BB Mabayu

Author's Note- Hello Everybody! Misty Spotts here. I decided to give this little story of mine a go. It's been sitting on my shelf for ages now, I think over a year, and I have always wanted to try writing it all out. Like many things, it was left ignored for more time than necessary.

Then! I got a burst of motivation this weekend after I stumbled upon two very interesting and delightfully inspirational stories on . They were The Experiment, by Kerrin, and A Dream Reality, by Pandemonium. They are two very talented writers with very awesome stories, and they are what motivated me into actually sitting down and getting started on this story. I'm going to try the first person perspective, which I'm not used to, to see how I do.

And, well, I guess that's it. I hope you enjoy it! Please don't forget to review!

Chapter 1

I guess I should explain a little bit about myself before I start this story. My name is Lois Pickins, and I've gone through my entire life in a daze. I was a lost soul; an aimless wanderer. That is, until last year, when Nora Ramsey arrived as a new student at my small, suburban high school.

From the very first day she walked into my art class, our souls immediately connected. It was like we were best friends, and we had known each other our entire lives. Needless to say, I was woken from my dreamy state after that.

I once had things I had written my whole life that I dared not to show a soul forever. They were poems and lyrics to songs that I sang to myself with my guitar on my back porch every weekend. I sang softly enough to ensure that no one could hear me and all that. But I remember that within the first week of talking to Nora, she drew it out of me like it was so natural to share such personal things to a complete stranger. I surrendered my stack of eleven thick bound books of my writing over to her to shift through, and I offered her a solo act of preforming my songs.

Nora loved them, and I remember her enthusiasm gave me so much courage and I could literally feel my blood start to pump with confidence. Nora, herself, was an artist as well. She was not the writing type or the audio type, like I was, but the visual kind. She was a painter, a sketcher, and an animator, and I soon found out that songs were her main inspiration. We began to collaborate our efforts into many projects together.

Nora was so talented with animating her own music videos and stories, and I was so moved and honored to have her center her efforts around me, my poems, and my songs.

We also started a secret language, where random sounds that escaped our lips could express the emotion we were trying to describe better than any word in any language. Sometimes, I think of the jibberish as being the silliest, dumbest, most fabricated and childish thing for me to ever love as a fully developed, seventeen-year-old mind, and other times, I really do believe in it. It all depended on my mood, really.

But one thing that I would never question or loose faith in was BB Mabayu. That's right. BB Mabayu was the biggest, baddest effort either Nora or I had ever dreamed to put our minds to.

And I'm so happy that we did, for I no longer wander aimlessly. Now, I have a purpose, a reason to live and grow. There is something I strive to reach, fight for, and something to become. There is something in this wretched world that makes me happy and smile and laugh.

And you're going to kill me. Well, no, scratch that. NORA is the one that is going to kill me. Yes, because this person, standing right here, telling you this story, lost the goddam book that BB Mabayu was kept in.

Fuck!

Of all things to misplace, it had to be my sacred bible, BB Mabayu. I even know exactly where I left it too: on one of the tables in the library during lunch when I went there to study for my chemisty test. And of course, it's not there any more. I asked the librarian, but she told me no one had checked it into the lost and found.

So someone out there... one among the wretched population of the kids at my school has claimed it as their own. Reading my diary. My poems. Looking at Nora's art. Flipping through the pages, one by one, to snicker and giggle at the seemingly overabundance of analytical soul searching that seeped out each page.

Goddam it! I want it back!