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    Pink Frost
    Pink Frost
    Pink Frost
    Ebook113 pages1 hour

    Pink Frost

    By Cameron Glenn

    ()

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    About this ebook

    Cassy might be crazy as she switches places with an alternate version of herself, one happy, one sad.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherCameron Glenn
    Release dateDec 29, 2015
    ISBN9781310905049
    Pink Frost
    Author

    Cameron Glenn

    Cameron Glenn grew up the third of seven children in Oregon. As a child he dedicated hours to the pursuits of basketball and cartooning, as well as waking up way too early for his paper route in order to earn money to buy toys, candy and comic books. He also loved to read and write, which he continues to do voraciously. He currently lives in Salt Lake City after having earned a BA in literature from Boise State.

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      Book preview

      Pink Frost - Cameron Glenn

      PINK FROST

      By Cameron Glenn

      Smashwords Edition

      Copyright 2016 Cameron Glenn

      This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com or your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

      PINK FROST

      The novelization of the screenplay written for Hilary Duff in 2004.

      PREFACE

      Cassy had a dream where the morning frost iced thick the grass and in the dim morning sunrise light the grassy hills appeared as soft and pink as fluffy clouds in sunset, and from this soft earth arose Cassy’s mother who committed suicide when Cassy was nine. It had been six years since Cassy’s mother was found dead in the bathroom bleeding from her wrists and Cassy lived with her father who abused her for all six of those years, whose skin on the palms of his hands had become calloused and hard like firm stretched leather, and the slapping her sounded like a baseball billowing hard fast in a mitt, and when he used his fists and knuckles it sounded like wood cracking open, echoing in an empty park. Cassy wondered if her father also had abused her now dead mother, and that abuse had been what drove her mother to kill herself; or maybe her father had murdered her mother and made it to look like a suicide.

      During some of her father’s beatings and after, laying on the ground in her room, wishing her blood could be rain water she could ride with away down gutters to escape, Cassy sometimes wondered if she’d die, and most times, especially when he’d sexually abuse her, where his touch went from hard to slimy, she wished she’d die rather than being teased with death through the beatings and mental anguish and stress they caused beyond their immediate physical pain.

      She had heard a theory that claimed that from every decision made an alternate reality, in another dimension, splinters off where a different decision, with its results and consequences, plays out. For example, if a high school senior has a choice to go to Harvard or Yale and chooses Yale, an alternate reality shoots off in another dimension where the choice had been Harvard, and both scenarios play out in their respective realms of reality. It sounds preposterous and like science fiction lunacy, but the inventor of this theory, whose son formed the popular indie experimental rock band, the Eels, had brilliant math more complex for most mathematicians to comprehend, to validate his claims. His own suicide probably resulted from being rejected as a lunatic rather than a genius by other physicists and scientists. Cassy could understand the pain, embarrassment, loneliness of rejection. She wondered of an alternate reality where instead of her mother dying, her dad had left and she grew up with her mother instead of her father. She’d be happier and more healthy and normal if this had occurred; she wished she could be this other happy girl in this other world; trade places with her and leave her problems.

      CHAPTER ONE

      Introduce Me

      Cassy sat on the sofa watching a Lizzie McGuire rerun on The Disney Channel. The year was 2004 and Lizzie McGuire had made fifteen year old Hilary Duff into a multimedia star with Stuff by Duff and Lizzie merchandise, pop music and movies brandishing her image and name. Cassy, fifteen, same age as Hilary, read the review of Hilary’s new movie Raise Your Voice, and threw the paper down in disgust. The reviewer gave it only one out of four stars and wrote Just Shut Up Duff as the headline. Hilary can act, just wait, she’ll prove all you grumpy old critics wrong, Cassy thought. In that same newspaper was a headline about the Iraq War, a result of the 9-11 terrorist attack three years ago; the raw emotions, anger, defiance, shock, blind patriotism, still trembled the nation, on edge; however most of the more dire predictions of the days after 9-11, about the country losing its innocence and irony being dead and there is no humor, didn’t come to fruition; most of the nation, including the woodsy middle sized Willamette Valley Oregon town where Cassy lived, settled into its pervious sense of individual normalcy and routine; no one knew then how long the Iraq war would last or the epidemic of solider suicides which would stem from it.

      On the TV screen Hilary, playing a wet eyed sniffling heartbroken Lizzie, tore up pink and white paper she had written her first boyfriends name on into confetti she threw over her head, then joined her best friends, the always funky and fabulously dressed Mexican pal Miranda (played by Lalaine, a Philippine) and her eventual love-interest, the smart, quirky, aspiring director Gordo, a Jew, into a arm joined saunter past the camera frame, then the closing credits rolled.

      Cassy knew she was too old to watch Lizzie McGuire but she didn’t care. Hilary’s good for the world; her squeaky clean image provided a positive alterative tween role model, contrasting with the exponentially increasing raunchy overtly sexualized tabloid grabbing antics of the current reigning pop stars, Brittney Spears and Christina Aguilera, Cassy thought. So funny, this new feud between the supposed punk anti-Britney (although she was just as fake and manufactured as Britney; worse really, because she so blatantly lied about the songs she claimed she wrote herself in five minutes in a hotel room, and trying to look rebellious and punk when she didn’t really know what that was, coming from a Canadian town of two-hundred people, and, she admitted, never owned a CD but liked Hanson) Avril Lavigne (five years later Avril’s songs would be played on the mom loving light rock stations) and Hilary Duff. Funny, but not really, actually hurtful, how Cassy’s school peers sometimes, mockingly, teasingly, called Cassy Avril because, Cassy supposed, she shared Avril’s trait of never smiling; not that her classmates saw anyways. They pretended that Cassy thought she was a witch; how surprised they’d be, if they really cared but they didn’t, to find out that Cassy came home from school and watched Lizzie McGuire reruns, rather than draw black chalk pentagrams in her room, light candles and chant satanic verses pretending to conjure some Wicca spell to get some boy to fall in love with her, or whatever they supposed she did. They also called her that crazy girl, crazy Cassy, because they had all heard what she had done at her former school a few months ago, the reason she had to transfer.

      Cassy did sometimes hear a voice in her head and she sometimes spoke out loud to it, although she recognized it as an extension of herself and her thoughts rather than a separate independent identity. But she understood that her school peers at her old school and new school might be more right then they realized concerning her undiagnosed insanity. She wasn’t normal like them. Abnormal things have happened and are happening to her since her mother committed suicide six year ago when Cassy was nine. When she’d cry she’d sometimes see water seeping into her room but when she felt the floor it would be dry. She always felt damp and cold even in summer. She sometimes thought a suffocating dark and invisible hand squeezed her throat at nights and when it did she no longer fought it but hoped it would strangle her all the way and she’d wake up in a more bright

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