Luke Swan and the Laistrynians: The Flood

Chapter 1

~Chapter 1~

Swan Song

I didn't ask for my day to be perfect.

All I wanted was to make a good impression at my new school and come home to my foster parents. I didn't care if I got myself into trouble for doing something strange and unexplained: I just wanted those few things to happen. That isn't such a big deal, right?

Oh, I'm getting ahead of myself, aren't I? Yeah, let me introduce myself:

My name is Luke Swan.

No, not that guy from those science-fiction movies I have no interest in-- what's his name, Luke Skywalker?--although I do get that a lot.

Anyway, the story of my life is basically one huge, long sob story. Don't bother trying to stop your tears from falling: it only gets worse as it goes along.

I've been foster homed since I was five. People say I was dumped on the side of the road, or that I mysteriously ran away from home, but I don't even have any memories of my parents. Not even a distant, warm feeling, like a memory of being held as an infant.

My first foster home was terrible. Even at twelve, I can still remember it. All the kids there were just kids whose parents didn't want them, which is sad, but not as sad as the things they did to me to cheer themselves up. Most of the time I spent curled up in the corner of my room or in the closet, hoping they wouldn't find me. That place started my journey as an outcast. After six months there I ran away, only to be found by the police when I was seven and dragged to the next foster home. This one wasn't as bad as the first, but after two years there my foster parents were involved in a horrific car crash that took their lives. The authorities managed to find another foster home for me in the next town over. Three years I spent there, still an outcast, not sad but just, well, confused. Eventually, I ran away. For two years I just kept walking, living off the pity of locals. I don't remember how many towns I passed along the way. I even spent some time with a bunch of hoboes. But the inevitable did come one day, and the police found my hiding in the corner of a dead-end alleyway and took me to a childless old couple, Ben and Hilda Rodriguez. I really should have started middle school when I was eleven, since I started school when I was five, but that year of my life was spent on the run.

And that's where our story begins.

I was to be attending middle school in the dead centre of LA. Its name was something like "St. Montgomery's School for the Gifted". Yes, I was classified as "gifted". I was good at math, and considered myself not bad in art, but my real talent was music. Music filled the gap inside me where my parents might have been when I was lonely. Music helped me to forget about my past. People say I sing like an angel, and I can play pretty much any instrument I can get my hands on. My nickname is "Swan Song". Music is the only thing I understand.

The bus stop was just around the corner on the street where I lived. Mrs. Rodriguez had bought me a new "school uniform" the day before. Even though our school didn't have a uniform, Hilda had bought me three blue T-shirts, three pairs of dark jeans that really weren't my style and a pair of sneakers that were so bright they should have come with their own warning label: "Do not stare directly at sneakers. Temporary blindness may occur." Still, she expected me to wear them, so I had no choice but to.

I walked around the corner to the bus stop early on my first day. Already some pupils were waiting: a girl who seemed to be stuck in a daydream, chewing on her red hair, a timid looking boy with glasses who kept eyeing his watch nervously, and a huge, burly looking male who was two tall to be a child, standing with his arms cross and sizing me up. I immediately put him on my mental "to avoid" list.

When the bus pulled up to the stop, I looked inside and my heart dropped. The pairs of seats all had at least one person in them. No-one would want to sit beside me. I knew it for a fact. Still, I started walking down the aisle of the bus as it started moving.

When I was near the middle of the bus, a girl about my age took her schoolbag off the seat beside her and started brushing her long, blonde hair off her shoulders. I knew what was coming, but I reluctantly asked her, "Is this seat taken?"

She batted her eyelashes at me. "Of course it isn't, sweetheart," she said, a little too loudly. Some people behind me snickered.

So I sat down and said nothing for a while, but I was very aware of the girl beside me trying to catch my attention. Eventually, she said, "My name is Hannah. What's your name?"

"Luke."

"Really? You know, I have a name compatibility test on my phone. Maybe I should try it out right now with my name and yours?"

I just said nothing and started straight ahead. Hannah took out a smart-phone that must have been banned from school and started typing. She waited a few seconds, and her eyes opened in mock surprise.

"Well, would you look at that! 98% compatible," she said. The people behind us giggled again. They were probably her friends, or most likely her partners in crime. I just said nothing. I really hoped people wouldn't remember me for this.

It was a relief when the bus reached the school. I put as much distance between me and Hannah as possible and headed inside. I followed the others in my year into a moldy classroom where we were shown an introduction video on a moldy TV by a professor in a moldy suit. The TV was wheeled away by the janitor that smelled suspiciously of cabbage soup and the professor handed us out some old, (surprise, surprise) moldy history books.

I groaned. History was not something I was gifted in.

"Turn to pages fifty-one and fifty-two," the professor said from behind a huge, bristly moustache.

All the students moved simultaneously. I pretty much tuned myself out of the lesson for two hours. The professor didn't ask any questions. I was glad for that. I just started down at the page without noticing anything.

"Pay attention! This is important," a female voice spoke.

I jerked my head up. Where did that voice come from? I looked down at the two pages of the huge book. It was about gods and goddesses in ancient mythology: Greek, Roman, Egyptian, etc.

"They're all the same."

It was that voice again. Something about it made me listen. And why did I feel a connection to it? It couldn't be my mother. I had no recollection of my parents' voices.

The bell sounded for lunch. I had picked my locker on the open day in May and put my schoolbag inside. I followed the crowd brainwashed with hunger to the cafeteria, where I was delighted to find that there was free lunch on Mondays. I was horrified, though, to find that the only seat in the crowded seating area was beside Hannah, and was completely mortified when she revealed the compatibility test scores to her friends.

The rest of the day went by in a blur. To be honest, I don't even remember what happened. I knew something had to go wrong, though, and it did: I forgot where the exit was. When I found the exit, I lost the bus. I had no other choice but to walk home.

It took me an hour, but I found my way back to my street. I could see my house up ahead. I saw something walking towards me: a little King Charles spaniel. It stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and started barking.

"Hey, little guy," I said.

It started barking louder, and its voice was distinctly deeper. I stepped back a little. Suddenly, it started growing, and it kept growing until it was the size of a lion. It was now a giant, pure black hellhound.

In a heartbeat, it was upon me. I could feel its hot breath on my face, its massive jaws snapping at anything they could find, and its claws tearing open my arms, my legs-

Suddenly, I wasn't there anymore.