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bellaiswriting · 8 months

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Haven

trigger warning: this story deals with subjects such as ptsd, death, violence, and medical torture. please proceed with caution.

~ R E B ~

Red and orange flames crawled up the walls, spreading over the ceiling like a blanket of hungry moths searching frantically for food. They were quick, devouring everything in sight, and the heat grew to unbearable levels. The smell of burning wood and flesh filled the smokey air. The crackling and splintering of the house crumpling beneath the rage of the fire was almost loud enough to cover the screams of those trapped inside. Almost.

Reb stood in the center of it all, unable to move. She could feel the heat singeing the hair on her arms, and each breath caught in her throat, unable to push through the haze of smoke around her. She could hear her parents calling out for her, shouting her name, but she couldn’t go to them. She tried to move her fingers, but they were stuck at her side, frozen. She tried to scream but was as though her jaw had been wired shut. Her chest ached, as her breathing quickened, and she panted, struggling, as the flames grew higher around her, and the sound of her brother’s wailing carried down the hall . . .

Her jaw finally opened, and she screamed.

“Reb. Reb!”

A soft hand touched her shoulder, and Rebekah Ramirez opened her eyes, inhaling as much fresh air as she could, as her lungs finally expanded and the tightness in her chest loosened. Glancing down at her hand at her side, she attempted to move her fingers. It took a moment, but then she saw them twitching, and relief followed with a whoosh of air.

Phyllis Johnson, Philly to her friends, sat beside her on the bed, and her large worried brown eyes stared down at her from beneath black furrowed brows.

“You were having another nightmare,” she said, voice quiet to avoid waking the others.

Reb slowly pulled her arms up, pushing against the mattress to lift herself into a seated position against the wooden end of the bunk bed. Scrubbing her hands over her face, she sighed. “I know.”

“This is the third one this week.”

“I know, I know.”

“Maybe you should talk to Dr. Locke . . .”

Reb shook her head. She’d already spent too much time talking to Dr. Locke. She knew the man meant well, but he wasn’t used to dealing with her type of trauma. He was a scientist, not a therapist. Reb couldn’t afford a real therapist. Not that she’d know what to say to one. Where would she even start? With her parents and baby brother dying in a fire that destroyed their home? Or the fact that despite her parents both having the Alter gene, she was born completely powerless and yet, because of her parents’ connection to the Hero Council, she was stuck here at the Haven Academy for Heroes in Training. Except, nobody actually expected her to be a hero. An orphan and an outcast. There was way too much to unpack there.

Swinging her legs off the side of the bed, Reb moved to stand, stretching her arms up over her head. A glance at the clock told her it wasn’t yet time for the weekday wake up call, but her neck was sweaty, and she knew she wouldn’t be able to fall back asleep anyway.

“Where are you going?” Philly asked quietly, as Reb slid into a pair of rabbit slippers and pulled her red streaked brown hair up into a messy bun. That was better.

“Kitchen, duh. It’s breakfast-time.”

“It’s five thirty in the morning.”

Reb paused, glancing back at the younger girl. “I like to live dangerously,” she said with a faint smirk.

Philly couldn’t resist that. She grinned and hopped to her feet. “I guess I don’t mind this kind of danger,” she relented.

“Cool, because I could use the company.” Reb reached over to gently tug on the end of Philly’s hair wrap, before turning once more to the door.

She opened it carefully, not wanting to wake any of the other girls in the room. The hallway outside was quiet, the tall windows curtained with only a sliver of fading moonlight peeking in through the cracks to cast long stripes across the red carpeted floor. Reaching behind her, Reb took Philly’s hand and the two of them snuck down the hall, past three other dorm room doors to the stairwell that led down into the dining area and kitchen.

Technically the kitchen was staff-only, but when Reb opened the swinging doors to check the area, she saw a familiar figure already standing at the stove stirring a pot of what smelled like hot chocolate. Philly pulled her hand out of Reb’s to rush forward and throw her arms around the figure from behind.

“Sy!” she exclaimed happily. “I haven’t seen you in ages.”

Simon Nakamura twisted in her arms just enough to give her a small pat on the head. Reb approached more cautiously, recognizing the paleness of his features and the dark shadows beneath his eyes.

“They let you out of the hospital wing looking like that?” she asked, leaning her hip against one of the long stainless-steel countertops, crossing her arms as she looked over at him with one eyebrow raised.

Sy shrugged, nudging Philly away from him gently to grab one of the three mugs that sat beside the stove. “Not much they could do for me, as per usual.”

Reb nodded, sympathetic. Like her, Sy was an orphan with just as much trauma, if not more. She’d never been able to get the full story of what happened, but she knew it was bad. Bad enough for Sy to willingly refuse to use half his abilities. Reb couldn’t imagine suppressing a part of yourself like that, but she knew better than to pry. The last time she’d tried, he hadn’t spoken to her for a full week.

“Are you better now?” Philly asked hopefully.

Sy hesitated. Reb couldn’t blame him. How did you explain the nastier symptoms of post traumatic stress to a thirteen-year-old with two loving parents who’d never had to worry about a thing in her life? Neither Reb nor Jay had told Philly and Net what exactly had put Sy in the hospital wing in the first place, and, honestly, Reb wanted to keep it that way.

“They let him go, didn’t they?” she said, pushing off the counter to step forward and wrap her arms around Philly’s shoulders, setting her chin on top of her wrapped hair.

Sy held out a mug of hot chocolate to Philly, who took it without asking anymore questions, heading over to the counter to sit. Reb moved closer to Sy, reaching out to lightly brush her fingers against the inside of his wrist. He shied away. Reb sighed.

“We didn’t tell them anything, but they were still worried. I was worried.”

“I know,” Sy said softly, dipping the ladle into the hot chocolate to carefully pour some into another mug. “But I’m fine now.” He looked up to give her a tiny smile. “Promise.”

Reb didn’t believe him, but she knew better than to push. That was the thing about Sy. If he wanted you to know something, he told you. Otherwise, it was anyone’s guess to what he was thinking or feeling. Reb knew it wasn’t the healthiest way to deal with one’s issues, but after spending the first year of their friendship pushing and receiving nothing but the silent treatment and cold shoulder, she’d decided to let it go. Sy gradually warmed up to her and now they hovered at a delicate balance that Reb hoped would one day tip more towards mutual trust.

“How did you know to get three mugs?” she asked, taking the one he handed to her.

Sy gave her a sidelong glance. Reb wrinkled her nose at him. “Right. Got it.”

It was obvious, really. She felt stupid for asking in the first place. As an empath it was easy for Sy to sense the emotions (and therefore the presence) of those near him. He must’ve felt Philly and Reb on their way to the kitchen.

“No Jay or Net?” Reb asked, joining Philly at the counter.

Sy shook his head as he followed with his own mug. “Jay could sleep through an earthquake,” he said.

“Tomorrow is beach day!” Philly said happily, dark eyes gleaming. “I got a really cute bathing suit for it.”

Sy grimaced. “Oh. I forgot about that.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll remember to bring an umbrella for you to hide under,” Reb nudged him lightly with a grin. She took a sip of the hot chocolate. It was the perfect ratio of milk to chocolate. The warmth filled her from the inside out, all the way down to her toes. It was a much nicer sensation than the heat from her nightmare.

“You have to go in the water at least once,” Philly insisted.

Sy made another face, shaking his head and busying himself with his own drink.

“Just have to get through exams today,” Reb reminded them. “Otherwise, no one is going anywhere.”

Both Sy and Philly groaned into their mugs, and Reb fought back a smile.

#haven #ha1 #science fiction #sci fi story #original story #original fiction #young adult fiction #ya fiction #ya science fiction #superhero story

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bellaiswriting · 8 months

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Carthonia

trigger warning: this story deals with the death of our planet and an infectious disease spread through a bite on a new one. death and violence will be prevalent. proceed with caution.

Rose couldn’t remember the last time she breathed clean air. Sometimes it seemed like she’d worn the gas mask her whole life. In her dreams, she didn’t see people’s faces anymore. There was only the mask.

When she was younger, her older brother Felix used to tease her about her mask. He’d call her “Bug Face,” like he didn’t look just as much like an insect himself. Of course, she’d cry, and their parents would scold him, but it wasn’t like he was wrong. They were all Bug Face.

The sky was particularly nasty the day of the Lottery. The perpetual yellow hue that covered everything looked sicker than usual. It was like it knew what day it was. How sick they all felt inside.

It was the only thing playing on every screen. In every home. In every bar, office, school, government building. All anyone saw was the face of the president, staring solemnly down at the massive glass bowl that held every name of every citizen left in the country.

Behind President Kathleen Hurt sat the massive ship, the US ARK; the savior of mankind. Not much was left now of Earth, but even so the ship itself could only hold five thousand souls. Five thousand, out of literal hundreds of thousands. The numbers had whittled down over the years, thanks to famine and disease and radiation, but there were still too many. The ship wouldn’t save them all.

Felix had a spot reserved for him. As a communications analyst working at the White House, he was deemed important enough to earn a spot. To keep things fair, however, even the families of the President’s staff had to enter the Lottery. Win their spot, just like everyone else.

President Hurt looked out among the people gathered, and she looked older than Rose had ever seen her. Haggard, almost. She didn’t envy the woman.

One by one names were called. It took hours. Felix had taken the day off to sit with Rose and their parents, watching the screen with her hand gripped in his.

They took a break at noon. Two thousand names had been chosen. Rose and her parents weren’t among them.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Felix kept saying, his hand sweaty in Rose’s. “They still have three thousand names to draw. You guys will be chosen. You will.”

Rose gave him a shaky smile, but already she was mentally preparing. It wasn’t like she didn’t know what death was like. It surrounded her. She grew up with neighbors passing, classmates, cousins, aunts, and uncles. You were lucky if you reached forty.

The Lottery resumed at 1pm. President Hurt withdrew three thousand more names from the bowl. By the end, her voice was hoarse, barely audible even through the microphone and speakers, though she refused to stop until all five thousand names were drawn. Rose figured she didn’t want anyone to go to bed wondering.

The final name was called out and met with silence. Nobody celebrated. The crowd gathered in front of the ARK hugged each other quietly and then dispersed. Captain LeMont stepped up to the podium and reminded everyone that boarding would start in three days. Anyone not at the platform by the end of boarding would be left behind.

The broadcast ended.

Felix’s freckles stood out on his pale cheeks.

Tears rolled down her parents faces, as they fell to their knees on the floor, gathering both their children in a tight hug.

Rose stared blankly ahead, swallowing hard as she felt her mother’s tears soak into her shoulder. Her own eyes remained dry. What good would tears do?

She hadn’t been chosen. None of them had.

They were all going to die.

#carthonia #car1 #science fiction #sci fi story #original story #original fiction #young adult fiction #ya science fiction #ya sci fi

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bellaiswriting · 8 months

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good traits gone bad

perfectionism - never being satisfied

honesty - coming off as rude and insensitive

devotion - can turn into obsession

generosity - being taken advantage of

loyalty - can make them blind for character faults in others

being dependable - always depending on them

ambitiousness - coming off as ruthless

optimism - not being realistic

diligence - not able to bend strict rules

protectiveness - being overprotective

cautiousness - never risking anything

being determined - too focussed on one thing

persuasiveness - coming off as manipulative

tidiness - can become an obsession

being realistic - being seen as pessimistic

assertiveness - coming off as bossy

pride - not accepting help from others

innocence - being seen as naive

selflessness - not thinking about themself enough

being forgiving - not holding others accountable

curiosity - asking too much questions

persistence - being seen as annoying

being charming - can seem manipulative

modesty - not reaching for more

confidence - coming off as arrogant

wit/humor - not taking things serious

patience - being left hanging

strategic - coming off as calculated

being caring - being overbearing

tolerance - being expected to tolerate a lot

eagerness - coming off as impatient

being observant - being seen as nosy

independence - not accepting help

being considerate - forgetting about themself

fearlessness - ignoring real danger

politeness - not telling what they really think

reliability - being taken advantage of

empathy - getting overwhelmed with feeling too much for other people

#i love this sm #writing tips #good traits gone bad

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bellaiswriting · 8 months

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The Adventures of Alex & Jake

trigger warning: this story contains depictions of violence, suicidal ideation, attempted murder, talk of murder and suicide, and may contain other such mature themes. proceed with caution.

I can’t stop staring at Jake’s pulse. It’s the spot right under his jawline, near the jugular. His freckles extend down over it, but that’s not what makes it fascinating. I’ve lasted three months, twelve days, and seventeen hours without taking a bite. It might be a record, I don’t know. I’ve never had a roommate while in this state before.

“Alex? Hey, Alex!” Jake waves his hand in front of my face.

“Mm?” I tear my gaze away to meet his, the clear blue of his eyes nearly as captivating. Shit.

“Were you even listening? I said the house is haunted!”

That catches my attention. “Um. What?”

“When I woke up this morning, my closet was open. I know I closed it before I went to bed!”

I fiddled with my hair for something to do, not entirely sure what to make of this assertion. “Maybe you opened it in your sleep or something.” I start to braid the shoulder-length strands before unbraiding them. Braiding, unbraiding. Braid, unbraid.

Jake gives me a withering look that rivals those of my sister. “I think I’d know if I did that.”

“You’d be asleep though, so . . . how would you know?”

“That also doesn’t explain the cold spots!” Jake leaps to his feet, bounding over to the doorway of the kitchen across from me. He stands with his hands on his waist. “Right here! Every time I walk through here, I get cold! Don’t you feel it too?”

I shake my head. Then again, I don’t really feel cold anymore. Or warm, for that matter. Ever since my transformation, I don’t feel shifts of temperature in the air. Only when I touch another person do I feel warmth. People ask me all the time why I wear black and long sleeves all the time, especially in the summer. But I don’t feel the heat. The sun doesn’t warm me anymore. Nothing warms me.

Except blood.

“It’s an old house. My dad got it cheap. So . . . it’s probably just drafty.” Shit, my gums ache. I pull my knees up to my chest and wrap my arms around them tightly.

Jake looks at me skeptically. “Okay, what about the giggles?”

I stare back at him blankly. I have no idea what he’s talking about.

“The giggles! When I take a shower, sometimes I hear giggling! It’s creepy!”

He covers the front of his pants with his hands. I hate that now I’m also thinking of him in the shower. I shake my head to banish the thoughts.

“I think you watch too many horror films.”

Jake opens his mouth to protest further when there’s a knock on the door. I feel my shoulders sag with relief. Finally. Jake’s expression brightens and he rushes to the door, flinging it open before I even have a chance to stand.

“Abigail!” He flings his arms around my sister in a hug, as she struggles to step into the house with him clinging to her.

“Hello Jakob,” she says with a faint smile, patting his blond curls lightly before detangling herself and holding the transit container of blood out to me. “How’ve you been?”

“He thinks we have a ghost,” I say as I quickly take the container and bring it with me to the kitchen. I don’t bother to listen to what Abigail tells him, quickly removing a couple blood bags from the container and storing the rest in the fridge. I know I should grab a mug or something, but I’m too thirsty. The taste of sour iron fills my mouth as my gums start to bleed, my fangs pushing out from their hidden sheaths. It’s painful, and even after a year I haven’t quite gotten used to it.

I sink them into the first blood bag, closing my eyes as the liquid rushes into my mouth. It doesn’t taste good, but it’s satisfying. It’s the only thing that makes the ache go away, and I quickly drain both bags, tossing the now empty sacks into the trash. Only now do my ears pick up what’s going on in the next room.

“Have you tried talking to the ghost? Maybe it’s friendly.”

I roll my eyes, stalking back into the living room. “Don’t encourage him, Abi,” I complain as I collapse back onto the couch, no longer enticed by either of their heartbeats.

Abigail gives me a faint grin, as Jake goes off into another rant about cold spots in the house and strange noises in the night. She used to be younger than me, but now we’re the same age. Physically, at least. In another year, she’ll be a year older. It still hasn’t quite sunk in that she’ll grow old, and I won’t. I don’t like thinking about it.

She’s been my best friend our whole lives. She was the only person I called after I got attacked and woke up alone and covered in my own blood in my dorm room bathtub. She was the only person I told when the cravings started—when the changes started. She took a volunteer position at the blood drive specifically to steal blood for me, which I didn’t even ask her to do.

She convinced me to keep Jake when he came to me, insisting that I could use a friend who was like me. Who was different.

I have no idea if there are other beings like us in the world. Obviously, there’s the bastard who turned me, and the one that bit Jake, but how many others are there? People consider us a myth, a campfire story, a legend nobody thinks is real. I can barely believe we’re real, and I’m living proof. Well, un-living proof. Ha.

But ghosts? Ghosts can’t be real too, right? If ghosts are real, why didn’t I become one when I died? Before that . . . thing got to me.

“Well, if there does end up being a ghost, call me, okay? I’ll want to hear all about it,” Abi says to Jake, giving him a soft smile.

Jake beams, and I grumble under my breath, annoyed by the entire thing.

“Will you come to my soccer game this Saturday?” Jake asks hopefully as he picks up the container from the floor next to me and walks Abigail to the door.

“Only if you promise to win,” Abi says with a wink.

“I always win!” Jake exclaims, a complete lie. But it makes Abi laugh, so whatever.

He flops onto the couch next to me once she’s gone, picking up the Playstation controller he dropped earlier. As he pulls up the menu, he glances sidelong at me.

“You feeling less grumpy now?”

I grunt in response, closing my eyes. Now that I’m full, I can feel the relaxation settling deep. I always get sleepy after drinking. I guess that’s natural for a predator. The anxiety for the hunt, the sating, the rest, the thirst. It’s an endless cycle.

“You’re coming to my game, right?”

“I always do, don’t I?”

“Yeah, but not because you want to.”

I open my eyes to frown at him. “Why else would I go?” I don’t enjoy sports. I never have. I don’t see the point in flinging your body around for the entertainment of others. Plus it looks exhausting.

Jake shrugs one shoulder, no longer looking at me. “It just seems like you hate it. You always just stand off to the side and don’t talk to anybody.”

“I don’t like talking to people.”

“I know but . . . these people are my friends. Can you at least try?”

“What’s the point? It’s not like any of them can really get to know me.” I’ll only be putting them in danger. Or they’ll freak out as soon as they find out what I am. I thought Jake had the same misgivings, but apparently not. “You’re not worried about one of them getting close and getting hurt?”

Jake doesn’t answer for a moment. “It’s better than being alone all the time,” he says, smashing the buttons on his controller.

“I’m not alone. I have you.” I say the words before I can catch myself, but the small grin that curls Jake’s lips makes it worth it. A warm feeling fills my chest, from the inside out.

I didn’t know it could do that.

#alex & jake #aj1 #supernatural fiction #vampire fiction #werewolf fiction #young adult fiction #ya fiction #fantasy fiction #ya fantasy #ya supernatural #original fiction #fantasy writing #fiction #original story

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bellaiswriting · 8 months

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the mad scribblings of a writer with too many story ideas. here i will post my works in progress, to keep myself accountable and hopefully establish an interested readership. i will most likely bounce around with updates, as my muse is rather scattered, but i will do my best to tag everything appropriately for easy navigation.

below the cut are my current wips, with (very) brief synopses and links to character profiles, the first post of each story and the latest update.

i track #userbella.

The Adventures of Alex & Jake (new)

Introverted vampire Alex must wrestle with his feelings for his extroverted werewolf roommate Jake, while avoiding hunters, gang members, and fan-ghouls.