Last year, I wrote a WHOLE NOVEL for NaNoWriMo. I started it right after Heather! Anne! told me to just write already, dammit, which is why the main character's name is, OF COURSE, Heather Anne. I've been meaning to read it and revise it since last December, but I haven't done it yet because I'm lazy. I think I'm going to start posting bits on here and revise it as I go. Unless I get to a point where it's just too bad and then I'm going to stop posting it and what are you going to do about it? Nothing, that's what. JK, I love you, please don't leave. Oh, and this story has no title. Eff.
YOU GUYS, I have been sitting here for like twenty minutes with my mouse poised over the Publish Post button and I can't make myself click it! Why is this so hard? THAT'S WHAT SHE SAID.
Many years ago, in a world much like this one, there was a young woman named Heather Anne. Heather Anne was like any other young woman in many ways. She had long hair. She wore dresses, but only sometimes. She daydreamed about love, but only when there was nothing better to daydream about. Yes, Heather Anne was like any other young woman in many ways, but she was different in more important ways. She had no use for boys or cooking or learning to be a "lady." She longed for adventure, for a purpose greater than taking care of a husband and a home. Heather Anne was much more interested in getting her powers.
Powers usually appeared by someone's fifteenth birthday, and as Heather Anne would be turning fifteen in just one week's time, she was growing more anxious by the day. She'd sit at her grandmother's window seat, staring at the other children outside whose powers had already come in. Jason could fly! Well, he'd be able to really fly at some point. As of right now, he could briefly hover above the ground if he scrunched up his face in concentration for approximately twelve minutes beforehand.
And Katie, Katie could run as fast as the wind. She was practically invisible whenever she really got going, blurring the air and bending blades of grass in her wake. Unfortunately, she could not yet stop without running into something. There were holes in buildings all over the village.
Harold could turn invisible. Not all at the same time, of course, but he could now disappear several limbs at once. He was getting better every day, practicing by disappearing his fingers one by one and then bringing them back all in one go.
Violet had grown immune to fire, and not only that, but could start her own fires wily-nily, without the use of anything bothersome like matches or flint. This was a bit of a worry to those around her, as she had not yet learned to control herself. Fires kept popping up whenever she was the least bit cold, no matter if she was outside in the snow or in front of an open refrigerator. The local firefighters had taken to having someone follow her around with a ready hose at all times.
Heather Anne was a good person, the best really, full of virtue and bravery and kindness, but she could barely contain her jealousy. What about me! she thought. Where is my power? She worried, oh, how she worried about whether her power would show up by the following Saturday. She'd heard rumors about what happened to those who never grew into their powers. If, by midnight on the day of their fifteenth birthday, not a single power had shown up, they were turned out of the village forever, never to be seen again. Heather Anne had never actually met any of these people, but she felt that only lent more credibility to the rumors. She supposed The Elders would be in charge of something like this, so she hoped for leniency. Her grandmother was one of The Elders and she could not imagine her grandmother, sharp-eyed and quiet, yet kindhearted, turning her granddaughter away from the only home she'd ever known. Heather Anne didn't want to be disappeared. She didn't understand why her powers hadn't shown up yet. She'd always been so good at everything, collecting all the school awards and good grades she could and dominating at all sports, from kickball to tennis.
Heather Anne knew a little something about people disappearing. There was a reason she lived with her grandmother. Her parents, both tall like her with similar benevolent expressions, had left right before her fifth birthday. She barely remembered either of them but every day, she went over what memories she'd managed to hold onto. Her mother was whip thin, but soft, her body malleable and inviting. Heather Anne used to toddle full-force at her mother, wrapping herself around her mother's knees until a pair of hands reached down to pull her up. She smelled like cinnamon and autumn. Her name was Anne.
Her father, golden-haired and lanky, used to spin her around and around until she was so dizzy and giggling so hard that she could barely breathe. She'd reach her arms in front of her and close her eyes, imagining that she was really flying and hoping that the steady hands holding her aloft would hold her forever. Her father had a deep, booming voice that he used to tease her and tell her stories. His name was John.
Her grandmother, her father's mother, was the exact opposite of the rest of her family. She was as short as they were tall, as stocky as they were thin, as dark-haired as they were light. She was so little that her grown son used to give her great hugs and pick her up off the floor, her legs dangling as she protested, although laughing the whole time. When he'd set her back down, so gently, he'd move on to his next victim (usually Heather Anne herself) but her grandmother would continue to watch him, to watch the way he loved his wife and child, and think fondly of her own husband.
Heather Anne's younger brother, Josh, didn't remember their parents, having just been born before they left. Sometimes, late at night after a bad dream, Josh would sneak into Heather Anne's room and crawl under the covers with her. He'd settle into the crook of her arm and ask for a story about their parents. Heather Anne couldn't help but oblige her seemingly orphaned brother and would tell him stories until he fell asleep. She soon exhausted her meager collection of stories about her parents and so she made up new ones. She told Josh all about the adventures they were having while they were away from home and she made up reasons they had left. They were doing something Important with a capital I, and that's why they weren't at home taking care of them, she told Josh, pretending that she didn't need to hear this as much as he did. They both loved their grandmother, very much, but even her love couldn't fill the great void that had been left by their parents' abrupt departure.