Just a little bit of background: I wrote a story a couple weeks ago, and people really seemed to enjoy it. So here I am, making a part 2 (It's about what led up to Callie creating the portal). Hope you guys enjoy!
All this hanky-panky palm reading and crystal ball seeing is starting to get to me.
Don't get me wrong, it's a fun experience and all, but I've just never really cared about what they say.
For instance, one told my mother that I was "destined for greatness" and "going to make the world a better place."
That's funny. I could never do that.
Don't believe me?
I'm that junior in high school that comes to school in sweatpants and a stained sweatshirt everyday. The one who has a 4.8 GPA and wears glasses. The nerd.
I've gone through a lot of glasses in the past three years.
Even Ben, my best friend (also captain of the varsity football team; super athletic), can't stop everybody from breaking my glasses. That'd be like beating up half the grade.
In case you didn't guess already, I'm not too popular.
I'm not quite "change the world" material.
And yet, since I was a baby, my mother has been telling me non stop how I'm going to make the world a better place, how I'm going to be rich and famous.
My younger sister is a freshman and still more popular than me. She enters beauty pageants, wins, and brushes it off casually. How come I couldn't be the pretty one?
It's all right. She's a dumb blonde, and I'm the smart blonde.
Once again, I don't fit into many stereotypes.
So how the heck am I supposed to change the world? Time's ticking, my mother says. Don't rush it, I say.
She rushes me non stop.
Kind of like I'm rushing to tell you all of this.
Look, I've been told my whole life that I am "destined for greatness" and yet I have no clue how I'm supposed to do that. Some hero this world is gonna get.
They'd better start being able to live on Mars soon.
Wanna know why?
Instead of saving the world, I'm probably gonna find a way to blow it up or something.
If I'm being totally honest, I'm afraid to admit the fortune teller was right.
All of that pressure, all of the building up, is on me.
I have to change to world.
I have to make it better.
But I'm almost done being a kid. One year left, and I'd like to enjoy it. I don't want to focus on making the world better quite yet, but I don't want to wait too long, either.
No more making Christmas cookies with Mom, no more late-night sleepovers with friends, no more ignoring the fact that I will have to have a job one day, and have to pay bills and taxes. That's too much.
As a kid, I always felt looked down on by adults. But now, as reality sets in, I wish I could stay one forever. No worries, no money problems, no responsibilities.
So while I'm trying to be a kid while I can, I'm constantly told how I need to make the world a better place.
I'm so confused.
That's why I'm headed to the exact fortune teller who read my small palm 17 years ago.
Of course, I haven't told my mom I would be here. I need to do this on my own. But it would help to have somebody for support. All that is going through my head right now, as I am slowly pushing back the beaded curtains, is to get in, get an answer, and get out.
I enter, and wrinkle up my nose. It smells of cat pee, but whoever is here tried (and failed) to cover it up with perfume.
I try not to gag.
"Ah, welcome, Callie," a woman's voice calls; it has a heavy French accent. I whip my head around. Great. I'm supposed to make the world better, and a random ju-ju lady already knows my name before I even speak to her.
We're off to a great start.
"Madame...Propulele?" I start, unsure of how to pronounce her name.
"Yes, yes. Now sit down, child, you're wasting my time," she says, quickly pulling up a chair for me to sit on before resuming her spot in a wooden stool across from me.
She continues, "I assume you are 'ere about how to make ze world a better place, and save it from being overtaken by mindless zombies, blah, blah?"
I blink my eyes. She stares at me.
"Oh, dear goodness. Have you not figured zat part out yet?" Her black hair falls in front her make-up covered eyes, and she flicks it back.
"Stupid beaded hair. Honestly, fortune tellers need a better sense of style. But Madame Propulele must fit in with ze others, you see.
"Shall we continue?"
I nod my head slowly. "You're saying that not only am I to make the world a better place, but I have to save it from zombies, too?"
This time, it is Madame Propulele's turn to nod her head, but she does so enthusiastically. "Wonderful! Now zat you understand, pay ze five dollars and get out of my sight. Good day to you."
And with that, she yanks the five dollar bill out of my hand and shoves me out the beaded doorway.
I didn't even see what she really looked like.
Well, not only do I now know that I have to make the world better, but I have to save it from zombies, too.
Some great weekend this turned out to be.
Guys, I really need help.
My life is so messed up. No matter how smart I may be, a book doesn't tell you how to save the world.
How do the zombies get here in the first place?
How am I, a single 17-year old girl, supposed to stop an army of mindless, gurgling freaks from taking over the world? To put that into perspective, that would be like a thousand me's running the Earth.
NO, CALLIE, NO.
So many things could go wrong.
You're probably wondering what the heck I'm talking about. I'm talking about the portal to another dimension that I could maybe possibly build.
You know, maybe.
I could bring in help from other dimensions to fight the zombies.
If I could build this so-called portal.
I'm pretty sure I'm smart enough.
There's just so many things that could go wrong...