All Characters are 18 or older; they, the places and events are fictional. Author reserves rights of use and exhibition etc. This is a combination of the first four chapters of the "Don't Miss" Series, put here with revisions made for plot understanding, syntax and word choice, and of course typos. Previous grey areas are cleared up, and everything should be one continuous line now. Enjoy.
--Kyoketsu Shoge
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--Chapter One--
--Paradise Lost; Paradise Found--
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Before that day, I wasn't sure whether or not I loved her. What matters is that, between the present and that morning, there were events which changed both of us, and our entire class, for better or for worse. I shall attempt to recount the details. They are both a hymn of gladness, and a dirge of mourning.
I felt that something bad would happen that day. I called to my brother for help, because I was just a scared little kid. I was hoping that I could keep her safe too. Here we are though, two of twenty against the far wall undergoing the Test, looking out at the sun-bleached lawns of Creekmount Academy, a school which took exceptional students from the ninth through twelfth grade years. I am Alphonse, eighteen years of age, and the younger of two men from the family Rosethorne. At the time, I was attending the school for my final year. She...Elena, was also attending for her final year.
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Elena was my equal in most everything we had the blessing of sharing. Her one aspect which none could rival was her beauty. Such fragile and demure beauty one could not find in finely crafted porcelain. Her hair, an alchemy of gold and sunset, cascaded effortlessly behind her wherever her lithe body would take her, and her eyes scintillated like emeralds encased in glass. Until that fateful day, I didn't fully notice her beauty. Perhaps none of us did. The four foul men did, though. That was why they kept her for...I digress. Grant me a few moments more for exposition.
Creekmount's uniform was becoming of Elena (as it seemed for all the girls), but her personality seemed an ill fit. This was the shield with which she defended herself; not arrogance, but something more humble. Elena had book smarts. What she lacked in life-experience, she could recite from memory. The day I saw her fully, her knowledge could not defend her. That's why I helped her—-why I continue to help her.
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The day before it happened, we were in physical education. I was watching the ongoing basketball exercises. Elena and another girl, Catherine (who would also undergo the test) were competing on free throws.
"You're doing well today, Elena," Catherine commented, upon finishing her fifth consecutive throw.
"I can hold my own in this sort of thing...There. One more and I've got you beat," Elena responded in her charming, cheery, pseudo-soprano.
"It would be a first," scoffed Catherine.
Be assured, dearest readers, that your humble narrator (at the behest of his male instincts) was only slightly aware of how important it was that Elena make this next basket. At the time, I was more concerned with how lovely Elena's shapely butt looked in the Phys-Ed shorts. I wanted to encourage her, let her know that I had faith in her. Instead, I reverted to my usual mode of talking to her: awkward humor.
"Elena," I called to her, "If you don't make this next basket, I'll be forced to beat you in the German test tomorrow."
She looked at me quizzically, and responded, "What?"
"Don't miss," I said.
"I'll do my best," she called back, flashing a cheesy thumbs-up.
I watched as Elena stepped up to the line. She readied herself, and turned slightly, giving me a happy yet determined smile. She shot the ball.
The three of us watched, as the ball went through the basket; and beyond the school's fence, the tallest of the men chuckled, as he and the rest observed the prospective targets.
"Heh, so she made it. She looks to be the best I've seen."
"But then, there's not a bad looking one in the whole class, is there, Mark?"
"This is the senior class-B, right?" Luke asked, turning to their leader.
"Yeah, that's how it looks," John mused. "And, if they move from class to class as a single element, the so-called German class might be the best time to do it. This is our chance. Let's not miss it."
And the four men grinned at once. They knew when they would strike. But then, they had already gotten their supplies ready weeks ago. Masks, ropes, guns--Dog Day Afternoon in a bag, really. I just wish that they had been after our money.
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The morning was chilly. I wore the school's uniform blazer that day, as did Elena. I hated how it hid her body, but it was how I started a conversation that morning. I asked her what the fabric that made up the liner was, and Elena stifled her cute laugh with her slender fingers.
"That's easy, silly. It's on the tag."
Elena walked in front of me and slipped her hands behind my neck to lift the collar. The chill which rode upon her fingers sent shivers throughout my body, but their feather-light softness warmed my soul. As she reached the tag under the collar, she read off, "liner: 70% cotton, 30% poly..."
She stopped short of polyester when she saw my eyes. I had been watching her as she read, and as our eyes met, a long second froze us colder than the air around us. As the bells from the school began to toll, we stepped apart. Elena and I shivered once more, as the spaces where we had touched became cold again.
"Five minutes before morning announcements. We should hurry," Elena said, shakily, breaking the silence.
"Oh, right. Let's double-time it, eh?"
"What?"
"Double-time, it's the military term for...uh, jogging. My brother Albrecht taught me how."
"Alright then, let's go."
"Right, keep in step with me then. Albrecht says if you go too fast you'll run out of steam too soon."
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"Our names are unimportant. What is important are our demands, so listen good. We don't want money, although if you've got some lying around, feel free to chip in. What we do want is a way out of here. We know this school is big enough and strong enough for a Helicopter on the roof. We want a civilian pilot and enough fuel to get us to Rio De Janeiro. Demands had better damn well be met in twenty minutes, or we start wasting the students. One every twenty minutes until the demands are met. Hurry up, you heathen fucks."
That was the message we heard as the four men forced their way through the school. They hit the front office first, blowing away the rent-a-cop security guard in a blaze of gunfire. They put their demands on a tape, rolling continuously every five minutes over the loudspeakers. The speakers were wired to the outside too, so the authorities which now surrounded the school got a chilling reminder that our time was rapidly running out.
The message repeated for a fourth time, and they took out our professor. We knew how bleak our situation was, but somehow when Professor Von Schwendi hit the floor, it sank in, and many of us began to despair.
Outside, a group of men in Camouflage approached the large group of police cars which had gathered around the front doors of Creekmount Academy. One officer turned to return the salute they all gave. "Staff Sergeant?"
"Rosethorne, sir," answered the man in the lead. "We're fire team Able, Charlie Company, Second Battalion Army Rangers. Heard you could use some backup with this situation."
