Cliffhanger
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WpMetadataReadOngoing<5 mins
WpMetadataNoticeLast published Mon, Jun 22, 2015
"Where are you?" He would ask "God, please tell me where you are!" How was he going to complete this impossible task? He had the friendliest of faces that I'd ever seen. With his half moon shaped glasses, short brunette hair and an odd yet endearing enthusiasm for the Crime-Thriller genre, he'd seem like your average 'local library' librarian. I always talked to him about the things that one wouldn't normally confide into a librarian, and he would sit there,with an observant expression on his face and listen to it all. He knows so much. But instead of his reassuring smile, I now see the scrunched up faces of the curious reporters. I see the faces of a mourning family trying to keep it all together. I see the blinding lights of the cameras. I see people whispering to each other, wondering what it is that had happened to the 'nice old librarian chap'. I have his half moon glasses, coated with blood, The Secret Seven books with pages torn at unusual places, and a mysterious statement given in the newspaper, with me in order to save the day. Jonathan Stewart's story is a story left unwritten on a very unnatural Cliffhanger, and I, as a reader, will find out what had happened.
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"What do you want?" I snap, slamming my locker shut. His casual smirk, messy dark hair, tan skin, strong arms, eerie storm-grey eyes... the list could go on of things I notice- that I shouldn't notice- about him. "Oh, I want a lot of things." He inspects a speck of dirt on his arm. "I'm sure you've heard the news?" His eyes flicker back up to meet mine. Does he know? No. He can't. So I roll my eyes. He can't know that I know, that I would do anything to be the first one he tells. "You'll have to be more specific." I mutter, trying to look casual as I inspect my nails. "Well, it involves a certain title of the swim team," He offers. I shrug. "So you got captain. That's cool. And what do I have to do with that?" He narrows his eyes, trying to read my expression. Unfortunately for him, I have mastered the art of hiding my emotions. "This is what I wanted to talk to you about. During English," He fiddles with his sweater sleeve. "I recall you trying to talk to me," I frown. "Well, I..." He swallows, seeming... nervous? "I'm not doing too great... subject wise. And if I don't pick up my ass soon, I might be forced to quit." He rubbed the back of his neck, making his shirtsleeve slide up his arm to reveal a strong bicep. Not that I notice. I narrow my eyes. "And what do I get back in return?" I cross my arms. I'm going to be late for the bus if we don't hurry. He studies my face. "Name your price." He mirrored my position. I sigh. Money... but I don't need it. Popularity... but I don't want it. I meet his gaze steadily. He lifts his chin, the tiniest bit, but it doesn't intimidate me. I square my shoulders and stand up straight. He's only just taller than me. "Stop pretending to be perfect." All rights reserved. Cover art by me :) but will probably be redone soon

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