Authors: Sydney Lane
Fate Playlist
Ne-Yo - Let me Love you (Until You Learn to Love Yourself)
Bruno Mars – Just The Way You Are
Maroon 5 – Sad
Skylar Gray – Back From the Dead
Three Days Grace – The High Road
Hinder - I Don’t Wanna Believe
Avril Lavigne – Innocence
Bruno Mars – It Will Rain
Lifehouse - Between the Raindrops
Pink – Glitter In The Air
Nickelback – Far Away
30 Seconds to Mars - Hurricaine
Citizen Cope - Sideways
Wishes for my girls.....
I wish for you.....
A life led by Christ
A good heart
Love for others
Long legs
Joy
Hard work
Laughter
To know how much I love you
Empathy
Ability to make smart decisions
High self-esteem without being conceited
A life-long best-friend
Ability to adapt to change
Respect
A worthy husband
True happiness
Desire to make things better than you found them
Peace in your heart
Sanity
And each other.....
About the Author
Sydney Lane lives in Nashville, TN with her husband and children. Growing up in Smalltown, USA, Sydney dreamed of being a writer. After spending an outrageous amount of money to go to college and reading thousands of books, Sydney finally decided to follow her heart. With her babies in bed and husband neglected, she worked by the light of her laptop and wrote
Choices
. Sydney is very active in charity work for anti-bullying and depression awareness groups.
Please feel free to contact me and offer feedback or ask questions.
I love to read reviews on Goodreads and Amazon!
My personal email address is:
[email protected]
I also have a community page on facebook for Author Sydney Lane. Please check there for information on new releases, teasers, and more!
If you or anyone you know experiences depression or have suicidal thoughts, take it seriously and seek professional help. You may save a life.
National Suicide Prevention Hotline – 1-800-273-8255
Stop bullying at home. Teach your children to love themselves and others.
The Albino Redwoods
by Heather Nelson
Prologue
He started his day like every other. Wearing sweat pants and tennis shoes, he checked the security cameras, and snuck outside. He ran because he needed to. Because everything in his life was forced into a tiny little box, much too small to contain the young man he had become. He wasn’t afraid of getting caught. Not anymore. He was only afraid someone he loved would pay for his defiance.
His usual path led him close to the large house, but he never lingered there. Today, however, he stopped. Panting, muscles burning, he listened to the scene unfolding. He could see them standing outside the mass of trees that were his constant companions.
“Grey’s coming home? No! Damn it, Eli. I can’t do this!” the woman cried.
“We have no choice. If you think I didn’t try to find another school to take him, you’re wrong,” the stout, white-haired man argued.
“He’ll tell, Eli! Grey will tell.”
“He won’t. He’s not a child anymore,” Eli countered. He closed the space between them and tenderly placed his hands on her shoulders. She pulled away.
“Why didn’t we just kill that
abomination
when he was born?” She jerked her head toward the woods and the hidden young man cringed lower to the ground. “I could have done it. I would have done it. I’ll never forgive you for letting him live!”
Chapter 1
“Joanne,” my most hateful teacher snapped. Her angry face was pasty with the concealer she had caked on her skin.
“Yes, Mrs. O’Neil?”
“I asked you a question!” she growled. I stared at her unapologetically. She didn’t wait for a response before she moved on to ask her question of the quiet boy sitting to my left.
“Jerome! What is the difference between a monarchy and an emirate?” she barked. He practically trembled in his seat, his dark eyes as big as saucers.
“I don’t know?” he squeaked.
I suppressed a sigh. His timid response was so typical. So was Mrs. O’Neil’s. It seemed she’d find any excuse to sit at her desk and not teach us anything.
“You people are unbelievable!” she screamed, throwing her hands into the air. She stomped to the blackboard, moving with the dexterity of someone much younger. “We’ve been discussing the different forms of government all week. Am I just wasting my breath? You think I want to stand up here day after day knowing that I’m squandering my time? Who actually thought you people had any capacity for learning is beyond me.”
She walked briskly to her desk and sat down, muttering as she took out a yellow plastic compact and applied a fresh coat of powder to her laden face. Almost in unison, the students who’d raised their hands to answer her question let them fall. All the heads bowed in shame. “Well, since I can’t teach you people anything, you can spend the rest of the class reading silently from chapter twelve.”
I closed my eyes as I opened my book to some random page. I was dangerously close to losing my temper. After a few deep breaths, I opened them. The first thing I saw was Iris. She sat in the same row as Jerome, just ahead of him, with her shoulders hunched in defeat. She wiped her face with the back of her hand and I could see the moisture there glistening under the florescent lights.
I couldn’t help what happened next.
I stood up from my seat and shoved my book into my backpack. Furious, I flung my bag over my shoulder. Mrs. O’Neil noticed my actions.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded as she looked at the delicate watch on her wrist.
“I’m leaving,” I told her. My voice was undeniably calm. It took all my effort.
“Oh, no you are not. This class isn’t over for another thirty-seven minutes. Return to your seat!”
I kept walking to the door. I could feel every eye in the classroom boring into the back of my head.
“Joanne Brennan, if you walk out of here you can just keep on walking right to the dean’s office,” she threatened. I had my hand on the door by then and I took a quick look at the stunned faces of my peers before turning my gaze on Mrs. O’Neil.
“Sit!” she screamed.
I couldn’t go back to my seat and endure her abuse for another second. I had to make a stand. I stared at her angry sour expression and a strange sort of peace fell over me. I wasn’t mad anymore, as I realized how small she must feel to treat us the way she did. I almost felt sorry for her. Almost. Regardless, I was making this decision with a cool clear head. That fact alone made me feel even better about my choice, regardless of the consequences.
“Why do you insist on disobeying me?”
I was sure her question was merely rhetorical, but I answered anyway.
“I don’t deserve your ridicule,” I said in a soft placid voice. Mrs. O’Neil huffed and sputtered, but no words came out until I started walking through the door.
“How dare you?” she screeched. I stopped and turned.
“No. How dare
you
?” I retorted, looking her dead in the eye, then I carried myself through that door, down the hall, and out of the building without a backward glance. I climbed onto my bike with a proud, defiant smile on my lips.
That warm satisfied feeling lasted exactly five minutes. After that I realized how disappointed my mother would be. I had promised to stay out of trouble and there was no way Mrs. O’Neil would ever give me a break. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. I still wasn’t sorry, but I knew a summons from the dean’s office was unavoidable.
The call came quickly the next morning. I was in first period, pulling my textbook out of my bag, when a girl from the office walked through the door. I didn’t even wait for Mr. Michaels to call my name. Instead, I put my book back and looked at him expectantly. After a quick glance at the note he was handed, he shot me one of his typical arrogant smirks and pointed at me with one long pale finger. I sighed. I knew he was going to make a meal out of this.
“Attention class. Stop what you’re doing,” he began. His voice rang with its usual haughty bluster and I resisted the urge to scowl or roll my eyes. “Your education will have to wait. It seems we have more important business to attend to. Why don’t we give Joanne our full attention? It appears she has an invitation to the dean’s office.” All eyes were on me as he spoke. I stood and threw my backpack over my shoulder.
“Let’s give Joanne a round of applause, class. She loves attention. Let’s give her what she craves.” He began to clap loudly. The class hesitated, but after an angry noise escaped Mr. Michaels’ throat, my classmates followed his order and began to clap too. None of them looked at me now. I glanced at the girl from the office and she was standing by the door, clapping enthusiastically.
“Bravo!” she cried when our eyes met and Mr. Michaels laughed. It was a revolting sound. I walked out the door at an even pace, ignoring the giggles of the girl assigned to escort me to the office. Despite Mr. Michaels attempt to shame me, I didn’t feel embarrassed.
It wasn’t my first trip to the office, but I hadn’t been there in a while. I sat on an orange plastic chair for twenty minutes until Dean Sterling finally called me in. I knew I was in trouble and I wished he would proclaim judgment quickly rather than drawing it out needlessly. Instead he lectured, without looking at me, while I sat with my arms folded over my chest.
“Mrs. O’Neil tells me you disrupted her class yesterday.” He paused as if he was waiting for me to say something. I sighed instead.
“What seems to be the problem?” he asked. I shrugged my shoulders, but didn’t say anything.
She is a disgusting bigot who hates me almost as much as she hates herself
, I thought.
He kept talking, while I stared at his big white mustache moving along with his lips. He tapped all his fingers one after another over his big wooden desk. It didn’t matter if I tried to defend myself. He was just going through the motions.
“Well, girl, I guess you’ve got nothing to say for yourself,” he said as he ripped a sheet of paper from a small pad and started writing. “We don’t tolerate insubordination here. Your right to attend this school is a privilege that children of your… standing don’t generally appreciate or understand. Your little disruption just earned you a three-day vacation. I’m sure that was your aim from the beginning.” He handed me the slip of paper and waved his hand at me to leave.
“I suggest you use that time to decide whether or not you plan to graduate in June. Bring that back signed by your mother,” he said. I took the paper and shoved it in my pocket without a glance.
Moments later I was outside. I crouched beside my bike, unlocked the chain, and scowled at the large sign above the double doors that read: Redcrest High School.
“I hate you!” I shrieked as I yanked my bike free from the rack. RHS was my own personal hell and I prided myself on my lack of involvement in even the limited number of activates I was allowed to join. The school was divided just like every other school, by color, or more appropriately the lack thereof. The world I lived in wasn’t the one I’d pictured in the old books I’d been lucky enough to read. Their text hinted at a gentler time. My world was one that defined me by the pigment in my skin. You see, I’m a Pig.
Pigmented.
Colored.
My label in this world defined me. My character and intelligence were judged before a word ever left my lips. It didn’t matter what I did; I would always be considered inferior. There was once a time when racism ran rampant all over the world. They taught us about it in our limited history lessons as if it were something that has long been eradicated, but the hate associated with that kind of prejudice remains. People think racism has disappeared, but it’s only been replaced by other “isms.” Pigmented people knew it. We lived it. But Albinos act as if they are far superior to our brutish ancestors.
They’re not
.
I think the only reason they taught us anything about that part of our past was to illustrate how much better life was since the Albinos had taken over. For the most part, our lessons only extended to the place in time when our society was rebuilt. We knew that war had led to the destruction of civilization and that somehow mankind had survived, but we were left with no knowledge of the conflict and even less understanding of how people managed to endure. Most of our history was lost during that time and it is still referred to as the Dark Days; the interim years between the fall of our predecessors and the rise of modern society.
It was the Albinos that finally restored the government and our way of life. They brought an end to the Dark Days, but ushered in a different kind of darkness for pigmented people like me. Our tinted skin was a symbol of our disastrous past and we lived in the shadow of it every day. History was one of the few classes where I tried to listen, because my dad used to say that if we forgot our history we were doomed to repeat it. Whatever circumstances had caused my life to be so difficult should definitely be remembered and never, ever repeated.
Minutes later I was on my bike, heading home, when a Redcrest black and white police cruiser slowed on the road beside me. I ignored it until the lights flashed and the officer inside called out to me.
“You! Stop right there,” he demanded and I did as I was told. I knew my bad morning was about to get significantly worse. I climbed off my bike and held it at my side, waiting. The officer took his time getting out of the vehicle and my heart began to pound. Yes, I could stand up to a callous teacher, but a police officer was one of the few things that really scared me. I had seen too many needless acts of cruelty over the years.
Eventually a lanky middle-aged man with ultra-white hair and flawless pale skin exited the car. He sauntered around the vehicle and came to stand before me, folding his arms over his chest. His nametag read, “Officer Bain.”
“Let’s see some identification.” Bain held out his hand. I reached into my purse and pulled the small rectangular ID card from my wallet. Written diagonally over my photo, the word “Pigmented” seemed to appear twice its actual size.
“Seventeen, huh? What time is it?” he asked. His white eyebrows lifted. I knew why he asked the question. I should be in school right now. I looked at my watch anyway.
“It’s a quarter past eight,” I replied.
“Eight fifteen in the morning and you’re traversing town on your bike? Can you tell me what’s wrong with this picture?” He looked me up and down then pulled his night stick from its place on his belt. I stayed silent as two dark haired men scurried past me. Their eyes flashed to my face then to their shoes. I couldn’t formulate an appropriate response with that weapon in his hand.
“I…”
“Save it!” Bain spat. He stepped closer to me. A snide smile suddenly lifted his cheeks. “Ditching school…” He clicked his tongue three times, shaking his head. “Little pigmented girls could get into a lot of trouble for that. Couldn’t they?” I fought the urge to cringe away from him.
“Answer me.” Bain held the stick from its leather strap and casually swung it around and around at his side. I knew he was just trying to scare me. He was doing a good job.
“I don’t know,” I replied and the officer caught the handle of his nightstick and held it aloft.
“Would you like to find out?” Bain asked as he dragged his stick from the base of my throat, down the center of my chest, stopping at my navel. I froze. Bain’s eyes sparkled as they registered the fear in mine and he licked his lips. I wanted to run, but I held my ground.
From the squad car, Bain’s radio blared. “We’ve got a possible three-ninety in Ward Four. Requesting back up at Sixth and Jay Street.” He looked over his shoulder then back at me.
“Go home. Don’t let me catch you skipping school again. Do you understand me?” He jabbed the stick against my sternum making me gasp.
“Yes,” I squeaked and Bain smiled.
Mission accomplished
, I thought. I was thoroughly terrified. The officer chuckled as he quickly rounded his car and got in.
“Ten-four, Dispatch…” Bain began then the cruiser sped off.
I stood trembling in place for a moment, rubbing the sore spot in the center of my chest, thankful something had pulled his attention away from me. I didn’t like that hateful gleam in his eyes. Eventually, my fear gave way to anger and I was glad. Anger was an easier emotion to digest. If there was anything I truly hated, it was feeling weak.
I climbed back on my bike, fuming. My mind was full of colorful mental images, including the possibility of snatching that nightstick from Bain’s hand and using it against him. I imagined all the windows in the police car smashed. I even thought of the two men who had passed me on the sidewalk without a second glance. How could they just leave me there? They had to know what was happening! I shook my head. This wasn’t the way to handle these feelings. One of Dad’s aphorisms popped into my head.
Violence begets violence
. I sucked in a huge breath and released it, hoping to vanquish some the negative emotions.