Part 2: If Only...

The sun shone behind his closed eyelids. Yet the beams of light did not highlight his golden curls, nor did it illuminate his high cheekbones or his curved jaw. He struggled to open his eyes. A battle between the promise of endless sleep and waking up to the chaos around him. Curiosity got the better of him.

As his eyelids finally flutter open his gaze was met by such a strong burst of light, that his strained eyes were made to squint. He had to blink several times before they focused, morphing the blurred obscure shapes, sharpening his vision.

Toby was lying horizontal, the long grass tickling his neck. His clothes were damp from the dew the grass carried - but otherwise his clothes were fairly dry. It had stopped raining and it was surprisingly pleasant, no clouds cluttered up the sky. He could hear the steady beat of the waves against the chalk. It was just a dream. But it had felt so real.

"Toby? Toby where are you?" It was his mother's high pitched cry that brought him back to the present.

"I'm coming Mum." He yelled as he raced down the crumbling cliff path, back the way he had come, stumbling a little as he went. Mum was standing in the cottage's doorway, her hair falling loosely down her back, her dressing gown wrapped around her. Toby ran to her. "Mum I'm alright." But his Mum didn't even look at him, instead her eyes were fixed behind him, scanning the cliff path.

"Toby? Toby!" It was as if his Mum could see right through him.

"Mum I- I don't understand. Mum can't you see me? I'm right here!"

Mrs Knight shuffled out of the door in her bright pink fluffy slippers and pushed past her son. To Toby's astonishment she began to run away up the cliff.

"Mum!" Toby screamed carelessly after her. "MUM!" There was no reply.

He didn't understand. What on earth was going on? Had his Mother gone mad? Or was he still dreaming.

He pinched his skin between two of his quivering fingers. Nothing... "Come on..." He muttered under his breathe. "Wake up Toby, Wake Up!" He wasn't dreaming, this was all very real.

"Toby! Toby!" There was a bloodcurdling scream that cut through the air like a knife. A Screech like car wheels spinning out of asphalt.

"Mum... MUM!"

Toby leaped over the brambles letting them rip his trousers, he didn't care. He urged his legs to go faster. "Mum where are you?" All he could hear was the unsteady beat of his heart against the drumming of his feet. He reached Dad's bench. Mum was nowhere in sight.

"Mum?" Toby could not hide the fear in his voice. Maybe she'd gone to the beach. But why on Earth would she go there?

The beach was tiny, barely six metres of sand, Mum always warned him not to go down there as it was dangerous how fast the tide came in.

He ran on down the cliff, he was getting closer, he could now hear his Mum's heavy sobs. Finally his feet sunk into the sand making it erupt around him. And there she was, she had fallen to the ground. Her whole body was trembling, her head bowed as if in prayer.

"Mum what is it? What's wrong?" He stepped closer trying to comfort her, that's when he noticed the pair of legs sticking out from behind his Mother's rigid form. A sodden, ripped material clung to the pale, lifeless legs. the trainers were ruined, yet you could still see the pattern on the side of the shoe, a union-jack. No... It couldn't be.

He edged around her he didn't want to look too scared at what he knew he would see. Knowing didn't prepare him for what he saw next. Nothing could have.

His limp body was cradled in her arms, tears rolled down her cheeks, as rapid as waterfalls, the drops fell off her chin before splashing on the innocent, young face below. His face was stiff his mouth hung open, his lips cracked, his almond eyes were wide open, glazed over, staring up at the heavens. His greasy hair clung to his dead face.

His Mum rocked him backwards and forwards, clutching him to her tightly, Forever repeating that word over and over. "Toby... Toby..."

"I'm so sorry Mum. I'm so sorry." Toby sank to his knees.

What was the use in speaking? He knew she couldn't hear him. He was dead after all. If only his Dad hasn't left. If only he hadn't left the house. If only...

___________________________________

Hello, :) <--- I thought I'd try add some happiness to this story...

That's all you're going to get!

I'd love to here any comments/suggestions you guys have.

- KP

Part 1: The Sirens

He'd woken up early, because of the seagulls - screeching like sirens as they soured overhead. Their angelic white wings spread wide, making them glide on the wind's back. Their voices raised, in a high pitched cry, like weird hags cackling. They haunted his every move. Couldn't they just fly off somewhere else?

Toby had been at Rippleside for over a month now, it seemed that those stupid birds' aim was to make his time there even worse than it already was.

He slid out of the side door pulling his raincoat over his messy fair head. The weather was foul. His shivering fingers fuddled with the buttons. It was cold. The hood did little to prevent the icy rain from running down his neck. The wind whistled through his hair - making it fly upwards like a golden halo, while painting his pale cheeks a rosy shade. He shoved his num hands into his pockets and made his way up the cliff path.

The footpath was was barely used - therefore it was over run with wild shrubbery: brambles clung to his jeans and nettles nipped his bare shins. His union-jack trainers, (which were a size too small for him,) squelched in the mud. Toby bent down next to a patch of long grass. The droplets caught on the stems and shimmered before running down the stalks and exploding.

Finally he reached the highest point of the cliff. And there it stood, Dad's bench. It was now covered in a blanket of rain and salt, moss grew on the sodden wood. But there was no hiding the names carved into the back of one of the rotting planks: Dylan & Anna.

Tears stung the boy's brown eyes. He traced the names with his index finger, before examining the layer of dust and dirt residue which now rested on his finger tip.

Toby stumbled away curling his fingers together, balling them into fists, his stubby finger nails digging, into his sweaty palms. Thousands of questions flew around his head like angry wasps in a nest. The questions kept piling up, and there were never any answers.

He stared hopelessly at the churning waves, letting the bitter spray tickle his nostrils.

His Dad used to take him up to this exact spot everyday when the weather was good, they'd sit together on the bench with their sandwiches - giving tidbits to the gulls, Something Mum would never let him do as she thought it encouraged them too much. She was right of course. She was always right.

As he gazed at the rumbling ocean he felt as sense of nothingness that he'd never felt before. It was as if he wasn't Toby Knight anymore... he wasn't anything anymore. He felt nothing. All those problems that nagged at him, eroding him away piece by piece, (just like the sea does the cliff face,) couldn't get to him anymore. He felt empty.

A quiver of a smile crept up his face, however it didn't reach his eyes. It wasn't a happy laugh or a pleasant grin it was: a sad smile - a tiny tug upwards of the lips. But it was a smile nonetheless.

Toby could sense the scenery around him closing in. He wasn't stood on the cliff he was back at Rippleside, his Mum's arms draped around him. A familiar silhouette blocked the doorway.

"Dad...?" Toby's clumsy feet fumbled forward towards the figure. His hands, once clenched - reached out, yet his fingers wrapped around thin air. The illusion was over just as quickly as it began. And he was falling, falling from high. Down he plunged, deeper and deeper still.

The water was freezing, so cold if took his breath away. The waves were treacherous, kicking him about like a ball in a football game. His throat stung, he couldn't even cry out for help - not that there would've been anyone there to listen.

The white winged spectators laughed. Toby tried frantically to escape but every time his fingers skimmed the surface the waves dragged him down again to the dark depths. Why try to fight it? He had no chance, no chance of escaping from the oceans grasp.

His lungs stung. His fingers shot upwards clawing for air. The boy had no fight left in him.

He gave up.

___________________________________

Hello again, :)

I'd really appreciate it if you checked out my other posts: The Time Keeper and Gruesome Beasts.

Thanks,

- KP

Chapter 1: The Scabby Rat

The Scabby Rat was no where near as genial or inviting as it's name gave it credit for - in fact it was a lot worse. Grease coated the table tops and troll drool carpeted what was left of the floorboards. Suspicious looking stains decorated the wallpaper, which was beginning to peel and hang off the walls like dry skin.

The whole bar stunk. It smelt worse than: gone off milk, a surfeit of extremely pungent skunks, and an Olympic styled swimming pool full of ogre sweat - all mixed together. The worst kind of cocktail.

Behind the counter was a magnificent collection of bloodshot eyeballs: all displayed in old pickled-onion jars, the left over juice still included of course. Additionally on the shelf was a tub-ware container overflowing with nail clippings and a bottle containing a syrupy, black liquid ...Faerie blood perhaps?

The Tavern although vile was nowhere near as gruesome as it's inhabitants. Trolls lay passed out on the floor - a string of saliva hanging out each of their wheezing mouths.

Ghouls hung like bats from the ceiling, swaying back and fro. Gremlins sat, hunched over, chugging pints of beer.

The Faeries darted across the room, pulling on the Gremlins' abnormally large ears, prodding the bellies of snoozing trolls and giggling at the Ghouls' somber song.

A pack of Krackles lurked in the pub corner, muttering between themselves.

Meanwhile a group of greedy Goblins sat gathered around a table ladened with gold, rubbing their talons in glee.

Every now and then the bartender: a drunken creature with several heads - would randomly hurl an empty bottle of whisky across the room, possibly wishing to shut-up the chanting Ghouls, or maybe hoping to hit a troublesome Faerie, or perhaps the gaggle of Goblins had gotten into an argument again?

Anyway The Scabby Rat was no place for a lady that's for sure. So when one did step through the door: all became silent. The Ghouls stopped singing - if indeed you can call their shrill squeals a song. Gremlins' crooked mouths hung wide open, A few of them dropped their glasses in shock. The hooded Krackles all stood up in unison, knocking their chairs to the floor. Even the Goblins' looked up from their gambling to stare at the figure. One Faerie was so fixated on the newcomer that she accidentally forget to switch on autopilot and crashed into a wall.

All was silent. Except of course for the snoring of the Trolls, who were still fast asleep.

___________________________________

Hi there, this is my second short story opening. I hope you like it. :)

Please go check out my other story: The Time Keeper. (Only if you want to of course.)

- KP

Chapter 1: A spilt second

Quentin had tried to explain to the fat boy that he was a Time Keeper, just because he was bored; However this had backfired on him, Now the fat boy wouldn't leave him alone and was as stuck to Q as his very own shadow - Well... at least he tried to be.

"What do you mean a Time Keeper?" The boy, who was clearly more than a little out of breath stammered, trying to keep up. "I'm wearing a time keeper of sorts on my hand - a watch. You're just an ordinary boy!"

Quentin snorted: Ordinary? Ordinary?! Who the hell did HE think HE was calling HIM ORDINARY? What right had he?

Q picked up the pace, maybe if he tired the plump kid out a bit he might just leave him alone. Alas Quentin was wrong - this just seemed to provoke his tubby follower and make him even more determined.

"Did *breath* you *wheeze* know that -" It was becoming harder and harder for the poor boy to actually speak between croaky breaths. "Did you know *inhale* inside my watch are hundreds *rasp* of tiny cogs *pant* each fitted perfectly to tell the time?"

"REALLY?!" The 'Ordinary' Boy gasped sarcastically, before his face straightened again a spilt second later. He fixed his grey eyes in front of him and his lips pulled into a firm line.

"Yes, and did you know that-" It was clear that Quentin's 'new friend' was not getting the hint. The kid was on a roll and he sure as hell wasn't going to stop anytime soon.

"Fine... Fine - You win!" The 'Time Keeper' threw his arms up to the heavens as a sign of defeat. The White flag had been waved. The war was over. Yet the tank kept coming, nothing was going to shoot it down.

"So you are Normal!"

Quentin rolled his eyes to the sky in a manner that suggested he was everything but.

Q changed gears: taking longer strides, this meant that his now plum faced follower was forced to jog. The pair were quite amusing to look at - one as lean as the other round, one tall and the other short.

"Slow down *huff* a minute *huff* will you?" He did just the opposite. And for a split second it looked like the fat boy might finally throw in the towel. A glimmer of a smile crept up Q's face, yet this was broken abruptly.

"Did you know *rasp* that the first proper clock was *wheeze* made by Christiaan Huygens." The portly boy's face seemed to light up - However whether this was from pride or from his recent unnatural burst of exercise, I'm not quite sure.

Q examined his unwanted companion, he was not used to hanging around with children his age, now he remembered why. Beads of sweat trickled down the reddening face. The boy now had an uncanny resemblance to that of a boiled tomato, Quentin thought. These famous, crimson cheeks were decorated by dispersed freckles, and framed by the yellow tuffs of hair which were plastered to the short sticky forehead. Slipping down the kid's circular nose were a pair of spectacles: clearly a few sizes too big for him - they took up most of his face. The fat boy's eyes met his through the misted glass, before Q quickly fixed his icy stare back onto the pavement.

It was now the smaller of the two's turn to scrutinise. He looked up at this weird, new acquaintance who towered over him. His Mother had always told him not to speak to strangers - but there had been something peculiar about this boy: maybe it was the way he sauntered around as if he owned the place. Confidence radiated off him, yet he wasn't particularly good looking - Christopher noticed, and his clothing choice was questionable. The 'Time Keeper' was obviously older than Christopher, yet not by much. At least that's what one might originally believe.

The not so ordinary boy was silent, he glided across the ground with such ease at such a fast rate - it was almost as if while doing nothing out of the question at all, he was screaming to be noticed. You couldn't help but look in his direction. But why, Christopher wondered? He looked SO Normal.

"Can you quit starin'?"

"Sorry!"

He hung his blonde head, and for a short while (a spilt second,) all was peaceful. Of course this didn't last for long.

Still aglow the stout boy picked up from where he left off:

"The clock was invented in 1655, I think... Or was it 1656?"

Q scoffed: this little idiot thought he knew it all. He had no clue as to just how wrong he was. Q would show him.

"Actually the pendulum clock was first invented in 1465 by the Likois. They brought their knowledge and research with them when they came to Earth several years later." Christopher's once racing mouth finally froze, and he gaped like a goldfish. Quentin cherished the look of shock - as the colour appeared to drain out of the younger boy's cheeks. "Sure Huygens' tweaked their design a little but still."

All was silent for a split second.

"...You're Wrong."

"Pardon?"

"I said *breath* you're wrong."

Quentin stopped in his tracks. He could not believe the stupidity of this insolent little child questioning HIS authority?! He turned to the wheezing lump of pure 'wrong' and gave him a most sinister glare.

"What do you mean I'm 'Wrong?'"

Christopher did not answer straight away, as he was currently hunched over a nearby wall - rasping uncontrollably. Eventually he built up enough puff to talk.

"I'm doing, *croak* a whole project, *pant* about clocks at school."

"So?" Quentin answered with his award winning scowl.

"I've never heard of The Lickopops."

"You blinders never believe in anything unless you bloody well see it for yourselves."

"What's a blinder?"

"That's the name We Time Keeper's give to ORDINARY people like you who are blind to the truth." At this the chubby boy flew into a sudden rage. Clearly Quentin had hit a soft spot.

"I'm not blind! *rasp* I may have glasses! *gasp* But I can see!" He plonked himself down on the pavement, arms crossed, stomach heaving, having a little strop.

'The Time Keeper' gave up. There was no use. Blinders were empty-headed idiots. Why waste another split second on this pathetic kid?

"...Wait a minute!" Squealed the piggy looking boy - his face had now turned bright pink. "Earlier you, you said..." Christopher was finding it hard not to trip over his words. "Whhat you saidd caantt bepossible!" Christopher expected to hear a loud, undermining:

"What?" But no such remark came. The fat boy looked up.

The 'Time Keeper' was gone.

___________________________________

Hi, (if there is ever anyone reading this.) I'm new here. Don't really know how all of this works. :/

This is an opening for a short story I hope to continue with. I hope you like it? :)

- KP