Hey all, I’ve recently decided it was time I try my hand at the wonderful art of fan fiction! I’ve been reading many here on the site and they’ve all just been fantastic. I’d also like to give a thanks to Netbug009 for the encouragement to post my fan fics. I’ve always been into writing stories and comics, although very few of mine actually see other eyes.
Okay, well I’m going to start off with a story I began writing a while back. I’ve recently pulled myself to finish this first part, and I’m currently working on the second part.
I know this is more of an actual “story” than a fan fiction. Seeing as it’s told using “I” and the first-person perspective. Think of it as my “main attraction”. I will have small fan fictions in-between parts of “My Crazy Week” and once it’s done, I’ll probably be doing solely fan fictions depending on the response I get from this. And they will be fan fictions, not long stories like this. 
Lastly, sorry about the crazy length. I know it’s a lot to read and it may be a tad dry in places (hence the lame jokes). Feel free to give your honest opinions and critics. If you have any suggestions, comments, etc… please PM or post here. Any feedback is accepted and appreciated. Enjoy.
“My Crazy Week”
Part I: The Discovery - Monday
I slumped over in my desk that day in class. It was an overcast, lazy kind of day. Ahh, Mondays, how I hate them so. Just knowing the rest of the week will be filled with the same montage is enough to put you to sleep. And if that wasn’t enough, I was beginning to have trouble paying attention to this boring lecture. I folded my arms and lay my head on my desk as I looked out the window. What I wouldn’t give to be out on those grounds than in here, trapped.
Then, there it was - the bell. Finally, I can escape this torture. I grabbed my things and slowly stood up, stretching on the way. I made my way to my locker and such, as everyone in high school does. Picked up my things for the next class, closed my locker door, and headed in the direction of the gymnasium. Well, at least there won’t be a boring lecture and I’ve got a chance to have some fun! And fun it was, indeed; until… that is, I walked through the gym doors and saw eight round, rubber balls on the ground and I knew, right away… dodgeball.
Now, I know what you’re thinking, what’s wrong with dodgeball? Well, nothing, except when you’re the only target. That’s right, our teacher used to be a drill instructor and the way he played dodgeball was that one kid was selected, and that kid was the deer. Everybody else in the class was a hunter. The longer the deer evaded getting hit, the higher the grade.
I snuck to the back of the row beginning to form in the center of the gym. Maybe, just maybe, I wouldn’t be picked. You see, I was the only one who hadn’t been a deer yet. I was just hoping the instructor didn’t know that.
“Mr. Brent!”, the instructor yelled. I stood completely still, hoping to become a statue and disappear completely from sight. He cleared his throat as he spoke again, the rage building in his voice as it boomed over us, “MR. BRENT!” Now, at this point, I had already wet myself. There was just no hiding the fact that a dark spot was forming on my pants. But I had two choices… either stay hidden, holding out for as long as I can and hope for the best, or just suck it up and walk out of the group. I decided that the latter would be the best choice - I didn’t want to see how mad he would really get. I stepped forward, gave everybody a brief laugh at the stain on my pants, and prepared to add to it as I get my face pummeled.
Now, our gymnasium isn’t very large. It consists of two sets of padded mats on both ends, brick walls and a hardwood floor like most gyms. The ceiling was unusually high, almost as if it was daring you to try to throw a ball up to touch it, as no one ever has in our school. So, you could say we’ve got a standard setup here. Then it comes down to the instructor and his crazy rules of putting the rubber balls in the freezer the night before. So, inside of it being a flexible, bouncy ball, it turns into a hard frozen rock. Ah, the feeling of getting pounded by ice… just what I needed today.
I stepped to one side of the gym and the entire class—a sum of about thirty kids— stepped to the other side. The instructor grabbed his whistle and held it firm, waiting for what seemed like hours, almost as if he was teasing me. Well, truth be told, my life was in his hands. He blew the whistle, and I darted for the nearest ball, knowing that if I didn’t get one, I’d be dead for sure. I ran to the far left, focusing on a green ball and as I glanced up, I saw five enemies going for that same ball. Only when I looked back down at the ball did I notice something flapping in my field of view. It was coming from my foot, and as I looked down my fate was sealed. It was a loose shoelace. I took another step and sure enough, the lace caught my other shoe and I was done for.
As I prepared for the cold embrace of the hard, wooden floor, I couldn’t help but feel just like Linguini from Ratatouille, a movie I had just seen recently. It’s actually a wonderful story about how a small rat goes from rags to riches when he meets a garbage boy named Linguini. Of course, Linguini is the clumsy one of the bunch and is always getting into crazy situations. Remy, being the small rat, was essentially the star of the movie, being the cook under Linguini’s hat. Hah, oh the wonders that befall them as they try to blend in to normal society. Ah, what I wouldn’t give for some cooking lessons from Remy, let alone to actually meet one of these characters. Something like that would be far more interesting than my normal, everyday life. But unfortunately, I could dream no longer, for my flashback was ended as I smashed into the floor and was greeted by nine ice balls. Where’d the ninth ball come from? Good question.
That day, I walked home, feeling rather cold and alone. It was one of the worst days I’d ever had. But, then again, I’m only in high school. I’ve got many more days to come that could be worse than the last. I lived quite close to the school, so my walk home isn’t very long. I limped up my driveway and collapsed on the door as it opened. “Mooom?!”, I yelled. Nobody home, as usual. I set my backpack down and I heard a huge clank in the kitchen. I stood, confused and a tad shocked. “Mom?”, I called out again, waiting for a response from a familiar voice. Hearing nothing, I assumed the worst. Someone had broken in and was looting our fridge. Possibly homeless, armed, and/or a clown. I gulped, as the fear rumbling in my tummy was getting quite immense. I crept toward the kitchen door. I held my trembling hand to it and pressed my head against it. I waited and listened for some kind of stir behind the door. Nothing. I had to go in and see what was going on; I just had to. With my heart thumping faster each second, I overcame my fear and eased the door open.
I stood… silent, still, ready. The door swung slowly and I took my first tentative step inside the kitchen. I poked my head in, shifting my eyes to the left and right, and noticing a pot on the floor and a cookbook open on the counter.
“Hello…?”, I whispered, as if expecting to hear a response.
No response came. I stepped the remainder of the way in. I didn’t see anybody in the kitchen. I walked over to the cookbook open on the counter and gasped as there was a blue rat on the counter! A shot of relief passed through me. I expected something more obscure. It was at that moment the rat turned to me and spoke, quietly and calmly, like we’d been friends for years.
“Hi there”, he said as he stared into my eyes and with amazement, I actually answered back with a weak, “Hi…”
At this point, I was amazed that there was actually a talking rat in my kitchen, and that it was actually reading a cookbook. But then, strangely, familiarity struck me; I felt like I’ve seen this rat before, like this was no ordinary rat. He turned back to the cookbook, reading a recipe for a vegetable stew. I had a hunch that this rat was the same one from the movie Ratatouille, but at the same time, my mind was denying it due to the fact that was an animated movie and therefor not real. Still, I had to find out what was going on and if this rat could talk then he would be able to give me an explanation.
I drew a breath and as I did, he spoke before I could.
“Before you begin questioning, yes, my name is Remy, and I am here for a good reason.”, he turned to me and stared, his eyes distraught. “You see, I need your help.”
I stared at him in disbelief. The confusion growing within me every passing minute. How was this possible that a character from an animated movie is talking with me or is even here? I also had some anxiety. What was it he needed me for? What is it I can do that someone else can’t? More importantly, I wonder how much the airfare was from France to the U.S…
He climbed up the spoon he had laid against the counter wall and opened a cabinet. He pointed to a pot and said, “Grab that pot and help me with this stew and I’ll explain everything.”
I obliged and grabbed the pot. He pointed to a line of ingredients, hinting for me to get them as he began to explain why he was here. I was so confused but strangely happy, glad, eager that my life had taken such a strange turn. I had the feeling this was something I would remember, some kind of adventure I could call my own.
Anyway, I can really imagine this story coming to life- the main character’s point of view is quite relatable and, boy, how lucky would it be if our favorite characters appeared to us to brighten the day? 