Keeping Time- Chapter 1

Tyrone Emmers was a 13 year old boy, who's parents left him when he was the mere age of 10. A terrible house fire killed them, so he packed some provisions that hadn't burned, and ran. For three years he has travelled cities and small towns, going from school to school, and sleeping by trees in the Central Parks of the areas he visits.

On the 13th of May, 1999, he found himself in an old place call Tisdale. He hadn't heard a single word of this place, so decided he could probably lay low here for a while.

Tyrone sat by a tree in the park as he always did, and scribbled down some words onto a notebook. He loved to write songs, but his spelling and grammar wasn't all that great, as his education was limited. As he was writing, he could hear the birds chirping above him in the trees, singing like a choir in harmony. He could hear a slight breeze sighing past his ear, and he took in a deep breath as his pencil slowly moved up and down, and side to side across a line on the page. Tyrone was immersed in his writing, when he heard the breaking and rustling of leaves and small twigs. His head swung around, almost as if it were a reflex; but no-one was to be seen. Tyrone sighed and put the notebook back into his tattered old book bag, which he got on his eighth birthday, back when his family were there for him. He took out a photo of them and rested it on his lap. His hands clenched together, as he prayed some kind of a prayer, and a few tears slowly trickled from his eyes.

"You must real miss 'em huh." said an unfamiliar voice from behind Tyrone. He dropped the phtot onto his bookbag and swung round once more, fists at eye-level with him. A young girl about the same age as Tyrone stood before him, a smile the size of the Missisipi River stretched across her face. She had one long colourful, stripy sock on one leg, and the other was a plain black sock that stopped just above the knee. She had a denim skirt, and a yellow tattered bookbag, with a few different coloured patches on it. She wore sleeves that were not connected to her shirt, that then connected to here hand like a fingerless glove. These too, were colourful and stripy, and her shirt did not match them at all. It was a yellow and black zig-zag design top, with short sleeves, and a dark purple denim vest. Her hair was a beautiful blonde, with black streaks in it. Her eyes were a deep blue, so deep that Tyrone almost drowned as he stared into them. She jabbed her hand out, mere centimetres from Tyrone's stomach. "I'm Vannessa Autumn, nice to mee'cha." said the girl, vibrating her hand as if insisting Tyrone would shake it. He needeed no convincing. "T-t-Tyrone. I'm not from around here..." said he as he eagerly shook her hand. She looked at him and her smile almost ripped her face apart. "I can tell we goin' be real good friends.By the way Tyrone, you're real good at writing poems, honest." she said, pointing to his bookbag. "Poems? Oh my songs." Suddenly Tyrone turned all defensive. "Hey! You shouldn't go readin' no other people's things I'll have 'yall know." he said, and he turned around and stormed off.