The Baker Who Loved Bread –Ashden

December 31, 2009

Okay you guys!  I’m finally posting something! Now please PLEASE PLEASE understand that I wrote this when I was in 5th grade, and I’m definitly NOT a writer. But well, here goes nothing!

~~~~~

The Baker Who Loved Bread

Cast:

CHIEF BAKER – loves to make bread for the king, and sometimes mistreats others

MERCY – a kind, old woman who can see inside of people, into their heart

THE KING – a wise, nice, handsome young man

A WOMAN – poor

A BOY – dirty

CHET CHATTERBOX – Baker 1

MYERS – Baker 2

CROWD – Approximately 7 people; some rangers in blue clothes

RANGER

MAN

Props:

Bread Dough, something to REPRESENT a microphone, map, stones, a bread paddle, a whistle, a bed, a goblet and some bread on a tray.

Setting: a baking complex in the middle of the forest

SCENE ONE

There should be trees and bushes to represent a forest and a hut in the middle of it.  Chief Baker is kneading dough and talking to Chet Chatterbox.

CHET CHATTERBOX:  So…here in the heart of the Deepest Forest, the best bread in the world is being made.  The bread is lighter, and more nutritious than any other bread!  The Chief Baker willingly gives bread to the King and the Rangers, but then he draws the line.  He will not send bread to some people, like Old Mercy, who willingly shares with anyone she comes across.  (CHIEF BAKER interrupts)

CHIEF BAKER:  Stop playing Newsboy!  We have lots of bread to make, and furthermore, I am NOT selfish with my bread!  The people Mercy drags in here do not deserve the King’s bread!  Now, get over there and help Myers…!  Hum Hum…Hey!  Who is that?!  I better go look myself…(mumbling) Why do I have to do everything around here?

SCENE TWO

The setting is a forest with bushes and trees.  Chief Baker is approaching a poor WOMAN.

CHIEF BAKER:  (grumbling) Humph. Good bread is a matter of proper timing and now whoever this is, is destroying my bread by throwing off the timing.  What do you want lady?!

WOMAN:  Please sir, some bread?  I have lost my way in the forest and have not eaten for 2 days!

CHIEF BAKER:  A likely story.  Your kind are always looking for hand-outs!  You lazy thing…!  Oh fine.  Here’s a map to Mercy’s cottage.  She’s always feeding your kind.  Now scram!!  (pause while WOMAN leaves scene)  That bush just moved!  I bet it’s a thief of some sort.  I’ll trick him!  (CHIEF BAKER walks down the path and suddenly veers and grabs a dirty BOY who had been hiding.)  Aha!  A thief trying to steal some bread!

BOY:  No sir.  I was just smelling the bread.

CHIEF BAKER:  And that’s all you’ll do!  I don’t want people find fleas in their bread.  Now scram, or I’ll bake you!!  (CHIEF BAKER kicks boy a few times and

throws stones at him as the boy runs away.)

(Someone far away blows a whistle.)

CHIEF BAKER:  The warning whistle!  There must be trouble.  Hey.  Who is that?  (CHET CHATTERBOX and MYERS struggling with MAN)   Whoever it is, must be up to no good.  (CHIEF BAKER is hitting MAN with the bread paddle and grunting with each blow, while MAN cries out upon each hit)  Now.  What is going on around here?!

MYERS:  We caught him trying to steal your bread!

CHIEF BAKER:  Well, I’ll teach you!!  (CHIEF BAKER hits MAN with bread paddle 3 more times, until MAN stumbles away.)  Okay men; back to work!  (Everyone walks away, very slowly.  Suddenly a crowd steps out into the clearing of the woods, carrying a wounded man.  Everyone looks downcast.)

RANGER:  Chief Baker, the KING is hurt.  Your house is nearby; let’s take the wounded King there.

CHIEF BAKER:  Of course!  He can stay as long as he wants, and I will feed him fresh bread and the best food…(RANGER interrupts.)

RANGER:  Then stop yapping and let’s get going!

CHIEF BAKER:  (mumbling) If I find out who did this to my KING, I will gladly beat him with my bread paddle.  I did fairly well the last time, if I do say so myself, which I do.

SCENE THREE

The setting is in the CHIEF BAKER’s bedroom.  MERCY is there with the KING who looks deathly ill.  CHIEF BAKER walks into the room, with a worried look.

MERCY:  (Slowly walks over to his bedside and gently bends over him and prays.  As she rises back up, she says…) The wound has been over come.  He will be okay if you treat him right.  (MERCY walks out of the room)

CHIEF BAKER:  (Walking over to the KING’s bedside) I brought you some bread sire.

KING: (The King bites into the bread) Mmmm…. ( swallow) You’ve done it again Baker.  Like I always say, the Chief Baker will see that you’re fed like a King.

CHIEF BAKER: Well, It’s the King’s bread sire. (The CHIEF BAKER then starts bustling around the room cleaning it up.)

KING: (Acting thoughtful) Yes….the King’s bread is for the King’s people, isn’t it?

CHIEF BAKER: If I find out who did this to you sire, I would fix him good. Why, I’d punch him and kick him and…

KING: (Interrupting CHIEF BAKER) Chief Baker!  My wounds are not like other men’s.  When even one person is hungry, it famishes me.  When even a little child is beaten, I suffer too.  (Pause; KING waits for the words to sink in)  Baker, it is you who has wounded me.

CHIEF BAKER:  Not I lord, not I!  What can I do?  I mean, I only threw stones at that boy because I wanted your bread to be perfect and…that lady and man, well…, there would not be enough food for you if I fed every ragamuffin that comes along.

KING:  You must feed the hungry, so that I may also be full.  (KING strides out of the door very calmly & casually.)

SCENE FOUR

There should be trees and bushes to represent a forest and a hut in the middle of it.  Chief Baker is inside the hut, kneading dough and talking to Chet Chatterbox.

CHET CHATTERBOX:  I’m back with the Chief Baker.  He is not the same Chief Baker that he used to be; he now has a changed heart.  Despite his earlier comments, he is now giving food to anyone who needs it; good or evil at heart, he feeds them alike.  In fact, the Chief Baker is now sending cookies to Mercy’s cottage for the children there but…the best news of all is that the bread paddles are no longer used to hit people; they are strictly for bread dough!  I do wish the Chief Baker would make one more reformation and stop yelling at us bakers so often.

CHIEF BAKER:  Chet…stop playing reporter again.  We still have bread to make!

CHET CHATTERBOX:  See what I mean…!  Anyway…the Chief Baker is now feeding the hungry, lest the one he loves the most, the King, should starve.  This is Chet Chatterbox, signing off.

CURTAIN

Categories: Scripts, WORST.

Lies

December 31, 2009

They gnaw like rats
at the sinews of my soul
gather nests in my head
their smell is always with me

nipping my ankles
as I stumble into traps
what I need
are cats.

Categories: I'M TO LAZY TO CORRECTLY CATAGORIZE MY STORY!!!!!!!!!! :P.

Identity

December 31, 2009

I open my mouth to explain
and find myself laughing, speechless.
There is no language
for the mounting surge
growing in my bones
*
Some power, like love and hate
terrifying and thrilling
something deep and dark and beautiful.
A challenge. A dare. A shout!
It is who I am.

Categories: I'M TO LAZY TO CORRECTLY CATAGORIZE MY STORY!!!!!!!!!! :P.

WARNING! WHEN EATING A REESE’S PEANUT BUTTER CUP, DO NOT EAT THE WRAPPER!!!!!

December 29, 2009

by Sandy

Goofy poem, everyone. They can’t all communicate something worth saying :D Posted under inspirational fiction; it seems like all the categories I use are jokes…

It’s made of chocolate and PB:
A Reese’s peanut butter cup!
I grab one and quite happily
Unwrap it and then eat it up.
-
Chocolaty goodness… oh, but wait!
I’m chewing paper -stupid me!
I was so eager that I ate
A wrapper that I didn’t see!
-
So, believe me, next time you find
You’ve got one of these special treats,
Enjoy it -but just keep in mind
Not all of it is good to eat!

Categories: Inspirational Fiction.

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Anticipation (by Jules)

December 19, 2009

I bite my lip
I tap my feet to the beat of my music
I turn down the volume so I can hear the woman
She says someone’s flight is boarding
But it’s not mine
I have two hours to go

I pop a piece of gum in my mouth
I chew, chew, chew
I turn back up the volume
Even though it kind of hurts my ears
But I’m okay
It’s not as bad as I think

Anticipating the event
Is always worse than the event itself
I’m waiting for the worst
But people keep saying it won’t happen
Should I believe them?
Should I throw away all my preparations?
It’s better to be safe than sorry
So I’ll sit and anticipate.

:( This one’s not so good, cause I started it and then Mom was like, “What are you doing up at 5 to 11?!?!” so I had to finish up really quickly. Maybe I’ll write something better tomorrow. Night!

By the way, does the category “worst” mean it’s our worst writing? Cause that’s what I’m putting it down for. Did I miss something???

Oh yeah by the way I wrote this because tomorrow evening I’m getting on a plane to go to Argentina and I won’t be back till January 3, so BYE BYE!! Happy New Year, Marry Christmas, et cetera.

HEARTS!
Jules.

Categories: Nonfiction, Poetry, WORST.

Achoo!

December 19, 2009

i know – this poem is wacky :D it was inspired by my cold ;) only thing is mine ain’t gone yet, though it’s not toooooo too bad. sorta. sorta not. lol. whateeeever. enjoy and tell me what u think :) ~Myth~

Achoo, achoo, achoo
I think I have a cold
Achoo, achoo, achoo
This sneezing’s getting old!

Running, running, running
That’s my nose is doing
Running, running, running
This cold my nose is wooing.

Pound, pound, pound
My head will not stop aching
Pound, pound, pound
This cold my sinuses is raking.

Croak, croak, croak,
I can’t sing at all
Croak, croak, croak
My voice really sounds quite dull.

Wait, wait, wait,
I’m not sneezing so much
Wait, wait, WAIT!
I’ve ceased to cough and such!

Oh, oh, oh!
I think I have improved!
Oh, oh, oh!
I think my cold has moved!

Hurray, hurray, hurray!
Yes, my cold is gone!
Hurray, hurray, HURRAY!
Time to mow the lawn.

Categories: Poetry.

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“Stop, Look, Listen”

December 19, 2009

File:Snowflake - Microphotograph by artgeek.jpg by Sandy

You hurry to the window
When you get out of bed,
Smile when you see the snow,
Run outside with your sled.
Let’s all have a snowball fight,
Or catch it on our tongues.
As long as the ground is white,
We’re bound to have some fun.

Stop,
Look,
Listen.
It’s such a lovely sight.
The
Snow
Glistens,
And all the world is white.

Don’t overlook the beauty
That came down in the snow.
And please don’t forget to see
What so few seem to know.
They grumble at the forecast,
And as they scrape their cars.
Soon after they drive right past
The joy that’s only ours.

Stop,
Look,
Listen.
It’s such a lovely sight.
The
Snow
Glistens,
And all the world is white.

Categories: Poetry.

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A Comment on All the Recent Writings

December 19, 2009

THANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOU EVERYONE FOR ALL YOUR AWESOME WORK NOW I NEED A PENCIL FAST AAAAAAH BURTSTING WITH POETRY Y’ALL ARE SO STINKIN’ INSPIRING THANKS AGAIN!!!!!!!!!

i was getting lazy or something… guess how many poems i’ve written this month? two. SOON TO BE DOUBLE OR TRIPLED THANKS TO ALL OF YOU!!!!!!!!!

YOU GUYS ROCK!!! (man, i wish WE had a bigger font…)

~Sandy :D

Categories: I'M TO LAZY TO CORRECTLY CATAGORIZE MY STORY!!!!!!!!!! :P.

Tags:

Don’t Make Me Cry. (by Jules)

December 18, 2009

You are right there
I can see you
You’re so close I could touch you
Pick up your hand
Remark about your snow-white skin
And hold it there

But I can’t

Something is stopping me
From doing what I need
To make this work
For both of us

Your water color eyes
Blue like the sky
Stare back at me
As I shuffle my feet and try to hold your gaze
I wring my hands because I’m nervous
Not for any other reason
Than sheer fear

And you can’t see it

So you walk away
Because I haven’t said anything
And I put up no fight
Because this is what happens almost every day
And I don’t do anything to stop you
To turn you around
To make you see how hard this is for me
Because I can’t
Because I don’t know how

Because you’re not trying either

Don’t
Don’t
Don’t walk away
Please
Just don’t leave me now
I am trying my hardest
I want to do something
But you never say, “Thank you”
You never initiate hugs
You say hello
But you never say goodbye
When you leave
When you go
No, you don’t

Try
Try
Try harder, try more
Show effort, show love
Compassion
Affection
Passion
Exceptions
Anything
Anything but make me cry.

Categories: Nonfiction, Poetry, Romance.

Believe

December 15, 2009

Standing on the edge

Barely hanging on

Wavering at a line

Ready to slip

Past the good girl lie

*

The truth of the matter

Is easy to see

Look past the veneer hiding the real me

Under long sleeves:

Tangible red attempts at feeling

*

Cold and callous

Emotions can be

Cursing you with feeling

Each day bring

Another numb play

*

Drowning in a secret pain

With so few you can share

Only one can save you now

And He’ll answer His way

Don’t be scared

*

Hating your secrets

Hating your facades

Pleading to wash them away -

Oh, dear heart, the remedy is easy:

Just believe

*

_

*

“Believe on the Lord Jesus and you will be saved.”

*

He takes care of His own, even when He seems silent.

*

Categories: Poetry.

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Fighting – a Trio

December 14, 2009

Fire

Breathe

open your mouth

and suck in the fumes.

The ugly smoke

descends

but there is

nothing

you

can

do.

You must breathe

even if

it kills you.

*

Breathe.

*

Closed

Closed eyes

Closed lips

You are hiding

With no more expression

than a flawless sculpture

of a flawless circle.

*

Depression

Choking stench rises with
the amorphous smoke.
My trembling wishes amputated by
a single stroke.

Before it descends, there are no signs.
Everything is crystal when the sun shines.
There are no omens.

The clear glass is obscured
by the fingerprints
of a thousand demons.

Categories: Poetry.

hey…

December 12, 2009

woah.. i haven’t been on here for a while.. haven’t been keeping up..

dial up is miserable slow.. or esle i’d be on 24/7

but it seems to be alive and kicking to me!!!

anyways i will try to post more!!!!! and comment too! i have been reading some and you guys are amazing@!! <3333

Areya Sunshine

Categories: I'M TO LAZY TO CORRECTLY CATAGORIZE MY STORY!!!!!!!!!! :P.

Dearest Worst Ending

December 12, 2009
I wrote this on November 16th and decided not to post it, but apparently WE will die without it :D (it’s a sonnet btw)
~Sandy

Thank you, dearest Worst Ending
For helping us along,
Keeping us from pretending
Alone we can be strong.
Where would we go without you,
Without your beam so bright
That is shed on precious few:
The reason that we write?
What would I do without you,
And those who say, “LOVE IT!”
Urging me to write things new,
See what they think of it?
Well, this poem should be better;
It sounds like a love letter!
(and so I posted it under romance :D )

Categories: Poetry, Romance.

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Nexus

December 12, 2009

The air is colder now

Cool enough to keep me awake

I’ve given up asking how

I’m just waiting for the galaxy to break

The frozen earth is my shattered dream

The wind is my conscience running cold

The sea is filled with all my tears

The open sky’s my broken soul

The stars are hidden

Behind a fading storm

The heartbeat keeps on beating

A rhythm for being born

I stand at the nexus

Of every moment we’ve lived

Walking barefoot on an ocean

Hanging by my fingernails

To the window of your soul

As mine keeps on fading

And you will never know

My body breaks

My heart is numb

The storm has reached us

But the tears have stopped

Categories: I'M TO LAZY TO CORRECTLY CATAGORIZE MY STORY!!!!!!!!!! :P.

The Marvels: Circus (chapter 1)

December 10, 2009

I am afraid of people. The women with perfumed necks and purple eyelids and teeth that leer at me behind fluttery smiles. The men who stand behind them, hands on their women’s elbows, protecting them from me and my kind. The Ringmaster with his whip and his shouts and the skinny dancers with pretty faces and twisted hearts. The clowns with the devil in their prayers and the acrobats with their drink that they consume until they can’t see my face and think they want me. I don’t mind the animals, the lions or the bears or the horses. Madam says they’ll eat me, but they’re just as trapped as I am. Just as sad.
It is still dark. The branches bend around me in the hard wind, scraping my bare stomach against the tree trunk’s bark. My breath rushes in and out of my throat and my heart pounds. It is hard for me to climb.
Here I can watch the circus deflate, the canvas tents folded and the poles stored, the bright flags and signs stacked, the money boxes counted and emptied, all the cheerful, noisy, brilliance stowed in wagons quickly and quietly.
Take down is so different from set up, which is just another show. Unpacked at dawn, everything bright, clear, shining, the performers walking candidly about the construction, in one hour an empty field transformed into a motley production. Everything, the time, the speed, the people are all orchestrated to pique the interest, to lure the curiosity. Setting everything away is more real, less magic. I like that better.
They will call me soon, and if I do not come, they will find me. Then I will be given nothing to eat, and I am hungry. So I carefully grip a thick branch with my right hand, push myself down the sloping trunk, pause, clutch a different branch, slide a little, the same again, then let myself fall into the dark grass.
I am still for a minute, the grass cool against my skin, my stomach burning from scrapes, my back aching, my crippled left arm trembling. I close my eyes, open them again. I stare at my good arm. It is so skinny I can count all its bones and muscles. It scares me when I’m able to see my own skeleton.
I slowly stand and walk to the freak box. That’s what they call the wagon that the Marvels ride in. Everyone is preoccupied with closing the circus, so they do not watch a skinny nine-year-old freak walking to the caravan.
The other Marvels are already sitting stiffly beside each other. I slide in as quietly as I can and tuck myself into the closest corner. No one acknowledges my tardiness, so I relax. People are willing to turn their children in if it means a coin or a crust of bread.
The wood of the wagon chafes the bare part of my back and my bad arm aches. I close my eyes and concentrate on listening. It is something Jo taught me to do when I am uncomfortable. There is the sound of the final canvas tents being tied down, lifted into wagons, falling with a muffled thump. The wheels creak as people and things are loaded over them. A horse pants, stomps the ground. Men talk quietly and someone is snoring near me. I open my eyes briefly. It is the Midget, wearing only one boot. I close my eyes again. And suddenly, all I hear is Jo laughing. How are you, Tammy? I can hear him, whispering in my ears as if he hadn’t ever left. Tambourine. What a beautiful name.
I had the dream last night, I think back. The dream where I am beautiful.
I always have the dream after a show. In the dream, my hair is long and dark, falling in curls down my perfectly straight back. I am tall, strong, with soft skin I cannot see my bones through. My smile is as radiant as the sun, and I stand, stretching beautiful arms to the sky, the wind rushing over me like a cold, furious waterfall.
Then I wake up.
These are the hardest mornings, the mornings after a show, the mornings after the dream. They are the mornings I remember every finger ever pointed at me, my skin burning with their fingerprints. They are the mornings I hear words ringing in my ears: “Mama, mama, what is that?” and the embarrassed silence that is just as loud.
Jo always understood. But he is gone.
The freak box lunges forward and I grip the side so hard that I feel splinters breaking into my hand. My eyes fly open just as the Midget topples. The Contortionist smirks in her sniffy way that lets us know that she deserves to be sipping tea with the dancers. I wonder if she realizes how pathetic she looks, contriving fake airs while dressed in baggy rags. She ties them tight, trying to look sensual, but her form is as starved as mine.
The Midget struggles to sit and I notice his lone boot again. When he manages to wrestle his body to where he wants it to go, he notices me staring at his boot and winks clumsily at me. I drop my head and stare intently at a brown stain near my own feet.
We are moving now. The circus caravan plods over the field into the gray dirt road and begins its journey to the next town. My hands start stinging and I start picking the slivers of wood out of my skin.
The young ones run out onto their front steps to stare at us while the older ones watch from windows. Some mothers join them, brooms or dust-cloths in their hands, a few with babies on their hips. The freak box has only a rough, plain cloth frame over it, but some of the wagons have colorful wood walls and roofs like a square house on wheels. Their paint is chipping, but they depict such wild pictures of tigers and whips and teeth that they draw wide eyes anyway. They are banners, roaring advertisements, crying out with one voice: the circus is here!
I like our plain wagon. It gives me a kind of invisibility among all the color. For once, I know that they aren’t staring at me. I am hidden.
The sun begins to approach the horizon. The light slipping into the wagon from a hole that serves as the door transforms into an eerie teal. I scratch the last trace of wood from my palms and close my eyes.
Tambourine. What a beautiful name.
I imagine the sound of Jo’s voice, the sturdy seriousness of his face, his startlingly light eyes. When he said my name, he said it like he would the name of a precious flower or the title of a royal lady. Like he would call his own daughter.
You would be a good father, I said once. I wish you were mine. I thought he would be pleased or embarrassed, but his eyes got bright like when he was angry.
I’m not your father, he said, his voice hard.
I nodded and stared at my feet. Then he stroked my cropped hair, very gently, something he didn’t usually do. You already have a father, he said.
I looked cautiously at him. He was staring at the stiff line of the horizon and his hand dropped from my hair back to his side.
I do? I asked, feeling strangely elated and afraid.
Everyone has a father, he replied. Then he motioned to the circus camp and we walked back in silence.
The Midget is snoring again and I hear an elephant trumpet angrily. The animals hate travel, except for the tiger who adapts to anything. I open my eyes. The wagon is bright now, the brilliant blue sky seeping through the coarse cloth.
The One-Eyed Man is rocking, chewing his left thumbnail, talking to himself or one of his friends who live in his head. The Siamese Twins are looking in opposite directions, trying to convince themselves that the other twin doesn’t exist. The Giant is bent over, his chest on his knees, slobbery with laughter, drunk. The Contortionist sits primly, her nose slightly in the air, but her hands fidget anxiously in her lap.
We all have our ways to hide. It’s easier than finding a way to face the truth everyday, that we are freaks.
I look at my arm, backward and crooked, bones sticking out at twisted angles and my hand a shriveled, trembling spider at the end of my arm. I remember when I was five, when I ran away from The Marvels to the Fun House, determined to be a normal girl.
People stared at me, disgusted and ashamed, moving subtly away or even leaving the tent. For the first time, I understood something was wrong with me. I hid my crippled arm behind my back, but they still looked at me. A gasping sob broke from my mouth and I fled deeper into the tent, losing myself in the maze of mirrors.
I saw what I was. My face, my body, my whole self was ugly, twisted, crippled like my arm. Every corner I turned, there I was, the Ugly. I couldn’t escape, all the corridors blended together in a whirling collage of light and my disgusting face. I attacked one of the mirrors,
beating it with my good fist, screaming until Mr. Cutts came to get me. He smacked me, hard, across my face, but I ran into his arms. He picked me up, grimacing, and carried me back into the freak tent.
I sobbed for an hour before I fell asleep, still perched on my show box. I had been rescued from the mirrors, but not from myself. That was the last time I tried to escape. The last time I wondered why people pointed at me. The last time I cried.
Remembering, my throat feels tight.
And I want more than anything to find Jo, who said I was beautiful.

Categories: I'M TO LAZY TO CORRECTLY CATAGORIZE MY STORY!!!!!!!!!! :P.

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Dream Come True (appearance L)

December 6, 2009

Well, here it is. I figured that, since it’s been a forever since I added to the story, I’d do another chapter. So, I wrote. If you guys need a refresher of what happened in the earlier chappies… FIND ‘EM ON YOUR OWN! Lol, sorry. …I should be doing homework, shouldn’t I? Oh, well. Whatever. Later. Have fun! Warning: another cliffy. Sorta. Not really. But kinda. Oh, well. I’ll leave you to decide!!!

Hearts!
Jules

I could see again, and I was gasping for air, but I still wasn’t paying attention to what people were saying. Danny and Todd both had hold of one of my arms.
My eyes traveled to Ellen and Susan, who were standing with an umbrella, a foot behind the boys, staring wide-eyed and freaked out. I pulled myself up and told the guys to let go of me.
“Ellen and I heard a noise,” Susan started.
“So we came outside. What happened here?” Ellen finished.
I made a run for it, into the house, around the corner a few times, up the stairs, and stepped into my room (our room), closing the door behind me.
“Jessica, what happened?” Ellary asked me.
“Jessica, you’re so wet! You have to dry of right now! Don’t touch anything, please!” Malery freaked.
“I was outside in the rain.”
Malery passed me a towel and went into my drawers, pulling out a sweatshirt and some jeans. I watched her make sure the drawstring was completely even on both sides as I dried my hair.
“You’re going to catch a cold, girl. What’s—Oh, guess what I saw today! I saw a dog! Out the window! It was sooo cute! Just like my gramma’s dog. My gramma’s dog died though. It was in July. July gets really hot. I don’t like July. It gets very bothersome. Like rats.” She started shuffling through some scattered papers that sat next to her on her bed. “I don’t like rats,” she finished very quietly when Malery sent her a shut up look.
It was pretty much silent in the room more a little over a moment. I took this moment to think about what I’d heard while I was slipping. One of them, Todd, I was sure, had said I was slipping into Tensia. Or, rather, being pulled into. …What’s Tensia? Or, where is Tensia? I’ve never heard of it. Well, I decided, heck, let’s give it a shot by asking Malery and Ellary.
“Hey, guys?” I decided to start out casually.
“Yeah?” they both responded at the same time.
I sat down on my bed, taking a deep breath and letting it out before saying, “Do you guys know about a place called Tensia?”
Malery gave me a blank look, like I was crazy, then, when she heard the clock tick to 8:30 PM, she touched her temple. She did this every half-hour. It was one of her crazy obsessions. She said it was to refill her twenty-five thought topics she could half each half hour. I never understood people with OCD.
Ellary’s jaw dropped open at the mention of Tensia. “You mean, like, the realm of the fairies and spirits? Of course I’ve heard of Tensia. It’s only where all six of the Boundary Castle books take place!”
“Of course you would’ve read those child-books.” Malery rolled her eyes.
“I’ll have you know they’re young-adult books! And they’re very well-written. I find them better than Harry Potter! I couldn’t get through Harry Potter. Too many pages. Like, way too many.”
“They only have like one-hundred-and-sixty pages each. That’s why I call them child-books.”
“That’s why there’re six of them! That’s also why I can get through them so easily.”
“Guys,” I cut in, “I just want to know about it. Someone, uh, mentioned it before.” Oh yeah, Jessie, great cover.
“I’ll tell you ALL ABOUT it! Okay, so, these fairies and spirits live there, and there’s this division line between the north and south halves and those two sides like hate each other and they both have different dialects of the same language and there’s this castle in the middle of the borderline, where the king and queen live. In the latest one, the old king and queen died, so now they have new ones. Now they have a king Liamo and a queen Alexine. Hah! It rhymes! Oh my god that’s so cool I didn’t notice that before omigod stuff that rhymes is so cool, right?”
“Ellary? Let’s get back to the point. I’d, uh, like to hear more about this place,” I said.
“Oh, right yeah! K. So, the new queen, Alexine—hehe it rhymes –she used to live in the human world cause her evil cousin, Ryah, put her there. But then she and her friend found a way back into Tensia, by going under the bridge in the park and doing some weird magic thing, and then they made their way to the borderline and she regained the throne and chose him as her king, and so now, in the next book, which shall be coming out in, uh…” she took a moment to think. “…uh… forty-seven days, Ryah shall take out his revenge on them. Cause he’s plotting his revenge in the end of the sixth book, and he’s going to get these five kids to go kill the king and queen. But we all know that they’re not going to kill anyone, cause you can’t kill the king and queen. Duh. So, we all know he won’t succeed, but I still wanna read it cause of all the suspense and awesomeness! Man, you really have to read the books!” She was finally all done. Wow. Wondered how I’d retain all that.
“That the one thing you’ve ever been able to memorize about literature?” I asked.
“Of course not! I can remember other stuff! I once got a ten on my book report for some books we read in like sixth grade!”
“Out of?” Malery asked.
“Ten.”
“Impressive,” I said. Ellary beamed. “That the only time?”
Her proud expression faded. “Yeah, I think so.”
Okay, so, I guess that was all we were gonna say about that for the night.

I was sound asleep by ten. I don’t remember the exact time, but it was somewhere around then. And then I dreamt.
I was in a big stone room, as in the walls were made of stones. There were chandeliers hanging from the ceiling and two thrones—empty –against the far wall. There were hushed voices, speaking in a language I couldn’t understand, coming from behind me. Then I smelled blood. I looked around, saw the other four Mares, a bunch of other people… and two corpses by the wall. Someone grabbed my hand, I looked down at it. Danny. I averted my gaze, shook my hand away, and stared at the bodies.
They sure did look regal, but… they looked about our age, and it was just a boy and a girl, probably tenth graders or something. The entire room went silent when a door opened behind us all. The crowd parted like the Red Sea, and in walked a man. He must’ve been seventeen, or something close by, and he looked evilly content.
Ryah. It had to be him.
He turned to face the crowd once he made it to the throne on the left, and began speaking that weird language. He saluted at us, the Mares, and frowned. His tone changed when he noticed the corpses. He said four more words, and immediately we were being taken by the arms, dragged out.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” Todd answered me, “I think he’s telling them to kill us.”
“Elane!!!” Sandy screamed.
“Sandy!” Elane sobbed.
“Cut he’s the criminal,” I shouted, “He’s the one that made us do it, isn’t he?”
“They don’t understand us. They speak Tenadii or something. They don’t get English. They won’t understand your pleas. We best just shut up,” Daniel mumbled into my ear.
We reached a chamber, where each of us was thrown to the ground, and were locked up. It was dark down there.
“Is this what’s going to happen?” I thought out loud.
“What do you mean?” Elane asked.
“I mean, is this what’s going to happen to us if we escape from the House?”
“What are you talking about? We already escaped. We’re here,” Todd snapped.
“Huh? I thought this was a dream—”

I threw off the covers and took in my surroundings. I was back at the House. I was safe… for now.

Categories: I'M TO LAZY TO CORRECTLY CATAGORIZE MY STORY!!!!!!!!!! :P.

Tumbling After

December 5, 2009

I thought that since it’s been an ever-long time since anybody posted anything, I’d post one of my newer (better) songs. Y’know, since, well, since nobody’s ever on here and Sandy’s starting to go crazy over there (I like pickles, too, you know!) (A lot!) (Anecdote: at my friends party a couple months ago, there was a big bowl of pickles. I ate all of them except for the like three that my other friend ate. I love pickles.) with that weirdo post over there… Anyway, just thought I’d make a post. For the first time in what 4 months or so? Yeah. I’ll post it on OM, too.
Hearts!
Jules
_________________________________
Who’da thought such innocent acts
Could end up so fatal
Who’da thought that all you had to do
Was unplug the cabel
To end all the laughs
End all the smiles
Detatch the hands of lovers for miles
And miles

We’re all on top of the hill
Jack fell down and broke his crown
Like Jill we follow after
Till nobody is still unharmed
Jill came tumbling after
Who will be the next?

Who’da thought the words you choose
Could really have an impact
Who’da that they’d pile to unbearable heights
Well, in fact,
It hurts more than you
Would ever know
Until you’ve been
The star of the show
Then you know

We’re all on top of the hill
Jack fell down and broke his crown
Like Jill we follow after
Till nobody is still unharmed
Jill came tumbling after
Who will be the next

It’s hard to say no
When you feel like you
Don’t have vocal chords
And then you finally scream

Cause we’re all on top of the hill
Jack fell down and broke his crown
Like Jill we follow after
Till nobody is still unharmed
Jill came tumbling after
Who will be the next

We’re all on top of the hill
Jack fell down and broke his crown
Like Jill we follow after
Till nobody is still unharmed
Jill came tumbling after
Who will be the next
The next
The next
Jill came tumbling after.

Categories: I'M TO LAZY TO CORRECTLY CATAGORIZE MY STORY!!!!!!!!!! :P.

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La la la!!!!!!

December 4, 2009

I can say aaaaaanything I want in this post, because NO ONE EVER GETS ON.

I like pickles. But mostly I just like to say that word.

I also like pizza a lot. Except when it’s super greasy and disgusting. Or if it’s super hot, but so good you can’t help eating it.

So guys, what do you think about the direction the economy is headed? Do any of you like to say important phrases like “homeland security” or “national debt” even if you don’t know what you’re talking about?

I’m sure you all agree he was NOT talking to Walker Texas Ranger; that one girl did a jig! Deffinately. Without chamomile tea, we would have NOTHING at all. Not even jellybeans!

Maaaaaaaaaaaaaarry had a little lamb, little lamb, little lamb! Maaaaaaaaaaarry had a little lamb, then-one-day-she-got-really-hungry-and-had-lamb-chops-so-her-little-lamb-was-gone! Did I mention she ate it?

THE END.

~Sandy

Categories: Creative Nonfiction.

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