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Enigma by Ophelia






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Table of Contents
- Text Size +
Story Notes:

FYI: This is a story without Bella.  She will not appear in this fanfic.

Okay, so I know that this isn't exactly normal fanfic writing, but this was basically an experiment in creating characters that kind of morphed and took off.  Naturally, I greatly prefer the real Bella/Edward situation to the one I have created, but doesn't everyone like the real stuff the best?

Anywho, Mari is like a foil for Bella in some ways.  She is outgoing whereas Bella is shy, she has a very close relationship with both of her parents, who are not divorced, and she easily makes friends, and she is talkative.  There are some other key differences that are crucial to my story that I cannot reveal just yet.

However, she is similar to Bella in her clutziness, her insane stubborness, her inability to lie, irrational love for Edward, and her tendency to blame herself for anything and everything.  Mari and Bella both love easily and fiercely - and this is essential to their makeup as characters.

Originally, I decided this would still be Bella, but when I really thought about it, the character I had created was completely different.  So I came up with Mari, and decided to mix her up a little - ethnicity wise, just because I thought it would pose an interesting situation for her.

Hopefully I won't get stoned after everyone reads this.

Twilighted Beta:  blondie

Author's Chapter Notes:

All characters, places, legends, bits of dialouge, anything that can be found in Stephenie Meyers's books are from her creative genius, not my own. I do not take credit for anything that could be remotely linked to her world, I just like to immerse myself in her imaginings.


Here you get to meet Mari and hopefully love her. I didn't get as far as I would have liked to in transcribing this, so oh well.


“It had been raining for seven years; thousands upon thousands of days compounded and filled from one end to the other with rain, with the drum and gush of water, with the sweet crystal fall of showers and the concussion of storms so heavy they were tidal waves come over the islands. A thousand forests had been crushed under the rain and grown up a thousand times to be crushed again.” – “All Summer In a Day” by Ray Bradbury

I felt like I was living on Ray Bradbury's Venus. Like the sun would only be a distant memory. I was sure that by the New Year, I would be faded; a soggy shell of the girl I was.

My whole being just didn't fit into Forks. I'm used to being my own person, to not blending in - but I had never felt like some endangered animal recently acquired by a zoo. No pun intended.

My parents were wildlife veterinarians, and I had lived out my childhood at the San Diego Wild Animal Park and neighboring zoo. But California's annual wildfires had hit San Diego especially hard this October, and our ranch had been completely incinerated. We had saved the horses, my dog, and the important things like photographs and stuff, but we lost everything else. We couldn't afford to rebuild in Southern California - or anywhere in California, for that matter. My parents got job offers from two places - the Olympic National Park in Washington, and the Phoenix Zoo in Arizona. They let me choose the location and tried not to let me in on how much they were being offered. All they said is that we could have another ranch no matter where we went.

Through some serious sleuthing, I figured out that the Olympic National Park was offering them WAY more than Phoenix, and I also overheard the faint wistful tones in their voices whenever they mentioned the Hoh Rainforest. They talked about how it would be something different, exciting, and similar to when they had studied in Puerto Rico.

It should have been an easy decision for me - sun or rain? Life, or Death? I chose Death.

Actually, it hasn't really been "death" per say. Most of my friends were moving because of the fires regardless, and my family was scattered from Mexico to the East Coast. But I had moved away from the sun, the waves, from the only place I had ever known.

There were some benefits - the main one being that my parents were amazingly happy, and the bonus was that our new ranch had 20 acres of lush pasture, with a Tuscany inspired house and barn on it. It was somewhat similar to the Mediterranean style of home, but with more yellows than whites, more stone than stucco. The only thing it lacked was a pool, but why have one when the sun was hidden for 95% of the year?

I thought about all of this as I lay in bed – I had slept late, but I felt abnormally apathetic about the whole “on time to school” thing as of right now. Instead, I marveled at how much I liked my room. It was covered in old movie posters and art prints, its pale blue walls peeking out from behind the colors. I had everything from Gone With the Wind to Return of the Jedi; Dali and Van Gogh to Boticelli and Monet. The quilt that covered me looked like a waterfall, with silvers, grays, and blues running together in a patchwork of textures and shapes. Above my iron daybed was a ruby colored mosquito netting, and a squishy armchair sat in the corner by my French doors.

Had I been living in San Diego, these windows would have been letting the morning sun stream across my hardwood floors. But I was in Forks, so I instead saw the torrential rain sliding down the many panes of glass. The noise sounded like a thousand angry squirrels were hurling acorns at me – there was no way I was going back to sleep.

I moaned when I looked at my clock – it was already 6:00. I should have been awake 45 minutes ago.

As I crawled out of bed, my feet thudded on the rug, and my huge German Shepherd wriggled out from under the covers, tail wagging and eyes bright. Ranger was five, and had been attached at my heel ever since he was a puppy. I couldn’t help but smile when he bounded to the bedroom door, prancing in excitement.

Once I had pulled my (brand new) wool socks and rubber boots over my PJs I grabbed my parka and headed down the stairs two at a time, Ranger trotting next to me.

Even thought it was only a 2 minute walk to the barn, by the time I got there my hair was damp from the mist sifting into my hood.

I walked into the warm, dry barn and saw three friendly horse heads look out at me. In the first stall was my mom’s grey Arabian mare Queen, next to her was my dad’s chunky chocolate horse Diablo, and in the last stall was my huge, flashy, Palomino Warmblood gelding – Fleance. Standing an impressive 17.2 hands, he had been my 15th birthday present and was the horse of my dreams.

Every part of his deep gold body was toned and muscular, and his flaxen mane and tail were enough to make Barbie jealous. He was only six, but would jump anything I put him in front of, and was just as loyal to me as Ranger. I went into his stall and wrapped my arms around his strong neck and buried my face in his warm shoulder. He nickered and snuffled my back, looking for an apple. I laughed and kissed his nose before climbing into the loft to toss the horses their breakfast. After I had fed Ranger and given the horses their grain for the day, I went back to the house.

I took off my rain boots and put them by the kitchen door. My mom and dad were already dressed and at the kitchen table, sipping coffee and reading the paper.

My mom’s green eyes looked up at me over her paper, a small frown forming on her face. “Marilyn. Do you realize what time it is? It’s ten after seven and you still have to take a shower and get to school early for your schedule. Chop chop!”

Crap. I didn’t realize I’d dawdled that much.

“I’ll hurry!” I yelled over my shoulder as I sprinted up the stairs. I grabbed my clothes and took the fastest shower of my life. I slid precariously as I stepped out, but regained my balance and French braided my hair, my fingers cramping they were going so fast. I tugged on my favorite jeans and pulled a dark green sweater that I thought was my mom’s, but it fit, so it was staying. Halfway out the bathroom I stumbled back and after a couple swipes of mascara and a quick smear of reddish lipstick, I was ready to go.

My parents were standing in the entryway, donning scarves and parkas while I spazzed around the house – Parka? Check. Shoes? Nope. Keys?…Yup! Wallet? Nooo. Brain? Possibly.

“Mari, did you get your burritos? I don’t want you wasting away!” My dad looked at me suspiciously, one eyebrow raised as if I was losing pounds by the second.

“Oh shoot – I’ll get them on the way out. I love you Papi.”

“Have a good day at school, honey,” my mom looked at me apologetically – she knew I felt out of my element.

“I will,” I gave them a bright smile and a hug and then said goodbye.

I walked (or rather, waded) to the garage, foil wrapped burritos snug in my parka. My ancient red truck was waiting for me. It was a present from my dad – it was built like a tank, and had all the modern conveniences on the inside. As I warmed up in my black leather seat I put in my iPod and chose my “Home” playlist, I sang along to the Beach Boys all the way to school.

My truck rumbled into the parking lot and settled with a protesting groan as I turned back the keys. Feeling self conscious, I walked briskly through the rain and towards what I assumed was the main campus.

However, I could not stop myself from staring at my new school. Whereas my old high school (St. George's Academy, home of the most ancient nuns in the world!) had been a modern, hulking, tribute to glass and concrete, Forks High School was almost reminiscent of a...castle? No, not quite, it was too small. What it was more like was one of the California missions I was so familiar with - the intricately carved cream stone, the red tile roof, and the ornate mosaics that graced the heavy oak doorways. The lawn was speckled with conifers, and a two-story affair that was flanked by two smaller buildings - one labeled "Arts" and the other labeled "Science". I guess it was the similarity to home that made my throat feel constricted. It was stupid and weenie-ish, I know, but it just was overwhelming. What can I say? I love learning.

I was jerked out of my ardor by a couple of androgynous parkas walking quickly by me...I could have sworn that I heard snickering. Well, to be honest, I would have laughed too. The new girl (a.k.a.: me) was standing stock still, in the pouring rain, and apparently staring up at the sky. Like a turkey. Sacre Bleu! This is the last thing I need, I thought darkly to myself, and I practically ran inside the office.

A gulf of warm air enveloped me, and I inhaled deeply, as if I could thaw out my lungs. With some spring in my step, I walked to who I guessed was the receptionist - a large woman with a beehive of shocking red hair...ewg.

"Hello, dear, how may I help you?" she looked at me expectantly through a pair of thick cat-eye glasses.

"My name is Marilyn Gutierrez, and I was wondering if I could get my locker number and my schedule?" I finished with a smile. If this was going to be anything like St. George's, I would need her on my side.

"Of course honeybun, you just moved into town, didn't you! How do you like Forks?" she said this as she swiveled around, grabbing papers with one hand and picking up the ringing phone with the other.

"Well, the weather sure is different from home, but I think I'll get used to it," I replied after a slight delay in my thought process; i.e. How do I word this delicately?

The bell rang to go to class, and she handed me my schedule with a flourish. Paper clipped to it was a map of the school with my route drawn on it, and an index card with my locker number and combination. She instructed me to get my books after school.

I was surprised as I walked to my first period English class - there was nothing wrong with my schedule...all of my classes had carried over! The only sad part was the fact that Forks required P.E. for all four years, and St. George's only required two. Well, that was something I couldn't change anyway.

As I walked to the Arts building, a gnawing feeling started building in the pit of my stomach. I am not usually a shy person - I normally am quite the opposite. But today I was ridiculously intimidated by this school of 425, now 426, students. My old school was huge, and to be frank, much more diverse. My skin color, something I had never really paid attention to in California, was drawing stares from the students as I walked by. Their eyes weren't unfriendly; they just eked curiosity as they took in the contrast between my skin and hair. I could feel a blush coloring my cheeks and I put my head down as I walked to class, avoiding the obvious stares.

Once I walked in the door, I grabbed the first seat available and waited for the class to begin.

 

Chapter End Notes:

Please review....I know I have just replaced a main character with one of my own but I hope it isn't too blasphemous....

 

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