#grace callan

[wildler]

“Gracie!” Dad beamed, catching sight of me. “Come meet the Martins.”

I chewed my bottom lip, wishing desperately that I’d just gone straight inside instead of snooping around. All three of the neighbours were there and they were staring at me—probably because I was frozen to the spot with the thought of running away clear on my face.

I forced a smile, reminding myself of how disinteresting their son had found me earlier. These people didn’t think I was a freak—or at least they wouldn’t if I could manage to get my legs to carry me over to greet them like a regular person.

Dad waited until I was by his side before clapping an affectionate hand on my shoulder. “This is my daughter Grace.”

“Nice to meet you Grace,” the woman—Mrs Martin said, offering out her hand and a warm smile. “I’m Cyra, this is my husband Arden and son Jet.”

I shook her hand, darting my eyes around the gathering. I found it hard to look at any of them for too long. There was something about their faces that made my stomach jitter. They were beautiful—but it wasn’t as simple as that. It was like their features were too symmetrical and flawless. Combined with their white-blonde hair, it was dizzying.

“So where have you moved from?” Dad asked. It seemed he didn’t find their perfection as distracting as I did.

“Sweden,” Cyra said with a quirk of her lips. “Ever been?”

Dad let out one of his gravelly laughs. “I’ve never left the country. Don’t even own a passport.”

Even though I had my eyes on Cyra, in my peripheral I could see Jet tilt his head to one side and frown at Dad as though he didn’t understand. I pushed my lips together to keep from smiling. Dad took great pride in his lack of travel, like it was somehow patriotic—not ridiculous like most people thought. Mum used to roll her eyes at it, joking that all she needed to do for some time alone was book an overseas trip.

My stomach gave a sudden twist at the memory. Was that what she had done?

The mention of my name shook me from my thoughts. I’d blanked a small portion of the conversation because we’d somehow moved on from Sweden and now Dad was prattling on about his boat. “—Let us know if you ever want some fish, Gracie and I go out spearfishing most weekends.  We’ll bring back some extras.”

I lifted my head, meeting Jets gaze and startling at the intense scrutiny of it. His eyes were the palest shade of blue I had ever seen, it was almost glacial.  

“Do you go to Tawny High Grace?” Cyra asked, stealing my attention away.

“Uh—” I swallowed, trying to reign in the pitchiness of my voice. “Yeah.”

She smiled brightly. “Great! Jet’s starting their tomorrow, you’ll probably see each other around campus.”

I nodded down at my shoes, not sure how to respond. I wouldn’t be there tomorrow and he’d soon find out why.

Dad cleared his throat, clearly as uncomfortable with the talk of school as I was. “Well we better let you get back to it. If you need anything, let us know.”

“We sure will. Thank you.” Cyra gave a tiny wave of her fingers, her bright smile still in place.

I followed Dad back to the shack and peered out the kitchen window, watching the Martins disappear up their driveway.

“Dad?” I asked, closing the blinds once our neighbours were out of sight.

“Yeah kiddo?”

“Did you know that house was for sale?”

He frowned to himself for the briefest moment before relaxing his brows and shrugging. “No, I guess I didn’t.”

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Yeesh it’s been a while. But here’s a snippet of The Martians draft I’ve been trying to squeeze in of late...

Taglist: (sorry guys it’s been SO long) @kd-holloman​ @wildswrites​  @innocentreticent

[wildler]

I shoved my door closed and hurled the notebook at the bin, knocking it over. Bits of paper and chocolate wrappers flew across the floor.

How could Dad have not told me? All the time I’d spent trying to work out why she’d left and hating her for it, he’d known, and he hadn’t said a thing.

I paced at the foot of my bed, forcing a few ragged breaths through my teeth. Mum was in danger. Her note had all but said so. How could he just sit by and do nothing—give up on the search for her?

Music started blaring next door and I glared out the window. Jet was in his open garage laying into a punching bag. I watched him for a moment—my brain in a sudden scramble. The music was like nothing I’d ever heard before. 

Each shrill beat jerked through me, setting my skin on fire and a thousand butterflies loose in my gut. I clutched my chest, panting. Adrenaline ran a tingling course from my core to my fingertips. 

My pacing picked up and my hands balled into fists at my sides. I was suddenly overcome with a need to be active—to sprint, swim or… punch something.

I glanced out the window again, Jet was still laying into the punching bag—kicking it now. His platinum hair bobbled in its bun with each strike, while the bag swung from the rafters like a stubborn pinata.

I took a deep breath and shook my head, slamming my window closed. It only muffled the sound—and the feeling. I shook out my limbs and kept circling the room, still feeling the adrenaline surging around my veins. It wasn’t until my jaw began to ache that I realised I had been grinding my teeth. 

Pushing the distracting music and neighbour out of my head brought me back to Dad and his lie. Mum had not abandoned us. She had left to keep us safe—but from what?

I stopped at my overturned bin and knelt to put it the right way up, scooping the contents with it. As I stood, my shoulder caught on the edge of my desk. 

A flare of anger shot up my neck and without thinking, I struck out—ramming my fist into the wall. My knuckles went clean through the plaster, connecting with a timber stud that let out a hollow crunch as it splintered against my fist. 

I froze, chest heaving, while my pulse thundered over the ringing in my ears—only it wasn’t ringing. It was Jet’s music. 

The shrill electronic beat had quickened, reaching a crescendo so piercing, I thought the ear-splitting sound would send me mad. 

I stared at my hand, buried in the wall, as the song relented and drifted into a beat that was less frantic, but no less unnerving. My mind flashed back to the moment my fist had connected with Taryn’s nose at school—the crunch and the blood. Had I hit her as hard as I had hit this wall?

I retracted my hand. It came away covered in powdery plaster dust and a few tiny pine splinters that popped free of my skin when I flexed my knuckles. 

I stared into the hole, a little disturbed by how mangled the solid stud behind the plaster looked. If I had hit Taryn that hard, she wouldn’t have had a nose left to break. 

What was going on with me?

☽ ☾ 

Dad was already up when I stumbled, bleary eyed, into the kitchen. 

“Coffee? He held up the jug, his brow creasing when he caught sight of me. “Jeez, you look like you could do with some.” 

I grunted, taking the offered cup and turning my back on him. The ringing of Jet’s music had continued late into the night—along with the jittery effect. I’d had almost no sleep and every muscle in my body ached as though it had been wound tight all night. 

“Look kiddo, if this is about our conversation yesterday—"

“It’s not,” I said flatly, throwing a cold glance over my shoulder. Even if I had wanted to stew on our argument, the bizarre music hadn’t let me do much other than fight to keep my body still all night. “The neighbour’s music was blaring, I couldn’t sleep.” 

The crease in his brow deepened. “I didn’t hear any music.”

A bitter huff escaped my nose. “Since when are you aware of anything going on around you these days?”

“Gracie, I—” 

I didn’t wait for him to finish, taking my mug and heading back to my bedroom before he could deliver anymore bullshit.

————

Bit more Martians stuff… going to tag the peeps that expressed interest in a taglist @kd-holloman @wildswrites

[wildler]

Some Martians drabble from today... In a lot of ways I’d like to think Noah is #dadgoals

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I waved goodbye to Rach from the front porch and headed back inside. A cold swirl of bay breeze followed me through the door and I rubbed my hands together in attempt to coax feeling back into them.

“You two have a nice time?” Dad asked from where he was rummaging in the fridge.

I nodded and perched on one of the stools at the counter, resting my forearms on the stone of the benchtop. “We did, yeah.”

He looked me over and frowned. “What’s the matter then?”

“I’m just confused,” I pulled the sleeves of my cardigan down over my hands, twisting the fabric in my fingertips. “I thought I was grounded. So why’d you let her come over?”

“You are grounded,” Dad said with a smile as he closed the fridge, a plate of cold pizza in his hand. “But I would never get in the way of you having someone to talk to. Especially now.”

I blinked at him for a moment, my vision growing increasingly blurry as tears welled in my eyes. “Dad—” I didn’t know what to say. “Thank you.”

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The Martians 

Taglist: @kd-holloman @wildswrites @innocentreticent

[wildler]

“I’m from Mars,” he said, sitting down in the dune beside me. His gaze remained locked on the moon climbing the horizon.

I laughed and looked out over the rough sea. The swell peaked and dipped, sporadically blocking the moonrise with dark watery walls. “Yeah.” I nudged his shoulder with my own and grinned. “And I’m from Venus.”

He didn’t share my grin, in fact his expression morphed into something more like a pained frown. The glacial colour of his eyes had almost turned grey in the fading evening light and his platinum blonde brows shone silver as they drew together.

My grin wilted. “You— you mean it?”

He blew out a slow breath and let his gaze drift heavenwards. “I mean it Gracie.”

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So a story hit me over the head a little while ago and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it/ trying to plot it (gah what is plotting??)/ developing the characters... 

So imma just put things up here as I work them out :) Expect drabbles for now, and possibly an intro in an idealistic future. 

[wildler]

For the last three months, the rumours had been hard to live with.

I sat forward and rubbed at my knuckles. They hadn’t quite bruised yet, but the angry red hue around each joint had started to give way to a somewhat angrier purple.

The reception room outside headmistress Lindon’s office was quiet enough to make out parts of conversation through her closed door. Not that I needed to hear exactly what she and Dad were saying to know that I was seriously screwed.

The bell for the end of last period sounded, slicing through my eavesdropping. On the other side of the reception’s glass wall, the hall flooded to life. Students spilled out of rooms, flooding the corridor in a brief, noisy rush for the exit. I caught more than a few curious stares from the sweeping crowd and couldn’t help feeling like a freakish side attraction behind the glass partition. I could already see the whispers beginning.

Grace Callan—

The police got involved and everything—

I balled my hand into a fist, wincing at the way it made my knuckles feel as though they were about to split. My bottom lip had begun to tremble again and I sent my eyes ceiling-ward in an attempt to keep them dry.

At least now, after this, the rumours would be different.

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Drafted up a tentative first chapter for The Martians today, thought I’d share a couple of paragraphs :) 

Taglist: @kd-holloman @wildswrites @innocentreticent