The Black Pearl (Rating Pending)

[gothgirl]

[shadow=red,left,300]The _Black Pearl[/shadow]

Book Summary:

This world is only one plane in the cosmic make up of existance. Two planes exist together, just an arm's reach away - or rather, a pearl's touch. Four Spirits were once granted the power to roam the Material Plane, transporting their bodies by use of the Black Pearl - the object with which they were created. Being that spiritual bodies have no solid form, they took on human forms, with traits of their spirit nature: The Tiger, the Wolf, the Owl, and the Fox. They gave generous life to the Material Plane, gaurding and protecting it for years after. But somehow, after all but the Fox's forms had to once again move on to the Spiritual Plane, an evil spirit struggled its way to the Material Plane, Hell bent to vanquish the power of the Black Pearl. With the destruction of the sacred object, the Fox lost its ability to remain within the Material Plane. However, the evil was not great enough to completely destroy the Black Pearl, but only shatter it into four pieces. These pieces were embedded in four children destined to follor in the four Great Spirits' footsteps. Now, in present day America, a mysterious good spirit fights to awaken the power of the Black Pearl within these four children, in hopes of saving the Material Plane from the chaotic plans of this anonymous evil spirit.

Copyright Maria Wade 2004

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[gothgirl]

[shadow=red,left,300]The_BlackPearl[/shadow]

Chapter One: A Look Through the Tiger's Eyes

I was never your average kid. When I was three, I wanted a tarantula for a pet. Big, black, and hairy. I always liked plaid, and black was always my most favorite color. Safety pins were always a nice fashion statement, in my book, anyway. Little did I know all that I liked would cause the other kids to brand me. Label me. “Goth”, they called it.

And I took to it. Oddly enough, I liked the word. “Goth”. I felt it sort of…fluttered off the tongue – like a bat! Being a poet, I figured I should get to know words, make friends with them. After all, if I hated words, then how was I to use them in poetry?

But there was one word that I did not like. “Preppy”. I never knew that because my very best friend in the whole world like pink above all colors, painted designs on her nails, chose Barbie over GI-Joe, and thronged with blonde bimbos in the school bathrooms to giggle at how Sally Florence liked Michael Levits, she would also be branded. “Preppy”. That word broke my thought-unbreakable bond with Victoria Peterson.

Victoria and I met in kindergarten. I wore a black velvet jumper over striped hosiery and a matching skin-tight, wrist-length shirt. She wore a fluffy pink tutu like dress that caught on the buckle of my shiny Mary Janes as I ran by her while playing tag.

“You ripped it!” Were the very first words Peterson ever spoke in my direction. I looked her over with my bright green eyes, safely hidden behind my wrap-around-plastic sunglasses.

“You ripped it! My mummy spent oodles on it!” I quirked an eyebrow at the strange pronunciation of the word. I glanced down at the pink lace tangled in my bronze buckle. Why did she need it, anyway? From where I was standing, it looked like she had plenty.

Looking Victoria over once again, I noticed she was a piggy-like girl. She had freckles speckled thickly over the pudgy apples of her cheeks, yet mysteriously nowhere else on her face. Her nose was sort of upturned – not in a snooty way, more so in a manner that made her look as though she might snort and squeal at any moment. She barely appeared from inside her tutu, chubby hands and fingers sticking out at either side, and two sheer-pink-covered legs growing from the bottom.

So, with my kindergarten, finger-painting ways, I reached down, tore the lace from my shoe, and held it out to the blonde pink ball standing before me. When she didn’t seem to accept the offer, I decided she wanted me to stick it on for her. I took the piece of tutu to my mouth, licked the back of it, and pasted it back on her in some random place.

“Eww!” She screamed, face turning a bit red.

“What? I put it back on…”

“Gross!” She declared, glaring at me.

“Nah, that’s not gross. Mud is. But fun. Come on, I’ll show you my secret puddle.”

With a skeptical expression, it seemed Peterson examined me for the first time. “You play in mud?”

“Sure,” I laughed, “why not? S’fun. Come on. I’ll show you.”

So Victoria Peterson took my hand and followed me to my secret mud puddle, where she willingly assisted me in making mud pies. That was the start of our friendship. And sixth grade was the end.

Victoria had always told me that my name was “simply divine”. I suppose I agreed with her, only because it was the same from the girl in Beatlejuice: Lidia. But the other kids in our grade didn’t take such a shine to it.

“Lidia is such a gross name, Vicky! Why do you hang out with that girl? She’s…freaky!” Amanda Lesley whispered into the huddle of Victoria’s popular friends. I could see her bright blue eyes pierce through me over the top of all the bleached-blonde heads. I almost winced.

I knew what that look meant. Victoria’s friends had been hassling her even more than usual that month. They had developed a few choice nicknames for me, and once or twice I’d heard Victoria slip when she was around me. I knew our friendship was dying. Still, I stubbornly stayed in my spot against the cool brick wall, arms folded loosely at my stomach.

With a sigh, Victoria sank down into the pool of blonde once again, giving a loud-enough-for-me-to-hear comment of, “Yeah, Goth is like, so yesterday.” With that, I gave a grunt as I pushed off the wall. Offering a final nod to my had-been friend, I stalked away in a jingle of safety pins.

After that, I was never really accepted by anyone else. I learned to get along with fate. Good thing, too, because two years later, my fate would be tied to the resurrection of the Black Pearl, and back to Victoria...