Dunno ~Chapter 1~

CHAPTER 1:

*He was sitting on a chair. He surveyed his surroundings. Oddly enough he seemed to be in a small, cylinder-like room that seemed to shiver softly. All was blank: nothing was on the walls. And the round wall was of a deep brownish color. Just staring at that dark brown seemed to calm him. It seemed to behold magic in it. Suddenly the chair tipped over, sending him headfirst toward the wall. Fearing a head-splitting crash, he closed his eyes for the pain. But no pain came. Instead he felt as though he was drowning in water. Opening his eyes, he found himself in a vast sea of dark brown, no signs of anything anywhere. He felt extremely relaxed, his heart felt as if it stopped beating; he didn’t have a care in the world. Remembering his swimming talents, he swam forward, going into a deeper brown region, closing his eyes once more with a happy smile on his face.

He opened his eyes; a smile still lingering on his face. All of a sudden, he appeared to be back in his bedroom holding the photograph of a redheaded lady with rosebud lips. Only the ceiling of the room was different; it was the brown sea.

Looking away from picture, he caught his reflection in the glass window, as he was right next to his drawer and that was right next to the window. He still seemed to be smiling because of that calming brown. Looking back at the beautiful photograph, he suddenly, in a sudden tantrum, tore it in pieces; but he could only see himself doing it, he could not really feel it – but he enjoyed it all the same. He felt that lady deserved it. A sob escaped his crystal-blue eyes, but unusually he still had a smile on his face. The smile widened and faltered on his features, he could feel his jaw muscles moving - yet he could feel tears slipping, as he looked down at the torn up pieces lying scattered on the floor and he mouthed something – something horrifyingly painful; the first sound he heard for a long time. But it seemed extremely distant – as if his voice was coming from a far distant place. Looking back at his mirror reflection, he found something really wrong with it. Though he could feel himself feeling distraught like anything, his reflection showed a face with an expression that he could not identify. First he thought the expression was of anger or horror…but then he found out it was a mixture. In his reflection, his eyebrows were raised in obvious shock but it also furrowed ever so slightly, showing disapproval. But what was really different was his smile. It wasn’t even a smile. It was just a sullen line that formed on his lips. Feeling confused, Jerry involuntarily looked up at the ceiling.

It wasn’t the comforting brown now. It was black – the darkest black you could imagine. He looked down. The floor had vanished – even the pieces of the photograph.
It was also black and so was every side of him. It was pitch black – sight wasn’t handy at all now.
Despair filled his insides, but it didn’t last for long, as the black swallowed him up: nothing seemed to exist in the world.*

*~*

Jerry Newman sat up in his bed, stretching his arms and yawning. The sun’s rays filtered in through the thin curtain; it was morning. Jerry immediately remembered everything that happened last night and in frenzy got out of bed, hugging himself because of the icy chill all around him. The prickly feeling that was crawling up into his blood from his bare feet made him shiver a bit, and he headed towards the drawer, his eyes searching for the photograph. His mother’s photograph.

Finally his peering eyes found the item. He picked it up in his numb hands and stared meaningfully at the lovely redhead. Fury surged up in him – just the look of her smiling face made him frustrated - and he angrily flung the photograph with all his might intending it to land, all crumpled up, on his bedstead.

The photograph just floated softly to the ground, despite Jerry’s efforts to ruin it. With his fists closed, he tried to resist the urge to stamp on the picture and went to the bathroom to have a wash and brush his teeth and hair and continue with the day’s events.
*~*

“Why didn’t she just leave me alone? Why did she have to torture me?”, Jerry asked his best friend, as they headed down the street in town to the post office.

“She didn’t want this to happen, Jerry”, Amelia Watson replied consolingly, “It just happened so suddenly tha-“
“Butt outta this, okay, Emily”, Jerry cut her off, his temper rising.

“Excuse me?!”, Emily rounded on him, pushing her platinum-blond hair out of her face so as to look more clearly at him.
“You were the one who started talking about this! If you won’t cooperate, then I won’t, too!”

Turning her back on him, she went the opposite way and entered one of the shops without one glance back at him. Jerry didn’t try and stop her from accompanying him to the post office; he headed straight on. He was just too annoyed with his mother and himself and Emily. Annoyed with his mum for leaving; annoyed with himself for shouting out like that to Emily – as he very well knew he was the one who started up the issue; annoyed with Amelia for leaving him like that – he knew she knew he was over-emotional and is hot-tempered.

“Girls!”, he muttered under his breath as if that explained everything. He pushed his hands inside his pockets, feeling the letters inside them, and walked at a gait, finally reaching the post office.

*~*

After spending twenty minutes posting the letters at the post office, Jerry came trudging down the street, his temper all gone now, whistling a tuneless rhythm.

Reaching the place where Emily had left him, he decided to stop by and check if she still was there. Pushing open the door, he found that it was a bookshop. Typical of Amelia, he thought, grinning. He knew she was a lover of books; she can’t get her nose out of one.

The bell ringed as he stepped in announcing his arrival. Looking around, he found that even though it looked small from the outside, it was pretty enormous from the inside.

“The same case with people…”, Jerry smiled thinking of Emily. She seemed strong and show-offish from the outside, but inside that tough exterior, was a caring, humble and sweet heart.

Then Jerry thought of her mother, and his smile faltered considerably. “Yes…”, he mumbled, nodding his head slowly as if in a wakeful doze he sorrows. “…the same case…”, he repeated, wave after wave of thoughts tumbling over in his mind.

Looking around carefully, he peered into nook and cranny of the store finally reaching a section where a sign was hung over, ‘fantasies’.

“Well, no Em here, but wouldn’t hurt to take a peek at some of those books…”, thought Jerry, eyeing the books with interest. Being a particular fan of fantasy stuff – whether it be movies or stories – Jerry couldn’t help but take a book out of the section.

“Dread with Dragons”, he read quietly. The book was reddish and a picture of a dragon with flame coming out of it’s mouth was covering the back while the title in the front was golden coloured with streaks of black mixed with maroon.

“Gotta be funny”, he smiled as he read the summary at the back (which was on the body of the dragon). Longing to read it, he placed it back, searching for another. He crouched down on his knees and picked up a green book, reading it’s summary and title (‘Elves Beheld Fearyeld’) and placing it back.

Pulling a book randomly out, something caught his eye. It was grey and plain and barely seen, but he noticed it – wedged tightly between the two shelves of each section.
The ‘mysteries’ and ‘fantasies’ section was side by side and this book – anyone could tell it was one – was stuck in the middle. Nobody would ever have noticed it if they were at standing height-level (except if they pushed apart the shelves – which was a horrible job as both of the shelves were extremely heavy due to the load of books).

It mere luck that made Jerry crouch down – and to be able to notice it. Curious, he peered in the crack, breathing in, and got a face full of dust in his face.
Sneezing loudly, he rubbed his nose and pushed two fingers to pull the book out, but failed. Feeling frustrated he tried to grasp it with just two fingers, gripped hard and pulled…and it suddenly loosened itself and came out, sending clouds of dust in the air.

“Ah-choo…”, sneezed Jerry shortly and picked up the book, which was just blank grey. No title; no author’s name; no illustration. A lot of dust covered it – just adding to the murky colour of the book. Feeling it the hardcover seemed to be made of a rough leathery substance… which was unusual as nowadays book covers are made with a sort of paper-plastic – which is smooth and glowing.

“Weird”, murmured Jerry as he blew off the layer of dust on the book. Opening it, it seemed to rustle – like parchment – not paper. His brow creased slightly in the middle. Looking at the first page of the book, he found out it was blank. Turning to the next page, he saw the title – written in bold black – ‘THE BOOK OF THE DEAD’.

His spine tingled suddenly, as he read those words. He knew why. Because of his mother. Shaking his head to clear those scary words, he turned the page again. Right in the middle of that page – right in the center – was the number one, in dripping red.

“Must be book one”, thought Jerry. He flipped the page, involuntarily holding his breath for the contents…but it was blank. Confused, he turned a few more pages, skimming through them, but nothing was written anywhere - there only was blank scratchy yellow parchment.

“Huh…the guys who made this book are nuts… there’s nothing in here…”, thought Jerry confidently…but he didn’t really feel confident inside. “Lemme go and ask that shopkeeper ‘bout this silly book…”, Jerry nervously made his way to the counter.

“Um…why – how come this book doesn’t have any writings…?”, asked Jerry to the burly, handlebar moustached man behind the counter who took it and gave it back almost at once, saying in a mocking, serious tone, “HA-HA – think you’re funny do ya? Get outta my sight, school-boy, or there’ll be trouble…”, he threatened.

Confused by this response, Jerry started to say something but the shopkeeper who was an impatient man, held him by the hand and thrust the worn book in them, then slammed the door in his face before he said, “Stay out, ‘kay! And take your junk with you…” indicating the book and to himself he muttered, “Ha, as if that muck could come in this high-quality shop… the cheatin’ lad”.

Half-surprised and half-annoyed, he ran straight towards his house, surprised that he could get a free book easily and annoyed that the shopkeeper yelled at him for no reason and that the book was useless. But there was something about the book that freaked him out… but he couldn’t put a finger on what it was.

*~*