What I've Been Working On

Recently, I have been writing, and this is just the prologue of what I've written so far. I don't know if I will finish it, but I will share this tiny piece with you. If you want to see the short story I wrote that somewhat inspired this story, you can find it here. I hope you like it!
Prologue: Callina
Bumper up against the Line, I am waiting, impatiently, for something to happen. This is the third time this week I’ve been waiting. Mazelda will be upset. But I know there is something out there, something beyond the lines of this town. I’ve seen people moving outside, once or twice, in the dim light before dawn. The record player scratches out its lonely tune on the passenger seat, and I am left to write in the notebook Mum left for me.
Sometimes you wait forever. Sometimes you don’t wait at all.
The car seems smaller today, more confined. I am closed in, weighed down, by my hopes and dreams, instead of set free my them. People have told me that dreams free you from the tedium of your life. For me, all they do is remind me how stuck I am. Fire drips down my fingertips.
Luckily, the notebook is fireproof, but I am pulled out of my melancholy by the flaming napkins on the center console.
“Who will you love when I am gone?” the record player wails, and I remove the needle. I have enough desperation without the songs’ help.
I climb into the back, already prepared for sleep. The mattress, nestled in between boxes and bins of my possessions, invites me to sleep, to spend time with my dreams for once. What will I believe tonight?
~
I start awake, afraid of the very air. Something moved—at the front of the car. The only thing at the front of the car is the Line. Nothing inside can move past the Line, so the sound must have come from outside. Outside is dangerous. I sit up, slowly and quietly, barely moving in the darkness. I reach across the center console and remove the clock covering. It is 3 in the morning. I kneel on the mattress, looking outside calmly, not daring to let in any more light. The back window shades are drawn, covered completely, but I am not concerned with them, only with the view from the windshield.
There is a man out there. I can’t make out any details of his face, but I can tell that he cannot see me. He isn’t wondering about the car; he is pushing on the barrier, trying to pass the Line. He must have walked into it. Now he is confused. But he is searching, which means he will eventually find the single imperfection, the one that I have positioned the car directly in front of. He will be able to enter, and those that enter are dangerous when they find that there is no way back.
I turn away from the windshield, pulling a sweatshirt over my tank top and shorts. I grab my black flip-flops and climb back into the driver’s compartment. As the man fumbles outside, I slip the record player back into its protective case in the passenger footwell and twist the key in the ignition. The engine turns over. No dice.
I twist the key again as his hands fumble toward the imperfection. The engine coughs to life. He stops. Now I know—they can hear through the barrier, at least some.
I slowly back up, cruising the car down the road a few feet. Stop, get out, leave the door open, and start a fire burning in my palm. I have found that people tend to run when random balls of fire shoot at them out of nowhere. He backed up when the car started, but he has moved forward again now, even more curious than before. His hand strays toward the imperfection.
I press my hand against the barrier and fire plumes out toward his face. He jumps back. I step back. We wait. He moves forward, I shoot fire again. He jumps back. We wait. He takes a step forward, then runs away from the Line. I return to the car.
Now that this has happened, I can’t sleep. Laying on the mattress, looking at the ceiling, wondering who he was. I pull the record player back out and listen to classical as I search desperately for the peace that enveloped me an hour before. I am afraid to sleep. He might come back. He might bring the police. Someone brought police, years ago, and they camped out at the Line for months. That was years ago, but someone must remember. What would outsiders think? As I ponder, I slip back into sleep.
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Chorus of the Day!

That's what you want, but it's not what you're asking for
I said that's what you're asking, but you're gonna get more than you bargained for
I said that's what you had, but you don't have it any more
You had it coming

Last Chorus of the Day:
Young and Menace by Fall Out Boy

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La! ~SCP