"Atlantis : Chapter 3 Draft" by Stephanie E. Ripley

“How dare they!” was about all I heard out of Chris for the next hour or so. At least he was being discreet and not telling the entire village the news; that certainly would have been a very bad idea on our part. He continued storming around, pissed off beyond reason and no one but myself knew why. In all honesty, I didn’t even really get why he was so upset.

People were starting to stare at him as he angrily began across the square, swearing and yelling the entire way. “Christopher, stop it!” I commanded. “Get a hold of yourself!”

He wasn’t listening, no surprise. Chris merely glared at me and continued walking quickly, though the screaming had finally ceased. Those whom had been watching merely shrugged it off; probably figuring it was probably some stupid kid thing, as usual. I wasn’t about to tell them otherwise at this point, especially since I wasn’t exactly going to explain what had him so angry. I figured I’d leave that one to Joshua.

Chris had retreated to the river, having gone through the entrance into the square, turned right, and was halfway out of sight when he finally turned off the road and up onto the small hill that lay between the road and the river. He sat down once he reached the bank, knees up and one arm resting on them, the other grabbing at stones and throwing them into the water forcefully.

“Don’t blame the rocks.”

“I’m not blaming anyone,” he snapped.

“Oh really? Could have fooled me, seeing as you can’t even talk to me without loosing your head. Sounds like blaming if you ask me.” I replied coolly. “That or you’re throwing yourself a pity party, which is even more outrageous.”

“I’m just pissed, alright? It’s no secret that I don’t want those people here. I have every right to be upset.” He went on to explain, his temper dimming.

“And I have every right to not have my head chewed off just because I’m not as passionately against them as you are.” I threw a rock at him, hitting him just below the neck. My arms were crossed across my chest by the time he turned around to look at me. We both seemed to be just as mad as the other was, though for different reasons.

We sat there in silence for a few minutes. Silence was always a bad sign with us and everyone knew it. It was what drove Chris’ parents to remain polite, however curious they were, last night. Sure, it meant that something was wrong, but Chris and I both knew why we did it. It was like an unwritten rule with us. Fighting was okay, but once you have gained some composure and are fully aware of what you are saying, just shut your mouth to avoid saying anything stupid. To me, it was a nerve wrecking experience every time such silence came over us. I suppose I was always terrified that he would say something rude or un-called for to me during that time – and that he would know exactly what he was saying and mean it. The silence was our way to cool down, the only words said in those silences being ones of utmost importance. So far apologies were the only things that had broken the silence; that or a change of subject.

The Horn sounded again and Chris and I both looked in the direction of The Square which was now hidden from view by the forest. We knew what they would be announcing and decided that going was pointless for now. I came and sat beside him, pulling my knees to my chest, wrapping my arms around them and resting my chin on the top of me knee. I dared a glance at Chris, hoping to see some sort of change that would indicate that communication was acceptable. He had given up throwing stones and was just sitting there, staring at the water. He looked more like he was looking through the water. I looked away again and sighed.

* * *

The following day was the first of a series of very strange events. Things were still basically normal, compared to what was to come at least. The entire village was acting weird, preparing for the traders to come. They would arrive in just over a fortnight. Two families actually moved away, though most just began purchasing locks and placing them on their doors. A few of the traders selling such locks made good money that day and were even able to return home a few days early. That’s what I had first thought. However, I quickly realized that there were numerous traders leaving, even some who had just arrived. Eighteen of the thirty-some traders, including the man from China, left within a week. If that wasn’t a sign of how un-wanted this family was, the reaction of the Gentue villagers would certainly do. To put it lightly, no one was thrilled.

I began to wonder what the family wished to gain from Gentue. Hardly anyone liked them and few would be generous enough to buy from them. They wouldn’t thrive here, that much was obvious. It made me curious. Why would you come to a place to trade where you were hated and wouldn’t even make any money? It didn’t make sense. For the time being, though, I decided to drop the subject and let it go. Pondering over such things and attempting to invade the minds of complete strangers was pointless.

 * * *

Two weeks went by quickly. Chris’ mood had only grown worse and we had hardly spoken to each other since the day beside the river. We had exchanged a couple of words during classes, but that was about it. The trader’s family was a day or so away and everyone was getting anxious. Chris stopped by on his way home from getting some food in The Square and invited me to dinner. I effortlessly obliged and helped him carry the bags back to his house.

We took our path, which seemed to help bring us back together. We raced a bit of the way, nearly dropping all the food onto the ground. I am happy to announce that the food did make it back safely and was more than easy to eat once Chris’ mother finished cooking. I had always adored her cooking; it was so original and different from traditional Gentunian cuisine. It was well know that Chris’ family had moved here when Chris was ten or so, though know one knew from where. They had merely explained that they had moved around since Chris was born, trying to find a proper place to raise him. They were a well respected family and when they became a more permanent part of society, no one complained.

The four of us talked through dinner, avoiding the subject of the new traders. It was a sensitive topic to most people and for the time being, a widely ignored one. We chatted mostly about how my mom was doing and where my father was now. We all agreed that we were anxious to see if he would bring back some nice little treasures when he came home in a month or two. He always did; items from the various places he went. It was always fun to see what he brought.