown lift whined, and then plucked me up into the chariot of doom. Next stop, my emotional destruction.

Mom pulled the Caravan into the teachers’ lot of the old, red-bricked schoolhouse and parked along the curb nearest the double-doors, which led to the main office. I considered the act like a scarlet letter engraved on my chest, as my mother hit the lever on her console, which opened the sliding door and extracted me from the van like a green dumpster into a garbage truck. I fought down the urge to stare back at the crowd of ogling kids in front of the student entrance, which was the next building over, and I only vaguely succeeded. Not wanting to endure further damage to my already nonexistent image, I snatched the backpack from my mother as quickly as I could, placed it in my lap and said, No kiss, please Mom?

She relented, cursed my pride with a silent muttering, and then bent down to give me a lung emptying, bone crackling hug.

I felt regret for the light reproach. Sure, we had endured a rough patch in the past of her blaming me for my brother Josh’s death, but it had been short lived and was brought on by vast amounts of alcohol. Now, if only by default, she was as a matter of speaking, my best friend, and as another point of fact, my mother. I cowered slightly with shame, as tears escaped her eyes at the thought of leaving me for even a day. However, I stoically held my ground, and when she asked if I needed help to the main office, I rebuffed it with a polite but firm,

That’s okay, I think I can manage.

Her annoying silent persistence of walking beside me, forced a more elaborate harsher teenager-who-knows-everything tone. No, Mom I'll be fine. They have an automatic door at the front entrance, and we came here last week, so I’m aware of where I need to go.

Okay, I'm going to miss you, she relented, turning to leave.

Good luck at work, Mom, I remembered to say.

She smiled, turned away again, and I sensed her nervousness. I silently thanked God for her, as I began maneuvering the wheels of my chair down the long, perfectly smooth concrete walkway, toward the lifeless red brick, twenty-plus year old building.

I felt conflicted, as I reflected on the better and worse moments that defined our rollercoaster relationship. Sure, she had gone through a short period of vilifying me for Josh’s death, but it had lasted only six months. Abruptly, as if a light had come on in her head, she realized she was throwing away the family she still had. Since the night that she had cried on my shoulder, begging my forgiveness, we had been inseparable, and I knew her hesitations and worries now were from abandoning me to a feast of emotional cannibals. I surmised that we both felt the separation might alienate us from one another, but I vowed not to let that transpire. Maybe, it wouldn’t be quite that bad, I reconsidered. I pushed the silver, square button with the little, blue outlined figure that defined the helpless, and the automated door swung inward.

I wheeled myself inside the dusty, old wood-finished office and hastily grabbed my class schedule from the principals’ secretary; a curly white haired relic that was only a breath away from assisted living care. I didn’t want to give her ample opportunity to engage me in conversation, because the last thing I needed was a sympathetic ear. Therefore, I took the map of the school premises, which was no more than a black and white piece of paper, handmade, resembling an eleven-year-olds scribbling more than any effective map, and headed for the hallway door. I resisted the urge to ask for a proper translation of the map from among the office of eyes that stealthily stared at me, pretending only to catch me in their fleeting glances. Instead, I pried the door open, swinging it hard, while sitting outside of its arc, so I wouldn’t be engaged in feeble chitchat in the task of asking for assistance. Then, I expeditiously wheeled to freedom.

Outside the office, I negotiated my chair past the front bay windows, and then down the long, near empty, tacky yellow hallways. For the moment, I gave up trying to find my locker, and instead concentrated on deciphering the hieroglyphics on my map; attempting to find my first class, which was Advanced Sciences.

Miraculously, I rolled into class only twenty minutes late and felt like announcing, okay the crippled freak has arrived, feel free to stare and talk amongst yourselves in whispers too low for me to understand your crude insults, and oh, by the way, I don't bite, as I was met with Round Two of nervous anxiety.

Mrs. James appeared to be a stern, middle-aged woman with a flair for wearing bright outfits. The artificial, overly highlighted aspects to her burgundy hair, hinted at the toll such seriousness took on her. She tried her best to make me feel welcome with a warm appreciative greeting and allowed me to escape the introductory of, Hey, new person get up in front of the class and tell us about yourself. Again, I truly appreciated. I would say I took my chair, but there was no chair for me, as all my classes had been retrofitted with a desk that would accommodate my wheelchair. Therefore, I just rolled into position and tried to act attentive to the lesson, while all my classmates cut through my Walls of Jericho with their rude stares.

My second class was keyboarding, which wasn't quite as bad as Science, since the class stayed pretty busy. Mr. Ross was a hard-edged, no slack for anyone, kind of teacher, with a hunch in his back that he may have considered an asset, since his job consisted of constantly leaning over nervous students. I found it pleasant to be talked down to like all the rest of the kids, instead of coddled.

At least twice in passing behind me while typing, he shook his head in disgust at my two-fingered pecking technique.

You missy, are going to need a lot of work to catch up, he sighed, as though this meant his job had just reached a record-breaking degree of difficulty, and he stated as much.

I should have retired last year, girl, I am just getting too old for this malarkey.

I couldn't help turning my head up with a big wide smile, because he reminded me of my grumpy, near bald grandpa who lived in Florida. Gramps complained incessantly about everything, but somehow still found a way to etch his way into your heart.

My third class, the wonderful world of Mathematics, seemed to fly by with no real new variances. A couple of girls made polite conversation, asking where I was from, while dodging the obvious land mine of, "What the hell happened to you?" Thus, their politeness was simply no more than that, as they expediently sought the first opportunity to turn away from me and jump into their homework with a zeal that made me see through their academic passion quickly.

After math, I swallowed hard and prepared to endure another dreadful moment of new girl exile, exclamation point being wheelchair girl, proceeding to the cafeteria. Given that I had entered school late, I was unfortunate or fortunate (a decision I had yet to decide) to be thrown into the underclassman’s lunch. I doubted being a junior in a freshman and sophomore lunch period would ease the stares, but I was hopeful for any possible reprieve.

I just prayed, as I collected my tray of the school cafeteria’s finest, and made my way to the corner of a vacant table, hoping that no one would call out to me with the fabled Wheelie or Hey wheels greeting. The last thing I needed was a moniker that I would have to live down the rest of my life by some creative idiot, who thought they were being jovial. Alas, fortune smiled on me and I was greeted only by quizzical stares. I hunkered down in my newly claimed corner of the cafeteria, before anyone thought to harass me.

The lasagna-like pizza (which tasted like cardboard marinated in ketchup), distracted me from my isolation. I quickly finished the apple and French fries, washing them down with a diet soda. Wheeling away, I was a split second before the lunch-ending bell rang, and I made my way to my locker to put up the Advanced Science and Math books that I had accumulated, before my next class.

Although, I had been first out of the starting gate, I was quickly overwhelmed by the hurrying foot traffic. It was around this point when all hell seemed to break loose, and I reeled the entire day from what transpired.

I found and opened my locker, and deliberated that I might have just enough reach, if I stretched my arms upward to place both books on the middle shelf, when I caught sight of a skinny, red haired girl. She was very attractive with slightly larger than average lips and a strong smooth jawbone, not a bad look, but an exotic one. The thing was, she was staring right at me, not just stealthily glancing back and forth, no she stared directly at me questioningly, as though she were trying to discern some ancient secret buried in my retinas. It wasn't an angry glare, but it wasn't a friendly look either, it was more of an apprehensive wary stare, as though I were either penicillin, a cure for everything, or a highly contagious deadly virus.

Just as I began stretching upward to place the books inside, I saw her turn around and observe something, which worried or scared her, and she bolted from whatever was behind her, and began to run haphazardly, no longer intrigued by me. In her haste and forgetfulness, she cut between two girls walking together, smashing them into opposing lockers, and then in an attempt to skirt a gaggle of boys, she plowed into my chair.

Her right thigh crashed into the side of the chair, and she must have been an aerobics machine, because her leg hit it like a wrecking ball. The books I had been putting up slipped out of my fingers and cascaded out of my locker like a waterfall of bricks onto my head. My streak of bad luck held steady, as the corner of the Science book (of course the larger of the two) caught me square in my right eye. My scream of pain and indignation, was drowned out by the crashing sound of metal against the linoleum tile-covered concrete slab, as my chair toppled over and dumped me out onto the floor. I lay there helplessly, flopping around like a goldfish out of water and the embarrassment was overwhelming. No one laughed at first, everyone was in shock of what had just happened, and then I caught the first polite, contained smiles and snickers of my fellow classmates.

I wanted to scream, I wanted to yell, I wanted to ball up and cry, but I did none of that. The redheaded girl fully ejected from her trance like an Air Force pilot bailing out of a burning fighter jet, looked at me with the sincerest expression of regret I have ever seen.

Oh my god, I am so, so sorry, she began as she righted my chair from the ground. Are you okay? she asked, failing to see I was struggling to pull my chair to me.

I will be once you help me back into my chair, I replied, probably a bit too rudely.

She either failed to notice my anger or chose to overlook it, given her guilt, and said, Oh right, here let me help you.

I must admit that when she grabbed me, I assumed she would have to get assistance, or at least do the old drag and sling motion to get me in my chair, but to my surprise, she lifted me, as if I were as light as a feather and placed me delicately back into my chair.

As she began picking up my books from the checkered tile, she started, I am so inattentive and thoughtless; I haven't even introduced myself after nearly stampeding over the top of you, my name is Whisper.

She placed my books back in my locker and grabbed my wrist from my lap, forcing me to shake hands with her. I couldn't help smiling at her attempt to be nice.

My name is Violet Winters, I said, repeating the god-awful name my darling mother had branded me with from birth.

Oh, like the flower, what a sweet, lovely and simply perfect name. Violet, much better than mine, which is named after shush... she said, putting her fingers to her lips as she giggled.

The school bell rang and I froze in place noticing the Sahara Desert emptiness of the hallway, which visually proclaimed my tardiness.

Whisper began to turn and leave, then she stopped, Well, since I find the cafeteria menu to be less than desirable, I might as well help you to your class. Where are you going?

Oh that's alright, I'll be okay, I began to say, as I straightened my crumpled map.

Ignoring me, she snatched the paper out of my hands along with my schedule and began to read aloud as though she had not heard me.

Piece of cake, Violet, Ms. Shannon’s Home Economics class is this way and goody; we share English Literature together, so I'll save you a seat.

She jumped behind my wheelchair and began pushing me.

I'm quite alright, I'm not totally helpless, I said feeling as though she was feeling sorry for me.

Why, whoever said that you were, Violet. Any girl that can take a blow like that's got to be hard as rocks. Surely, you wouldn't deny a friend who nearly maimed you to make up for it. Besides, I know where you are going and resistance is futile, because I have your map.

Well, since you put it that way, then okay, but seriously, you can actually read that thing? I asked in disbelief.

She giggled, Well Principal Reed isn't going to be painting a Mona Lisa anytime soon, but I can read it well enough.

She wheeled me to my class, surrendering my map and schedule as she pushed me inside.

Ms. Shannon looked at us with a suspicious grin, but Whisper soothed her with a smile.

I am so sorry, Ms. Shannon. I was not paying attention and ran over Violet, I am truly sorry.

Ms. Shannon looked at me, and said, Is that how you got that bruise?

My eyes widened at the thought of having a second scarlet letter to endure wearing, and Whisper turned quickly to look at me.

Oh my god, I am so, so sorry, did I elbow you? she asked.

No, when we collided, one of my books caught me in the eye, I said resigned.

This is awful and so my fault, I swear I'm going to make this up to you, Whisper said.

She reached into her purse and began extracting makeup, to which Ms. Shannon immediately stammered, Oh no, not in here, you don't. She will be okay; it looks like the book hit her below the socket, so she'll live. Whisper, head on off to lunch.

Oh, okay, she said to Ms. Shannon, before giving me a big warm hug and whispering, I'll make it up to you, girlfriend, and then Whisper left.

As I took my desk and the classroom fell back into order, I couldn't help thinking about what happened, and I smiled, almost wanting to laugh. The worst incident of my day had yielded my best moment and possibly a new friend. I deliberated on the cost and decided a black eye was well worth having a good friend like Whisper. Sure, she was a bit too cheery and a little ditsy, but she was also super friendly.

As I reached English Literature, I was surprised to see that Whisper was already talking to the teacher, and he nodded his head in approval to a boy in the seat next to mine. I was thrilled when I saw Whisper pick up her books off a desk in the rear of the class and move them to the one next to mine. The boy also seemed elated by the new seating arrangement. Judging by his appearance, you know the whole grunge meshes with the gothic look, he was the type who would rather be in the back, but had most likely been forced up front, no doubt due to a mischievous demeanor.

I got us all hooked up neighbor, she said, pleased with herself for having secured a seat next to mine.

The young, vibrant, just out of college, Mr. Riley, began the class speaking about the Secret Life of Walter Mitty. As he turned around to write some quotes from the book, explaining the author's obsession with a man who could not live his dreams in the world, so he did so in his mind, I felt a marker slip lightly across my eye. I nearly fell out of my chair for the second time, thinking Whisper was secretly plotting to rob me of my vision, when I noticed the makeup brush.

Under her breath, she muttered through closed teeth in her happy firm tone, Don't make any noise and there won’t be any trouble.

What are you doing? I said with a forced but light tone as she attacked my eye.

Chastising me with incredulity she said, You don’t just expect me to leave you looking like a raccoon all day do you? I caused it, so I'm fixing it; now hold still, it'll only take a moment.

Somehow, Whisper's luck held out, because Mr. Riley never turned around and with a few strategic strokes she said, There, much better, Cosmo has nothing on yours truly.

Thanks, I said, as she passed me her compact so I could inspect. True to word, I could only see a light resemblance of my blackened monster eye, which was about the best makeup job one could do, at least with a time limit of three minutes.

Thanks, you really are good, I said again.

That's nothing, you let me get a hold of you back at the house, and I will so model you out. I even got the stripper glitter if you want to slut it up a little.

I laughed and said, That's okay, just as Mr. Riley turned around, gave us a conspiratorial look, and then began passing out assignments.

There was little time to converse further as Mr. Riley threw a mountain of homework on us, but I was already feeling a little better about myself.

When the bell rang, Whisper walked me to my next class, which was close to hers.

Maybe I'll see you after school, she said.

That would be cool, my mom will be picking me up though, I said with chagrin.

Why ever would you let her do that? she queried and then she looked at the chair.

Oh yeah, right I get it, well who knows still. I better motor, but hey a word of advice, watch out for Aidan Locke, he'll break your heart.

Huh, who is Aidan? I asked.

Oh you'll see, just don’t let him sink his talons in you, Whisper said as she hurried off to her class.

I easily found my pre-assigned desk, wheeled into position, and looked around for someone who seemed to be trouble, like an Aidan. I saw no one in the Drama classroom that appeared to be a major heartbreaker. The seat behind me was empty, and though the male population seemed cute enough, I didn't see anyone who was likely to endanger my heart. I whirled my head back to the front and then bam, like a bat to my forehead I froze, as I imagine most of the other girls in class do, as he--- walked through the door.

He was tall, maybe 5' 9", but not too tall, and muscular but not hulky. His face resembled something off one of those reality shows where twenty girls try to win the guy. His blonde hair was neatly trimmed, while his face was somewhat hard, yet also soft and pleasing at the same time. My heart fell into my stomach as he sauntered past and took his seat directly behind me.

I knew what Whisper had been getting at, as he turned those baby blue eyes on me and introduced himself.

Hi my names Aidan… and you are?

I struggled to force oxygen through my lips as I squeaked, My name is Violet.

Violet? he mused. That's kind of refreshing in a hippy-retro sense, I like it. So I guess you are new here at Eternity High?

Yes, I said, blushing scarlet; he was actually speaking to me.

Well it's nice to meet you, he said as the teacher came in and brought the class to order.

Mr. Jensen stood before the class and announced my presence like a Shakespearean actor to everyone within shouting distance.

Ladies and gentlemen, may I present to you, the newest member of our production. Now everyone please give this new starlet a hand as she might very well be our next Broadway star.

The class afforded me a mild welcoming round of applause, which seriously succeeded in making me reconsider my decision of Drama Class over Introductory Computer Programming, though I despise complicated electronic gadgets.

Aidan leaned toward me, obviously seeing my red blushing cheeks of absolute horror, and said, Don't worry about ole Jensen; he's like this to everyone. No one takes him serious; honestly he's a pretty laid back and fun teacher.

Fun or not, I whispered, He's lucky I don't have a dagger in my hands at this moment, I’d so Julius Caesar his ass.

Aidan laughed, Touchy girl, I like that. You’re alright Violet, he said giving me his brightest smile, the kind which could melt the polar ice cap.

Trying unsuccessfully to conceal a second blush, I said, Thanks, and fell silent like a mime.

Mr. Jensen quickly passed his cannon barrel from my flank and fell deeply into his plans for this years’ play. Note to self, pay more attention to teacher and not as much on Aidan’s god-like image.

After class, I was nearly glued in shock at Aidan’s simple farewell, I’ll catch you later, and I had to scold myself.

Violet stop being so stupid, you’re a girl in a wheelchair, not to mention a total freak, no one wants a freak. This realization greased my wheels, and I rolled over to my final hour, History.

Mrs. Seymour must have been a diabolical witch in a past life that enjoyed others’ suffering, or she was a complete idiot, because she sat me next to the only other crippled kid in the room. I was so, what…for real? Was she so lame as to think she was doing me a favor by putting me next to the only parasite of my kind? I placed my book down on the table harder than I should have, yet not so forcefully as to be defined as slamming it down, god knew I didn’t need any more attention. I looked at the kid behind me and sighed as though I was insulting him with the whole, I’m holier than thou art arrogance. He smiled at me and I returned his half-crooked smile, thankful I was not as messed up as he was.

Ma…Ma… My name’s Ryan Quinn, he stuttered as he extended his bent hand to me.

I shook it politely, My name is Violet, nice to meet you.

I didn’t ask what his condition was, because I already knew it from years ago, when I had a girl friend at summer camp who had the same thing, though Ryan was not quite as bad. Of course that was back in my, whole-girl days, when I was kind to those less fortunate, before I was cursed to wander the world as one of the less fortunate. The metal elbow crutch, the stuttering, the occasional drooling, and the loss of most muscle control spelled Cerebral Palsy in big neon lettering over his head. However, unlike most idiots in school, I knew that intellectually he was likely to be just as smart as me, for his disability was physical not mental.

To save you aggravation while you struggle to read my life story, I will type his remarks somewhat fluidly, and you can accurately make the assumption on your own that his tongue got twisted on about every four or fifth word, causing profound stuttering, well at least until later on, but you’ll have to wait for those delicious morsels.

He sat to my left as class began and I oddly couldn’t help looking at him as though my eyes saw something in his face, and then I sadly realized what it was that intrigued me. Ryan was worse off than most, in the fact that I could tell he had a certain handsomeness that lay beneath the muscular twitching, and it was sad to think how his life might have been had he been born with a bit more luck. He might even… but then I pushed that thought aside as it was unlikely he could ever be as attractive as Aidan. Still with his deep black hair and alluring emerald eyes, he would have been a ladies’ man, as mother would say, were he not cursed.

My nervousness kept me from making idle chitchat with Ryan, though I suspected the Wicked Witch of the West would have had a mistaken sympathy for her stupid little cripple kids,