Unveiling New Horizons: A Journey of Discovery

Prompt: Write a story about Peter, Brian, and Stewie reading this second draft "masterpiece": I. Small droplets of water slowly trickled down on the window. The noise of the weather a soothing calm. The lights passing by quickly, flashing a brief white or orange. The interior dry and comfortable, albeit there’s a noticeable light odor emitting from her clothing. The back seat was cramped, filled to nearly the brim with boxes. Behind the vehicle was a tow trailer, following behind them at a steady pace. The roads were empty, say a few fellow vehicles on the road, shining their bright white lights ahead of them, temporarily blinding the driver, which was her father. It’s been quite a while since they left home, and it seems that the trip would take much, much longer. Now, she has brought a few carry-on pieces with her: a smartphone she received before the trip, a small notebook, some cash, and a mid-sized box. The box laid on the floor in front of her, protecting it’s contents with it’s wooden frame. She found something quite important in that box, something she held dear to her. The box itself was full of old photographs, a piece of barbed wire, small notebooks, some medals, and dog tags. It’s what the family called the “Military Box” and is their most prized asset, seemingly more so than where they came from. Every year there was a tradition to tell her a story from the box: her forefather’s fought in the world war’s, frightening places where the air crackled, the sky turned black, and their feet were muddied. These brave men went because they were quite proud of their own country, they had something to die for; their families. It was a hero’s tale passed down to the generations. They came with a vision from Denmark or Ireland, escaping the absolute turmoil from their home, far away from their own traditions. They found opportunity in the new world, it was quite tempting for them. They settled in, creating agricultural colonies, and over time dispersed away, with only a remaining few left from the line. Her Father said that she was one of them, an Andersen, which made her proud. With her own Father in mind, he followed the footstep’s of his own father a mere few years ago, albeit it was quite different. As he said, his adolescent years were, and I quote “quite weird”. He played in a garage band at one point, but it didn’t give him any form of fulfillment. He thought of doing his band career full time, and made an attempt to do just that. It didn’t last long, only releasing two albums on various formats and then ceasing their short contract thereafter. His entire band was aimless, going from mediocre job to even worse job. He had a realization one day: if he went into the Navy, and he does well; then, they will help him get back on track. It seemed intriguing at the time, and even through his marriage and his daughter’s birth, he stayed. He ended up in Iraq when his daughter was only two years old, coming home on occasions, and eventually leaving. As for his daughter, who’s sitting in the back behind his? Her name is Riley Jennifer Andersen, usually referred to by her first name. She was born eleven years ago on January 22nd, according to her birth records. To her, life was perfect where she came from. Every year was something special to her, something she held dear to her heart. She was raised there, skating on the ice, drawing on the walls, forming various friendships, and becoming best friends with a girl named Magaret, or Meg for short. She loved Meg, so much so that even saying her good-bye was difficult. She was her lifeline, and she lost it. The box was the only reminded of her old home she had. It was quiet there, peaceful even. There’s nothing to worry about, only the weather forecast and school. She spent her days outdoors in woods, at the lake, on the playground, rain or shine, hot or cold. She especially enjoyed the snow, and where her family is heading, it doesn’t snow as much. They call this place “San Francisco”, a town known for buildings upon buildings tightly wounded together into cramp corridors, with a bridge made out of gold. This contrasted sharply with Minnesota, with it’s ever familiar wide open spaces, surrounded by beautiful forestry, and all of it was gone. Maybe they would stay in a gingerbread house, or a dragon’s lair? She wasn’t quite sure, but she wanted to remain optimistic. But, there was only so much hope she could carry on to a town known for earthquakes, horrible odors, and tight corridors. She shifted slightly in her sleep, waking up to the dark orange glow of the sunset. Her Father seemed to have been driving for a long while, only stopping to get a cup of coffee. The window reflected her streaks of short blonde hair, which reached to the tip of her ears. Her bright, large blue eyes reflected the light of the early-morning sun, watching the rain cease. Her own head rounded perfectly with a slight bump, forming her chin. She thought she looked a bit like her own mother, except much, much younger, who was still asleep right in front of her. Riley thought about the day of the week, it’s Saturday, and they might not go to Mass tomorrow. It’s what kept her grounded in some sort of familiar tradition, something her forefather’s did. They spoke in some strange language known only to the priest. She went to confession weekly and listed her sins. She would have knelt down and taken the Host. And, she would hear the conversations of her parents discussing the matters of life, and the Pope on occasions. They didn’t seemed to like him much, but the church relied on him to keep it stable, or else it would fall into disrepair. She understood it in some ways: don’t sin, do good, pray daily, and read the saints. It felt warm in their even on the coldest of days, and she felt as if she lost it. The priest would never see her again, and she doesn’t know if San Francisco even has a church like hers. Her father claimed to have found one in town, giving her at least some hope to avoid the ugly buildings that her parents seem to despise. Then there was hockey. Her mind became fixated on the sport; it was her lifeline. She was introduced to hockey, as I said, back in Minnesota. Her parents bought her hockey skates for Christmas, introducing her to her Father’s life-long hobby of hockey. He adored hockey, maybe a bit more than the Lord himself. He watched every game, followed the score, knew the names of each player, and owned some paraphanillia from their local team. He was said to be playing hockey since age ten, back when he lived closer to Canada than to Minneapolis. He joined a small team, made friends, and then moved away due to financial circumstances. He wanted his own daughter to have a similar interest, and he’s fortunate enough for her to have received it well. The family remained in the car for the rest of the morning, driving through the hilly terrain, passing by large screaming signs, and watching the forestry blend together in a blur. The sun shined brightly inside the car, giving the air a slight warmth. The cramped interior gave Riley a bit of unease. It was almost time for lunch, they all wanted to stop for the time being. A short trip to the local, seemingly rustic chain of country stores and diners that dotted the interstate, named Cracker Barrel. Riley was intrigued by the vintage wares surrounding her, and with a hint a envy thought to herself, “We don’t make things look this good anymore.” They soon went back onto the road, spending hours in the green sprawling hills, later shifting the brown and eventually flattening out. That night they stayed in a small, modern motel; it’s presence know by a massive sign in the sky, glowing brightly like the sun. Speaking of the sun, it’s own sun was surrounded by a blue backing, and below it some lettering spelling out Days Inn. Supposedly, according to her Father, they were more reputable than some of the local options, and cheaper too! After their short stay, it was time to head on the road again. Riley began to tire of the cramped interior, shifting her body quite often, wiping away the dust on her yellow jacket, and watching the world go by from her back seat. Soon the landscape shifts again, from long sandy planes to sprawling hills, changing it’s color from brown to green and seemingly growing ever slightly, and then flattening itself, and then coming back up once more. Finally, she see’s the bridge from a distance, but was disappointed that it wasn’t gold, and instead shined a red hue. The towering structure intimidated her. She imagined that it had authority over the entire city, guarding it’s precious town by toll booths, which her Father seemed to absolutely despise. Finally, they seemed to have arrived, leaving the long journey behind them. The roads were narrow and cramped; the vehicle crawled tightly around them. The town wasn’t what she imagined it would have been. Instead, rows of drably colored houses lined the street, wooden poles held up masses of wires, and the absence of forestry bothered her greatly. Still, she believed the house would be up to her expectations. She was greatly disappointed. The townhouse was painted a drab, faded blue. The door seemed to have aged quite poorly, creaking loudly when she opened it. Inside the building seemed quite more worrying to her. The small dining room emitted an odor of must and mildew. The floor was covered in plastic, left there for the time being. Then, she saw something quite shocking; a dead rat, lying on the floor. She envied the rat, wishing to take it’s place. Still, she wanted to remain optimistic, and made her way upstairs to the bedrooms, which hers is on the left. It was tight and cramped, smelt of smoke, and seemed worse for ware. The small window looked outside towards the drab blocks of houses, a scant few trees, and the ceaseless noise of vehicles passing to and fro. She still, wanted some hope, and headed downstairs to meet up with her parents, who were arguing about the moving van. She remained on the stairs and listened in. Her Mother, named Jill, argued with her Father, named Bill: “Jill, the moving van won’t come in to town until Thursday.” Jill sighed. “Thursday? Everything we have, the furniture, books, the TV, Riley’s stuff. It’s all in there.” “There’s some of her stuff in the trailer.” Bill patted his wife on the shoulder. “She wants her hockey gear, that’s what she told me.” “It’ll come on Thursday, I promise.” Riley came down the stairs and interrupted her parents argument, picked up a stray hockey stick, crumpling a piece of paper, and throwing it onto the floor. Then she slapped the piece of paper into the fireplace. Immediately her parents joined in, her Mother pretended to be the goalie, while her Father pretended to be her opponent. There was cheerful laughter and insults thrown about, Riley felt home once more. Then, it ended suddenly, as quickly as it started; her Father received a call from the investor. He left the building with the phone in hand, quickly saying his good-bye before disappearing. Riley felt immediate disappointment, but still, she didn’t want to lose any sense of optimism she had. Immediately, she says. “Well, we passed by a pizza place. I would like pizza.” “That sounds delicious!” her Mother exclaimed. Soon, they returned home with a large box, and immediately Riley became disappointed once more. There was broccoli on top of it, of which she absolutely abhorred. She complained. “Mom, there’s broccoli on my pizza!” “You don’t have to eat it, you know. I think it’s fine.” “Fine?” Riley grimaced, muttering to herself. “Broccoli on pizza, first the Hawaiians, and now San Francisco.” “I heard that. Besides, you just ‘pizza’, not a specific type of pizza.” “Well?” and she went back upstairs, hiding in her room while her Mother put away the pie. Riley prepared herself for bed, brushing her teeth with newly bought brush’s and paste, bathing herself with also newly bought shampoo and conditioner, and asking herself. “Why didn’t we bring shampoo and toothpaste from home? I want my vibrating toothbrush back.” She had a thought for a moment. “What is Brang?” She knew somewhat of what it was, her Father’s newly founded company, funded by the military, primarily engaged in online shopping, and was the driving force behind the move to the town. She went back to her room and pulled out the sleeping bag, laying it carefully on the floor, ensuring that no dust would settle there (as if she already hasn’t cleaned it enough.) She looked out the window, everything was dark with only a few stray bright white lights, exposing every crevice underneath it. Such lighting, from what she heard, was only used in “dangerous areas”, not a place she would want to be around. A few fast moving vehicles pass by, along with the occasional siren wailing loudly before fading away. A single stray pop startled her, forcing herself to hide in the bag. She overheard her parents discuss something downstairs, and she decided to head to the stairs again, listing in once more. “Jill, just got a call from the moving van. They won’t be here until Tuesday.” “Next week? Well…” “Yes, I know dear.” Riley returned to her room, hiding in her sleeping bag and making a vain attempt to block any noise. It didn’t seem to work, it only sounded muffled this time. She heard the door creak slightly, an orange ray of light shined in the crack, widening and revealing her mother, who enters the room, kneeling herself down in front of her. “Riley,” she said. “you know, it’s been quite difficult for us… I did forgot to kiss you goodnight.” She pecked her forehead. “Moving van won’t be coming until Tuesday unfortunately. Well, I’m just about to say, I’m so happy for you. From all the confusion, you’ve stayed out happy little girl.” She stood up and headed towards the door. Riley asked. “So, how’s Dad doing with Brang?” “Oh, he’s quite busy, I guess. Brang’s been hard on him, we’ll probably have money problems over the next few months.” “Will I be able to go to school?” “Of course, sweetie. Well, goodnight.” “Goodnight.” and she closed the door. A ray of bright light shined through the small window, waking Riley from her slumber. She brushed her teeth and put on the same clothes she arrived with, heading downstairs and grabbing her cyan backpack, excitedly finishing her sugary cereal and then heading out the door. Her parents said their goodbyes, making up monkey sounds with their mouths, amusing their daughter. She headed out onto the street, checking the slip of paper she received a few weeks ago, before the move. Just a few blocks down the street, turn right, and it should be there. She knew she made it when a mass of kids passed by her, going through a large open gate. She stepped inside and stares at the towering building. The concrete structure, painted beige with hints of a dark green, adorned with blocky carvings of working men of industry, and displayed a single analog clock in the middle of it; intimidated her greatly, along with the mass of students swarming into the building. She waited for the mass to simmer down before entering. Her foot touch the concrete floor and she walked along the cramped hallways, passing by the green steel lockers, and headed towards the office to ask about where she should go. They gave her directions to the lockers and her classes, and she followed them diligently, putting her belongings into one of the lockers and heading into a small classroom. She passed by two rows of desk before situating herself directly in the middle, the only empty spot in the entire room. “Seemed that no one wanted it.” she thought, and sat down. The bell blared, and everyone soon fell silent. The teacher, named Mrs. Sanders, cheerfully introduced the class. “Good morning class! So, today we have gotten ourselves a new student! Her name is Riley!” She turned to Riley. “Riley, can you please stand up?” she obliged, looking up with confidence. “Well, my name is Riley Andersen. I’m from Minnesota, and now I live her.” “And how about Minnesota? Can you tell us something about it?” Riley felt a bit uneasy about it as she laughed, but she knew she meant well. “You certainly get a lot more snow than we do!” “Yeah, it gets pretty cold. The lake freezes over and that’s when we play hockey. I’m on this great team. We’re called the Prairie Dogs. We go out on the lake every weekend… well, we did… ‘til I moved away.” The class murmured and seemed to stare at her. “We used to play tag… and stuff… but everything’s different… now… since we…” She sat back down, tears flowing down her delicate cheeks. It seemed that all of it has passed away, now only a memory. She placed her textbook as the teacher demanded, passively reading various lines of text, only vaguely recalling “world war”, “trench”, “treaty of verscilles”. She has realized her parents seemed to make a mistake. The final bell blared. The wind seemed slightly stronger now, the country flag swaying slightly, right above the main doorway. Riley walked out of the building, taking the route back home. She enter the house, heading straight for her room, and laying down without saying a single word. Now, night time fell once more, her parents bought food from the local Chinese restaurant, and sat down on the table. Riley came down, wearing the same clothes as earlier (her parents half-expected her to change), and grabbed a paper plate and put some food onto it. Her appetite was low, but she didn’t want to disappoint her parents. So, she forced herself to eat, listening in to a conversation about the green and blue trash bins, recycling and trash respectively. Her Mother decided to ask something. “So, how was the first day of school?” Riley didn’t respond, believing her own Mother to be pestering her. She did it again, and Riley remained silent. Still, her Mother wouldn’t give up, and asked one more time. Finally, her daughter responded. “It was okay, I guess?” Her Mother was suspicious of the tone of voice, and cleared her throat, signalling her husband on the other side of the table. He stared into space, seemingly distracted by some thought. She cleared her throat once again, no response. Finally, in a tinge of irritation she slapped her hand on the table, closest to him. Finally, he budged. He turned to his daughter, asking. “So, Riley. How was your first day of school?” and his wife sighed in disbelief. Riley knew what they were doing, they wanted answers, and they wanted it now. Her Mother decided to tell her something. “Hey, Riley. I’ve got great news! I found a junior hockey league, right here, in San Francisco!” Riley feigned ignorance. “And get this: tryouts are tomorrow, after school! What luck, right?” “That sounds fantastic.” She answered sarcastically, rolling her eyes at her own Mother. “School was great, alright!” Her Father stared at her, preparing himself. “Listen, I don’t know where you got this new attitude. But, I don’t appreciate it when you-” “What do you want from me?” “Listen, and I said, I don’t appreci-” “Listen old man!” and then there was silence. Riley stared into her Father’s eyes with great hatred. His eyes focused onto hers, seemingly demanding respect. “Listen!” Exclaimed her Father. “I don’t know where got this-” “Just. Shut. Up! I hate you!” He got up, staring down at his daughter. “I don’t appreciate your attitude young lady. All I asked of you was where you got it from.” Riley felt intimidated by his presence. His tall, bulking frame towering over her. She knew his own history, he was a Lieutenant according to him. She knew he dealt with men significantly older than her, who also disobeyed him. She felt a pang of defiance. “You’re an old man! You made me come here! That’s it! I’m done with this family!” He remained silent, not even moving any muscle on his face. “School was great, I want to join hockey! I hate you, just leave me alone!” Finally, he said with authority. “That’s it. Go to your room! Now!” Riley shoved her chair back, stomped up the stairs, and slammed her door. Then, there was silence. A while later he entered her room, more calmer than what seemed to be a few hours ago. “So, umm…. Things got a little out of hand downstairs.” She remained silent. “You want to talk about it? Come on, where’s my happy girl?” He knelt down beside her. “Where’s my…. Monkey! Ooh ooh ooh!” still, she remained silent, not even letting her eyes move. He sighed in disappointment and left. She went back to school, unable to shake off any feeling of listlessness. Every one felt foreign to her, despite Mrs. Sanders best interest. Her teacher explained that she was from Lousianna ten years ago, and moving in with her parents at eighteen was quite difficult for her. “And I thought San Francisco was the worst place ever. But then, I began to absolutely love it! Riley, it’s just a matter of time before you begin to see what wonderful things this city has to offer!” “Yeah…. Like concrete and crime?” Riley seemed to know about the city more than she thought she did. “Well, not exactly. There’s museums, a beautiful bridge, the Fishermans Wharf (which I admit, has excellent food), and plenty of other things to do!” “Is there hockey?” “Well… we could look it up on the-” “I know… my Mom told me about a team. I don’t know.” Riley left before even bothering to finish her conversation. On the walk home from school Riley began to notice slight details on the street. Every few blocks there’s a large mural of blocky, un-dechiperable letters. They appear on ocassions, and what other kids have said, it’s a local gang. On the street law enforcement watch the crowd, probably ensuring their safety, of which she’s thankful for. There’s street lamps every few blocks. The hill seemed to become slightly steeper the farther she walked. And, at certain points there are camera’s, watching the movements of absolutely everyone, and are usually ignored. She spent the day sitting on the floor, scrolling through pictures of her hometown, Minneapolis, and her suburb, Bloomington. She stared at her house’s entry on a realtors website, reading through it’s history. Bought in 2002, sold in 2015. They sold the house only a mere few weeks ago, she’s already agitated. Even if the house was gone, she still had Meg. So, she decided to initiate a video call with her. She answered quickly. Her wavy red hair bouncy around with her, her glasses shifted slightly, and she seemed quite excited to see her friend again. Meg, as she’s usually called, asked excitedly. “Do you like it there? Did you feel any earthquakes? Is the bridge cool?” “Yeah, I guess…..” Riley seemed irritated. “I guess it’s cool.” “Oh, I’m so jealous, like, my Dad wants us to stay here because of ‘liturgy’ and ‘family business’ and blah blah blah! I mean, like, I would mail you a gyro or something, but dad said it wouldn’t work.” “So, what happened with the playoffs?” Riley immediately asked. “Oh! We got this new girl on the team, she’s so cool! We can pass the puck to each other without even looking, it’s like mind reading!” Riley had a pang of irritation, “I gotta go!” and then she slammed the laptop shut, ending the call. She felt as if the bridge between her and Meg were burned away. There was nothing left in Minnesota. School still remained a lonely endeavor. She sat down alone at lunch, contemplating her actions, wondering if she should apologize to Meg for the abrupt ending. “No!” she thought. “She replaced me! Does it matter at all?” No one paid any attention to her, and it seemed that she preferred it. Each class to her felt slow and painful, taking it’s sweet time to explain such supposedly simple concepts: sentence structure, multiplication and division together, important leaders in history, and various other topics she vaguely remembered and had a test on the following week, if she ever stayed for it to happen. That night her Mother finally decided to drive her to the local hockey rink, which was located a bit close to the bridge. From the parking lot it could be seen from a distance, noticeably towering over the hills, dotted with orange lights, and the wires swaying lightly from the breeze. They make their way from the well lit parking lot to the cold interior of the rink, surrounding them with green and white brick, and the noise of clacking sticks and coach demands reaching the entrance. Riley and her Mother sat on the bleachers. She took out her equipment and put it on, ignoring her mother’s encouragement and heading out onto the ice. She looked back at her mother, seeing her hold up a phone and putting it back down, and then waving at her. Riley scoffed and continued onward. She did some drills, many of which she managed to fail, confusing her greatly. She knew how to play, why wasn’t she succeeding? She questioned herself. “Stupid Riley, I thought you liked hockey.” and continued to fail, over and over, falling, tripping, and missing the puck. She glanced at the stands, taking particular notice of a feminine figure. Said figure had dark skin, frizzy hair, and seemed to be of middle-aged, writing on her clipboard. Riley didn’t think much of it and continued on, failing miserably at each task, and if that woman was writing about her, she’d better hope it meant absolute failure. Every single failure mounted her frustration. She couldn’t believe it, she was failing miserably! Finally, when the skrimish came, she ended up tripping, falling onto the ice before she even slapped the puck. Her eyes welled up, and while she made attempts to convince herself otherwise, hockey can’t be done in San Francisco, even with a dedicated building. She immediately threw her stick, headed back to the bleachers, took off her helmet, and demanded. “Let’s go!” “Are you not going to finish-” “I said let’s go!” “Hey, it’ll be alright. Let’s just-” “Stop saying everything will be alright!” and then she left. Her poor Mother standing up and following her.