Seth Clearwater Imprinted With Trouble

Seth Clearwater POV

I passed all the shops in this tiny, tiny town and felt unerringly lost. I’d been walking around Forks for almost an hour. Well, around the side of Forks that has the quaint mom-and-pop-like stores. It’s strange, ‘cause I’ve lived here all my life and have never gotten lost once. Well, really, I live on the Rez, but sometimes you just needed to get out.

But today, all day, I’ve felt like I’ve been drawing at straws. I feel like something’s supposed to be here. But I don’t know what. So I’ve stuck to walking in a huge circle around the town looking for whatever it is.

Normally I’d give up but I had a gut feeling that I really needed to be here. The gut feeling also told me that it’d be here somewhere and just to keep on looking. I’ve learned to follow my hunches. I’m a werewolf. Well, a shape shifter that takes the shape of a wolf—I’ve even got an entire pack. It runs in the blood of our ancestors—in our great-great-grandfathers, plain old grandfathers, our owns dads, our brothers—even our daughters, though the only female in our pack is Leah, and so far, she’s the only girl that can shape shift. That we know of. ‘Cause, hey, where there is one there can be more, is what we figure.

All of a sudden I got this weird feeling. Something was near me. Something great, so utterly, impossibly wonderful that I wanted to run towards whatever it is, scoop it up in my arms and never let go. Something that felt so chillingly terrifying, something I couldn’t handle, something that would bruise me and break me to the point where I simply wanted to sprint away from it.

But I couldn’t move. I couldn’t go towards it, I couldn’t get away from it, and all I wanted to do was something. I wanted to be able to do something other than stand and wait.

I felt like I was rooted to the ground. Roots that started out small and as gentle as a flower now grew into the strong, capable roots of a tree, swallowing me whole. It felt almost as if they were opening to encompass the catalyst that had started it all, too. I felt them reaching out, reeling it in, bringing it closer to my heart, wrapping it up tightly in an indescribably woven knot that bound me to it. I would never hurt it in any way, physical, mental, emotional. Just the thought of upsetting it almost brought tears to my eyes. I would always protect from anything and everything—it needed me and I need it. I was its and it was mine.

The roots covered everything. I couldn’t see straight, couldn’t think straight. I felt almost trapped, I couldn’t escape. I didn’t want to escape.

It was dark. So, so dark. Even when I blinked or closed my eyes I couldn’t part the blackness. Then the feeling intensified and suddenly I could see again. I turned an, like a homing device, found my little catalyst, half hidden in a cramped alley way.

It was a little girl. She looked maybe 4 or 5.

She was standing absolutely still, as still as I was. She was tiny, so, so tiny, and so delicate that it looked like that if she moved, her porcelain skin would shatter. Her hair was straight and clearly hung past her waist, even when it was tangled. Her hair was the bright, eye catching, burning color of dandelions. Even the small bits of dust and dirt in it couldn’t hide the amazingly yellowness of it. Actually, dirt covered the majority of her pint-sized frame. Her skirt was all muddy and wrinkled. The hem of it wasn’t even fabric anymore, simply tatters and tangles of strings and leaves and twigs. The shirt she wore was a little too tight, as if she had suddenly had a growth spurt. It too, was muddy, wrinkled, and even torn in paces. The only thing that actually looked somewhat clean was a small white satchel she had slung over her shoulder. She looked tired, a small child weary of the world, but her eyes shone with some indescribable light. They were so incredibly light blue. They were so pale that they almost seemed white. The only thing that kept them from seeming ghost-like was the darker blue specks that almost appeared to be floating around inside them. Even the smudges of dirt and mud on her face couldn’t hide her delicate, arching little eyebrows, her high cheekbones, and her pale pink lips.

She was the most beautiful person in the world. No, not in the world, she was the world. My world.

We stood there and stared at each other and let time pass us by. I didn’t care. She was here. She was all I needed, all I wanted. She was her and I was me. We stood there we simply were.

After what could’ve been mere minutes or several long hours, I took a step towards her. She looked at me uncertainly and then took a small, tentative step. I held out my hand and she took it, putting her diminutive and smooth hand inside my large, rough ones. The heat of her hands matched my scorching average body temperature of 101 degrees Fahrenheit.

Ours gazes interlocked like our hands and we walked away.

(Sorry it's so short! I'll make it longer next time, but I'm too sleepy right now! And seriously, please don't think less of me for writing on something Twilight-themed--I'm not, never was, and never will be a screaming Twilight fan-girl. Ever since I read the book four or five years ago when it first came out and there were no movies this idea popped into my head and wouldn't go away.)