Anthology

Appearances Are Deceptive: Chapter 1 by Amanda Nicole

She slowly walked across campus with a confident stride. Holding her books in front of her stomach with relaxed, extended arms, people glanced after her every step. Strolling across the courtyard of Bandersnatch Gormless Secondary School, PJ leaned against her locker to await the arrival of her boyfriend, Nathan Cooper.

Nathan was the first string goalie on the school’s ice hockey team. He was therefore, the coolest guy in school because they had won the championship every year since he started playing as a sophomore. His bleach blonde hair was exactly that, bleached. He looked like a member from one of those boy bands back in the 90’s. (But he’s unimportant, and you’ll see why later.)

PJ smiled as people passed by, all staring at her with envy and longing. Everyone wanted to be her; she was the smartest girl in school, the prettiest girl in school, the most talented girl in school. If I list every name everyone called her, we’d be here for years.

Nathan sauntered up with the perfect stride. Two girls standing nearby slumped against their lockers as if they were going to melt. He pushed PJ out of the way to get to his locker, knocking the books from her hands. Nathan looked down at her annoyed expression, and pushed strands of hair out of her face. “Babe, I think you dropped something.”

PJ’s eyebrows shot up. “No, Babe. You did.” She looked at him, then at her books lying on the ground, and then back at him.

“No, I’m pretty sure you did. I’m also pretty sure you’re being a brat. So, just chill. Okay?” his cheesy smile set her off.

“I’m pretty sure, you’ve just been dumped.” She put her hands on her hips with a cocky smile.

“Who else do you think is going to put up with your crap and bratty attitude?! That’s right, no one but me.” Nathan angrily slammed his locker closed.

“Oh really?” she purposefully cleared her throat loudly. Everyone around them looked in her direction. “Oh dang. I seemed to have dropped my books, and I don’t have a boyfriend to pick them up for me.”

The five closes boys rushed to pick them up for her. All tried to pry books away from the person next to him. All five of them held books out to her with nervous smiles and chattered laughter.

“I guess guys will put up with me, won’t they?” her sarcastically innocent smile made him raise his fist to her, making her flinch.

About that time, Tipper stepped in between them. “Excuse me, but you’d better lower that arm unless you want to lose it.” The stare she gave him was like she was saying she was trying to kill him with her mind.

“Whatever, you’re loss.” He shrugged and walked in the other direction.

Two girls had been standing a little ways away, and I could hear them talking vigorously about Nathan being a pig. But as soon as his attention turned toward them, they fought for the spot light.

It seems strange to see every girl talk bad about him behind his back, until he’s available. As soon as he’s girlfriend free they jump at the opportunity to date him. And it just so happened this time it fell a week before Valentine’s Day.

To me it seemed best they broke up, not because I like her but because of how she acted around him and how he treated her. She acted like he was the supreme ruler and she was his slave. Then he would treat her like that. It made me sick, and apparently it did Tipper too.

I wasn’t finished observing when Jesse strolled up to me. Jesse was my best friend. I had known him since we were in kindergarten, and now it was eleven years later. He was probably one of the dorkiest people I knew, but I had to love the guy.

Jesse Copperfield was in the eleventh grade, like me, but I wondered sometimes how he made it that far. Jesse wasn’t the shiniest needle in the hay stack, if you know what I mean. He was book smart, but had no street smarts what-so-ever.

He was 6’2” and skin and bones. He had no muscle at all, and wore square-rimmed glasses every day. He wore skinny jeans and a plaid button-up shirt. His backpack probably weighed more than he did, but that probably wasn’t much. If I had to guess, I would say he was around 100 lbs and his backpack probably weighed at least three-fourths of that.

The bell rang to go to seventh period. As Jesse and I started toward the Math room, a jock came up behind us and pushed us to the ground. It took us at least ten minutes before we could get to our math class because we were too busy getting the crap beat out of us.

We limped into the math room, and relief poured off of us as we learned our teacher Mrs. Jonathan wasn’t present that day. I fell into my seat and cringed as I landed on sore areas of my body.

I sat right behind PJ and Tipper, who were deep in conversation. Tipper’s name is really Autumn. Her parents Monica Harth and Zack Kline named her that because of her beautiful strawberry-blonde hair that flowed gently down her back. She was a little taller than PJ, but wasn’t the tallest girl in the class either. Her eyes were a milk chocolate brown, and her skin was a glowing tan.

Ever since I can remember, Tipper and PJ have been best friends. If PJ gets in trouble, Tipper takes the rap. If Tipper gets in trouble, she still takes the rap. But only because PJ is somewhere else killing the loser that told on her. PJ is the most popular girl in school, but she made sure Tipper was the second in command.

I casually leaned forward to rest my head on the desk so I could hear what they were saying. “…total jerk. I don’t care if he goes and hooks up with another girl right now, he doesn’t disserve me.”

“You’re totally right PJ, he’s a slime bag. Remind me again why you dated the oaf?”

“Shut up Tipper, he was sweet and sometimes he even cared when I was sick.”

Sometimes? I thought to myself.

“Really, PJ? Did you just really say that? Did you even hear yourself? I mean come on!” Tipper slapped PJ on the shoulder.

“Yeah, I know. But it makes me feel better to say it that way.” PJ slumped in her seat. “Anyway, you wanna go to the mall later? I hear V’s is having a sale on all their lacy lingerie.”

“I wish I could. Mom is making me go with her to Mrs. Jonathan’s house for Thursday night dinner.”

“Well, that doesn’t sound too bad. She’s probably the coolest teacher Canada could offer, isn’t she?” PJ always tried to make the situation better.

“I guess, wanna come with?”

“Sure, why not? It’ll save me from having to go home.”

“So we get to bore ourselves together with my parents and our teacher, their best friend. How exciting.”

“Come on Tipper, lighten up. She’s cool.”

“Yeah, and to think, she’s not even from Canada.”

“Are you serious?!” PJ sat upright. “I thought she was raised in Canada just like the rest of us!”

Somehow I couldn’t help but say it. “Actually, she came from the Rocky Mountains. You know, in the US?”

Both of their attentions snapped to me. “Are you eves dropping?”

“No! I just, um, you just,” why couldn’t I learn to shut up? “said that really loud.” I slumped back in my desk and started doodling.

“Okay Mr. Hot-stuff, and how do you know this?” Tipper lifted my head with one finger.

God she was pretty up close. “Um, my mom knows her?” I gave a slight shrug.

“Oh, well then I guess you do know don’t you. Anyway,” she turned to look at PJ and me at the same time. “I heard she’s like, a werewolf or something.”

“There’s no such thing Tip.” PJ giggled at Tipper’s expression.

“Actually,” I really needed to see a therapist about the running-the-mouth problem. “she’s a Conlorton.”

“Aaron, do you know how ridiculous you just sounded? What the heck is a Conlorton?” Tipper raised an eyebrow at me to make her point.

“Well, a Conlorton is actually somewhat you described.”

“Sweet! I was right, she is a werewolf!”

“Um, no Tipper. She’s not a werewolf. But like a werewolf, she isn’t fully human either. A Conlorton is a human that is a descendant of one of three Greek Gods. Agosmith, Vestonoga, or Halapheus, or you could be like Mrs. Jonathan’s husband, Squirt, and be a descendant of all three.”

“Wait wait wait! Squirt? What kinda name is Squirt?!”

“I don’t know okay? That’s just his name. Anyway, Conlortons take the shape of a human while being capable of the strength possessed by the Gods. I’ve actually gotten to see their strength myself, its quite amazing really.”

“Okay, this kid is a freak.” Tipper pushed away from her chair as the bell rang. PJ followed, unfortunately for me, agreeing the whole way.

“Ah, the smell of rejection in the afternoon.” Jessie smiled as he pulled me along beside him.

“I don’t understand how I always do that.” I shook my head in disgust. “Anyway, still going to try out for the hockey team this period?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Jessie smiled and took off as fast as he could run with that stupid backpack.

“Alright then.” I glanced over to a nearby table. PJ and her friends: Nathan, Tipper, Josh, Kylie, Justin, Derrick, and Jasmin were all slung over the table every way I could think of. All of them had eighth period free, just like me and Jessie.

They were all laughing and having the best time, like always. The populars always made things seem like the grass was way way greener on the other side. Sometimes I wondered if it was just in our heads, or if it really was.

I decided I better go boost Jessie’s spirits before he got trashed by Nathan. Speaking of the devil, PJ and the rest of the group got up and walked not far behind me to the indoor ice rink.

“I wonder how we could boost our social status. I mean, we aren’t actually retarded, we just have bad luck.” I didn’t even notice people walking up behind me.

“Is he talking to himself? Wow, what a loser.” Jasmin sauntered passed me with Tipper and PJ giggling the whole time.

“And that’s probably not the best way.” I sighed and went to find a seat in the bleachers. I honestly didn’t understand why he wanted to try out for hockey, but I would support him either way.

While Jessie got his butt kicked in the ice rink, I pondered on the fact that people actually called it fun. He really wasn’t any good at hockey, and that just made it so much worse for him.

PJ and her friends were at the top of the bleachers cheering on Nathan and his team instead of the newbies. One wrong glance their way got me pelted with French fries to the head for the rest of practice.

Derek wasn’t interested in hockey, but he was a popular all the same because of his looks. Big muscles, pretty tall, failed a grade so he was older than a senior should be, everything a good girl wants in a bad boy.

PJ and Tipper busted out in laughter every time a French fry hit me in the head. It was like they thought it was hilarious Derek was perfecting his French fry aiming skills on the back of my head.

A few hours and a lot of french fries later, practice and tryouts were finally over. Jesse could barely get off the rink without falling, and I had to help him get out of his skates.

After he got dressed, he met me outside the locker room. He was limping and moaning from being so sore, and to add to it, Nathan, Josh, and Justin came out after him.

PJ and her friends came to meet them. I had always daydreamed that one day I’d be the star hockey player and PJ would be coming to give me a kiss and wrap her arms around me after practice.

“Hey Jessie, no hard feelings right? I mean, not everybody can be as good as us.” Nathan and his friends started to laugh and make fun of Jessie. Everyone seemed oblivious to the fact that I was standing right next to him. Nathan pushed Jessie, almost making him fall. “Come on, the little squirt doesn’t know how to stand. We better help him.” Nathan was trying to make Jessie mad, and it was working for both of us.

“Maybe he can’t stand up right now because he just got his butt kicked in the rink! And he might have just got his butt kicked, whereas you didn’t, because he doesn’t workout twenty-four-seven like you idiotic jerks do! He actually has a life and other things to do beside work on his image!” Everyone stopped with gaping jaws to stare at me.

“Wow Aaron, you’ve got guts for a junior.” PJ smiled at me sweetly, I thought I was going to throw up. She actually noticed I was standing there! But on the down side, so did Nathan.

“Okay, no more of this standing up to big-ass jocks, got it?” Jessie was breathing as hard as I was. We had just outrun three hulking jocks chasing us forty blocks until they finally gave up. “See you later man.” Jesse hit my back as he walked by.

It took all my strength to get through my front door before collapsing on the couch in the foyer. “Aaron! Don’t pull off your shoes! We’re heading over to the Jonathan’s in just a minute.” My mom was just pulling a coat out of the closet in the hall.

“Come on Mom! I can’t even be home for five minutes before you say we’re leaving?” I pulled my first shoe right back on. Baring through this Thursday night dinner would just be the icing on the cake, and I knew it.

Waterfall and Squirt Jonathan lived across town from us. It took us a good twenty minutes to step foot on their front porch. The house was well-kept, clean, and looked as if it has been carefully restored to its original Victorian glory.  The Victorian architecture was very detail-oriented and was characterized by intricate, lacy accents, such as in the triangular, fan-shaped pieces at the top of each post.  The posts were ornately carved.  The accents across the top of the porch reminded me of an abacus, which is that ancient Chinese calculator.  The five rounded accents across the railing reminded me of apple pies with the upper crusts carved to reveal the goodness inside.  They also reminded me of cut-out paper dolls. The front door looked like it was carved by hand, and its design almost looked as if it was from the far-east or maybe India.  Maybe the Jonathan’s traveled a lot and found this door on one of their travels. Or maybe it was the original door that had been refreshed. The dark color of the door and other dark wooden accents contrasted well with the mocha color of the house and the white trim. It looked inviting and welcoming. You could easily tell they cared for this house very much and obviously has plenty of time and money to spend on its restoration and upkeep. 

Waterfall opened the door just as I was about to knock. “Oh! I thought I heard someone drive up.” She smiled warmly at me, and it seemed like I would disintegrate. My mom came up the steps shortly after, mumbling something about needing to get our car fixed.

“Hi Waterfall, Monica here already? I saw her car in the driveway, but I didn’t see Trish’s. She not coming tonight?” my mom could talk forever if you’d let her, it was rather embarrassing.

“No, she said Jesse wasn’t looking so good.” Oh really? I thought to myself. I wonder why?

“Oh, I hate that. Tonight was poker night too.” I shook my head in shame and switched my attention back to Waterfall.

Her long blonde hair that was normally kept in a pony-tail or bun hung just past her shoulders. She wore a loose-fitting red blouse that hung open just enough to show a little cleavage, but not enough to make it a slutty look. Her jeans had rips and tears in them just like teenagers wore around town. Most likely she had picked them up from that new store that opened at the mall, Martin’s was its name. Even though she was an adult, she could still pull off converse low-tops. I could smell her perfume from where I stood, and it smelled of Abercrombie stores. She looked like she should be in an Abercrombie store as well. She had the body of a super-model, but the brains of Einstein. Squirt was the luckiest man alive.

As Waterfall shut the door behind us, Squirt came jogging down the stairs in black and red basketball shorts and a yellow and white zip up hoodie flailing out behind him. His muscles were perfectly toned and showed exquisite definition. His shaggy dirty-blonde hair was dripping with sweat and stuck to his skin like an adhesive. He was bare foot, and his feet pounded across the floor making the sound of palpitating drums echoing wildly. His breathing was rugged and fast, as if he had just run a marathon. His sky blue eyes were filled with joy and excitement, but his body trembled with exhaustion. He was only twenty-six years old, but he acted like he was still a teenager; he didn’t look much different now than he did back then.

“Hey Water, the girls are wore out already. Drinks?” Squirt had sat down on the bottom step of the stairs.

“There’s Gatorade in the fridge.” She pointed to the kitchen before turning back to me. “Aaron, Tipper and PJ are playing the Wii upstairs. You want to go play with them? I bet they’ll let you have a go.” Waterfall didn’t wait for me to answer, she started ushering me up the staircase.

I could hear their laughter from down the hall. Frankly, it was a little frightening to know two older girls were going to be spending all night with me. I stood in the doorway and watched them jumping up and down in place for a minute before they realized I was there.

“God! I thought you were Squirt!” Tipper was holding her heart like I had scared her to death. PJ was about to add something, but the whole house started to shake. All three of us fell to the floor because the house was shaking so bad we could barely stand up.

“What’s going on?!” PJ shrieked as she tried to crawl toward us. I could hear the adults downstairs yelling for us to come down. I was pretty sure Tipper and PJ couldn’t hear them though, only because they were too busy screaming.

“Okay, we need to get downstairs!” I grabbed Tipper’s shirt and pulled her over to me. “You go first! Hang on to anything you can, but get down there as fast as possible! I’ll get PJ.” Tipper nodded in agreement and tried to make her way down the stairs.

Things were flying off the walls and shelves, making it very difficult not to get hit in the head. “Aaron! What do we do?!” PJ grabbed my hand and, once again, I pulled her over to me.

“We have to get down stairs! Follow me okay?” we quickly made it into the hall. Just as she was about to head down the stairs, I jerked her back just as the ceiling caved in. “Okay, new plan!” there was no possible way we were going to be able to get downstairs, and if we didn’t we were more than likely going to die. If it was an earthquake, we would die. If it was a tornado, we would die. It didn’t really matter what it was, I just had a really bad feeling I wouldn’t be getting to see my mom ever again. “We need to get in a doorway!”

She followed me back to the doorway of the room we were just in. I pressed her against the frame and held her tight to keep her from being in the line of projectiles. “Aaron, I know I really don’t know you that well, and I know the probability of us getting out of this. I’m just glad you’re the person I can spend my last moments with.” As she touched her lips to mine, the house stopped shaking.

“Waterfall! Do you feel that?!” I recognized Squirt’s voice. “It’s her!” PJ pulled away from me red cheeked, and the house started to shake once more.

“Jane! I swear to God! Whatever you were just doing, do it again!!” Waterfall shrieked at PJ from the basement doorway.

“Why?! What will it help?!” PJ and I were being tossed in every direction.

“It will help save my house! I want my house!” Waterfall sounded more mad than worried.

“But…!”

Everyone interrupted her too quickly. “Just do it!” her lips were back on mine and her arms wrapped around my neck. The house stopped moving, and Squirt ran to the bottom of the stairs.

“Of course! Why wouldn’t your daughter have the same traits as you? She produces a protection shield just like you when she feels pleasure.” He paused for a moment to turn his attention back to us. “Jane, Aaron, whatever you do, don’t pull away!”

Tipper walked over to Squirt and burst out in laughter. “Oh my god! You can stop the house from shaking by kissing Aaron?! PJ this is priceless!” the earthquake lasted about twenty minutes before PJ and I could breathe again.

We sat around the broken table. Waterfall and Squirt had just dropped the bomb about PJ, she was actually their child! PJ wasn’t some suicidal crack-head’s daughter, she was a Conlorton. They quickly explained what that was and how they came about, freaking the crap out of PJ, Tipper, and me. It took us around two hours to process it all, but it took even longer to process that PJ wasn’t technically human.

“So, you two had me and, for my own safety, gave me away? Do I understand this right?” PJ looked at Tipper and me skeptically.

“Yes, Dorfius would have tried to kill you, just so your father would suffer. Thank god he finished him off before he got the chance. So you’re safe now, but I can understand if you want to stay where you are now. We weren’t really there for you, so I wouldn’t expect you to…”

PJ interrupted before Waterfall could finish. “You’ll let me come live with you?!”

“Of course Jane, you’re our daughter. Why wouldn’t we?” Squirt patted her leg gently.

“Well, when can I move in? I want out of that crap hole as fast as possible!” they laughed when they realized she was serious.

“Soon, Sweety. Soon.” Waterfall held her close and stroked her hair.

An excerpt from The Runaways

By Annie Molesso

The crystal water rose and fell like silent breaths. We immersed ourselves in it, our limbs taking root in the empty spaces. There we drifted, silhouetted against the deep, night sky and clouds that covered the edges of a silver moon.  I could almost hear our hearts beating in time to the stillness of the ocean. The sounds of the wind whispering in my ears, the gentle splash of our bodies becoming like the water, and the calm collision of sea and stone screamed out their symphony all around us. My mind had creeped down into my throat, choking me with my own anxiety.

"Where will we go?" I asked Wesley, aware he was just as lost as I was. A sliver of hope remained, maybe he had a plan.

He shook his head, "Wherever we can, somewhere they won't find us."

I dwelled in my thoughts, trying to push away the things I wasn't supposed to know, the very things that could bring me to my death. It wasn't but a night ago, not even the amount of hours in a day stood between then and now, yet it took my life and tossed it into a dark corner, stripping away everything except for a hopeless confusion that spread through me like a virus.

I had witnessed murder. The thought of it flashed in front of my eyes again, almost returning me to the scene. I saw the bitter knife, taking a man's life in its wretched hands and crush it like a bug. The killer saw Wesley and me, glaring into our eyes for one brief second, but that's not why we're running. What happened after the murder was the most frightening part. We were racing away, looks of panic painted on our faces, and a million thoughts flailing about in our minds, when the most peculiar thing occurred. The payphone on the empty street corner began to ring. We froze. I had urged Wesley not to answer it, but he was oblivious to my voice, as if all he could here was the chime of the phone. He picked it up with an unsteady hand. I could hear a low, quiet mumble come out of the earpiece. Suddenly, Wesley's hand released, his fingers shaking violently. The phone plummeted towards the ground. I'd never seen my friend's face carrying such a display if shock before that night. His bright blue eyes were open wide. Such a painful look of grim despair inhabited them. He opened his mouth to speak. An unfamiliar weakness had grasped a hold of his usually cheerful voice.

"We have to run." He gulped, swallowing his words.

"Why?" I sounded small and insignificant.

"They know our names."      

(Untitled) by Ashlynn Mayes

“Are you hungry Lucille?”

“No.  Thank you.  I had an enormous lunch.”  I reply as I turn away from the friendly, unsuspecting eyes of my best friend’s mother.

“Are you sure?  I will feel awful if you don’t eat anything.  I am making Ana’s favorite...”

“Spaghetti with homemade meatballs” Ana purrs behind me.

  Are you kidding me?  I think to myself.  Why can’t they be having something grotesque and easy to resist.  Maybe just a small serving I tell myself.  As I begin to tell Mr.  Andrews that I have changed my mind the image of my size four jeans slowly getting tighter around my slender waist slowly creeps into my mind. 

“Your offer is tempting Mrs.  Andrews, but really I am stuffed.” I manage to say through a smile as fake as Janice Dickenson’s chest. 

As the words exit my mouth Ana gives me a puzzled look.  She knows I am hiding something but is unsure as to what it is and not willing to pursue the subject.

When dinner is served I watch Ana shovel in not one but three servings of her favorite meal.  She is not concerned about what the heavy fare will do to her Nike model physique and I am green with envy.  I have not eaten anything but half a granola bar at ten o’ clock this morning.  My stomach growls and serves as a reminder of the awful monster that is growing within me. 

 I attempt to distract myself by looking around the open, modern kitchen where I have eaten a countless number of home cooked meals but have no such luck.   I decide to fix my eyes on the blue cup in front of me as my mind begins to spins.  Images of wispy models with sultry stares rapidly flash through my brain.  Somehow these images provide me with the grit I need in order to resist the savory aroma that is softly dancing in my nostrils.  My stomach is a hollow drum that is subject to the powerful strikes of a steady beat.  Mindlessly I nod my head to Ana’s idle chatter and try to concentrate on something other than my body or food.  Suddenly I come to the realization that I have somehow closed the carefree, teenage chapter of my life.  Pizza Fridays, the occasional trips to Rita’s bakery, sleepovers consisting of chocolate chip cookies and Ben and Jerry’s are all behind me now.  This thought is extremely unsettling and causes my stomach to turn.  I gaze at the glossy red bowl of spaghetti lovingly placed at the center of the table.  The look in my eyes must be like that of a prisoner staring out a window on a sunny day.  I quickly shift my attention back to Ana before she notices my attention is elsewhere.  Gosh I wish I could wear sunglasses indoors.  At last Ana gets up and noisily places her sauce stained plate in the dishwasher.  

“Ready to go on up to my room?” She chirps.

“Yes” I squeak with a sigh that is barely audible.

As we walk up the small staircase that leads to Ana’s room I let out a breath of relief as well as defeat.  I have completed the test and am now left with the consequences of the bittersweet success. 

                                   

                                      Father’s Day

                                                                                                                 By Devondrian Womack

     When the doorbell rang, Willard Packard Jr. knew something was not right. If his mom was at work and he had no one coming over, it couldn’t be anyone he knew. He decided to pretend he wasn’t home and to just let the doorbell ring. For five minutes, only an eerie silence could be heard. Willard opened the door and found no one there but just a simple calculator watch. It was silver with black buttons.

      Beside it was a small note that read:

                                     TYPE 7:59 PM

     Willard picked up the watch, attached it to his wrist, and walked over to the clock above the stove and noticed that it was 7:59 PM.  He punched in the numbers. Suddenly, he clasped his ears, clenched his teeth, and closed his eyes as a buzzing sound was magnified a million times in his ears.

    Then it stopped, just as abruptly as it began. He opened his eyes to see a door straight in front of him. It was wooden and had a golden doorknob. But the scary thing about this door is that, it was never there before. But a weird feeling gave Willard the idea that it has always been there, waiting for him to open it.

     Despite his commonsense telling him otherwise, he opened the door. Temptation won. He screamed as someone or something pushed him through the door. He turned around to leave, but the door was—gone. He was in a whole other room. The floor was piled with books, and clothes, and the bed was not made, with the white blanket reminding you of a vanilla ice cream cone.

    He was trapped in a strange room in a strange place he has never seen before.

    “I’ll see you guys, later!” a strange voice yelled to someone outside the very room that Willard Jr. was in. Then the door opened and it was like a mirror just walked in, because a boy who looked exactly like Willard Jr., except he had blue eyes. Willard had brown eyes.

     “Who are you?” asked the boy.

     “I-I-I-I’m Willard Packard Jr. Do you know where I am?”

     The boy laughs and says, “My name is Willard Packard!”

     Before Willard Jr. could stutter another reply, the buzzing began again. This time it was so loud that Willard Jr. thought his ears were going to explode. Then it stops. The Other Willard stands still, not moving a muscle, not even breathing. He never blinked.

     No noise at all. All was deathly silence.

     Too quiet to be a good thing.

     Against his will, Willard was pulled backwards into another door behind him. He wasn’t even moving his legs. He screamed.

    This time, he was in a room filled with lockers and a banner above them said: SCHOOL SPIRIT. And again the door just vanished. When a bell rang, he realized he was in a high school. Hundreds of kids came out of dozens of doors and one of them walked straight toward Willard.

    “Hey, it’s you! You haven’t changed at all. How come? It is 1966 and you visited me seven years ago. Are you an alien?” the boy asked.

    But Willard Jr. wasn’t paying attention. This man looked exactly like his father as a teenager. But what if it was his father? But that’s impossible. His dad died three years ago, when he was six years old. No matter what Willard Jr. told himself, he knew that this was his dad.

     Okay. So somehow he traveled to 1966. “It has to be the watch that did it.” Willard Jr. said to himself.

     “What are you talking about?” Willard Packard Sr. asked.

    One thing popped into Willard Jr.’s mind and one thing only. He could save his dad.

    “Listen, I’m your son, Willard Packard Jr. I come from 1998, and please don’t ever smoke. If you do, you’ll die and I’ll have to live without you forever! Please don’t smoke!” Willard Jr. said.

    But before Willard could go into great detail, the buzzing began all over again. He closed his eyes because his ears were hurting so much, so he started crying. When he opened his eyes, he found himself in a room made of entirely white fog.

   When the fog cleared up, an old man with a beard that reached down to his feet was sitting down on a golden throne.

     “My boy, it is never a good thing to tamper with time. It angers it.” the Long Bearded Man said gravely. “But I suppose it will be for the better.”

      Willard Packard Jr. yelled, “Where am I? Where’s my dad!”

      “My boy, only your future can tell. But what’s important is that you know this: I will return you to 1998. But you will forget all that has happened. It is over your time-stream.” Father Time said, who was the man with the long beard.

       Before Willard Jr. was about to ask another question, he heard a melody to his ears as sweet as the song of a bluebird. He blinked and found himself in his room. He left his room to go to the kitchen and found a the greatest surprise that could ever happen.

       His father was sitting in the kitchen, reading a newspaper. Willard Jr. dashed over to his father and hugged him, nearly spilling his father’s coffee in the process.

        “What’s with all the excitement?” asked Willard’s father.

        “You’re back!” yelled Willard Jr.

        “What do you mean?”

         “I-I-I don’t remember.”

         But Willard Jr. didn’t care. He didn’t know why, but he hugged his dad, remembering all new memories of things he did with his dad.

           And he still wore the watch.                       

Flip-Flops

A monologue by Ellie Esry

          You know, everyone says you change a lot after having a baby, and it sure is true.  Last week, I visited a friend and had to take my eleven month daughter with me.  She’s a cutie, but gets into everything just like every other child.  So when I take her somewhere for long, I pretty much have to pack up the whole house.  I follow the Boy Scout model of “Be prepared.”  Be prepared for fussiness.  Be prepared for diaper blow-outs. Be prepared for a house that’s not baby-proofed. 

Before walking out the door, I mentally double-checked my partially packed bags.

            Pack’n’play? Check.

            Favorite blanket? Check.

            Bottle and formula? Check.

            Snacks? Check.

            Diapers? Check.

            Wipes? Check.

            Then, I dumped as much of the toy box into the space left in my bags.  So there I was, lugging a backpack, a diaper bag, a pack’n’play, and my daughter into my friend’s house.  I might as well have had U-haul, no I-haul, printed across my chest with my cell number.  People could rent me as a personal pack mule.

            I entered her house, situated my daughter in a zone free of choking hazards, and sat for an afternoon chit-chat with my friend.  About an hour and a half later, she said, “I just have to ask.  Is there a reason you’re wearing a brown flip-flop on one foot and a black one on the other?”

            Yes folks, things change when you have a baby.  It appears I’m now color blind.

 

Memorable
By Isabelle Teeter

It was her first rave. The music pounded in our ears, and the lights flashed in our eyes. The DJ with the brightly-colored beaded bracelets running all the way up his skinny and slightly muscular arms began to play “Scary Monsters and Nice Sprites”, an amazing Skrillex song with heavy beats and what one can only describe as “Transformers fighting” because that’s exactly what it sounds like. With the small part of the crowd that was actually dancing, I jumped up and down to the beat of the loud dubstep.

            She, however, would not dance. She sat quietly in a chair off to the side, nodding her head to the music slowly. I walked over to her and sat down in the chair beside her. “Come on! You have to dance!” I yelled over the music so loud that it hurt and almost made it hard to breathe.

            “I don’t want to; nobody else is!” she whined like she was kidding, which was only half true.

            “Don’t you want your first rave to be memorable?” I asked, jokingly.

            “Yes,” she sighed as I took her hand and pulled her up on the stage were a group of our friends were dancing. Friends, meaning people we had met about five minutes ago. We found a gap in the tight circle they made and jumped into the middle of the circle, throwing our fists into the air as the loud bass was blasted at us from the speakers sitting inches away.

            We stood outside, at one in the morning, in the freezing, rainy April night air. We huddled together to keep warm. I took off my oversized hoodie and handed it to her without asking her if she wanted it. I knew she would say no, but she was shivering.  She took it and mumbled “Thanks” and wrapped it around her shoulders, holding on to it tightly.

 Her mom showed up five minutes in her little white Camry, and as she got in she proceeded to throw my jacket back to me. I caught it, but threw it back.

“You can keep it, I mean; I never really liked that one anyway.”

She rolled her eyes and threw the jacket back to me one more time. “That’s good to know,” she said, smiling, and got into her car, but then stood back up.

“And yes, my first rave was pretty memorable.”

                                                                         

The Best Cure for Writer’s Block                          by Jon Medders

Put down your pen and head for a tree.

A giant green one in springtime is best.

Wait for the sun to rise above

your canopy. Look up and ask,

silently, perhaps with arms open,

about creating.  Be with the light,

the streaming shadows, the colors.

Stand still in this. Look, listen, smell,

feel into these showering secrets,

a green and glowing form of knowing.

Then head right back out into life,

remembering or not remembering,

but holding and feeling in your veins

all that was exchanged under that tree.

The light, the wet, the gaseous. 

The dark, the human, the mysterious.

Absorb. Break Down. Synthesize.

Let transform your old weak molecules

of self-doubt (or self-importance)

into the green, rich recollection

of just why you write. 

Difficult Choices

Julia Smith

“You all right, Captain?”

Barron Tallison looked up from where he had been glaring at the ground to see that his second in command, Claw Stryser, had melted out of the shadows next to the tree he was leaning against.

Barron grunted noncommittally, and then said, “For someone who’s not a Shadow Elemental, you sure are good with them.”

Claw grinned, his dark eyes slitting in their familiar unconscious way. “You’re remarkably unaware for someone who is. And I’ve heard you tell me that before, even if I’m an Earth Elemental.” A pause. Then: “You didn’t answer my question.”

Barron looked away, out into the shadowed woods, moonlight illuminating his face sharply. He grimaced. “Don’t tell the others yet, but…I don’t think we’ll be able to hold on to our neutrality very much longer.”

There was a shallow, drawn in breath from his lieutenant.

“We’re choosing a side?” Claw asked after a moment.

Barron still didn’t face him.

“Barron!” Claw hissed. “Look at me! This is – why? The reason you formed this group was so that we wouldn’t have to get involved, and now you’re changing your mind!”

“I know,” Barron said heavily. He ran one hand through his brown hair, brushing his long bangs to one side, before cutting his green gaze to Claw. “But I think we should. They’re both trying to press us anyway, always tracking our movement and sending representatives to talk to us. We should just choose a side and have done with it before they try to force us.”

Claw nodded, his face set in an even more carefully blank expression than usual as he listened to Barron’s reasoning.

“We should head back,” the dark eyed man said abruptly. He spun around, his mid-length black ponytail swaying behind him as he walked toward a flickering fire far in the distance.

As Barron followed him, he couldn’t help but notice his lieutenant’s left hand was clenched tightly. The leader sighed to himself.

He knew that Claw didn’t agree, and he wasn’t sure about it himself, but he honestly felt that if they didn’t take a stance on either side, they would be violently forced to.

For as long as Barron could remember, there had been conflict in the Nation. Shortly before he was born, a group of Elementals called themselves the Prevention Party rose into power in the government. Immediately after, a group rose in opposition to them – the Organization, as it was commonly known as.

Initially, at nineteen Barron had started this as a tiny group of older kids and teenagers that didn’t want to get involved in the more and more violent conflicts between the Prevention Party and the Organization. Quickly, however, people started joining him, Elementals of every type, and he eventually somehow found himself leader (at the age of twenty-two) of their ragtag bunch. They moved around a lot, never staying in one place for too long, picking up people everywhere and rarely losing them.

Unfortunately, as they grew in size, the Prevention Party and the Organization began to notice them…which led to their current situation, trying to decide what to do.

Quite frankly, Barron was leaning toward joining the Prevention Party if he joined anyone. Measure imposed by them that looked harsh at first glance actually seemed as though they were to protect bystanders from the frequent clashes. The curfew, for example, when one looked at how the Organization had a penchant for attacking at night, took on a much more benevolent light.

And the Organization itself unsettled Barron. They acted harshly, they didn’t seem to care for the lives of any people they put to risk, their agents had on more than one occasion tried to threaten Barron’s group into joining their own, and above all they had a certain look in their eyes, even the lowliest of them, that spoke of madness and a thirst for revenge for some reason long forgotten.

Before deciding anything about what to do, he would need to talk with everyone to see how they felt, and consult with his Council of Advisors. He wouldn’t lead them into a situation they had no desire to enter.

Plus, the Organization wouldn’t take being passed over for the Prevention Party well, and they might attack—

“What is that?” Claw spat out quietly, pointing down at something dropped in the leaves.

Barron bent down to get a closer look at it. It looked like some kind of short range radio headset in a stylized black and red design.

The Organization!

Barron’s head snapped up as he raced for the campsite, which was still a few hundred feet away. But he had realized what was going on too late, and had to listen in horror as the screams began.

The brunette barreled into some kind of warzone. Flames flew through the air next to arcing water, and lightning screamed down from the cloudless sky.

His people fought back, but they weren’t trained. They were people who didn’t want to fight; it was why they’d come!

Fury welled in Barron at the senseless slaughter, overwhelming any common sense. He dove into the fray, binding several men at a time with inky shadows. Some he “blindfolded” so that they stumbled around without sight. Others he knocked at traditionally, with a blow to the back of the head or such.

A couple of times he got scraped or almost hit by an attack. They were only avoided because he could pull up shadows to protect himself, or step into them and appear behind the attacker, quickly incapacitating them.

There was a reason why Shadow Elementals were feared, and a reason why in some circles it was prized to have such a rare affinity.

Mindless minutes later, all of the men had been knocked out, trussed up, or driven off. Barron fell to his knees, panting from exhaustion. He hadn’t used that much energy for summoning shadows since…well, that incident had been a long time ago.

Barron quickly pulled himself together and looked around the large clearing in search of Claw. The dark haired man was on the opposite side, carefully checking over the injured.

“Claw,” Barron gasped as he stumbled over to him. “Claw, we need to get out of this area.”

Claw’s head snapped up. “What about the injured and dead?”

“Earth Elementals,” Barron panted. “Find all of them that you can for transportation detail. I’ll round up everyone else.”

Without waiting for Claw to reply, trusting his lieutenant and closest friend to follow orders, the leader made his way around the camp, informing people of their imminent journey. His stomach churned at the sight of the dead.

My people, he thought. My people. How could they?

About half an hour later, they had packed up and were moving out. The Earth Elementals had formed soft beds of dirt for the injured to lie on, and then they used their skills to move the beds with them. All the dead were placed on other beds of rock, which were also taken with the group.

Moonlight cast flickering shadows on everyone’s faces and through the woods. Barron jumped at every snap of a twig, every odd rustling in the bushes, as they made their way.

Time passed oddly for the hyperaware brunette, so he was startled when he blinked and discovered himself in front of a safe house owned by one of the few members who had left their group.

“Lead the injured in first. Move the dead to the basement so we can bury them later. I’ll watch the back of the group,” Barron murmured to Claw. His lieutenant nodded, sweat beading his brow from the trek and the strain of using so much of his power.

Barron retreated to the back, making sure everyone got safely into the house, his gaze darting every direction. Finally, when everyone was inside, he allowed his shoulders to slump tiredly. He ran a hand through his hair, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. Then he went inside.

He didn’t notice Claw watching him from the flat roof of the house, his face pale and eyes serious as he fiddled with a pendant that was tired loosely around his neck.

The next day was a solemn affair as they buried their dead, a startling thirty-nine men, women, and the occasional child.

Barron clenched his fist throughout the service, his face white and set.

After, they all gathered for a meal and shared stories of the dead, though they were careful not to mention names of the deceased. That was something not to be done until at least a year had passed.

Unsurprisingly, many went to bed early that night. Barron, even if he hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before, stood watch outside.

“You need to get some sleep,” Claw said lowly from behind him.

Barron spun, hand outstretched with an inky dagger fashioned of shadows clasped tightly in it. He arrested the movement of his arm just as the dagger reached Claw’s unprotected throat. A thin trickle of blood slid down, but the Earth Elemental didn’t seem to care. His eyes were hollow.

“Sorry,” Barron said, lowering his arm and allowing the dagger to dissolve back into its element.

“It’s fine,” Claw said indifferently.

“Claw, are you all right?” Barron asked.

Claw shifted uncomfortably, and the thin cord that held the black and red pendant he’d owned for as long as Barron had known him snapped where it had been nicked by Barron’s knife. It clattered to the ground, the sound of it deafening in the silence.

The lieutenant stared at it expressionlessly for a moment. Then, with a savage fury on his face, he raised one booted foot and brought it down on the necklace. There was a crunch as it was smashed.

“No,” Claw said shortly. “I’m not.”

Barron chose not to say anything, merely staring off into the woods bordering the property, looking for any intruders. He thought he saw a movement behind a clump of large bushes and stepped forward, past Claw.

“There’s someone there,” Barron muttered to his lieutenant, not taking his eyes off of the forest. “They must have followed us here.”

He didn’t see the pained, distraught look on Claw’s face.

“No,” the lieutenant choked out bleakly. “They didn’t follow us here. They were told where we were. They followed a tracking signal to this location.”

Barron didn’t react fast enough, taking too long to process what Claw said. He was knocked to the ground next to the crushed pendant, wires poking out of the remnants of it, and the last thing he heard before falling unconscious was a soft whisper from Claw.

“I’m sorry, Barron.”

In his empty, brightly lit cell, Barron felt like he was drowning. Thoughts tumbled through his mind faster than he could take them in, but the one he could always make out, the one that hurt the most, drove all the breath from his lungs.

Claw betrayed us. He was working for the Organization. He led them to us.

He betrayed me.

Minutes after he woke, two guards dressed in the Organization’s black and red uniforms trooped into the room, followed by a man with shockingly bright red hair and flat amber eyes, dressed in a nondescript black outfit. His mouth was twisted in an ugly sneer, one that he made very little effort to conceal as he took in Barron, slumped against the cell wall, his bound hands stretched out in front of him.

“You’ll find that those cuffs bind Elemental powers,” the man said, his voice oily. “I am Tor.”

Barron didn’t look up.

Tor crouched in front of Barron, using one thin finger under the brunette’s chin to force him to look at the redheaded Organization member.

“Unfortunately,” he said, “we had to attack your little, ah, group as well, since you all refused our generous offer so many times. Most of them are here now.”

Barron kept his face as blank as he could make it, a lesson in composure he’d learned from Cl — no, from the betrayer.

Tor tsked to himself, still holding Barron’s head up. “You are intelligent, Barron Tallison, so I’m sure you could figure out why such…unpleasantness…was necessary if I lay out a few facts for you.”

He paused, carefully taking in Barron’s almost completely impassive expression, before continuing. “We need the Prevention Party out of the way. They are defended too well for us to sneak in by ourselves. You are a Shadow Elemental, one of the very few of these past decades.”

“I refuse,” Barron bit out immediately, his voice rough.

“I thought you might say that,” the redhead said, sighing in mock sadness. His eyes gleamed cruelly as he stood and moved toward the door. “Let’s see how many of your people you can watch die before you agree to our proposition.”

Barron let out a snarl and lunged for Tor, but he was stopped by the guards.

The redheaded man smirked. “You’ll be helping us, then.” It was not a question.

“I hope you die a painful death,” Barron growled, eyes narrowed into poisonous green slits.

“Indeed,” Tor said disparagingly. “Just remember that their lives are in your hands.”

The door slammed behind them as they left. Barron crumpled to the ground.

Several nights later, Barron was led out of his cell after being showed a slip of paper with coordinates scrawled onto it. He walked through endless white corridors with grey doors until they finally entered a large room at the end of one hall. Inside was a group of ten or fifteen men, all dressed in dark colours.

Tor approached him, and just before removing the cuffs binding his wrists and powers, said quietly, “If you betray us, we start with the children.”

Barron spat in his face.

The redheaded man just smiled dangerously, casually wiping the spittle off his cheek, and said, “Open the portal to the coordinates shown to you earlier.”

Barron reluctantly complied, walking through first so that he could hold it from the other side. The others followed quickly behind him, but just before they made it all the way through to their destination, he twitched his fingers. A small shadow scurried away into the dark hallways where they all appeared. He tried not to think of how rash that action had been.

The men that had followed him through his portal started fanning out through the hallways. Barron stood by his portal and watched them. The last to leave with the others was one that had a slightly shorter stature than the others, and his face was covered by a mask.

Tense minutes passed, and Barron was beginning to think that his gambit had failed, that his hope to stop these monsters was null and he may have just forfeited all of his peoples’ lives, when he heard shouts from ahead. Several of the men came pelting back in his direction, and from behind them came the screams of others as they were attacked by the security of the Prevention Party.

Not so easy after all, is it? Barron thought smugly to himself, and he knew there was no way the Organization members would be able to figure out that it was he who had given them away.

“Did you do this?” one of the men, a very tall and muscular one, screamed at him. Barron froze, fear suddenly filling him. The man took that as an answer and hoisted him up into the air by his collar. Fire appeared in a dancing flame on the hand that he wasn’t using to hold the brunette up. “Tor warned us you might try something like this.”

Barron scrabbled desperately at the man’s arm, unable to breathe and terrified of getting hit by that punch.

“Didn’t…do it!” he wheezed. “How…could I?”

“That’s the question, isn’t it?” the man replied ominously. He raised the first with fire in it higher, but before he could do anything, there was a rumble under his feet and the stone of the floor burst up around him. He lost his balance and dropped Barron, who rolled away from him quickly before clambering back to his feet.

Barron didn’t know why he stayed then, instead of immediately taking off through a portal to rescue his group, but something made him. It was that brief hesitation that gave another of Tor’s men, one who had already been standing close to the Shadow Elemental, the chance to run toward him, a long knife gripped in his hand.

Barron turned his head as he heard the footsteps. Time seemed to slow down momentarily when his gaze fixed on the knife. His eyes widened – there was no time to move – the man was already almost on top of him –

A body placed itself between Barron and the knife. It was driven deep into his stomach as he made a sharp movement and pulled the earth up around its wielder. Then he fell to the ground, one hand trembling over the knife. It was the smaller male, the one in the mask.

Barron dropped to his knees next to him.

“Why did you do that?” he asked, stunned.

The other stayed silent but for his rasping breaths. He slowly moved one hand up and pulled off the mask, revealing a familiar pair of dark eyes and black hair. Claw’s face was contorted in pain.

“Hey…Captain,” he panted out painfully.

Barron stared down out him, numb. He didn’t know what to feel.

“Can’t…make up…for what…I did…” Claw gritted out, his eyes fixed on Barron’s as he spoke. “But…couldn’t let…you die.”

“Claw,” Barron whispered. He grabbed the other man’s hand in his own. “Stay with me! You hear me, stay with me!”

Claw grinned dully up at him, eyes sliding shut. “I’m…sorry…Barron…”

“CLAW!”

Always

By Karsen Brink

It was something no one else knows. Well there is one other, but his lips are sealed. He took the secret to his grave. But I suppose that’s my doing. Now it is only me. Of course I’m used to being alone. I’m used to knowing what others don’t. Used to on the dark side. Used to whispers, and Scared, Hateful, and pained looks thrown my way. It’s how I live. How I have always lived. But for the first time in my life. I wish someone knew my deepest darkest secret. That I loved her. Yes. I loved someone. The terrible bitter feared greasy haired professor loved someone. But she didn’t love me. No. who could? What was I compared to him? How could I compete with that arrogant idiot James Potter? I couldn’t. Now she is gone. And it’s all my fault. And I have to live every day with that guilt. With that regret. With a secret that will haunt me till I die. But no one to share the burden with. Of course not a single person comes to mind when I want to tell someone. Besides I’m a Death Eater. We aren’t supposed to love, or care. My life has always been full of secrets. But this one. This one is different. I want some to know. But then again….No. I don’t. No. I would much rather confess that I was a spy than that I love her. Truly deeply love her. And always will. I wonder If I will carry this secret to my grave. In light of the situation that may very well happen. For if the Dark Lord was to find out what I truly was. I would be dead. There is no doubt in my mind that I will die if he finds out. It’s very unlikely I will survive this war. Even if the dark lord doesn’t find out there is still a very high chance I will die. So I guess I will keep my secret safe with me until I die. Always.

The Interview

 by Mackenzie Goff

            I watched as the woman that had started her job interview only minutes before strode haughtily out of the room, her face white.  The voluptuous redheaded woman stopped abruptly, looked at me as if to say something, but only frowned, sniffed and strode angrily off.  I watched with growing apprehension as the woman shook her head as her expensive heels clicked on the tile floor as she made her exit.  The woman stopped again and said over her shoulder,

            “You just try not to stare at his... head.” The sounds of her heels clicking and soft dress swishing faded into nothing as she descended the stairs that led out of the police headquarters.  I had already known that my prospective employer, Inspector Nelson Nesh, had been cursed.  I saw it in the news.  But they hadn’t really mentioned the nature of the curse, only that the one who did it was the person he’d been trying to catch for a few years, a high profile kidnapper nicknamed Iconoclast, and that afterwards he was reassigned.  It had happened a few weeks ago.  I pulled my gaze over to the doorway that lead to my prospective employer’s office.  It had a smoked glass window, so I couldn’t see in, no matter how desperately I wanted to.  No sounds came from within the office.  Printed on the window was the Inspector’s name.  I was hoping to become his personal aide, but he hadn’t yet called me in.  Did he even remember I was there?  I gripped the folder that had my resume and other papers and pushed my glasses back up my nose.  A nearby clock loudly ticked the seconds away.  A fan on the ceiling leisurely pushed the stale air around.  I could hear people in the distance, but none wandered over to that hallway.

             I wiped the sweat from my palms and tried to remember the answers I’d made for the most common interview questions.  What were my strengths again? Kindness and dependability?  No!  I shouldn’t answer kindness; that was too sappy.  Or was it?  The Inspector didn’t seem to inspire that quality in many people, so he might appreciate it more.  Nervous misgivings tangled together in my mind as the minutes passed.  I reminded myself over and over not to stare when the time came, but that just made my frantic imagination spawn worse and worse possibilities of what the Inspector’s head was cursed to look like.  I forced myself to focus on whispering prayers under my breath and listening to the sounds of traffic somewhere below. 

            Eventually, I heard a low noise come from the Inspector’s office.  I slowly tiptoed over to the door and pressed my ear against it.

            “Hello?  May I come in, sir?” I said tentatively.  I heard another low noise which I recognized as a sob.  Then more silence.  I wiped my palms on my skirt and gingerly opened the door.  Nothing could’ve happened to him in that time right?  Unless it was a heart attack, which was unlikely.  The Inspector was only supposed to be 34.  I hadn’t heard a struggle, and the red-headed woman didn’t seem to have done anything besides be rude.  “Sir?” I called as I peered in.  The office was very dark and cold, only lit by bars of noonday light streaming in from the blinds on the windows.  Most of the room was very orderly, with a few file cabinets and a few awards on the wall.  The desk, however, was a mess. Balled up papers littered the ground around it, and an assortment of office supplies gleamed on it in the sunlight.  The light only lit half of the desk, so I could only see one of his arms and its corresponding shoulder.  He was slumped over the desk.  I set my folder on a file cabinet and quickly moved over to him.  He was wearing a long sleeved white shirt and a black vest.  “Sir!  Are you all right?”  When no answer came, I gently shook him.  Still no response.  The silence was like a pressure.  Dust drifted slowly through the beams of light, and the noises of traffic below contrasted with the atmosphere in the room making it seem even more isolated.  I resisted the urge to open the blinds on the windows even more, because I knew he didn’t want his face to be revealed.  The hyperactive air conditioner made me shiver.  I found his black coat on a coat rack and laid it on his shoulders.  “I’m sorry about the woman before.  She was out of line.” I said in a small voice.  It seemed somehow wrong to disturb the quiet too much.  He sighed and pushed his arms through the jacket’s sleeves, insulating himself from the chill in his office.

            “You can come back later, Miss.” He said in an even voice.  He pushed himself off from the desk and left the room without another word, carefully keeping to the shadows.  I didn’t move an inch in the gloom.  I noticed an odd oily black liquid on the desk and wiped it up with my handkerchief.  I smoothed out one of the crumpled pieces of paper.  It was a half-finished letter of apology to someone named Morgan Penna for scaring her…that might be the red-head that had stormed out earlier.  I realized I was being nosy again, so I crumpled the paper back up again and left for my apartment, leaving my folder behind so Inspector Nesh could call me when he was ready to see me again.  But that would never happen.  Or at least, not until Inspector Nelson Nesh was almost murdered.

           

 Invisible— by Melissa McCann

                  No one could talk to Amy even if they wanted to. Amy was sitting in a chair, at a desk in an English class room. She was reading her book waiting for the bell to ring and all the other kids in her class were talking and laughing and writing notes.

                  No one ever talked or laughed with Amy. Amy sat alone. She was the back of the room. Her voice was too quiet to be heard in the loud room anyways. Kids just walked right by her.

                  The bell rung and all the kids jumped up at the same time. Amy walked out of the school. It was winter but so warm that it felt like summer. She carried a book bag, full of text books she hardly ever used and she got on the bus.

                  Shiver. Amy shivered a lot lately. But she wasn’t cold at all. She just seemed to twitch a lot, and she didn’t know why, and some days she would twitch more than others. It felt like dominos falling in a line down her spine.

                  Amy looked out the window. Her brown hair looked red in the sun. Her hair looked mostly straight except for random places where it stuck out in a different direction than the rest of her hair. She was wearing a t-shirt and jeans.

                  Amy had a face that wasn’t special. If you met her you would probably forget what she looked like the next day. By looking at her people just assume she probably has a few friends, a nice house and a charming personality, but don’t care enough to get to know her. Everyone assumed she had other friends, maybe in another school, and think that it’s not their problem if she’s lonely.

                  Amy sat on the bus. The bus vibrated while it loaded and the bus driver stood with his hands on his hips while he waited for everyone to be seated. Amy’s friend Madison came in and sat next to her

                  “Hey” Madison greeted her.

                  “Hi, Maddi.” Amy said slowly back. She called Madison Maddi all the time. Madison had big eyes and brown hair that was so dark it looked black unless you looked closely. She was pretty, but didn’t wear fancy clothes or makeup so she was considered plain or even ugly in middle school. The bus started moving and making loud bus noises.

                  Amy went Madison’s house after school. They played Mario Kart Wii. Amy won every time not counting the times she let Madison win. Amy would feel bad if she didn’t let her best friend Maddi win every once and a while. Maddi never got mad that she lost 95% of the time. She just would laugh and move on.

                  It was 7:00 at night. Amy arrived home. No lights were turned on. She turned on the lights. The house was completely quiet. Amy fell on to the couch and sat there in the quietness until it almost killed her. The silence that is.

                  “Oh, Amy! You’re home!” Amy breathed out. It was her mom.

                  “Hi. Why were you hiding..?” Amy said to her mother, who had been apparently standing in the hallway with no lights on, and not saying anything.

                  “What’s that Amy? Did you say something?”

                  “No mom.”

                  “Well, your dinner’s in the kitchen ready and I have to go to work.”

                  “Ok.” Amy said back to her mother.

                  My mom, Amy thought. She works at the grocery store at night. I guess. Amy thought again, Yesterday She went to work in the morning, and comes home for the evening and night. In fact she has always gone to work in the morning before.

                  Amy thought that’s ok. And it was ok, since she had wanted to be by herself tonight anyways.

                  That night Amy lay on her bed on top of the sheets and listened to the bugs outside. She squinted her eyes at the ceiling and shivered. Her head felt weird today.

                  The next morning at school Amy was as quiet always. Her eyes hurt behind her eyes. The girl with the pretty face and dark hair walked up to her.

                  “Hi, Amy!” She chirped.

                  “Hey,” Amy thought fast “Meghan..?” The girl nodded and smiled. She said something but Amy wasn’t listening to her. This girls name was Madison yesterday. Now Amy’s head hurt more like something was pushing against the back of her forehead. And that’s weird since we’ve known each other our whole lives. Right? Ugh, now I can’t even remember her name.

                  Amy walked through the school hallway, her heels clicked on the hard floor. She thought she would just ask another kid about what that girls name was because she couldn’t remember what it was again. Madison!  She thought her name was Madison. Not Meghan, what the heck is wrong with me?!

                  She couldn’t remember the last time she had talked to another kid besides her pretty friend. Have I ever talked to a person at school before? How have I gotten passing grades? In fact anything she did last week was kind of fuzzy. Amy tried to think more but now her mind was blank like someone flipped a switch and her thoughts just turned off.

                  That night Amy sat in the middle of the floor of her and her mom’s room. Her cell phone rang. She couldn’t remember when she got that phone. She shivered. She flipped the phone open and listened to it but didn’t say anything. All the things she owned and the people she talked to seemed to just pop up out of nowhere only when she needed or wanted them. A female voice of the girl known as Madison spoke on the other side.

                  “Hello? Hello? Amy are you there this is Meghan calling…”

The Red Balloon

Michaela Edwards

There he was.  Through the bare intertwining branches of the trees I could barely make him out.  Uncertainty clouded my mind, for I could only see the distorted image of a person.  Then I saw that red balloon and there was no doubt it was Noah. 

I nudged Sam who was crouched next to me behind the old crumbling town hall. 

“Got it.” She mumbled as she scurried still half bent to a wood bench across the way.  Now all we have to do is wait patiently. 

The sun is sweltering hot, and with its rays beating down on me, beads of sweat glide down my brow.  I poke my head around the corner.  Noah is still there, strolling along orange Hawaiian shirt and all.  I watch as his hand grabs the Fedora off his head and holds it by his side.  The opposite hand, which contains the balloon travels to his head and recoils just as fast.  A puzzled look flashes across his face, and he stops dead in his tracks. 

I quickly sink back behind the wall, hoping he hasn’t seen me.  I flash a look at Sam which is returned with pure confusion.  I need to stay hidden for the time being.  I breathe heavily through my nose and out my mouth trying to calm myself.  It’s no big deal, I say to myself.  He didn’t see me.

Sam nods in my direction and then again in Noah’s.  I peek out once more.  Noah has continued his slow, meticulous stroll, taking in everything no matter how insignificant they might seem, and is now whistling a loud but steady tune.  As he gets closer, I signal with my right hand to Rachel, Chris and Darren somewhere behind me. 

Soon little red balloons spill from the court house and float up into the cloudless blue sky.  A smile spreads like butter across my face, as a look of wonder fills Noah’s.  I slowly and silently walk along the wall I’ve been hiding behind, to the other corner. 

Noah passes the town hall as if in a daze.  One foot barely dragged in front of the other, his mouth hanging open, jaw unhinged.  Sam and I fall into step behind him trying to contain our giggles.  It’s easy to see how Noah could be so completely fixated on the balloons.  Some floated out the open doors and circled the court house.  Others bounded down the steps and rolled around like puppies on the ground!  They stopped in midair.  They dipped.  They dived.  They floated up and up.  It really was incredible. 

When we reach the stairs, Sam clears her throat rather loudly, and I tap Noah on the shoulder.  He whirls around on his heel, startled out of his wits.  Sam and I each flash a cheesy grin and Noah’s expression changes from shock to amusement. 

“Where are all of these balloons coming from?” 

“I don’t know” I say with a coy little smile.

“Beats me” states Sam with a little giggle.

Not entirely sure if he should believe us, Noah flies up the stairs, taking them two at a time to avoid the balloons.  When he reaches the top, he stares uncertainly through the open doors.  Sam and I join him and exchange overjoyed glances as he steps into the court house and onto a pile of balloons. 

The lights flicker on, and “Happy Birthday” is blasted out of the stereo system across the lobby.   People come out of their hiding places blowing on party kazoos and propelling streamers.   Sam and I take out our silly string bottles and squirt them all over him. 

Noah’s laughter ricochets off the walls, and I know…this was a success!

On The Run

By: Olivia Lobb

            It was something no one knew, something no eyes had seen and no ears had heard, but still I kept looking over my shoulder, watching my back, since no one was going to do it for me. A group of strangers walked past, laughing at some unknown joke. Could they have known? No they couldn’t….No one did….except…no, I couldn’t think about that right now. No one had seen, no one knew what was really going on.

            I quickened my pace down the street. Where exactly was I headed? I didn’t know just…away. Away from the chaos that was my life. I looked across the street, a diner’s lights shone brightly offering me a warm meal and a place to think. I made my way toward it, hoping, wishing everything would be okay.

            I pulled open the door and seated myself at a retro style booth that matched with the rest of the diner. “Can I get you somethin’, hon?” A waitress asked. I looked at her nametag, Jenny. She looked trustworthy but how could I be sure? “Jenny, have you ever done something you regret doing?” I asked cautiously. She smiled, but there was something in her eyes that said she thought I was slightly deranged. “Well who hasn’t?” she asked. I nodded. She repeated her previous question, “Can I get you somethin’?” I noticed she had left out the “Hon,” probably because you weren’t supposed to call raging lunatics “Hon” ….or thieves. “A menu,” I answered. She looked at my table. “Oh I am so sorry, I thought there was a menu on every table. I’ll go grab you one,” She smiled apologetically then smiled. I smiled back and tried to relax but I couldn’t. 

            She had to have noticed how odd I had been acting, I should just leave…but then again she couldn’t truly know what was going on. She probably just thought I was a little bit on the crazy side…a little abnormal.

            Before I could think about it any further Jenny had returned, a laminated menu in her hands. “What can I get you to drink?” she asked as she handed me the menu. “Just a water’s fine,” I replied automatically. She smiled again and left me to examine the menu. I ended up settling on a burger with fries and gave Jenny my order when she came back.

            I looked around the diner, my eyes lingering on each person for a couple of seconds. What if they knew my secret?....(Or more importantly)…Were they here Were they hiding out here, right now waiting for me to go to the bathroom so they could ambush me? I shrunk in the booth, hoping no one could see me as well?

            I jumped when Jenny came back. She frowned. “You okay, darlin’? The waitress asked, concerned. “No….I mean yes! Sorry, yeah, I’m fine,” I answered. Jenny seemed unconvinced but left me to enjoy my meal. The burger was pretty good but my thoughts of what would happen to me if they caught me and my suspicions ruined my dinner.

            Jenny returned with the check then left with my money. My thoughts began to run wild again and suddenly I flashed back to what had started all of this. I was pulling along my little brown luggage bag, rushing to get through security and to my gate. I quickly took off my shoes and jacket, rushed to the other side, grabbed my bag and hurried on my way…at least I thought it was my bag. After my flight landed I hailed a cab and jumped in. The cab let me out at my hotel, I checked in  and clamored up the stairs with my bag in hand. When I reached my room I collapsed on my bed. I had been exhausted. I looked at my watch. I needed to take a shower, throw on my oversized T-shirt and go to sleep. I opened the suitcase expecting to see neatly folded clothes. My eyes bulged. Inside the case had to be MILLIONS of dollars. I smiled. I was RICH!! Then I remembered this bag had belonged to someone and they’d want it back….

Waiting for the end

By: Olivia A. Ellis

            What’s it like to know it’s your last day. To see the sunrise through steel bars. To have your last meal. Even the best food on earth, is dust in your mouth. Waiting to be hoist to your feet by the chain around your neck, then loaded onto the back of a wagon. They take as long as possible you know, so you become a spectacle for towns’ people, a warning of what happens if laws are broken.

            You are then marched up a wooden platform and a rope is tied around your neck, loosely at first, the tight enough to catch only the shortest, quickest, breaths. As you stand waiting for the clock tower to strike 12 times, your final thoughts go by. Are they sad for your wrong accusation, happy to finally leave this place, arrogant for succeeding in your villainy, or enraged at getting caught?

            At the first strike, the crowd is deafening. The third your final thought is: “will my neck break, or shall I suffocate?” On the tenth the ax is raised, eleventh it is swung down, and by the final strike the trapdoor’s rope is cut. As you dangle there the last thing you ever wait for is the numbing sensation in your toes to reach over your head.

Love
By SheaLee O’Grady

                  With one giant leap, I was on his back. My arms went around his neck, keeping a hold on my tight grip. I slipped and he pulled me around just before I landed on the dense, frosty ground. The fall impacted us both, lying on the earth, side by side. The sound of giggles and heavy breathing filled my ears. That one reassuring guise he pressed into my eyes felt like frigid water running down my body on a sweltering hot day.

                  “I love you,” he murmured.

                  The words dove deep into my ears, bubbles and ladybugs swimming through my soul. My heart beat fast and severe, every beat humming his name.

                  “I love you too,” I admitted, gazing into his vast, mossy eyes.

                  The dirty grass mattered not to us anymore. He closed his eyes and kissed me, more luscious and fragile than ever. Our lips were lost in emotion. We rested our heads. His body, the only thing keeping me warm, my favorite winter coat. He was my best friend, my protector, my first love, my reason for living.

Now he’s just a memory in my delirious childlike mind. When I see old photographs or hear him in saved voicemails, my heart melts like a fudge pop baking in sunlight. The first person I really knew, then passed.

                   

 

FEAR

Sophie Mitchell

Floating in my closet,

Crawling under my bed,

Hidden behind my door,

Waiting,

‘Til darkness falls,

Creeping out with red eyes,

Ready to pounce,

To kill,

Hungry for screams,

Thirsty for blood

                                                                          

Trashcan

Sophie Mitchell

It was the first day of High School,

I was thrown into a trashcan,

Along with half-drunk drinks,

Gum,

Hamburgers,

Another kid,

Barbecue chips,

A chair leg,

And pasta,

It was like going through a fast food joint,

But getting the food half eaten,

No one realizes it,

But getting out of a trashcan,

Is harder than it seems

PLEASE DON’T TELL

By Tamaira Huggins

Rosiley…

Dear diary,

Love is the key to internal and emotional happiness, and I have fallen into complete and utter bliss. I loved my life. I loved my “perfectly satisfied with each other” parents. I loved how the world catered to my every whim and how things always went my way even if I hadn’t planned for it too. I loved how everybody and every one of my friends wanted my family, home, and life. I had the absolute to die for life that seemed like a beautiful dream or a magical fairy tale. Everything was unexplainably perfect until last night. I was going to go hang out with my best friend Dean. He’s a 6’4’’ football player who has known me all of my life and is still impressed with me. He puts on this macho man front, but knows that he’s a giant teddy bear on the inside. It was my birthday so naturally it was the best day of my life. Best day of my life until my mother ruined it, that is.  She had been fired from her job that day and decided to cancel my big birthday bash. She completely shattered my happiness in an instant. I texted Dean and told him the news and he said that him and I could go hang out, that I deserved at least that much. A part of me just wanted to leave and not tell my mom, but I didn’t want her to be worried.

“Hey mom, I’m going to go to Deans!”

“Ummm okay but darling, there’s something I need to tell you.”

“Okay then tell me.”

“It’s about your father” I could feel my expression change. My father hadn’t been home in over 3 ½ months, and I really missed him.

“What about dad?” My interests was peeking.

“Okay well your father and I...”

“Yes…”

“Well honey we’re getting a divorce.”

“Ha yeah right, so when is he coming home?”

“He’s coming in a little while to get his things.”

I refused to believe that my parents were separating. It didn’t really register until later, when I heard my mom and dad in the living room. I could hear the TV blaring, but voices mute. I can imagine my mom staring awkwardly staring at the television and my father staring painfully at her. I don’t really remember creeping down the stairwell or gliding to the kitchen. I don’t remember walking to knife drawer as if I was stalking a prey or grabbing the sharpest knife with pure anticipation. I do however remember walking behind unsuspecting mother and making her my painting and the knife the brush. I do remember stabbing my father, the only person other than Dean who I cared about, as he tried to wrestle the blade away from my eager hands. I watched as the light went out in his eyes and how his limp body fell at my feet. I ran back up stairs and searched for my purse. I had to hide the knife. After I stashed it in my purse, I continued to get ready.

“Hey mom I’m going to Deans!” I call as I race down the stairs and out the front door.

Dean…

            It was something I’d never heard, because she refused to tell me. It was something I’d never witness, because I wasn’t there. It was something I longed to know because she was my everything, and I loved her even though she had no idea. I used to live to make you happy, to make her smile. I tried to always be there for her because I actually needed her support in almost every way. We used to be all each other needed and cared about, that is until her parents were brutally murdered. I guess I just wanted to believe that she was depressed and hurting. That she felt alone or unsafe because the police had no leads. That she was in shock or that she had finally reached the end of the abyss and needed help to climb out, but all of my assumptions were shattered and refigured when she burst with uncontrollable laughter at her parents funeral.

The never ending questions that kept hawking my mind would rest until it had a batch of fresh fish answers. So whenever the last “I’m sorry for your loss” and “If you need anything…” was said, I confronted her. I demanded that she tell me what was up, even though a part of me didn’t want to know. She smiled wickedly and hoarsely whispered something that stung like nails on a chalkboard. It was something I never wanted to know, but did, and something I could never dream of, but could already imagine. Then she leaned in a kissed my horror struck face and said “Shhh…Dean, please don’t tell” and danced away, leaving me to deal with her horrific secret. I could feel the hawk soring in my mind again. Do I tell or do I pretend not to know? It’s funny how love open your eyes to the heart of someone else, but a secret opens your heart to see through the eyes of the person you love.

 Detour

By Trenna Lemons

I didn’t expect much when I threw my dark small suitcase into my compact car. Maybe a satisfied thump as it settles onto the floorboard. My expectations weren’t different as the black key was turned in the ignition. Just to hear a sound that started at a roar that soon quieted to a constant buzz. Pulling out of the concrete driveway didn’t spark much of a forecast either.

My only hope, the only thing I truly wanted, was lost as the end of my street neared. The yearning my mind sent out seemed to grow silent the farther from home I got. My impending doom of complete loss was just fingertips away when I was on the outskirts of town. When I reached the state border, I was so close from being free of the imprisonment of needing him. Yes, he seemed to be the only thing my heart ached for.

I swerved before I could get any farther, pulling off the forsaken road and under a trees shadow. My palms found my face, wiping away the tears that had shown my vulnerability. My wet skin pinched in the cool breeze that escaped from a cracked window, making me feel like an open target even more than before.

The road ahead of me seemed to be the only ally I had in my shattered world. The destruction had sent glass fragment plunging into my heart and now the road seemed to bandage up the scars. It was sad though, that my ally lead me right back to him. He was the one who introduced me to the freedom of the road. His stories of running into the night, letting it be our only guide. Driving until the lines blurred, till the sun and the moon could not keep up.

Now though, he closed our roads. He’d left me at a stop sign, telling me not to move until it turned green. Dropping me and my Toyota for a trade up to a girl with a Subaru, because he thought he could find love. Leaving me with a broken engine and a broken heart.

I had two choices. To push my gearshift into drive and let the road be my only friend. To leave him behind with the past, a voyage on into my future with no stability and no expectations. My second choice was to go in reverse. Back to him and his new girl, facing the truth instead of what I thought should’ve been my reality.

On impulse I made my decision. I drove back to the beginning of my town, an air of hope around me. Seeing the beginning of my street made me realize I could see him with another girl and it wouldn’t matter as much. Before, this was just the end, but now I see that the end can be a beginning too.

Because every closed road has a detour.

Pieces of Heaven on Earth

by Wera v. der Osten

You know those magical places,

where horrible thing are forgotten?

Those places where you realize,

how wonderful life really is.

We escape from everyday stress,

and can focus on what is important.

For the first time we see our surrounding,

and notice that we aren't alone.

These pieces of heaven on earth,

these places in nature still left,

are where we find inspiration,

are where we still live.

Tension

By Wera v. der Osten

Tension,

Nerve-racking tension.

Standing in front of people,

with nothing to say.

Frozen in uncomfortable silence,

cold,

shivering,

facing a man with a gun at the edge of a cliff.

Embraced by the fear of death,

not knowing what’s next,

freezing,

piercing,

stinging,

tension.

 Dindrake 

Prologue

By Will Church

            Dragonforge, a magnificent city hovering above the clouds. The tallest spires of this ancient city ascend even further into the sky. Stalactites as big as castles shoot out of the floating plateau it was built on, and waterfalls spill over its edge, a thousand feet, into the water below. The sea of glass feels no ripple as the water plunges into the deep. Dragonforge was created by the Great Dragon, Dindrake, the dragon of creation and destruction, during the Dragon War. When Dindrake created the plateau, he gave the only human that was worthy and not corrupt kinghood over it. The king had control over the people and the library, the most important system to the people, for it contained the history of the Dragon War and Dragonforge. There were eight great dragons involved in the war, and the king’s jealous brother convinced the four dragons Xabos, Zuka, Dracos, and Sauro, that Dindrake and the other three dragons had an alliance and planned to share power in the dragon realm because the other four weren’t ready. War ensued as the dragons battled for supremacy over earth and the dragon realm, nearly destroying earth in the process. Dindrake created Dragonforge as a haven for the few remaining humans to expand on, for there was nothing else left. The little land left on earth was torn, burned, ravaged, and decaying. Destruction was all these people knew, and Dindrake felt responsible. He didn’t know about the jealous brother’s lie. Following the creation, the dragons slept, promising to return in one thousand years, but this prophecy died with the elders, scholars, and the burning of The Three Libraries. Of course this happened one thousand years ago. It’s time for the Dragons to return.