Shieldwolf Chapter 3: Skulls and Bells by Hades

January 27, 2012

Chapter Three: Skulls and Bells

     Jonathan was surrounded by mist. He was amongst gnarled, stunted trees, completely bare of leaves. The mist swirled around his shoes. It rose to chest height, and everywhere it touched his skin, he burned. He screamed and screamed, and the mists burned him. He looked down at himself, and yelled again; his body was covered in angry red bumps and hives.

As he sank to the ground in agony, he looked up at the trees. Now their branches were not bare, but full of crows, black and shimmering. They hopped from branch to branch with fussy little caws. As he watched them, they turned as one bird to stare at him. Again, as one bird they spread their wings, and lifted into the air. As one bird, they dove-

Jonathan was lying in his bed at home, the blankets wrapped tightly around him. They were stranglingly close, and the more he struggled to tear them off, the more trapped he became.

“Josh!” he yelled “Josh! Josh! Help me!”

“You’re sick, little brother.” came Josh’s voice from somewhere out of sight. “You need to stay in bed today.”

“Josh! Please, Josh, help me!”

Josh only laughed. The laughter grew louder and deeper until it vibrated in his teeth, in his bones. And he was burning, burning, burning…

He was running up a hill, Scott’s Hill, through the snow. He was panicked, terrified. He had to reach the top. He glanced back, and there was the wolf. Its muzzle was flecked with blood, and its eyes shone with malice. It drew closer and closer, and he forced himself to speed up.

He was getting away! He sprinted on, and suddenly it was snowing. Except the flakes were not white, they were iridescent and black; not flakes, but feathers. He was running through a storm of crows, and the wolf was on his heels again. It leapt-

Jonathan opened his eyes. Tob’s hand was on his forehead. He tried to push her away, but he was weak and shaky. He blinked. He was no longer in the forest. There was a ceiling that slanted down to the floor on both sides. It looked as though he was in some sort of attic. Not an attic though, for there was hay all around. A barn loft, then.

“W- what did you do to me?”

“Knocked you unconscious.” Tob said matter-of-factly. “Well, spelled you to sleep at any rate. I was a bit nervous about using magic on you, but it seemed safe than hitting you over the head with a rock. We had to get you on that speeder somehow. Anyways, I woke you up just now. We couldn’t find an inn with any room for us to stay, so we’re staying in here.”

Jonathan closed his eyes. His head was pounding.

“If I had eaten anything today, I think I would be throwing up right now. I just can’t believe this. You guys could have at least told me what you were going to do.”

“Old habits die hard, I guess. It’s a bad idea to tell someone when you’re going to use magic on them. Most people know how to resist at least a little bit.”

“Where’s Ari?”

“Paying the owner of the barn.”

Jonathan kept his eyes closed and did not say anything. He heard Tob fidgeting with something a little ways away. He wanted to prop himself up to see what she was doing, but it seemed like far too much effort. A few minutes later, he felt a blanket being drawn over him. He tried hard to open his eyes, but they were suddenly very heavy.

The next thing he knew, low voices were whispering somewhere in the dim loft.

“-don’t know why you haven’t told him.”

This was a woman’s voice; Tob’s voice. She sounded exasperated.

“What does it matter to you?”

A lower voice, surly, and defensive; Ari was speaking now. “He’ll know in a couple of days anyways.”

“If it doesn’t matter, then why don’t you explain it to him? You’re being ridiculous, Ari!”

Keep your voice down!”

There was a pause. Jonathan made sure his breathing stayed steady.

“Anyways,” Ari continued, “I don’t know how he’ll take it. I mean, he’s a Traveler. If his world is anything like ours, then-”

“That’s not what I’m talking about. My point is that you’re pretending to be a-”

“And my point is that that doesn’t matter, Tob.”

Jonathan turned his head slightly and opened his eyes a crack. Ari and Tob were sitting close to the Fire Box, facing him. As he watched, Tob touched Ari’s arm lightly.

“Ari, it isn’t fair to the boy. He is depending on us completely for protection, poor little bastard. I think he deserves to know at least a little bit about who we are.”

“Yeah, and you’re one to talk.”

“Don’t start. You know that this,” Tob gestured to her face, “is a safety measure. Rimvolf is a dangerous place for my people now.”

“And this is a godsdamn safety measure too. If the Royalists found me, who knows what they’d do? It was a risk even going to Aeolik.”

“So you think that they are still looking for you?”

“If they found me, I’m sure they wouldn’t waste much time in administering their punishment. But I’m more worried that my parents will find me and ship me off to some godsforsaken castle in Corithis.”

Tob leaned forward and kissed Ari on the top of his head. Obviously irritated, Ari withdrew, wrinkling his nose.

“Don’t worry about that right now. Get some sleep. I’ll stay up and keep watch.”

Ari nodded crisply and curled up near Jonathan. Jonathan hurriedly shut his eyes. He considered snoring gently for effect, but thought better of it. Late into the night, he replayed the conversation in his head. He fell asleep wondering what secret Tob and Ari were keeping from him. When he dreamed, he dreamed an empty, maze-like house.

Ari prodded him awake at the crack of dawn. Jonathan was dimly aware of eating something flavorless, and being bundled out into the cold morning. He yawned enormously. Tob drove the speeder out of the barn, hopped down, and placed her hand on Jonathan’s forehead.

“Wait, I don’t-”

He woke up swaddled in blankets, lying on an under-stuffed mattress in a dim room.

“Will you stop doing that!” he snarled feebly.

Tob shrugged.

“Where am I anyways?”

“Red Eagle Inn, somewhere off the main road. We’ve got another day of driving ahead of us, this time off road.” Ari said from across the room. “You’ll need to slow down a little, Tob. I swear I thought we were all dead when that patroller came around the corner. You could have run into them.”

“Could have is a long way from did, my friend. Besides, I thought you wanted me to get you there in a hurry.”

“In a hurry, but also with all limbs intact.”

“I’ll do my best. For now, I’ll leave you two boys to talk.”

Tob winked at Jonathan, and made an unfamiliar hand gesture at Ari, and left the room. Ari shook his head ruefully.

“How do you feel?”

“Sick. Tired. I don’t like getting knocked out every morning and waking up somewhere random. It makes me feel like I’ve been kidnapped.”

“Sorry. If you come up with a better solution, tell me.” Ari sounded brusque again.

“I will. Do you have any food? I haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

“Yes. Here.”

Jonathan had some rather stale bread, a handful of nuts, and a hot drink that Ari brought from downstairs.

“Is there somewhere where I could wash off?”

“Yes. There’s a wash basin in the other room, but the water is heated by magic.”

“Never mind then. I’m going to sleep.”

Silently, Ari left the room, locking the door behind him.

As soon as he left, Jonathan pulled off the blankets and got up. There were three mattresses in the room, all of them on the floor. He crept past them. There were three doors leading off the bedroom. Ignoring the one Ari had just exited by, Jonathan opened the next door. It was a closet. Inside was Ari’s pack. Jonathan smiled grimly.

Stealthily, he opened the pack. Inside, there were a number of tins and packets, each labeled neatly with words like “Jerky”, “Biscuits”, and “Dried Fruit”. Under the food were dull colored blankets and clothes, all folded crisply.

In various pockets, Jonathan found bandages, bottles of ointment, rolls of twine, several types of little round tablets, a number of efficient-looking tools, a small bag of coins, a wooden case that would not open, the Fire Box, and half a dozen sewing needles in various sizes.

Other than the locked box, Jonathan did not find anything that seemed to pertain to Tob and Ari’s strange conversation. He closed the pack, closed the closet door, and tried the next one. It opened onto a room with a large bronze tub inside it.  Jonathan closed that door as well.

He walked around the bedroom twice, but did not find anything of interest. He sat down on the mattress, defeated.

Jonathan rolled over and closed his eyes. He counted splotches on the wall. He tried to remember all of the geometric proofs he had learned the year before in math class. He recited the words of The Star Spangled Banner backwards in his head. He attempted to touch his nose with his tongue. When that proved impossible, he started pondering possible solutions to The Sussex Vampire.  With a pang of regret, he realized that he would never finish it. He rolled over again.

After a couple of hours, Ari and Tob returned. Tob was laughing at something Ari had just said. Her chuckles were louder than usual, amplified, Jonathan supposed, with alcohol. Ari held a finger to his lips, motioning to Jonathan. Jonathan narrowed his eyes until they were open only a crack. Blurrily, he could see the two figures in the doorway.

“Is he asleep?” whispered Tob.

“I think so. Keep it down anyways, just to be safe.”

Jonathan watched the taller figure open the closet and retrieve the pack. He tensed slightly. Suppose he had left a pack undone, or something was out of place…

Ari took out his cloth and started cleaning his daggers. Suddenly, he froze.

“Tob, have you been going through my pack?”

Jonathan stiffened.

“No. Why?”

“Someone has.”

He shut his eyes as Ari approached his mattress. He felt a strong hand gripping his shoulder, shaking him. With feigned grogginess, he opened his eyes and sat up.

“What? What is it?”

“Have you been looking in my pack? Answer me! This is important.”

For a moment, Jonathan considered lying outright, but thought better of it.

“Y-yes. It’s just that I was…hungry. And I didn’t want to leave the room, so I was just looking for some food…and…um.”

Wide-eyed, he stared at Ari. At first, Ari scrutinized him suspiciously, but after a moment, he gave an irritable jerk of his head and shrugged.

“Don’t do that, you stupid sonuvabitch. I thought someone had been in here sneaking around.”

“I’m sorry.”

He made his voice as meek and contrite as possible.

“Just don’t do it again. I’m sorry I woke you up. I had to check, though. Go back to sleep.”

“Oh, I’m not tired now. I think I’ll stay up a while.”

“Fine. Try to stay in the rooms. I’m going to go bathe.”

“Need any help with that?” Tob asked.

Her face had an expression of angelic innocence. Ari glared at her. He picked up his pack, and stalked across the room. Tob winked cheerfully as he passed her. With a loud slam, the bathroom door closed. After a moment, the noise of running water could be heard.

Uncomfortable at being left alone with Tob, Jonathan tried to think of some way to occupy himself. There were not many options.

“Game of Four Armies?”

Jonathan started a little.

“Um…no thank you.”

“That’s just as well. You need four players, and I haven’t got a board.”

“Oh.”

“Want to play cards, then?”

“What game?”

“Anything. Capture the Fortress, Skulls and Bells in the Green, Triple Goddess.”

“I don’t know any of those games.”

“I’ll teach you.”

Reluctantly, Jonathan got up and sat by Tob on the floor. She got out a deck of playing cards.

“Let’s start with Skulls and Bells. It’s the easiest.”

Curiously, Jonathan examined the cards. They looked more like a tarot deck than a set of playing cards. They were illustrated on one side with little pictures of what looked like gods, goddesses, monsters, various symbolic figures, a skeleton or two, and a number of animals. On the other side, each card was printed with black diamond patterns.

“Right, so you draw seven cards each round. You try to get a pantheon, full court, battalion, half court, trinity, or duality. Any lone cards get added to your score.”

Tob began expertly shuffling the deck. The cards blurred beneath her fingers. Jonathan watched them, mesmerized. This close, he could distinctly smell alcohol on her breath. He watched her carefully for signs of intoxication, but her hands were steady as she dealt the cards.

“What were those things you’re looking for, sorry?”

“A pantheon is all seven part of a set. Full court is six upper cards. Half court is three. Battalion is four or five of a set, in order. Trinity is three in a progression, and duality is opposites. Anyways, you can pick up cards from the deck or the top of the Graveyard each round. You can’t have more than seven cards. First person to have no lone cards turns their cards over, and the round ends. If you get a pair of Green Men, you have to discard your entire hand. Reapers and Grey Ladies are wild. Bells don’t count for any points if you have them left over. ”

Jonathan had to ask a lot of questions before he understood the rules. It was, indeed, not very difficult, and actually quite fun once he got the hang of it. Tob did impersonations of the little characters on the cards, explaining who they were when they turned up in the game.

He and Tob chatted and laughed through the rounds. Jonathan began to relax. He gained confidence.  In the last round, he was ahead by fourteen points. He glanced at his cards and smiled. There was a half court: the smith, the phoenix, and the girl in fire. He had an additional Grandmother Spider, hanged man, and Great Whale.

Tob laid her cards down with a snap.

“Pantheon.”

“What? You haven’t even drawn any cards!”

“Lucky deal, I suppose.”

“No way. Let me see.”

She passed him the cards. There they were: the Lady of Earth, the Green Man, the Great Tree, a green dragon, a golem, a Reaper, and a Grey Lady. His eyes widened. Tob smirked.

“And that means I’ve one by one po-”

“OH GODSDAMNIT!”

They leapt up, card game forgotten. Jonathan, who was closest to the bathroom flung the door open.

“Ari, are you o-”

The first thing Jonathan noticed was blood. Ari’s hand was stained red. A knife was lying, as though dropped, on the floor. The second thing Jonathan noticed was that Ari dressed only to the waist. And the third thing…

Ari dove for a towel, but it was too late.

“Y-you’re-”

“Shut it!”

“But you-

“Didn’t I tell you to shut your mouth?”

“But-”

Tob elbowed her way into the room.

“Ari, are you…oh.”

“Everyone get out. I’ll be out in a minute.” Ari snarled, clutching the towel more tightly.

Jonathan retreated. His face was burning.  He stared appealingly at Tob.

“I didn’t know- I didn’t mean to…”

“I know. I know.”

“But why did-”

The door snapped open. Ari, hair still wet from the bath, was standing there, fully clothed, and glowering. The injured hand was no longer bleeding. There was a hideous moment of tense silence before Jonathan found the courage to speak.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Does it matter that much to you?”

“Well it is kind of an important thing to tell someone.”

Why?”

There was venom in Ari’s tone. Jonathan opened his mouth and then closed it. When a reply was not forthcoming, Ari sighed and ran a hand through her wet hair.

“I’m the same me,” she said, “I’ve just got a few different…parts.”

She smiled a little as Jonathan blushed.

“It’s not just that! Don’t you trust me?” he muttered.

“Should I? You’re this just some traveler I met a few days ago. We don’t even come from the same world.”

“I’ve had no choice but to trust you, and you don’t even have the courtesy to tell me that you’re…not a boy!”

“That’s enough. I don’t have to explain myself to-”

“Comrades,” Tob cut in, “there is something you might want to pause your charming little argument for.”

“What?” Ari and Jonathan asked together.

“That.”

Their eyes followed Tob’s pointing finger. The door was shaking, and muffled crashes sounded from the hall beyond.

“What is it?” Jonathan breathed.

“Guards, probably. Ari, that man at the bar, the one who was asking questions. He must have driven back up the road to Kerik, and-”

“Never mind that! We need to get out!”

“Window again?”

Ari sprinted across the room and opened the shutters a crack.

“No good. They’ve got it covered. How many do you reckon are in the hall?”

“Don’t know. But the passage is pretty narrow. We could probably take them.”

The door trembled in its frame. Ari slung on his-her, Jonathan reminded himself-pack. She drew her knives, and passed one to Jonathan.

“I don’t know how to use this.”

“It’s easy. You hold the blunt end, and stick the pointed end at the angry bastards in the grey uniforms.”

“But-”

“Understood? Excellent.”

“Hold on, I-”

“Tob will open the door in a few seconds. Some guards will come hurtling in. Tob will deal with them. Follow me down the hall, and above all do not get lost.”

“Okay, but-”

Tob opened the door.

“Wait!”

A man fell headlong into the room. He had obviously not expected the door to jerk open just as he was ramming into it with his shoulder. Tob leapt at him before he could rise. Jonathan did not see what happened next because Ari was tugging him out into the corridor. The hall was filled with people in grey uniforms.

At first glance, there seemed to be dozens, but a quick headcount showed that there were only seven. Three where blocking the hall on each side. One was doubled over in the middle of the floor, clutching at a puncture wound in his stomach. Ari kicked him out of the way, not bothering to wipe her blade.

There was a shocked and awkward silence. Then, as one, the rest of the uniformed men surged forward. Jonathan winced in preparation for sudden pain, or death by dismemberment.

Neither came.

Instead, the wall behind him exploded. He was flung forward and peppered with chunks of plaster.  The noise was incredible. There was something underlying it too, a sort of penetrating buzz: magic.

Then, there was a blessed pause.  Around him, he could hear coughing and little groans of pain. He blinked. Gingerly, he glanced up. Thick, white dust obscured everything more than a few feet away.

His moment of repose was rudely interrupted when someone hauled him to his feet. He cried out, protectively cradling his throbbing head. He was being dragged down the hall, past the prostrate guards, down the stairs, and into a milling mob of people.

Head still ringing, he flinched at the noise and light.

“Can you walk?” Tob hissed in his ear.

“I…I…what did you do?”

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes’.  Follow me.”

“Hold on! Where’s Ari? Where are we going?”

“I’m here, and right now we’re going away from this inn.”

Startled, he jerked around. Ari was, indeed there, covered in dust, and bleeding from a cut on her face. Her hair was still damp. Powdered plaster clung to it, making her look decades older.  Jonathan stood there blinking until Tob started tugging him forward again. He realized that he still had Ari’s knife squeezed in one hand, and dropped it compulsively. The world was a blur of confused voices, and frightened faces.

“Did you hear that? Never been so scared in my life! I thought-”

“Whole hall way full of guards-”

“Have you got any idea what just-”

“-wall completely blown out!”

“They say it’s an attack from Grek!”

“They say it’s those rebels again!”

“They say it’s-”

Unnoticed in the confusion, Jonathan, Tob, and Ari slipped out the back door and into the night. They narrowly avoided a group of guards by diving into an unnecessarily thorny bush. The guards rushed past, shouting and gesticulating. They were headed toward the inn as people poured out of it. Jonathan heard screams. He smelled something burning. The inn’s upper windows flickered with orange light; soon flames were licking at the roof.

“What did you do?” he asked again.

“Only thing I could think of.”

“I said we could take them.” Ari grumbled, dabbing at her temple.

“No need to take that tone, love.”

“’We can take them’ doesn’t mean to blow up the whole damn building.”

“I didn’t blow up the whole building! Just a wall.”

“It started a fire!”

“Not our problem. With any luck, it will serve as enough of a distraction to let us get away clean.”

“Where did you leave the speeder?”

“I’ll show you. Jonathan, come on- Jonathan? Are you still with us?”

“What? Oh…yeah. Yeah, let’s go.”

He shook himself. This was no time to fall apart. Clumsily, he hurried after Tob. The speeder was stashed just out of sight of the inn.

“We don’t have time to put you out and hide you in the hold. You’re going to have to hang on very securely and try not to vomit.”

Tob strapped on a pair of goggles, and leapt onto the speeder, followed by Jonathan and Ari. As the contraption rose and accelerated, Jonathan saw red spots.  The sensation was comparable to nothing he had felt before. He felt as though his bones were full of fire. Lightheaded, he teetered.

“Stay awake!” Ari hissed in his ear.

Tob was fidgeting with some dials. All of a sudden, the speeder shot forward. Jonathan winced as a tree rushed toward them, but they swerved at the last moment. The forest rushed by on all sides. Ari was yelling something, but he couldn’t hear it.

“TELL-TOB-TO-SLOW-DOWN!”

Still dizzy, he leaned forward and relayed the message to Tob.

“SHE SAYS WE NEED TO GO FAST. THERE ARE GUARDS FOLLOWING US.” he called back to Ari.

“SHE’S BEEN DRINKING. WE NEED TO SLOW DOWN.”

Tob merely swore at him when he told her. He shrugged at Ari and focused on clinging onto the back of Tob’s jacket. He shut his eyes tightly.

Cold air numbed his face. After an immeasurable length of time, Ari tapped him urgently on the shoulder. He glanced back and understood the problem at once. There were lights behind them in between the trees. Faintly over the rush of air, he heard shouts.

“KEEP YOUR HEAD DOWN!” Ari yelled in his ear. “TELL TOB.”

“THEY’RE CATCHING UP! ARI SAYS TO KEEP LOW.”

Tob said something indistinct.

“WHAT?”

“I SAID, HOLD ON TIGHTLY!”

Something roared over their heads. It left purple afterimages hanging in the air. All of them crouched a little lower in their seats. Tob jerked the handle bars, and they turned so sharply that for a moment, Jonathan was leaning out over empty space.

“THEY’RE SHOOTING AT US,” Tob informed them rather unnecessarily.

Jonathan glanced back. The other speeders were only yards behind. They were grey, and marked with an official-looking crest: a golden bird rising from red flames. They were slightly larger, and much sleeker than Tob’s tank-like vehicle. Four uniformed guards sat on each.

They made another sharp turn. This one felt somehow less controlled than the last. Jonathan’s vision flickered. Ari shook him, and he straightened a little, only to feel something hot miss his head by inches.  He hunched down again..

“TOB!”

Ari yelled so loudly that Jonathan started. One of the grey speeders had pulled up alongside them. The guard sitting behind the driver was holding a very serious-looking weapon of some sort. More than anything, it reminded Jonathan of a flamethrower.

“STOP YOUR VEHICLE IMMEDIATEL-”

Tob once again yanked on the steering wheel. They slammed into the grey speeder very hard. The impact jarred Jonathan so badly that his vision distorted for a few moments. When his head cleared, they were off again, trailed closely by three speeders. The one they had just rammed was lagging slightly.

The two undamaged vehicles were attempting to flank them. Nimbly, Tob guided their speeder between two large trees. Just as they were almost through, she braked. The two closest pursuers rocketed past. However, the driver of the slightly slower, crippled craft noticed the ploy. The guard with the projectile weapon was taking careful aim.

They lurched forward with a shocking burst of speed. Jonathan almost toppled off the vehicle, but saved himself by catching hold of Tob’s shoulder. He jolted her arm slightly, and the speeder yawed right.

At that moment, a burst of bright blue light scythed through the air an inch away from Tob’s left elbow.

“THANKS!”

Swiftly, they streaked away into the trees. In the distance, the whine of the pursuing speeders sounded faintly. Tob breaked their craft and twisted around to look at Jonathan and Ari.

For a long moment, they hovered there, panting faintly.

“Well. That was fun.”

“Let’s not do it again.”

“Agreed.”

The night was silent. Jonathan could no longer hear the hum of pursuit. He slid off the speeder onto the ground, and pressed his face to the cool earth. He heard a faint click, and behind him, the speeder settled to the ground. There were no words to describe the relief he felt.

Categories: Fantasy Fiction, Fiction, Modern Fiction, Must Reads, WORST.

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Shieldwolf Chapter 2: Thunder and That Which Follows by Hades

January 27, 2012

Chapter Two: Thunder and That Which Follows

     Jonathan was not nearly as astounded as he should have been, but the word still made him stop. Unmistakably, it had just come from the wolf’s mouth. It hadn’t actually growled, but spoken.

“Hello, Jonathan.” There was a pause.

He looked at the wolf. The wolf looked at him. Its head was tilted expectantly to one side.

After a few seconds, it prompted “this is the part where you say ‘hello’ back.”

There was a sexless, ageless, inhuman quality to its voice that Jonathan couldn’t place.

“Wolves don’t talk,” he said stupidly.

“Of course they don’t. They don’t have the right vocal cords or mouth shape. But you shouldn’t take my word for-oh no you don’t!”

The wolf bounded after him as he darted toward the street. Its paws hit him hard in the middle of the back. He toppled. It stood on top of him, its weight crushing the air from his lungs.

“Now we can have an intelligent conversation without you running off.” The wolf’s voice was close to his ear. It was quiet, calm, and pleasant, but this scared him more than anything else could have. Panic was twisting uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach. His heart pounded. There was icy breathe on his face.

“Now, let’s skip the tiresome business of ‘oh goodness a talking wolf? How can this be? I must be dreaming! I must be hallucinating. La dee da dee da.’ This is real. A talking wolf is standing on your back. And it’s going to eat you once it finishes this increasingly one sided conversation.”

“Wait, why?” he managed. The wolf’s bulk was making it difficult to draw breath. “Why do you want to eat me?”

It seemed amused. “I’m hungry, of course. And you are an interesting edible food creature. An interesting mind. I will be very happy to gobble it right up after I’m done with the rest of you.”

Suddenly, the weight vanished. Jonathan sprang up, fists clenched, prepared to strike and flee. The wolf was crouched a little way away. Its tail was waging playfully.

“Run!” It said happily.

He dropped his backpack and ran.

Soon, he was gasping for breath: short, ragged inhales, and heavy, panting exhales. A howl sounded close behind. It was hopeless. Impossible. Jonathan knew it. Nevertheless, he sprinted on.

He wondered if he could somehow get far enough ahead to ambush the beast. He considered this. He could hide in the trees, and when it came around the corner, he could hit it with a branch; injure it enough to get away. Would it work? Could it work?

Jonathan was still not entirely convinced that he was not drugged, dreaming, or hallucinating.

He cast a glance behind him. There was no sign of the wolf. He sprinted on for another few minutes before checking again. Still nothing. Tentatively, he slowed to a jog, then a walk. He was completely alone. There was a momentary flicker, almost as though the world had blinked.

Turning slowly in a circle, Jonathan stared up at the surrounding trees. There was something odd about them that he could not quite place…

A sudden panic rose within him. He was lost. He was lost in the Woods with a talking, potentially imaginary wolf that wanted to eat him. Desperately, he stared around for some sort of landmark. There was none.  Even the familiar path, with its itchy, shredded red bark was gone.

He started walking in what he guessed was the direction of his house. After what seemed like an hour, he stopped. He could not have run this far. Pausing, Jonathan reflected that he could have accidentally turned himself around during his mad dash through the Woods. Cautiously, he took a few steps in the other direction.

After an impossibly long time, he gave up. He had no idea if his search for a landmark had brought him closer to or farther away from his home. He was hot. He took off his jacket, put it on a tree stump, and sat down. Not knowing what else to do, he waited.

More time trudged by. He found a heavy branch and propped it up against the stump. Still no sign of the wolf. He was beginning to wonder if he should build some sort of shelter, but it seemed like too much effort. He felt slightly stupid for even thinking of it, as though he were some rugged hero in a survival story. It was still mostly light. He sat there in the silence, one hand resting on his make-shift club, and other clenched on nothing. He got up and paced. He sat back down.

“Growl, growl, woof, woof. Have you missed me?”

Heart racing, he sprang up, turned, and swung the branch hard. Jonathan gasped as he overbalanced, stumbled against the trunk, and fell. The wolf sprang on him, taking the back of his shirt in its jaws. Cold breath on his neck.

“Ahm oing oo ea oo ow,” the wolf mumbled around its mouthful of cloth.

The words were unintelligible, but Jonathan thought he understood the jist of the phrase. He struggled harder, even as icy drool dripped down his back.

“Stop!”

The jaws opened. Jonathan fell, grazing his palms. The animal was still close; its bristling tail almost brushing his face. Very slowly and quietly, he got to his feet. The wolf didn’t seem to notice. It was staring at two people standing in the path across from them.

Jonathan glanced at them, looked away, and then did a double take. He had never seen people so…odd. At first, they seemed to be slim, angelic boys. Then, Jonathan thought they were androgynous, prepubescent girls. He could not tell for sure either way.

One had a shock of jet black hair; the other a mop the color of a dandelion clock. The first had truly white eyes without irises or pupil. The second’s were uniformly dark. Both had skin of a medium grey that fell precisely halfway between black and white. Each wore a knee-length grey tunic belted at the waist over grey leggings.

Their clothing seemed too scant for winter. Admittedly, there was a warm lightness to the air that puzzled him, but he did not pay it much attention. Very stealthily, he began creeping backwards, away from the wolf.

“What do you want, master of duality?” it sneered. “I was just playing with my food, so if you don’t mind…?”

“We do.” The dark haired one stepped forward. “He does not belong to you, Wolf. He belongs to us, as all things do.”

He hardly heard their words, so total was his focus on the placement of his feet.

“You have no right to make that claim! He’s mine! I found him, I caught him, and I’m bloody hungry, so back off!”

The wolf glanced back at him. He froze with one foot half raised.

“For what it’s worth, I agree with those guys. You should definitely not eat me.” He said, surprising himself slightly with the words.

“No one asked you, edible human.”

It turned back toward the odd people. Jonathan slunk back another few inches.

“Listen to us, wolf.” the white haired one said. “You have entered our domain. The human is subject to our will. And our will is that you will release him immediately into our care. There will be no argument.”

The wolf tensed as if in preparation to spring. Jonathan almost cried out a warning. However, after a few taught seconds, it flattened its ear to its skull, tucked its tail between its legs and trotted off the path.  He only released his pent up breathe after its bushy tail vanished behind a tree trunk.

“Are you injured, Jonathan?”

“How-?”

“Rest for a moment only, then we must carry on.”

“What-?”

“All will be explained in time.”

“But who are you? What are you? What the hell is going on? What was the wolf? Am I hallucinating? This is all completely effing insane!”

The words came rushing out in a jumbled, tangles stream of questions and accusations. Jonathan was angry, Jonathan was scared, and above all, Jonathan was utterly confused.

“Silence.”

Disobeying the quiet command was physically impossible. Try as he might, he could not voice the objection on his lips. Tree branches trembled in the wind. It struck him suddenly that this forest was composed of tall, silver-barked, deciduous trees; leafless, but untouched by snow.  The landscape was arid.

“Come.”

Again, he obeyed, his feet propelling him relentlessly forward even as his mind rebelled. The two strangers led him through the thin underbrush. They walked in silence as the forest darkened. Jonathan realized that he had forgotten his winter jacket on the stump after being saved from the wolf’s jaws. He did not mention it.

He followed the little grey figures through the trees, his uneasiness growing. After a long time, or perhaps very little time at all, he saw a red glow faintly illuminating the trees ahead. They were walking toward it, Jonathan and the two strangers. The light brightened. Jonathan slipped between a pair of slim trees and emerged in a clearing.

The clearing was illuminated by a dull red light, and was much warmer than the rest of the forest. A figure sat at the center of it, warming its hands over a small, luminous cube. Its head jerked up as Jonathan and his companions approached. The man, or rather boy, leapt to his feet, drawing two long knives from his belt. Jonathan yelled, and jumping back about a foot. He stumbled and nearly fell.

“Oh,” the boy said shortly, “it’s you. Again.”

His voice was very sharp, higher than Jonathan expected, and strangely accented. Something Eastern European, Jonathan supposed. He was glaring with intense loathing, at the strangers, completely ignoring Jonathan.

Sheathing the knives, he strode toward them with a loose, feline gait. He was taller than Jonathan, and probably a few year older too; maybe seventeen or eighteen.  Jonathan flinched a little as he approached, not sure what to expect. The strangers had hardly twitched throughout the encounter.

The boy flicked a few strands of coarse auburn hair out of his face. His hair was long, slightly dirty, and drawn back into a ponytail. His bangs were uneven, falling into his eyes in some places, cut close to his scalp in others. It looked as though the boy had cut them himself, without a mirror, using a blunt sword.

He wore trousers, battered knee-high boots, and the same sort of sleeveless, mid-thigh length tunic as the strangers. His arms were sinewy, his skin a deep bronze hue. As he drew closer, Jonathan noticed many abrasions on his arms: faint, whitish scars, older, scabby wounds, and one ugly cut that looks almost fresh.

Ignoring Jonathan, the boy glared at the strangers with obvious hostility. They remained expressionless. Jonathan cleared his throat awkwardly. Tension was palpable in the chilly, evening air.

“Well?” the boy said abruptly. “What are you doing here? I don’t really care how you found me, but I’d like to know what you want so that you can leave.”

“Um, I don’t mean to be rude, but I don’t really-”

Jonathan trailed off as the boy drew a dagger and started cleaning his fingernails with the tip. He looked pointedly at the strangers

“Your implied threats mean little to us.” The dark haired one’s voice was even colder than usual. “Put the toy away.”

Defiantly, he tossed the knife in the air and caught it by its blade without looking at it.

“You are going to do a service for us, Ari,” the other commanded, “You will take this boy, here. He is a traveler lost, and in need of protection. You cannot object. We are owed a debt, and you must pay.”

“Does he want to join?”

“It does not matter.”

Although the boy, Ari still looked mutinous, he nodded curtly. He sheathed the dagger with ill grace.

“Hold on a minute. You guys are just leaving me here with this random person who just threatened us with a knife? Excuse me for not having complete confidence in this plan.” Jonathan’s voice cracked slightly as he said this.

“Ari will take good care of you, won’t you Ari?’

Ari shrugged. Jonathan was not convinced. Before he could object, the strangers strode away into the forest, leaving him alone with Ari.

Avoiding Jonathan’s gaze, he sat cross-legged in front of the illuminated cube. At this proximity, Jonathan could tell that it was giving off the light and heat in the clearing. Nervously, he sat a little ways away. As he drew close, he became aware of a sort of humming vibration. It was faint but perpetual and a little annoying. He shook his head. The buzzing did not stop.

“So…what is that cube thing?” he ventured.

“Fire Box.”

“Oh. I see.” he lied. “So, um…Ari. I’m Jonathan. Hi. I mean, hello. Listen, could you please-“

“No, I could not please. This is how this is going to work, Jonthen. Tomorrow morning, we are going our different ways. I will give you some supplies, enough for a few days. There is a town not far to the east. I do not have time to take care of you.”

“What town? The Woods are in the middle of my neighborhood, except all of a sudden, there’s this wolf chasing me around, and talking, and the snow’s gone, and I am hallucinating or dreaming, so why do I even care what you do? You know what, fine. Go ahead and leave me here. And it’s Jonathan. Not ‘Jonthen’.”

“Oh. That kind of traveler.” Ari started chewing the ragged end of a fingernail thoughtfully. “I suppose you’ve jumped.”

“What?”

Jonathan felt as though his brain was running at half its normal speed. He recognized the words, but when Ari strung them together, they were confusing and meaningless.

“Alright, you know what an Edge is, right?”

“Um…”

“How about fey?”

Jonathan shook his head.

Ari sighed, and pulled off a strip of fingernail with his teeth.

“This might be difficult to explain, then. Where should I start…let’s see… you live somewhere. You presumably live on a planet, in a solar system, in a galaxy, in a universe, right?”

“Yeah.”

“But there are a bunch of other universes. Got it?”

“So far.”

“These other universes aren’t exactly outside yours. They’re all sort of stacked, and overlapping. I guess, it’s more like the same universe repeated over and over, but changed a little each time. So one universe might be exactly the same as yours, except…I don’t know…people have eyes in the middle of their foreheads. It could even be something smaller. The most obvious example is of someone flipping a coin. It comes down face up in your world, but face down in another.

“So there are all these universes, an infinite number of universes, just existing. And they usually don’t bother with one another. And that’s where Edges come in. In some places, the separation between universes gets thin, and things can slip between them.

“This usually happens when something alive gets close to an Edge and is drawn through. Most of the time, they die crossing, or end up somewhere inhospitable. They could jump to somewhere with too much gravity, or not enough air, or something.

“So you were probably wandering around, being an idiot, really close to an Edge. And some sort of fey or Edge feeder, senses you, and comes along for a snack. You were lucky, because it looks like This One and That One found you and helped you jump to somewhere safe.”

Jonathan opened his mouth, but found he did not have anything to say.

“There are some things that can move easily between worlds; fey like This One and That One. They’re that dual creature that picked you up. Then there are things that live close to the Edges, and waited for prey there.”

“Like the…the wolf?” Jonathan said numbly.

“Wolf? What wolf?”

“It chased me. It talked.”

The wolf.” Ari repeated as if there was some profound meaning to the statement.

After a few moments, he ran his fingers through his long, rust colored hair.

“This complicates things. But who knows? You might be useful. If you want, you can come with me to True Home. It will most likely take a few days to get there, and I have an old friend I need to meet along the way.”

“Is there a way I could go…back instead?”

Ari looked directly at him for the first time. His eyes were a funny, silvery shade of grey. They were sharp, but a little pitying.

“No.”

“I guess I don’t have much choice then, do I?”

“You could strike out on your own, I suppose.”

“I guess I’ll come with you, if you don’t mind too much. I’m tired, now.”

“I’ve got blankets. Here.”

From a large, canvas pack, Ari produced two squares of material, each about the size of an envelope. He began unfolding them. When he was finished, he handed Jonathan two full-sized blankets. He took them without thanks, and did not ask about the strange fabric that was simultaneously thin, light, warm, and sturdy. He wrapped himself snugly in the blankets and closed his eyes.

Facing away from Ari, hugging his knees, Jonathan bit his lip to stop himself from crying. Despite his best efforts, he felt a few rebellious tears trickle across his face. He bit his lip harder. He tried to breathe deeply through his nose.

Jonathan did not dream that night. He lay awake listening to the forest until he sank into a dark state of oblivion.

“Up! Jonth- Jon-a-than, get up! We need to get moving!”

“Go away, Ben. I’m sick.”

“What?”

“I said…oh.”

Jonathan stared blearily into Ari’s sharp face. Ari was shaking him roughly. His eyebrows were drawn into a harsh “v”. It was still dark. Up close, Ari looked younger than he had the night before. Jonathan could tell he hadn’t started shaving yet.

“Are you coming or not?”

“What? Oh, yeah. Sorry.”

Weakly, Jonathan dragged himself out of the warm cocoon of blankets. Ari brushed the sparkling layer of frost off of them, and folded them methodically until they were once again crisply envelope-sized. He put them back in his pack, and rummaged for a second before passing Jonathan a small cloth bag.

Jonathan opened the bag. There were several things that resembled energy bars inside, wrapped in brown paper. He took a bite of one. It tasted distinctly nutty. He could not decide whether he liked it or not. He ate two of them.

By the time they left, Ari had erased every trace of the campsite.

“Why are you doing that?” Jonathan asked as Ari meticulously arranged leaves and branches on the ground to hide the imprint where Jonathan had been sleeping.

“To make sure nobody knows we were here.”

“Is that important?”

“Yes. If they find us, they’ll kill us.”

Jonathan was about to ask who they were, and why they were going to kill Ari if they found him, but decided not to. He was not sure if he wanted to know the answer.

Ari must have noticed Jonathan’s discomfort, because he added, “I’ll explain later. We need to go now.”

The forest was illuminated with a misty, grey light. Jonathan supposed that the sun was rising. He wished he could have slept a few more hours. More than that, he wished he were home, and not trekking through a strange forest with Ari, but he could not allow himself dwell on that. He listened to crows cawing in the naked branches of the trees.

They were walking west, with their backs to the rising sun. Their shadows stretched before them, pale, and thin, and elongated. Frost on the ground glittered, making the day morning seem brighter. Jonathan was cold. Ari was wearing a light, high collared jacket, but he looked perfectly comfortable. Jonathan did not say anything.

Although they walked swiftly and without many pauses, the going was fairly easy. The forest they traversed was open and largely free of underbrush. The land was flat. Jonathan tried to imitate Ari’s loose, effortless stride. He found that he could propel himself mostly by momentum if he let his feet do most of the work. It was a curious sensation. He felt almost out of control of his limbs.

They stopped twice that day. To eat a midday meal, they sat on a fallen tree. Jonathan twisted to scratch his back where the crumbly bark was making his skin itch. He jumped as a centipede scurried over his hand. Quickly, he stood up and had another bar, and a crisp, green fruit that tasted a little like a melon, and a little like a pear. Ari remained seated and had half of a bar, which he ate with very little enthusiasm.

Later, they paused for no apparent reason when Ari raised a hand. The forest was very quiet. Jonathan wondered if the mysterious ‘they’ had caught up and were going to kill them. After a few minutes of looking and listening, Ari motioned them onward.

When they stopped, Jonathan was very cold, and very tired indeed. His back hurt. His legs hurt. His feet were numb, but he was certain he would soon be feeling blisters. He wished he had his hiking boots.

They camped in a tiny clearing surrounded by brambles. Ari set up a small, canvas tent. He glanced at the sky.

“It’s going to rain tonight.”

Jonathan looked upward too. There were heavy clouds pressing against the tree tops. The light streaming down was weak and grey.

“Okay.”

“Are you alright? You look dazed.”

“I’m fine.”

“Good.”

Ari sat down beside the tent. Jonathan sat down too.

“So,” Ari said, “what’s home like, for you?”

“Um…”

“It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it,” he said hastily, “it’s just that travelers are rare. They had one at court, but it didn’t speak Varrim. I don’t think it even had a mouth.”

“I don’t speak ‘Varrim’. I speak English.”

“Whatever. English for you, Varrim for me. Our worlds must be similar. Sorry.”

“No, it’s alright. I don’t know. I guess it was just home. I have…had a family. You know, parents, two sisters, a brother, three cats. My mom and dad work-worked for some boring company. They worked a lot, doing something that didn’t really matter to the world. They were depressing. They had no idea what was going on in my life, or in the larger world around them. My older sister Becky knew that too. She tried to tell them, but nobody listened to her except for me. Then there was my other sister, Celia. She was just a kid. Kind of stupid, and petty, but sometimes kind of sweet. My brother Ben was a year and a half older than me. We didn’t get on. I was jealous of him.”

“That sounds…unpleasant.”

“Yeah, I don’t know. It was just life. It was mundane. It was lonely a lot of the time. I guess it was just a lot of ordinary middle class problems. They add up and make it all seem so big and insurmountable.”

“You are the next to youngest in your family?”

“Yes.”

“I’m the eldest. I have two sisters.”

Jonathan was interested. This was the first time his companion had volunteered any sort of personal information.

“Oh. Are you close?”

“No. We do not see each other often.”

“Why not?”

“I ran off. I haven’t seen them for over a year now.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“I’m not. Tell me more about yourself.”

Reluctantly, he accepted the change of subject.

“Okay.”

Jonathan gathered his thoughts for a moment. It was kind of nice to tell his story to someone who was entirely removed from his life.

“I go to a public high school. I’m in tenth grade. I don’t have a lot of friends. It’s usually just me and Alex and Lucy. Alex is a year ahead of me and Lucy. We were in orchestra together. He plays the viola, and I play violin. We always argue, sorry, argued about which instrument is better.”

“What are they? A ‘violin’ and a ‘viola’, I mean.”

“They’re stringed instruments. The viola is lower, and doesn’t sound as good. Anyways, we met a couple years ago. But Lucy and I were in elementary school together. We’ve been best friends since we were like eleven. We went to different middle schools, but now we go to the same school. We have lots of classes together.”

“Are you…romantically involved?”

“No. Everyone asks that. I had a major crush on her when I was in seventh grade, but then she came out.”

“Came out?”

“You know, of the closet.”

“What closet?”

“That means she’s a lesbian. She likes girls. She dated this girl called Sonja for almost two years, but they split up the day I, um, left.”

“So that is allowed in your world?”

“What, being gay? Uh some people think it’s immoral, but to hell with them. Why? Isn’t it okay here?”

“There are laws against…homosexual conduct. The fines can be quite high. Under the royals, if people were covert, it was generally ignored. The Auttans, however, are not so lenient.”

“I’m sorry. Are you gay?”

Ari inhaled sharply.

“You don’t have to answer that,” Jonathan added.

Just as he had decided that Ari was not going to respond, he said, very carefully, “I am not attracted to men.”

“Are you a homophobe?”

“No. I knew a number of…’lesbians’ during my military training. My shieldsister Germa was homosexual.”

“Yeah. I never told my parents about Lucy and Sonja. Dad always assumed she was dating a guy, and I never bothered to correct him. My parents are pretty Christian. Um, that’s a religion. I guess I’m Christian too. I don’t know though. I guess it doesn’t matter now. This whole interdimensional thing kind of changes one’s perspective on morality and theology and so on.”

“I am sorry. The experience must be beyond shocking. I would like to…apologize for my behavior earlier. I don’t much like This One and That One, you see. I don’t like fey much at all.”

“Oh. Is it that whole ‘owing them a favor’ thing?”

“It is a contributing factor. They convinced they fey Ramorrim to help lead our army as the Tactical.”

“Army?”

“Yes. I’m part of the rebellion against the Auttans. They took over our country, Rimvolf about three years ago. We’re part of their empire now. Kor province.”

A heavy water droplet splashed against Jonathan’s head. It started to drizzle. Ari extracted a bag made of heavy, light brown cloth. He set it out on the ground, and he and Jonathan crawled inside the tent. Ari took out the Fire Box and set it down in between them. It glowed dimly, illuminating the fabric walls, and giving everything a bloody tinge. Ari brought out some more bland, but filling food.

Jonathan took a small bite of a round, crumbly piece of flatbread.  He realized that the same odd buzzing that he had noticed the night before had started up again.

Ari reached over and drew the tent’s flap shut.

“We are fighting the Auttans as best we can with a bit of help from some of the surrounding countries. They’re afraid that they’ll be conquered next. Rimvolf used to be a convenient barrier against the Auttan Empire. I suppose we were just an annoyance, a small label on a map that was hindering their expansion. Our neighbors don’t want to openly oppose such a powerful empire, of course.  It’s been bloody difficult, especially since we split. Some of the rebels wanted to restore the monarchy, and go back to how things were, but the way I see it, there isn’t much difference between the royals and the Auttans. Either way, they’re in charge whether we like it or not. But a bunch of people, mostly the nobles want the crown back on the Hellick’s head, so to speak.”

Jonathan turned the piece of flatbread over in his hands.

“So I’m walking into a war zone with a rebel fighter?”

“I’m not taking you into a war zone. We’re going back to True Home. That’s where our main base is located. Then, the Trinity will figure out what to do with you.”

“Who are they? What will they do to me?”

“Don’t worry. You aren’t an Auttan, a Royalist, or a traitor. They won’t punish you.”

“But I don’t want to be a rebel. I don’t fight. I’m a pacifist.”

“A what?”

“A pacifist. I believe everything can be solved peacefully. You know, through civil disobedience and stuff.”

Ari looked puzzled.

“’Pacifist’ or not, I assume that you would prefer to accompany me back to camp than end up wandering the countryside by yourself. If you were lucky, you might end up as some sort of novelty in the Auttan court.”

“Well, what’s going to happen to me once you take me back to your base?”

“Like I said, the Trinity will decide. I do not know what will ultimately happen to you. Presumably, it will be in the best interest of rebellion.”

“But not in my best interest,” Jonathan muttered.

What was that?”

“Nothing.”

They ate. Ari started cleaning his knives with a cloth. The blades looked red in the bloody light.

“Does everyone here fight with knives and swords and stuff?”

Ari shrugged, still focused on his work.

“Only if they’re spelled. Regular ones are easy enough to protect against. We’ve also got some projectile things, but I like blades better. They soak up the spellwork more easily.”

“Spellwork? Like magic?”

“Yeah.”

“We don’t have that at home.”

“Then how do you protect yourself?”

“Um…there are laws, and policemen, and things. Some people have guns, but I think that just contributes to the problem, so I guess it’s mostly the government’s job. And we can fight physically if we need to.”

Ari snorted, but did not say anything.

“What, have you got a better solution?”

“Yes. Magic.”

“Well, unfortunately for us, we haven’t got magic. So we just make do with what we have.”

“You’re world doesn’t sound very well designed.”

“It’s not designed! It’s scientific.  It just sort of happened. And it works just fine. We can get by without magic.”

“Fair enough.”

“It’s just different.”

“Yes. It sounds as though it is. And that reminds me, you should probably change clothes before we get to Wall. You’re dressed incorrectly. We’re going to have to go into a city to meet my friend, and people will be excessively curious. I’ll lend you some clothes.”

Jonathan shrugged.

“They might be a bit big.”

Jonathan shrugged again.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah. Fine.”

“That’s good.”

“Yeah.”

Conversation petered out. Jonathan noticed that the sound rain drumming against the sides of the tent had stopped too. He scooted a bit closer to the Fire Box. Ari put away his knives, and the cloth.

“C’mon.” he said quietly. “I won’t let anything happen to you. It’s not your fault that you’re here. I’ll try to make sure you don’t get swept up in our cause. Fighting isn’t for everyone. If it was, we’d have overthrown the bastards already.”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

“Seriously, though, is everything-”

“Everything is fine, thanks, Ari.”

It was beginning to get stuffy inside the tent. Ari put the Fire Box away. Closing his eyes against the intense darkness, Jonathan curled up and pretended to sleep. He breathed deeply to fool Ari, and he ended up fooling himself as well, because before he knew it, it was morning.

“Where are we going anyways?” he yawned as Ari packed up the tent. He did a slight double take when he noticed that Ari had braided his chaotic ponytail, and tucked the braid down the back of his jacket. He had also tied a rough sort of bandana over his head, effectively hiding his hair.

“Aeolik. Or as it’s now called, Mayin. We should reach it this evening, but we’re camping a few miles away. Now take these, and change.”

Jonathan took the stack of neatly folded clothes, and stripped down behind a tree. The ground was damp from the light rain of the previous evening. However, the clouds hung as low as before. Now there was a charged feeling to the air. Goosebumps erupted all over his skin. He felt defenseless, clothed only in his underwear, out of sight of Ari, in the middle of the forest.

He dressed himself in Ari’s clothes.  They did not fit well. They were loose at the hips and shoulders, tight across the chest and waist, and slightly too long everywhere. He felt funny in the high necked tunic, and trousers still worn over his running shoes. He came out from behind the tree, and Ari gave him a strange, grey coat. It came down almost to his knees, and buttoned all the way up to his chin. He assumed it was waterproof. It had a funny, shiny surface.

Ari had only a light jacket over his tunic, trousers, and boots. He seemed irritatingly at his ease; hardly inconvenienced by the chill.

The new clothes made Jonathan’s skin feel oddly electrified. It was not a pleasant sensation, somewhat like being exposed to low-grade static shocks all over his body. He tried to ignore it.

“That’s better.” Ari said. “If we could only do something about those ridiculous shoes, you’d look almost ordinary.”

Jonathan shrugged, ignoring the remark about his sneakers.

“Thanks for lending me the clothes.”

“It is not an inconvenience. But don’t lose them. They belong to the Circle.”

“The what?”

“The Circle. The rebellion. Just be careful with them, understood?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

He watched his breath puff out into the cold air like a cloud. He looked for trees with leaves still trembling at the ends of their spindly branches. He counted birds, and mushrooms, and shrubs with white berries. He made up a song in his head. He got bored. He wondered if he was allergic to the material of Ari’s clothes. The tingling, prickling sensation persisted.

“Ari?” he called.

Ari, who was a few paces ahead, glanced back. He paused until Jonathan caught up with him.

“What are these clothes made of?”

“They’re a little bit hemp and a little bit magic.”

“Oh.”

Jonathan was pretty sure that he was not allergic to hemp. Becky had bought him a hemp shirt once, and it had not bothered him a bit.

Since the silence had been broken, Jonathan tried to think of something else to talk about.

“Ari, who are we meeting in…Allik?”

Aeolik. But you’re to call it Mayin. That’s the Auttan name for the city. It means ‘the flower’ in their language. That’s the name you’re to use. And we’re meeting my friend, Tob. Tob’s from outside the country. She helps out the Circle by bringing us supplies, and weapons, and money.”

“Okay. I was just wondering. So where’s Tob from?’

“Grek. It’s North of here. They’ve been sending us lots of weapons, but no soldiers. We used to be allies. Not exact-ly allies, but trade partners. Anyways, we weren’t enemies. They’re supporting us over the Royalists, thank deity.”

“Thank deity?”

“I wasn’t thanking a specific god or goddess.”

“O-kay. Um.”

“What?”

“It’s nothing. Only, I believe in only one god. Or at least sort of believe in it. Him.”

“That’s very strange.”

“Not where I come from.”

They arrived at a road. It was paved in something that looked like neglected cement. Its surface was cracked and uneven. Spindly, spiny plants seemed to be in the process of destroying it from the inside. Together, the two boys glanced up and down the road. There was no one else in sight.

“We’re very close, now. We ought to set up camp.”

“Why can’t we just go into the city?”

“I don’t want to rent a room. We haven’t got much money, and I don’t want to get stuck inside the walls after curfew. It’s not safe.”

He couldn’t think of anything to say to that, so he suppressed his twinge of annoyed impatience. He followed Ari away from the road, and helped him set up the tent in a small clearing shielded from view by heavy underbrush. It was wet, and cold, and miserable that evening. Ari was especially laconic, staring almost angrily out into the now pounding rain.

Jonathan started to wonder what his family was doing at this very moment. Maybe his mother and father were making dinner. Chicken? No, they had had chicken only two nights ago. It would be steak, or maybe pasta. But perhaps the times were different, and they were not making dinner at all. Maybe hundreds of years had passed, and they were all dead. Maybe they had not yet been born.

Suddenly, Jonathan wondered if his world had ever existed at all.

He felt a creeping sense of loneliness so intense that it made him want curl up in a ball on the ground. It was isolation beyond words that no amount of companionship could assuage. He looked over at Ari who was crouched in the opening of the tent, and realized that he did not know this person, not really. Jonathan felt cold deep inside, as though his heart had frosted over.

He picked up a leaf that had blown into the tent and started carefully tearing it apart. He scattered the pieces of leaf on the ground. When he had nothing left but a stem, he broke it into tiny pieces and started fidgeting.

“Will you stop that?” Ari snarled after a few minutes.

“Stop what?”

“Just stop moving around. Stay still.”

“Fine.”

Thunder rumbled in the distance.

“Seriously, stop fidgeting. It’s making me nervous.”

“Well, it makes me nervous when you play with your knives.”

“I’m not playing with my knives, in case you haven’t noticed. Just stop, alright?”

“Okay. Whatever.”

Jonathan tried hard to refrain from tapping his fingers and shifting his weight. Accidentally, he itched his chest where the unpleasant feeling of the clothes was the strongest. Ari did not seem to notice. Jonathan concentrated on counting the time between thunder claps. He had read somewhere that one could calculate the distance of a storm based on the time span between the rolls of thunder. He was not sure exactly how to do this, but counting gave him a distraction. He listened and counted silently. The storm seemed to be getting closer.

In the entrance of the tent, Ari was humming quietly. Jonathan doubted that he even realized he was doing it. He looked very cold, even wrapped in a heavy blanket.  Rain plastered his reddish hair to his wet face. His arms were crossed tightly, but Jonathan got the sense that he would like to be fiddling with his daggers.

Rumble. CRACK!

Jonathan and Ari both jumped.  They looked sheepishly at each other. Jonathan smiled a little uneasily.

“Just lightening.” Ari breathed. “It was just some godsdamn lightening. We should be fine. There are lots of tall trees, but the rain should put out any fires. Maybe. We’ll be just fine.”

“Yeah.”

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

Rumble. Rumble. CRACK!

“Just lightening. Everything’s perfectly fine. Everything’s fine, fine, bloody fine. Godsdamn.”

Ari’s face was white. He yanked the tent flap closed, and scooted away from the entrance.

“Are you okay?”

Jonathan hesitantly laid a hand on Ari’s shoulder. He was trembling. He flinched a little at Jonathan’s touch, but did not pull away entirely.

“Yes. Of course. It’s just some godsdamn lightening. Nothing to be afraid of. Just loud noise and godsdamn light. I’ll be fine in a moment. I’m alright, really. It’s just lightening. I don’t like lightening. But I’ll be fine.”

CRACK! Rumble. CRACK!

Ari flinched again.

“Try breathing deeply. Or something. Er.”

This time, Ari did pull away. He sat up a little straighter. His face had gone blank.

“Thank you, but I am really perfectly alright. I am just a little…on edge.” Although steely, his voice was a emotionless as his face.

Lightening cracked again, but Ari hardly batted an eye. There was a frigid determination in his manner. Jonathan could tell he was fighting the impulse to react, but the only sign of his struggle was a faint tightness in the set of his jaw, and a quickness to his breathe. He regarded Jonathan coldly, but without anger. It was like looking at an unoccupied mask, or a house with blinds drawn over its windows; the windows themselves were visible, but everything within was obscured.

Jonathan shrank back a little bit. For some reason, he was keenly aware of the knives in Ari’s belt. Rumble. Rumble. Rumble. Crack.

The storm was receding. Each roll of thunder came farther apart. Nevertheless, rain pounded down with the same ferocity. There was a loud crack and a thump; a branch fell to the ground mere feet away from the tent. Jonathan looked up at the fabric ceiling uneasily.

The next morning, Jonathan and Ari surveyed the destruction around them. Fortunately, no tree limbs had fallen on the tent, which Ari claimed was due to the excellent spot he picked, but Jonathan suspect was more thanks to luck. It had stopped raining sometime in the night. There were thin branches and fallen leaves scattered everywhere. They did not wait for breakfast, but started toward Aeolik- Mayin, Jonathan reminded himself- immediately.

Although Ari led them on a winding route that never came quite in sight of the main road, Jonathan glimpsed a vehicle hurtling past every one and a while. He could not tell exactly what they looked like, but they did not seem to touch the ground as they zipped by.

They left the trees behind, and crossed an extremely marshy field. Muddy water soaked straight through Jonathan’s shoes in a matter of minutes. It seemed that the dry soil had absorbed every drop of water it could hold, but had been unable to drink up all of the rain that had flooded from the now distant clouds.

They crossed a somewhat less marshy field. They came to a foot path. As they walked, Jonathan spotted a few houses scattered far apart amongst the expanses of brown, broken stalks. The buildings had small windows, flat roofs, and thick, whitewashed walls. He supposed that they would keep a lot of heat in, or out, depending on the season.

Jonathan noticed it before they spotted the city. It started as a faint hum that was felt more than heard. As the city loomed on the horizon, the sensation grew more obvious.

“What is it?” he asked.

“What is what?”

“That buzzing!”

“What buzzing?”

“It’s getting stronger, and it…it hurts.”

It was true. As they continued to walk, the vibration reached a painful level. Jonathan gritted his teeth, not only against the pain, but to stop them humming in his mouth. Ari looked at him curiously.

Eventually, they reached a wider road.  There were other people walking ahead of them, but Jonathan hardly noticed them. He held his hands tightly over his ears. Ari led him to the end of a short line of people that had lined up before a wooden gate in the enormous, crenellated wall. There was a pair of men in official-looking grey uniforms flanking the entrance, questioning each person passing through.

“City Watch.” Ari murmured in Jonathan’s ear. “Shouldn’t be too much trouble.”

Jonathan nervously glanced at his running shoes. They did look very out of place. He looked again at the watchmen. They were both very tall and broad chested. He darted a glance at Ari, and was surprised to see that he seemed perfectly at his ease. He even smiled at Jonathan as if to say, not to worry, naïve traveler.

Jonathan was worried. He was worried about the guards, but he was more worried by the fact that the closer he got to the city walls, the more intense the buzzing became. He felt sure that his bones would shake themselves to dust before they got through the gates.

They reached the entrance in less than twenty minutes.

The first guard, a man with a rich brown beard and moustache said, “Names?”

“Burn Nick, and this is my cousin Lok Coil.”

“Business in A- in Mayin?”

“Visiting  my cousin Bret.”

“Duration of stay?”

“Just for the day. We’re leaving before nightfall.”

“What’s in the bag?”

“Camping gear.”

The first guard opened Ari’s pack and unenthusiastically rummaged. He pulled out the Fire Box. It was dull at the moment, not glowing or burning.

“Is this regulation?”

“Yes, sir.”

“We’ve been having lots people selling illegal Fire Boxes lately.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, sir.”

The guard turned it over in his large hands, rubbed the surface, and sniffed it before handing it back to Ari.

“Pay the toll. It’s a half crown.” said the second guard.

He was even taller than the first, and looked to Jonathan like he was from India, or maybe the Middle East. Of course, Jonathan thought, there is not India here. No Middle East either. If only that buzzing would stop…I think I’m going to throw up…no, I can’t. Stop thinking about it. Lalalala everything’s totally fine…

Ari rummaged in his jacket pocket and removed a shiny, yellow coin. Jonathan made out the sharp profile of a person before the second guard took the coin and tucked it into a bag tied around his waist. He handed Jonathan and Ari each a piece of paper typed with the words ‘Visitor Pass. One day only.’ The first guard yawned.

The vibration started to lessen as they drew away from the wall. Jonathan felt a bit better. He glanced around at the buildings. They were flat roofed, narrow, and closely packed. He thought of skyscrapers, but these buildings were nowhere near as tall as many of the towering office buildings back home. Pipes led from the eaves troughs to enormous rain barrels at ground level.

He doubled over and vomited.

“What’s going on?”

Jonathan spat. His mouth tasted disgusting.

“I don’t know. I just…I don’t know. I was starting to feel okay after we got away from the wall, but then…”

“Can you walk?’

“Yeah. I’m  okay. I just need a drink of water or something.”

“Wait here.”

Ari lead him to a mostly empty square. There was a fountain at the centre. He sat Jonathan down on its edge. Jonathan fidgeted uncomfortably. The stone he was sitting on was very cold. There were only a few inches of water in the fountain. He glanced at his pale reflection and winced. He looked awful.

A few minutes passed. Jonathan lay down and pressed his hot face against the cool marble. He closed his eyes. Suddenly, he jerked upright. There it was again! So faintly that he had barely noticed it before, the fountain was humming! He stood shakily and sank to the ground a few feet away.

“Jon-a-than?”

He sat up. Ari was back with a full water skin. He drank thirstily. Then, he took a small mouthful, rinsed, and spat into the fountain.

“Thanks. Ari, what is going on?”

“I don’t know. Maybe you’re just sick or something. Anyways, the sooner we get to our destination, the better. Tob should be staying at an inn a little ways from here. I’m showing up a little earlier than expected, and Tob can be a bit edgy, so it would be helpful if you stayed quiet and stuck close to me.”

“Okay. Sure.”

Jonathan trailed Ari through the narrow streets. It seemed to him that the surroundings were getting increasingly grubby and run down. They finally stopped before a squat wooden building with ‘Whit’s Inn’ painted on it in dirty white letters. They slipped inside.

It was cramped and dim within. Jonathan squinted into the gloom. He supposed that it was some sort of pub. There was nobody inside except for a skinny, tired-looking woman behind the bar. She glanced up half-heartedly, when they entered.

“We’re here to see Brettin Nick. I believe that she’s renting one of the upstairs rooms.”

“Nick? She said she didn’t want any visitors.” the woman said tersely.

“Well, let her know that Burn called. Thank you, milady.”

“I’ll be sure to tell her next time I see her. Good bye, sir.”

The woman turned away and started putting glasses away in a drawer. A scrawny, tousle haired girl entered from a back room carrying a tray. She stopped when she saw Ari and Jonathan and smiled shyly at them. Ari smiled back, nodded again to the barwoman, and led Jonathan back out the front door.

“What now?”

“Quiet. This way.”

Purposefully, Ari walked back up the street. Jonathan followed. They turned a corner, and slipped into an empty alley.

“Back entrance.”

Ari pointed to a door painted with chipped blue paint. He tried the handle. It was locked. He extracted a few oddly shaped pieces of metal from an inside pocket of his jacket, knelt, and began deftly picking the lock of the door.

“Are you crazy? What if someone sees us?”

“Sh!”

There was a muted click. Ari put on his pack, and turned the doorknob. The door opened a fraction.

“Hurry!”

He darted into the inn, Jonathan on his heels. They were in a dirty room full of wooden crates and barrels. There was a rickety set of stairs leading up. Just as Jonathan reached them, a door creaked open. It was the girl, now without her tray. He froze, heart pounding. She had not yet glanced up, but it was only a matter of moments…

“Mere! Come back here and finish the dishes!” a voice called from the front room.

The girl turned away from Jonathan. Stealthily, he put a foot lightly on the first step. It creaked a little, but the girl did not seem to hear it.

“But Mama, you told me to get you more barley crackers from the storeroom!”

Ari was beckoning to him. Jonathan held up a finger. Slowly, he put his full weight on the first step and placed his other foot gently on the second.

“Do as I say! Dishes first, then crackers!”

“Yes Mama.”

She left, closing the door behind her. Swiftly, but gingerly, Jonathan climbed the stairs. He and Ari emerged into a landing above. It was dim, the only lighting coming from a dirty window at the end of the hall. There were five doors. They tried each in succession. The first four opened to reveal dingy bedrooms. The third and final door was locked.

Ari sat down in the hall and brought out his lock picks.

“You can’t just break into-”

Quiet! This is a delicate procedure.”

After a minute or so, the lock clicked. Ari tried the door. It did not budge.

“Spelled. Of course.” he said, seemingly to himself.

Ari laid a palm against the wooden surface. His eyes had a faraway, unfocussed look.  After a few motionless moments, the buzzing surged so strongly that Jonathan almost cried out. It vanished just as suddenly as it had come, and the door swung inward with a faint pop.

Silently, they crept into the shabby rooms. Ari silently checked the hall closet, a bedroom containing a mattress, an empty bookshelf, and a small wardrobe, and a room that was completely empty except for a bare table. As Ari examined the scant contents of the closet Jonathan wandered back into the bedroom.

He crossed to the window. It overlooked the alley that they so recently occupied. It was not a particularly scenic view. He turned and started walking back across the room.

“Don’t move!” a voice whispered fiercely.

Something cold, sharp, and metallic was tickling the back of his neck. Jonathan froze. The point where the metal was touching his skin burned.

“Take four steps backward. Slowly now. Hands up.” The voice hissed.

Jonathan obeyed, mind racing.

“What are you doing here? Who sent you?”

“No one!” he whispered.

“Then what do you want?”

“We’re looking for Tob. Or Ari is anyways.”

“Ari? What do you-”

At that moment, Ari entered the room. He stopped, and stared at something behind Jonathan. A look of incredulous delight crossed his face.

Tob?”

“Ari!”

Someone darted out from behind Jonathan. There was a blur of motion, and suddenly, a slim, raven haired young woman was hugging a rather uncomfortable looking Ari.

“What are you doing here, Ari? I wasn’t expecting you for at least a week! I thought you were out scouting.”

“I was. But I’m going back to True Home earlier, so I thought we could both go. The fey gave me a Traveler to look after.”

“Who? Him?” the woman turned slightly, and Ari carefully slipped out of her embrace.

Tob was more than a head shorter than Ari, but looked to be about nineteen or twenty. Her skin was so pale that she almost glowed, and her hair and slanted eyes were black. She wore a red bandana over her head, a leather vest, tunic, and trousers decorated with horizontal stripes in black and grey. She looked somewhat piratical. Jonathan decided that she was extremely pretty in an elfish sort of way. He wondered if she was actually an elf. Perhaps there were elves in this world…

He rubbed the back of his neck. There was a small raised bump that itched horribly.

“Yes. That’s Jon-a-than. Jonathan, Tobbit Nix.”

“Um…” said Jonathan.

“Nice to meet you Jonthan. Sorry about all that. One can never be too careful.”

Tob grasped his hand and wrung it enthusiastically.

“Where were you hiding, by the way?” Ari asked.

“Wardrobe. It was a tight fit, even for me, but I managed it. I heard my door open, and realized that there were at least two of you, so I thought that it would be best if I was a tad on the cautious side if you know what I mean. Then, I slipped out to ask a few questions of Mister Jonathan Traveler, here.”

Both Jonathan and Ari looked toward the wardrobe. It was open. Jonathan could not imagine how anyone, even the small, delicate Tob, could fit inside it.

“I’m impressed.” said Ari.

“Are we heading out, then? I’m already packed.”

Tob retrieved a pack much smaller than Ari’s from behind the wardrobe and slung it on.

“Yes. What about the shipments.”

“I stashed them in the woods.”

“Let’s get moving, then.”

Jonathan trailed the pair out of Tob’s room. Ari and Tob weren’t actually speaking, but they kept exchanging subtle glances of the sort that made Jonathan feel like an intruder. Old friend indeed, he thought, giving a mental snort.

When they reached the stairs, Ari halted.

“We aren’t exactly…supposed to be here, Tob. The barwoman told us you didn’t want visitors, so we broke in through the alley.”

“Lock picks still in good condition, I take it?”

Ari wrinkled his nose. Jonathan could tell he was suppressing a grin. He cleared his throat, and Ari and Tob started slightly.

“How are we going to get out?” he asked, a little petulantly.

“Window.” Tob said. “I’ve paid for the entire month, so old Mitz can’t complain if I leave early.”

They went back into Tob’s vacant room. Tob shoved at the window.  Its hinges creaked stiffly, but it opened smoothly enough.

“Do we jump, or something?” Jonathan eyed the ground below nervously. Two stories was not really so high up, but the pavement looked extraordinarily hard.

Tob shook her head.

“We climb up onto the roof.”

Before Jonathan could ask for clarification, all that was visible of Tob were her feet on the window sill. After a moment, those too vanished up and out of sight. Ari followed.

Jonathan crossed to the window. There was a narrow ledge outside it. He glanced up. Ari and Tob were peering down at him from atop the roof.

“I don’t know about this.” he called.

“Get moving! It will be fine.” Ari sounded impatient.

Reluctantly, Jonathan got onto the window sill. He stuck his head out the window.  Very slowly, he shifted so that his back was to the sheer drop behind him. He grasped the edge of the roof with both his hands, and stood. He wobbled for a moment as he edged out of the window, but steadied himself against the building. He pulled himself onto the roof with a grunt.

“Okay. What now?” he was pleased that his voice hardly trembled at all.

“We climb down the rain pipe.”

Tob led the way across the flat expanse. Jonathan felt vulnerable even though the roof was as even as the ground below.

The street was deserted except for an old woman rummaging in a garbage bin. Tob gave a significant nod. She dropped her pack off the edge of the roof, then lowered herself after it. Jonathan craned his neck to watch her shimmy down the pipe. It looked disconcertingly frail.

“Go ahead, Jonathan. I’m going back to close the window.”

“Oh. Right. Okay.”

Descending the pipe was not quite as nerve-wracking as climbing out of the window, but Jonathan’s stomach still lurched uncomfortably every time he glanced down. The pipe held, but it was wet, and slippery, and hard to grip.

Ari came a short while later, first tossing down his pack, then expertly lowering himself. The old woman was still digging in the bin. She did not seem to have noticed anything.

As they started walking, the city seemed a little more alive, but just barely.  It was not so early that people would not be at work, Jonathan decided. He wondered if it was a weekend or holiday. However, he quickly discounted this idea. The few people in the streets looked subdued. They hurried along, not making eye contact with anyone.

Jonathan tapped Ari on the shoulder.

“What’s going on?”

It was Tob who had answered.

“Mayin is a royalist town. Imperial soldiers caught and executed a group of crown rebels two days ago. During the investigation, they found out that some members of the City Council were aiding them. They’ve been imprisoned, and are awaiting trial. The entire city is being punished with trade restrictions and curfews.”

“Oh.”

“Fortunately,” she continued, “they aren’t stopping visitors from coming and going. At least, not yet.”

Their route was more circuitous than the one that had lead from the gate to the inn, leading them deeper into the city. At one point, they came to a wall. It was taller than the first, and grey uniformed guards circled it like very orderly sharks. When no one was looking their way, both Tob and Ari spat on the ground.

“That’s where the government buildings are,” Tob said out of the corner of her mouth. “You need papers and a pass to get in at the very least.”

“Oh,” said Jonathan.

They came to the outer wall after a while, and exited. Jonathan was once again almost sick from the awful buzzing, but he managed to refrain from actually vomiting. There were two new watchmen. Technically, a watchman and a watchwoman, Jonathan supposed. Neither paid them much heed as Jonathan and Ari returned their visitor passes.  Tob pulled a much older, crumpled Month Pass out of a vest pocket, and the three of them set off toward the forest.

Jonathan plodded back across the field and into the forest with ill grace. He felt somehow betrayed. He knew it was stupid, that Ari of course had friends, and ‘friends’, and a life beyond Jonathan and the forest and the tent, but it still made him feel resentful. It was like being abandoned by a new buddy in elementary school in favor of one of their older companions who had suddenly returned. He kicked angrily at a pale brown mushroom. It collapsed satisfyingly.

“This way, now.” Tob motioned them deeper into the trees.

And after twenty minutes or so: “Here.”

She was pointing to a mass of brambles about ten feet away. Gingerly, Tob lifted a long, thorny vine, and vanished into a small hole in the foliage. There was a scuffling noise, then a bang, and a quiet, steady purr. Slowly, something emerged from the thicket.

Tob was sitting astride something dull green, and built like a small tank. It floated about a foot and a half above the ground, purring faintly. It had a depression where one could sit, gripping with one’s knees, a steering panel, and a windshield. There was room for at least four people to mount the vehicle. Ari clambered up.

“God.” Jonathan groaned. “Oh God. I think I’m going to-”

He wretched, but nothing came up. Ari leapt off the machine, and knelt by Jonathan.

“What? What is it?” his voice was low and urgent.

“That buzzing! It’s here again! It’s coming from that thing. It’s so strong. I can’t- I just can’t-”

“What’s wrong with him?” Tob murmured.

I don’t know. He was like this earlier after we crossed the wall, but he seemed to get better. I don’t know what’s going on.”

“The wall, the speeder… is there anything else that makes you feel like this?”

Jonathan tried to think. It was difficult because he felt like he was on some sort of murderous vibrating massage mattress.

“Um…the Fire Box, but it’s not as bad. It’s just this faint hum.  Ari’s clothes too. And your knife burned me and left a welt on the back of my neck.”

Ari and Tob looked at each other.

“Do you think it might be-”

“That hardly makes sense, but-”

“It’s just possible-”

“What?” Jonathan growled.

He sat up and glared at the other two.

“Spellwork.” Tob said simply.

“What?”

“You might be reacting to spellwork. You sense it as a vibration. The city walls of Aeolik are very ancient, and spellcasters have been reinforcing them for centuries against attacks. The speeder is powered by spells, as is the Fire Box. My knives are spelled to burn in battle, but they’re under concealment spells to avoid detection.”

Jonathan looked at Ari for confirmation. Ari shrugged.

“Some people are better at sensing spells than others. I’ve never heard of anyone having such an extreme reaction to it, but I wouldn’t rule it out as a possibility.”

Nevertheless, he sounded a little skeptical.

“So I’m like allergic to magic or something?”

“Yes.” said Tob.

“Perhaps.” said Ari.

“Then how am I supposed to ride that thing to wherever we’re going? I’ll fall off, or throw up, or pass out, or something.”

“Well, we can’t walk. The supplies…” Ari broke off midsentence.

He and Tob exchanged a look that Jonathan did not like one bit. He squinted at them suspiciously. After a moment, Ari turned to face him.

“Jonathan,” he said very gravely, “do you trust me?”

“Why?”

“Do you trust me?’

“I’m not going to like this, am I?”

“No.” Tob said.

She crossed to Jonathan and put a hand to his forehead. He tried to jerk away, but she forced his head forward with her other hand.

“What are you doing?”

Jonathan began to struggle in earnest. With an impatient noise, Ari pinned his arms.

“Ari! Stop!”

Tob closed her eyes, and her hand burned against his forehead. Jonathan cried out, and then-

Categories: Fantasy Fiction, Fiction, Modern Fiction, Must Reads, WORST.

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Shieldwolf Chapter 1: Avoidance Techniques by Hades

January 27, 2012

     As soon as the door closed, Jonathan felt stupid. He took off his sodden jacket and hung it on a hook. Somewhere upstairs, Becky was playing her violin. His mother and father were arguing about how to cook a chicken in the kitchen. The nightmare world of wolves and wind and woods seemed much farther that a wall’s width away.

By dinner time, he had half convinced himself that the wolf had been nothing more than a stray dog, or a particularly bold coyote. He was embarrassed about his panicked flight through the forest. There was nothing beneath those dark trees to be scared of. Nothing that he couldn’t handle, at any rate.

Jonathan ate quietly. He ate with his mouth closed, kept his elbows off the table, and chewed each bite thoroughly. His cheerful, intelligent parents had a cheerful, intelligent conversation. Jonathan suppressed the urge to glance over at his sister Becky and roll his eyes.

Becky had not touched her chicken. Becky, his rebellious, hippie sister. The violinist, the melancholy poet, the impractical idealist. She was the crazy one. Not Ben, who was loud, and funny, and popular at school, both on and off the Frisbee field. Not Celia, who desperately wanted a cell phone and blond hair and tickets to a concert she was too young to attend. And certainly not Jonathan.

He ate with a focused intensity. He helped clear the table without his parents reminding him to, and loaded his plate into the dishwasher. He was not paid for chores, but he worked efficiently and went upstairs to do his homework with the same blank ferocity. Jonathan’s face was expressionless.

He would not think of about the assignments, would not let himself rebel against the awful futility of the work. He would not think about the fact that he would write meaningless words, do meaningless calculations, turn them in, and receive more to do as soon as he returned to school. To avoid this despair, he unplugged his heart and his mind and attacked his assignments coldly.

Finally, after hours of essay writing, and graphing, and note taking, Jonathan lay on his back, staring at the ceiling of the room he shared with Ben. The door frame glowed orange with light from the hall. He lay flat, arms by his sides, legs straight. The lonely, slightly muffled sound of Becky singing in the room next door sent a cold tingle down his spine. It was a high, wild tune, probably of her own invention.

The wind was picking up again outside. At 8:00, the radio weather man had predicted that school would be cancelled the next day. A branch whipped the window. Jonathan thought of another branch, a branch in his hand that he had thrown in frightened fury. He remembered the sound of it breaking against a tree trunk. And then, the Woods. With uncomfortable vividness, he recalled the metallic smell of snow, the crunch of frosted pine needles beneath his feet, the rough cawing of a crow, and, most of all the silent, magnificent, terrifying creature that had stared at him with fathomless eyes. In Jonathan’s mind, it loomed hugely, magnified with almost crystalline clarity: the wolf in the Woods.

The need to share the experience built inside him like a headache, the pressure growing until he finally said:

“Ben? You still awake?”

“Mph.”

“Okay, so I saw this…dog, you know walking home the short way through the Woods.”

“So?”

“Okay, okay, I’m getting to the point. Anyways, it was big and it didn’t have a collar, and looked sort of like a husky. Except it was more wild looking. It looked kind of like a coyote or…you know…”

“A wolf?”

“Sure. A wolf.”

He heard Ben sigh. There was a rustling of sheets and a meow from Sparrow, the only one of the three cats that occasionally slept in their room. Ben had obviously disturbed her as he rolled over to face Jonathan and more effectively scorn his supposition.

“Jonathan, that’s stupid. We don’t get wolves around here.”

Jonathan did not like Ben’s tone.

“That’s not true. There’s a breeding program where they release wolves back into the wild and stuff. I read about it in the paper.”

“You read too much.”

“I like reading.”

“Whatever. Okay, so you like reading and logic and stuff like that, right? So let’s just think about this logically, Mr. Spock. People aren’t releasing wolves into urban areas. They’d be running around eating little dogs, and kids, and stuff.”

“One could have gotten lost and wound up in the Woods where it’s isolated and quiet. And besides, I just know it wasn’t a dog. It was too…” he trailed off, searching fruitlessly for the right adjective.

“Wolf-like?” he could tell Ben was grinning. “Can I go to sleep now?”

“Yeah. Sorry. Good night.”

“Night.”

Sparrow hissed as Ben rolled over again.

Jonathan stretched his leg, extending his feet beyond the confines of his blankets. He lay awake, listening as Ben’s breathing slowed to a steady rhythm. The house quieted.

Ben started muttering unintelligibly. By this, Jonathan gauged that it was probably close to midnight. He closed his eyes and sucked in a deep lungful of cool air. Sleep remained elusive.

Somewhere close to the house, a branch cracked. It was a sharp, intrusive noise. Jonathan stiffened. The sound did not repeat, and he forced himself to relax. The strange encounter in the Woods had left him on edge. He mentally berated Ben for his midnight orations.

There was another crack, somewhat louder, and closer than the first. Across the room, Sparrow hissed. He heard a soft thump.

Jonathan sat up and peered into the darkness. Something near the floor meowed. The cat leapt onto his bed, and jumped from there to his desk.  Silhouetted by the faint light, Sparrow looked out from the gap between the curtains.

Guarding us, he thought. He stared at the little grey cat perched on the window sill. For a long time, they remained in that fashion: the boy watching the cat, and the cat looking fixedly out the window. Then, Jonathan fell asleep.

He dreamed an enormous thorny tree with black feathers instead of leaves. He dreamed his friend Lucy was walking through a forest of eyes, dressed in vivid scarlet. He dreamed about a wolf leaping through his bedroom window in a shower of glass and devouring his family.  But he did not remember any of it in the morning.

School was cancelled that day. Even his intrepid parents were forced to concede that they would have to stay home. Celia practically deafened them all with her excited shrieks when she heard the news. Ben grinned, and fell back into bed. Becky shrugged moodily.

Jonathan sat down on the end of her bed. She was already up, writing something in a black-bound journal.

“Here.”

She passed the book to him. He read:

A Memory of Roses

she walks amongst them like a ghost

in the cold garden

where the roses used to grow

 

the spiderwebs all hung

with mists and moons and fire

black thorns harsh against the sky

 

written on her pale lips

in a sharpness that does not fade

flocks of crows in dark

feathered trees

a fretful forest

with one hundred eyes

 

He shivered.

“I like it.”

“Thanks.”

“Yeah.”

Becky looked at him strangely. Her tone was very grave, and the meaning was somehow profound when she said, “Thank you.”

“What for?”

“I don’t know.”

He frowned a little, and went downstairs. A fully dressed Celia was devouring a plate of eggs at the table. His mother and father were eating more sedately. Ben was nowhere to be seen.

“The snow won’t just vanish.” His mother reminded Celia as she inhaled her breakfast. “You can go down to the park with your friends, but please don’t go sledding on Scott Street. I swear someone will get hit by a car going down that hill!”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I get it. Stay away from the big, scary hill,” she said, shoving the last forkful of scrambled egg into her mouth.

When his mother turned her back, Celia rolled her eyes exaggeratedly.

“Jonathan, you’ve been awfully quiet.” His father was looking at him intently, an expression bordering on suspicion on his face. “What’s up?”

Jonathan hesitated perhaps a moment too long before answering. “Nothing is going on Dad. I’m fine. Really Dad. I’m alright.”

He continued his scrutiny, obviously unconvinced.

“Well, I think you should get out of the house today. You could go hang out with Alex and your girlfriend.”

“She’s not my girlfriend, Dad. Lucy is…seeing someone.”

“Lucky guy, whoever he is.”

“Yeah. Guy. I guess.”

He did not bother to correct his father. Jonathan rarely did.

“Well, why don’t you go hang out with Alex and Lucy-who-is-definitely-not-your-girlfriend?”

“I’m not feeling that well. I guess I’ll just stay home, and get some rest.”

Placing a palm on his forehead, his mother said doubtfully, “You’re a little warm. Still, some fresh air would be good for you. Why don’t you walk Celia down to the park?”

He shrugged wearily.

“As long as she isn’t too annoying.”

After eating, Jonathan pulled on a jacket and sneakers. Celia grabbed a small foam sled from the garage and set out into the wintery day. Once out of sight of the house, she changed direction.

“Where are you going?” he called from a little way behind.

“Scott’s Hill.”

“But that’s-” he stopped myself before he could add ‘across the Woods.’ Instead Jonathan said “Mom won’t let you.”

“So? Mom’s not here. And you won’t tell her, will you?” Celia sped up, the sled bumping over the uneven ground behind her. He hurried to catch up and grabbed the sleeve of her parka.

“It’s dangerous, Celia. And it’ll be my fault if you get hurt. I’m supposed to be responsible. You can’t go.”

Celia crossed her arms and regarded him with raised eyebrows. There was something distinctly Becky-ish in her determined expression.

“What are you going to do? Go wunning to Mummy and tattle on me?” she asked in a mock baby voice.

Jonathan breathed in deeply. Patience.

“Seals, I don’t want you to get hurt. You’re my sister. I’ve gone sledding there before, and it’s dangerous. Plus I’m not feeling good and I don’t want to go all the way over to there. So, I think I will go back and tell Mom and Dad.”

A little impatiently, Celia said, “No one has ever been hurt on that hill! Relax. You don’t need to be so uptight about everything. And don’t call me Seals. I hate that stupid nickname.”

She turned and started to trot away.

“Wait!”

Celia ignored him. If anything, she was walking faster. He stopped. He could see the snow covered trees not far ahead.

“Hurry up, Jonathan!” Her voice was sharp and impatient. “You know I can’t go through the Woods alone.”

“Why do you care about rules all of a sudden?”

She tilted her head and rested it on her hand in mock contemplation. “Well, let’s see. Maybe because I don’t want some creepy pedophile to kidnap me or something.”

Jonathan didn’t move. As he recalled, the only people he had ever seen in the Woods were their neighbors, the occasional jogger, and once, a homeless man asleep amongst the trees. Of course, that did not take the gigantic wolf into account.

“So if I stay here, you won’t go?”

“Don’t be stupid.”

With a deep intake of breath, he followed his little sister into the Woods. Celia waited until he had almost caught up with her. Then, she turned on her heel and half-walked, half-jogged down the path. The sled bounced erratically behind her.

They reached Scott’s Hill without any more pauses. There were about a dozen giggling preteens already there, each with a flimsy sled. A couple of boys were pelting each other with snowballs from behind parked cars.

Before Celia could scamper away to join her friends, Jonathan leaned in and whispered, “Enjoy your sledding while you can, Seals. I’ll give you forty-five minutes before Mom and Dad show up. Tops.”

Celia shrugged unconcernedly. Without a backwards glance, she ran off, yelling, “Tessa! Anne! Wait up, you guys!”

Shaking his head, Jonathan started off toward home. The hill was in a quiet part of the city, so he walked in the street. It looked like snowplows had been at work. Nevertheless, snow was soaking through his sneakers, and his fingers were bright red with cold. School tomorrow, he thought. Ben and Celia would be disappointed.

Determinedly staring ahead, he marched into the Woods. There would be no distractions; no delays. In less than half an hour, Jonathan would arrive at his house. It won’t matter if there is a whole pack of wolves; a whole flock of crows, he thought. I’m going home.

Before he knew it, he was out of the Woods and facing the back gate. He carefully scanned the area for signs of movement. There were none. He glanced up, then down.

Slowly and deliberately, he rubbed out the large paw print preserved in the snow with the toe of his sneaker. He opened the gate and latched it securely behind him.

“No need to worry,” he breathed. “Too late.”

The next morning, he decided to be sick.

“Get up, man! Jonathan! Up! We’ve got school! C’mon, get up!”

Pulling his covers up over his head, he croaked, “Go away Ben! I’m sick.”

“Like hell you are.”

“No, really. I’m sick and I can’t go to school.”

Ben gave a derisive snort, but exited quietly in case his brother was actually telling the truth. It was very comfortable, just lying there, eyes closed, listening to the distant sound of other people preparing to face the chilly, snowy world outside. Although it was stuffy under his quilt, Jonathan did not pull it away from his face. It would help bring his temperature up, should one of his parents demand to take it. Sure enough, his father arrived less than ten minutes later. Jonathan could hear a thermometer clink against something else he was holding, maybe his glasses, or car keys.

“Are you awake? Ben told me that you’re sick. Will you going to be able to go to school?”

Very slowly, and feebly, he pulled the blankets away from his head, and rolled over to face his father. He put a hand to Jonathan’s forehead, then handed him the thermometer.

“You’ve definitely got a temperature. How do you feel?”

Making his voice thin and frail, he whispered, “Dad, I can’t go to school today. I’m all cold, and my throat hurts, and I’m nauseous. I just feel really, really bad.”

“Hmm…then I suppose you should take some cold medicine and get some rest.”

It was a test, and he knew it. The cold medicine in question was a thick, brown, gelatinous syrup. It half-suffocated the helpless patient while simultaneously burning the coating off their throat. It tasted strongly of pepper.

This deterrent served to stop Jonathan and his siblings from faking illness to avoid school until they reached twelve or so. His cheerful, intelligent parents hadn’t figured out that they were sometimes willing to take the ghastly concoction if they thought that facing the alternative test, homework, or social problem was worse.

“Yeah. Having some would probably help me feel better. Can you bring it up before you go? Thanks Dad.”

“Okay.” He seemed convinced. “Do you want me to bring you up some breakfast too?”

“No thanks. I’ll have some plain toast if I’m hungry later.”

“That sounds like a good idea.” He ruffled Jonathan’s hair gently. “I’m sorry, but you’re going to be home alone for most of the day. Your mom and I can’t get off work today, but Becky said she’ll skip her violin lessons and come back early. She’ll get home around four.”

“Alright. Bye Dad.”

He listened as his father’s heavy footsteps faded. They returned, and a bottle of cough medicine was deposited on the bedside table. He took his dose docilely. His father reminded him to take another spoonful in the afternoon. He promised he would. Exit father.

Below him, Jonathan could hear his mother’s shoes clacking across the tiled kitchen floor. Spoons clattered on bowls. Voices buzzed unintelligibly. Keys jingled. Doors slammed.  Engines purred faintly from the driveway.

Silence.

He waited for five minutes, still listening. Nobody returned to collect a forgotten binder of briefcase. Slowly, hesitantly, Jonathan smiled with self-satisfaction. He was comfortable, and free to do as he pleased. Right now it pleased him to pick up a large book of Sherlock Holmes mysteries from his bedside table. He thought about what Ben would say if he knew that his brother was reading on a sick day. He frowned slightly. He did not like to think about his brother unnecessarily.

He opened the book and tried to immerse himself in the story. After a few minutes of reading, he succeeded in forgetting his family, and the life he was currently escaping.

“Mrow.”

He turned a page idly. He was about half way through The Sussex Vampire, and could not fathom what the solution might be.

“Mrow!”

He glanced up, annoyed. Sparrow was sitting by the marginally open door, flicking her tail impatiently.

Mrowle!”

“Listen, cat, I’m trying to read. This is classic literature you’re interrupting.”

Sparrow didn’t seem to care. “Mreo-o-o-ow!”

“Let yourself out. You’d only have to nudge the door with your nose, and you could leave. And the door was open earlier!”

“Mrow!”

“Oh for the love of…”

Muttering darkly, he folded the page to mark his spot and heaved himself out of bed. Sparrow wound between his legs, obviously pleased with her cleverness.

“There. The door’s open. Out.”

Without a second’s hesitation, she streaked away down the hall. Jonathan shook his head.

“So much for gratitude.”

For a moment, he was torn between clambering back into bed and going down stair to feed himself. Hunger won. Jonathan grabbed an errant sweatshirt before realizing it was one of Ben’s. It had a faded picture of a cartoon dog catching a Frisbee in its mouth, and the sleeves came down past his hands. He put it down and wrapped a blanket around his shoulders instead.

Shivering a little, he edged down the stairs, and sprinted across the cold kitchen floor barefooted. The house silent except for the hum of the refrigerator, and the faint murmur of the wind outside. Pale, grey light suffused the morning. Jonathan felt very pleasantly alone. He thought that Becky would have written a song or a poem about the solitude. A few lines came to him, but as he tried to hold them in his mind, they dissolved into nonsense.

Celia’s small, white tomcat Ed was curled up on the warm spot in front of the fridge. He stood, stretching languidly when he spotted Jonathan. To his great surprise, Ed stalked up and rubbed against his leg.

“You’re awfully solicitous.”

He gently scratched Ed under the chin, feeling the vibration of his purr. Then, he scooted the cat away with his foot, and yanked open the fridge. There was half a loaf of whole grain bread, a small square of hard cheddar cheese, and not much else. They would need more food soon.

Meditatively, Jonathan constructed a sandwich with far too much cheese. He sat in one of the straight-backed kitchen chairs, sandwich in one hand, newspaper in the other. Ed clambered onto his lap. He craned his small neck as if to read along with him. Jonathan raised an eyebrow. The cats were very friendly this morning.

When he was done eating, he carried his plate to the sink and left it with the dirty dishes from the family’s breakfast. There was a tap. It was a sharp, but slightly muted noise: the sound of something hard but dull striking glass. Jonathan paused, warily. It came again. He circled the kitchen, searching for the source. Tap. Tap. Tap.

“What the…”

He was face to face with the crow. It was perched boldly on a window sill, staring into the house.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Its ebony beak made hard contact with the glass.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Half entranced by the bizarre scene, he backed away from the window. There was a dream-like quality that prevented him from running up the stairs for cover. Jonathan was rooted to the spot, transfixed or perhaps hypnotized. Tap.

In a disconnected fashion, he thought, Quoth the raven ‘Nevermore’.

Then, he wanted to laugh at the melodramatic nature of what had just entered his mind. The whole scene was too surreal. He was half fascinated, half petrified…

MREO-O-o-O-o-OWLOWEOWMRoW!”

A hissing, thrashing, yowling, black phantasm hurtled past him. It leapt onto the counter and dashed itself against the window. The hypnotic moment passed. A massive cat crouched on the window sill, menacing the crow. After a few moments of intense staring, the crow gave up and flapped away.

“Inky?”

It was. The great, ink colored, half-feral cat had emerged from the attic. Jonathan was truly astounded. When Becky adopted her four years ago, she had been flea ridden, emaciated, and missing chunks of fur. Now, Inky was enormous, her black coat glossy. Although scarred and lacking part of an ear, she was well fed and clean. She never forgave them for it. The cat lurked in the attic, venturing out only to collect her meals from the stairway. Sometimes, not even then. Jonathan supposed that there were mice living amongst the storage boxes.

Her evil yellow eyes gleamed. Foolishly, he reached out to pat her and she shied away, hissing. Jonathan climbed back upstairs in a daze. Sparrow was sitting on his bed. He flopped down beside her and stared at the ceiling. It had a lot of interesting whorls and shadows to keep him occupied.

Although he lay there unmoving for a long while, he did not drift to sleep. He roused himself only when the doorbell rang twice: Becky was home. He heard the jingle of keys, the thump of a backpack hitting the ground, the gentler thump of a violin case being set on the kitchen table, and the quiet patter of feet on the carpeted stairs.

He sat up when she entered the room. Her face was very hard. School was not kind to Becky, he observed sadly. As she looked at him, she smiled a little.

“Have you eaten?”

“Yeah.”

“How do you feel?”

“Better, I guess.”

“I guess that’s good. Do you need anything?”

“No. It’s okay.”

“Alright.”

They looked at each other for a moment, and then Becky turned away and closed the door behind her. Jonathan sighed. One could only be sick for so long, he mused.

The next morning, he stared regretfully out the back window of his mother’s car. Rain was streaking down in freezing sheets. Water droplets coursed down the window of the car. He touched the glass. It was very cold. It misted slightly with his breath. He and Ben and Becky were getting a rare and welcome ride to school. His father had already dropped off Celia at the middle school.

Unfortunately, that afternoon they would be walking home despite the unfriendly weather.

The car pulled up in front of the high school, gutter water flying from its tires. Becky, Ben, and Jonathan sprinted for cover. In a few, brief seconds of exposure, they were completely soaked, their hair plastered darkly to their rain spattered faces. Ben shouldered open the door, and Becky followed, their wet sneakers squeaking on the linoleum floor.

Jonathan paused for a moment, staring out into the rain. The parking lot was only half full. His mother’s sleek, silver car had already pulled away. He thought about his parents working busily, happily, and contentedly at their respective offices. He turned away from the rain and wind and trees, and opened the door.

Crowds of rain soaked students were drifting between lockers and classrooms. He was intensely and unpleasantly lonely. Yesterday, he had been alone, and perfectly happy to remain so. Today, he was surrounded by people, but he had never been so isolated.

He frowned a little and put his hands in his pockets. A bell sounded, and he hurried down the 200 hall toward his English class; there was no time to visit his locker. Jonathan felt the sudden urge to turn around and dash out the front doors of the school. He had never skipped classes before in his life; well, at least not without feigning illness. He wanted to leave, unexcused, without seeking any permission but his own. He half turned, but the hall was full of blank-faced students. They were walking inexorably toward him. He could not look at them, could not face the awful anonymity of their blank, tired eyes, so he slipped into his classroom and went to his seat.

The day did not improve from that point. Mr. Stein handed them their new novel: The Scarlet Letter. Jonathan read the inside flap unenthusiastically. The cover was decorated with an ugly painting of a distressed young woman with big, sappy eyes. He stowed it in his already heavy backpack. Mr. Stein lectured them. Jonathan disengaged his senses, took crisp, boring notes, and stared attentively at Mr. Stein’s eyebrows. They were bushy, and grey, and they moved up and down as he talked.

In math, they had a test that he was thoroughly unprepared for. Science was so dull that he was bored almost literally to tears.  At lunch, Lucy told Alex and Jonathan that she was splitting up with Sonja. And so it continued…

He approached the Woods with a sense of impending doom. Frigid sleet trickled down the back of his jacket in an ominously melodramatic fashion. He wanted to feel cool and unimpressed, but nevertheless, he faltered indecisively. If he circled the Woods, he would probably end up walking home in the dark, down by the college. He did not relish that prospect. He did not want to take the bus either. The bus gave him a case of existential depression more severe than reading a whole book of “Peanuts” comics.

The rain cast a misty pall on the street. Thirty minutes. Then he would be home, ashamed of his weakness; his pitiful fear. There were odd things going on, it was true. But home, despite its flaws, was safe.

With a muffled patter, rain struck the trees above. Forest green was not an accurate name for a cheerful, plastic-Christmas-tree color, he thought. Forest green was an ugly, mossy black that darkened with wet weather.

He did not realize that he was in trouble until he lost sight of the street. Too late, he noticed the subtly sinister padding of leathery paws on pine needles. The wolf faded out of the shadows.

“Growl.” it said.

Categories: Fantasy Fiction, Fiction, Modern Fiction, Must Reads, WORST.

Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Shieldwolf Prologue by Hades

January 27, 2012

In the beginning…

There was a boy. He was skinny, and tall, and looked as though someone had grabbed his feet in one hand and his hair in the other, and pulled hard in opposite directions. His feet were large, and clad in heavy, black running shoes that skidded slightly on the icy pavement. Above the clumsy feet, he was dressed neatly in jeans, a collared shirt, and a black windbreaker left unzipped. An overstuffed backpack made him lean slightly forward as he walked. His tousled brown head was bare despite the biting wind.

He hurried down the street, shoulders hunched against the chill of the late afternoon. Soon, the bustle of cars, bicycles, and pedestrians was muffled by the soft soundlessness of snowfall. The flakes fell around him and on his hair and shoulders. They dashed themselves against his warm cheeks and neck. He shivered, zipping his windbreaker up to his chin. This was sharp, angry snow that pelted down with the vengeance of hail, stinging slightly where it landed.

Faster and faster the flakes fell. The boy barely avoided collision with a cyclist riding the wrong way down the sidewalk. So thick was the snowfall, he almost continued on past the faint but familiar path that stretched across a field toward the Woods.

Frozen grass crunched beneath his shoes. He hung his head wearily and buried his hand deep in his pockets. Almost before he realized it, the Woods were directly ahead, looming before him out of the early dusk.

Their green shadow had already engulfed him. He faltered, glancing perhaps a little apprehensively at the blackness of the limbs above. Snow was falling faster now. Huge, thick flakes the size of quarters settled on a crisp outer layer that already blanketed the ground. The wind whipped the snow until it fell almost horizontally. The wind was blowing at his back, pushing him into the Woods’ embrace, and yet he hesitated.

Finally, after what seemed like five minutes, he took a deliberate step forward. He squared his shoulders, clenched his hands in his pockets, and kept walking.

It was much darker under the evergreen boughs. Occasionally, one of the trees would dump a load of snow onto the needle-strewn ground with a mighty, creaking thump. Then, the branch would spring up again, sending any remaining flakes cascading down in a glittering stream.

His footsteps were too loud.

A flurry of white crystals landed on his bare head. He stopped to brush the snow out of his already wet hair, shivering as some flakes trickled down his shirt. Rubbing his hands together vigorously, he hurried on lest the offending branch should attack again.

In the trees above, something croaked, deep and gravelly. The boy jumped a little and quickened his pace. Feeling a draft on his neck, he ducked as a dark something swooped low over his back. It soared upward again and landed in the low branches of a tree across the path.

Squinting through the dim half-light, the boy could vaguely make out the outline of a crow. Its impossibly black eyes glinted at him out of the gloom. The bird opened its beak and let out a loud, irritating caw.

He stooped and snatched a stick from the ground. When he straightened, the crow was nowhere to be found.

“Stupid bird.”

His voice was small, and young, and very quiet.

“I said, STUPID BIRD!” he threw the stick at a tree trunk. It split with a sharp crack.

And silence. It was as though the abrupt noise had switched off the howling wind, quieted the creaking trees, and ended the small scurryings of squirrels. The boy stared around wildly. He took a step back and whirled around, feet light and poised for flight.

There was a wolf in the middle of the path.

It was sitting there nonchalantly, watching him with tawny eyes. Snow crystallized the long, silver hairs of its coat, and encrusted its bushy tail. It was very still. In fact, it did not move at all except for the occasional twitch of its moist, black nose as it sniffed the air. It hardly blinked.

The wolf stared at the boy. The boy stared at the wolf. The seconds stretched on like hours. The boy eventually lost his nerve and looked down. He froze again, staring at his shoes instead of at the wolf.

Perhaps this scene would have stayed unchanged until the snow had melted and winter passed if a raspy cawing hadn’t momentarily distracted the boy. Perched on a branch across the path, the crow bobbed up and down, splintering the silence with its harsh cry. The repetitive noise visibly calmed him. He took a deep breath.

“Go on!”

He stomped his foot at the wolf.

“Go home! This is the city! You don’t belong here. Well, GO ON!”

The wolf twitched its nose, apparently unperturbed. The boy started edging around it, keeping a safe distance from the animal. With one fluid motion, it stood. Still watching him, it shook a few snowflakes out of its fur and gave a huge yawn. It had a lot of very sharp, white teeth that managed to glisten despite the low light.

It turned and trotted off into the Woods. He watched until the darkness swallowed it completely. The crow gave a low croak.

“What are you looking at?”

He adjusted the position of his backpack. The bird gave one last irritating caw and flapped away after the wolf.

“You do know that crows don’t fly at night!” he called after it.

Shivering slightly, he started walking toward home. Then he broke into a gentle jog. He heard, or maybe imagined that a branch cracked somewhere in the darkness behind him.

It was so cold…

He ran. He stumbled and nearly fell, but righted himself just in time. The wind had changed directions and was blowing in his face. Minutes later, although it felt like an hour, a day, a dark, snowy eternity, he arrived panting at the back gate, unlatched it, and slammed it shut behind him.  With clumsy, frozen fingers, he unlocked the back door and half-fell into his house.

The wind howled in the Woods.

Designed by Tim Sainburg from Brambling Design

Categories: Fantasy Fiction, Fiction, Modern Fiction, Must Reads, WORST.

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Don’t really have a title because I just started writing…

January 22, 2012

Stumbling down a dark alleyway, drunkenly stumbling along. The two run past couples caressing in the dark corners. She laughs and he pulls her arm a little harder, further away from the safe lights of the Taxi cab. Somewhere off in the distance a bottle shatters and sirens wail. He presses her up against the cold wall. Flailing arms, gasping breaths. She slumps on to the ground, the sound of tearing satin and dying breaths hanging heavy in the damp air. He picks up his jacket off of her shoulders and takes off his gloves, walking away, tossing them down a sewer drain, and dissolving into the shadows.

~

              Flashing red and blue lights as the others pull up to the scene. I’ve been here for about fifteen minutes, standing in the cold, watching my breath escape between my lips and envying the people who have normal jobs with normal hours and can sleep in on Saturdays. There they are, all warm in their beds and here I am. Waiting for my sister and my coffee, not really knowing what is around this corner.  Bea steps out of the car, juggling the coffee, smiling somehow.

“Bea, its 5:30 in the morning on a Saturday in November, there’s a dead woman around the corner, and you’re smiling?” She looks at me, still smiling. I guess she didn’t hear the November part. Or the dead body part. Or the Saturday part.

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

Saving A Life

April 6, 2011

               Hey, Everyone! This is another assignment for language class. Actually, its pretty safe to say that half of the stuff I put up – at least – is an English assignment. I just wanted to get some feedback and see what you think. Thanks! (By the way, I believe this is my shortest “short story” yet! Less than two pages on Word! :) )

                I gasp, the lingering feeling of the ice cold water still on my skin. I blink, my vision slowly clearing. I hear voices, see the sun shining brightly, a jumble of sound and activity. Suddenly, I can’t keep my eyes open, and they close with a terrifying kind of finality.

                I panic, trying to fight and flail, but I couldn’t move. Am I dead? I wonder. I struggle to open my eyes, to kick, to move my lips, anything.Finally, I resign to channel all my effort into wiggling my finger. It’s not working. The only confirmation amid the blackness is my overwhelming sense of fear. Now that I’m thinking about it, so was the blackness. My fear, however, was at this point far beyond all rationality. I feel the sensation of being moved drift past my consciousness. I try to struggle, scream, cry – all unsuccessful. Finally, the effort exausts me and I slip into unconsciousness.

                I don’t dream, or if I do I don’t remember any of it. At first, as I drift out of unconsciousness, I  want to retreat back into sleep. Then I remember that it’s the last thing I want. Terror threatens to grip me in more impenetrable blackness.

                Then, I open my eyes.

                My head’s throbbing. I reach up and feel dried blood on my hair. There’s some on my clothes, too. I must’ve fallen into the river and hit my head on something, I guess.

                Owwww, something hard and sharp.

                I take a deep breath, then gasp as my head throbs harder than ever.

                Okay, then. Something really hard and really sharp.

                I look around at my surroundings. I’m laying on a thin mattress, the pure white sheets tucked underneath my arms and greatly contrasting the blood on my hair and clothes. There’s a bedside table next to me, completely clear. I sit up, gripping the metal hand rails on both sides of the bed , my feet pressing against the one at the base. Everything seems so sterile, so clean.

                It’s obviously not my room.

                I can see through the window out into a large parking lot, filled with cars, and, to my left, a separate wing of the tall brick building I must be in. As I watch, a flashing ambulance pulls into the lot. Two men leap (LEAP or HOP here? I’m not sure.) out, wheeling a limp form on a stretcher.

                I wince once more at the pain in my head, lying down again. I squeeze my eyes shut, assuming the worst is over. After a few minutes, the main in my head begins to recede, making room for a slight pinch in my arm. My eyes flutter open, flying to a small needle stuck into the vien on the inside of my arm. I want to pull it out – I hate needles – but I’m afraid to. What if blood comes spurting out? No thank you.

                The pain in my head begins to slip away a little more. I shut my eyes, a wave of calm rushing over me. My head no longer hurts. When I open my eyes, nothing is new, but it seems to me that I see a shimmering mist. I shake my head to clear it, sure I’ve gone crazy. I must have hit my head really hard. Yeah, that’s it. But then, I take a look at the once-bare bedside table next to me. There, seeming to tell a very different story, lay a small black Bible.

Categories: Fiction, Inspirational Fiction, Modern Fiction, Short Stories.

Tags: , ,

Sometimes There Isn’t A Miracle

January 20, 2010

by Miracle for her creative writing class.

She stared at the rainwashed sky and did not cry. A quiet scent of opening flowers shivered in the air before it was swept away by the rich cry of satisfied earth. Worms squirmed from their muddied tunnels into the clean air and the birds, who had been patiently perched among the leaves, descended to pluck at their warm bodies. The dog chased some rat or mole across the field, announcing his find with gusto. The calico cat slunk away in exasperation.

She noticed all these things because they distracted her from the others. The sagging, brown house at the end of the horizon. The long, dusty road running from it. And the two classy vehicles halted in the dust by three cows who were determined to graze at the pockets of trampled grass that grew there. Perhaps the cows were fighting in their own way. She smiled, then clenched her fists. She was thinking about it again, she had promised herself she wouldn’t. Not yet.

“Ma’m?”

She turned, saw the worn face of Abraham. His wrinkles were in all the wrong places. They were arranged around a smiling face, not a frowning one.

“I’ll be fine, Abe,” she said in a voice that sounded almost confident. “I’ll find a job somewhere, maybe the city.”

He rubbed the dry handle of the wheelbarrow he had been pushing to the stables. “You won’t be happy in the city.”

She stood straighter, stared directly into his eyes. That was the only way to lie to Abraham. “I’ll manage. My sister called, she said there’s a position for a nanny. I’ve always been good with children.”

“But what will you love?”

She shrugged slightly, tilted her head sideways to look at the big, beautiful gray sky. She would miss the sky. “I’ll find a handsome actor to love and a best friend to drink coffee with.” She smiled. “Most people get along fine just loving people.”

“Not you,” he said.

“I’ll manage,” she replied, looking back at him. “I can’t stay with the farm. If I could, don’t you think I would? But there’s not enough money. Even you have been working on half a paycheck for the past year. Don’t you want a new situation, some place you can actually live fat on?”

He shook his head. “If I wanted that, I wouldn’t be here. But I don’t.”

She stared down at her rough hands, calluses and dirt jammed under her fingernails.

“It’s falling apart anyway without my father,” she said. “After all these years, to think it was him who kept the place up, him and his greenbacks.”

The cows had been finally coaxed off the road. They chewed lazily at the green-yellow grass beside it, content. Ignorant. The cars finished their journey to her house. It looked old and used next to their sleek professionalism.

“I have to sell it, Abe. I need to go.” He watched her as she tensed with determination, locked her eyes on the old house, and walked.

Categories: Modern Fiction, Short Stories.

Don’t Forget How Your Muse Works!

January 16, 2010

last night i happened to run across this old thing that myth posted back in april… man. i laughed my head off. anyway, if you never read this, YOU MUST. and if you already did, well, read it again! it’s so hilarious i almost DIED laughing… myth does have a way of doing that. this post must not be forgotten! it shall not be lost in the sands of… posts! WE MUST REMEMBER HOW WE NEARLY DIED LAUGHING! :D

~Sandy (and i couldn’t decide what to post it under, so it’s in all the categories :D )

http://theworstending.com/?p=2178

——-

Dedicated to:

Em-you helped me come up with this on the phone. Well, you didn’t say really any of it (a line or two), but you still inspired it :D :D :D Miss ya, ’sis’! (And yeah, Sandy, you got on the phone later or I dunno…but the point is you heard it too :D LOL!)

The way I see it, your muse is like a person.

To be more specific, it is like a human in the sense that it has different moods and different sides.

If your muse whispers to you “Kill this person” or “Make this horrible thing happen that you really don’t even want to make happen”, then it is being evil.

On its best days, it is a majestic eagle, or a graceful unicorn.

On its worst days, it is like a munching parasite, or a greedy termite.

When it is evil, it eats at your mind and turns what it eats into dark energy.

This is bad.

When your muse runs away, it is like a disobedient child. It leaves you feeling empty and confused, and it loves to make you feel so. It relishes your discomfort.

It will come skipping home, an evil grin on its face. You may think that punishing it will just make it run away again, but really that will only make it think, “Well, ‘Mother dear’ didn’t punish me. It must she doesn’t really care…which means I can do whatever I want, all the time!!!!”

Trust me-that is a bad idea.

When it does come home, you ought to spank it and send it to bed with no supper.

Sober it.

Then hopefully by morning it will come to you with its hands clasped behind its back and its head down. It will say, “I’m very sorry.”

You can then forgive it and give it breakfast. It will be quite hungry by now.

However, I am not telling you to punish it eeeevery time it does something-because there will always be a time it does something. That’s the way most muses are. They are rebellious, and they like to have their say and go their own way.

But you do need to punish it every now and then to remind it who is in charge.

Because you ought to be in charge.

Most of the time.

I say ‘most of the time’ because there are, in fact, times where you can let your muse lead, and when you do so, you will find it leads you to a most agreeable place.

But don’t let it rule you.

You’re boss.

Step up.

Crack down.

When it runs away, don’t coax it. Don’t write a poem that says:

Musie, Musie, where have you gone?

Musie, Musie, please come home!

Musie, Musie, I feel so alone!

Musie, Musie, please hear my song!

If you coax it, it will make you pay some price to get it to come back. You don’t need to pay to use your imagination or muse.

You own it. You get to say whats what in good ol’ Museville.

‘Musie dear’ is your child. You are its mother.

You are its ruler.

You are its owner.

Let’s all remember that, shall we? Because if we don’t, we’ll let our muses take over.

Very, very bad thing to do.

Usually.

Also, if it runs away, don’t go looking for it. Just let it come.

Of course, if it really won’t budge, then you can always get a friend or two to threaten to kick its butt into next week.

Next year.

Next century.

And try to pick some of your more intimidating, stronger friends.

That oughta scare little ol’ Musie good.

*Ghostbusters theme song*

When Musie runs away

And you can’t find him

Who can you gonna call?

Buttkickers!!!

(Your friends would be the Buttkickers by the way-and you would also be one because I’m sure you’ll wanna kick Musie’s butt when it runs away and then comes home and acts like nothing happened.)

So, when Muse acts up, you’re just gonna ignore him.

When he tries to get attention, you’re gonna pretend he doesn’t exist. Never did.

When Muse runs away, you’re not gonna panic.

Because you know your muse the best, and you know how to trick him into coming back.

Besides, you can always tell him you’ve just met a new muse and might forget about him now. The new muse is soooooo nice…

Trickery might sound terrible, but your muse is really untameable. So you can only do to it what it does to you.

Remember, your muse is like a disobedient, rebellious child.

Maybe it’s going through puberty.

Whatever the case, you’re its parent.

You’re in charge.

When it comes home, ya spank it and send it to bed with an empty stomach.

And ya move on with life.

Muses may seem to come and go, but there will never be a time when they’re gone completely.

They’re just hiding around the corner, waiting to see if you’ll come looking for them, stinky little buggers that they are.

Don’t.

Curl up in your LaZBoy, sipping your hot cocoa (in the dead of winter; your muse will probably be quite cold wherever he is hiding from you, and if its summer, he’ll be hot). Wrap yourself in a blanket and read a book.

Muse’ll come back.

Always does.

He can’t resist.

I’m done singin’ ma song now.

Oh wait.

*dorky weather person voice (imagine dorky weather person with dumb smile)* The weather today was hot and sunn, and tomorrow should be the same! Yay! Partaaaaaaaaaaaay!

Now I’m done singin’ ma song.

Peace out, ya’ll, and remember not to let Muse control you!

And if it tries, who ya gonna call?

*faint in background* Buttkickers!!!!
Yeah. Random. I admit it.
But still…
Peace out!

Categories: Fantasy Fiction, Historical Fiction, I'M TO LAZY TO CORRECTLY CATAGORIZE MY STORY!!!!!!!!!! :P, Journal, Lyrics, Modern Fiction, Nonfiction, Poetry, Romance, Science Fiction.

Tags: , , , ,

Cuts and Burns

October 9, 2009

by Roxanne

The last act finally came to an end, and the guitarist left the stage. We all clapped and Coach Gerry jumped onstage.

“Give it up for all of tonight’s performers,” he said enthusiastically. It was the much-anticipated end of the school year talent show and formal. We were all dressed up for the occasion, seated around numerous round tables on the Hilton’s fifth floor. We had eaten, watched performers, and listened to seniors drone out stories from their “high school years”. We were ready to hit the dance floor.

“The teachers have gone to tally up this year’s talent show results,” Coach Gerry continued. “And I’m sure you all are ready to get moving!” At that the music blared and we stampeded towards the floor. Seniors first, of course, next us juniors, and then the lower classmen.

“Keri!” My best friend, Diane, called, pulling me towards a less-crowded corner of the dance floor. Most of my friends were there and we laughed and danced to the song the D.J. had played. I saw Coach Gerry lean his head wearily against the wall in the banquet area. He was expected to retire before graduation next year.

The next song started and the teachers still hadn’t come back. We continued to dance and I felt it getting increasingly warmer in the room.  I asked if anyone else noticed and they said they did but, we decided with a laugh that it was just because of how hard we’d been dancing.

A few minutes later, I walked off the dance floor to get a drink. My friend, John, was with me. We got some punch and sat down at a table. I happened to glance towards the door and see smoke seeping out from under it. I nudged John, “What in the world is that from?”

“I dunno. Maybe they brought in a fog machine for the winner,” he mused. I stood.

“No, that stuff is rising. Fog doesn’t rise, smoke rises,” I said. He nodded and we walked over to the door.

“John, Keri, where are you going?” Coach Gerry called.

“Look, Coach,” I said, and cracked open the door. I got a glimpse of flames and a blast of heat on my face before I closed the door. It was hot to the touch.

“Oh my gosh, John. This hotel’s on fire!” I said, he stared at me blankly, then said:

“We gotta pull the fire alarm,” and leaped across the room in two long strides. He pulled down the red handle. I braced myself for the siren but nothing happened. We looked at each other with wide eyes.

“Something must be wrong with the alarm system,” Coach Gerry whispered, a bit at a loss.

“And the sprinklers for that matter,” I added. The other kids were beginning to notice the smoke whirling in from under the doors.

“What’s going on, Coach?” A line-man boomed from across the room. Everyone started moving around.

“We’ve got to find a way out of here, Kids. What can we do?” Coach Gerry muttered, then yelled: “Everyone stay calm and stay where you are!”

“Call 911!” A kid shrieked.

“Yes!” Coach Gerry said in that general direction. He seemed to be moving slowly. Sweat coated my body, I began to feel the heat. My dress had become confining.

“Girls with long dresses!” I screamed over the music, the D.J. having run out of the room in a panic seconds before. “Rip off the top layer around the bottom of your dresses! It’ll hinder us on our way out!” Girls all around bent over and struggled to pull off the silky fabric, revealing the more flowy, second layer. The air tightened around us and I knew we had to get going.

“All the freshmen to that door! sophomores to that one!” Coach Gerry wheezed. The thinning oxygen was affecting him more than the rest of us. Many of the kids began to scream or cry. A basketball player said, “I’m out,” and sprinted out of the “sophomore’s door”, starting a stampede.

“Stop!” I screamed, but it was too late. Chaos had won out. People were pushing others out of their way to get out of the room. I saw a cheerleader fall and several of her friends brush past. I ran over to help her up. Diane was there before me.

“What do we do?” She asked, mascara dripping down her face. I lifted up the cheerleader and told them both to take the stairs at the back. I knew that it might be smokier, but there would be less people.

“Get her out!” I told Diane and she guided the smaller girl out the door. Chaos still reigned in the room. Kids everywhere were pushing through others, and getting stuck in the doorways. I spotted John helping Coach Gerry. “Is he okay?” I asked. John shook his head. I refused to believe the worst and looked around. “You! Um, Jimmy Trent!” A burly athlete turned at my call.

“Carry him down!” I screamed. Jimmy looked at me like I’m crazy and started to turn away but John was there in an instant, pulling him back.

“I got to get out of here,” Jimmy coughed, even as he lifted Coach Gerry. Another athlete passed and I grabbed her. She helped Jimmy with Coach. I pushed through the crowd in front of them.

“Look out, guys, Coach Gerry’s coming through!” I rasped. We entered the hall and the smoke was blinding. We followed the hall to the back stairs and I propped the door open so the two athletes could get through with the unmoving form. “Get him out in the air as quick as possible!” I yelled after them.

“What about you?” Diane said, squeezing past on her way up the stairs.

“What about me? You were supposed to get the cheerleader out!” I replied as we directed more kids towards the back stairs.

“I did,” she replied.

“I’m going back in to help John!” I said. She nodded and continued helping kids find the exits.

That’s the last time I ever saw her.

Designed by Tim Sainburg from Brambling Design

Categories: Inspirational Fiction, Modern Fiction.

Kind of…Prolouge… to new story? -Kira

October 6, 2009

Lemme explain. This is Kira. Mhm. I’m back now. I am still writing piano, but its been really slow and today I had this new idea…which Kind of connects to the art work I’ve been doing all the time now. Photography. Each chapter is called “roll” for example chapter one is called “roll one” . Each chapter has a picture with it that goes with it. This isn’t a full chapter its the beginning of one. So, I just put a picture with it to give you the idea of the format. The girl is me, but pictures of me represent the character (Michelle) in the book. Okay so yes I’m back please give me feedback. Even though this isn’t much yet!

hmm

hmm

Roll One

I place the roll of film on the check-out counter, and wait as a clerk with a pouted bottom lip and dull eyes picks it up and scans the price.


“You want a bag?” she says, holding up my film, change, and receipt.


“No,” I say, and for a moment we fall silent, our eyes awkwardly scanning the floor. I notice a tiny ant crawling across the ground, and watch it until it disappears from view. I look up to see that the clerk is holding out my things, an impatient smirk distorting her face. I blush as I take them. People in the line watch me as I walk to the front doors of the store and leave.


Once outside, I find a bench and drop my items next to me. The change slips through an empty space in the bench, and I hear the familiar sound of falling coins. I sit back and think about my somewhat frivolous encounter for a moment, then let out a giggle. The giggle results in a fit of laughter, and I clutch my sides, digging into my ribs.


Again, people are watching me. I wonder if anyone can mind their business anymore. In a startlingly brazen outburst, I meet someone’s eyes – a boy I have never seen and will never see again. He stares back with confusion in his eyes. I break into a smile, cross my eyes, and proceed to laugh some more. He slowly turns, but walks away briskly.


It is then that I realize I am insane.

-

end. :D yep its really short but i wanted to post something…. :|

Categories: Modern Fiction.

Tags:

Chapter One

September 23, 2009

“Skye Yvonne Iris!” Mom hollered. I heard footsteps coming upstairs.
No…no…no...I thought over and over. Just go away. Don’t come in here. Leave. Go. Please.
“Young lady, you are in major – ” Mom started to say as she slammed the door open.
She looked at me, her jaw all but dropping to the ground.
Her lips moved – she was trying to speak  – but nothing would come out.
“I…I…” I stammered.
But I simply could not explain why on earth I was hovering five inches off the ground.

~

My parents – and I – had been completely creeped out by my strange new ‘ability’. They had heard of the scientists in Tricity who experimented on people like me – figured out what was ‘wrong’ with us. They claimed it was for the good of all Tricity that they did these experiments. They claimed it would help them come up with a ‘cure’ so that no one else would get our ‘disease’.
So, my parents – who I’m not sure ever really loved me all that much – gave me to these scientists for experimenting – ‘for the greater good’.
“Please…don’t send me away!” I had begged, tears streaming down my face. “I don’t want to go! Please let me stay with you! Please!”
My mother, in a cold voice, had said, “Skye, this way is the best way. Better for one to have a horrible life than many – than everyone.”
That had hit me like a punch to the gut. “What…what did you say?” I breathed.
She looked at me for a moment, almost seeming to feel guilt, before simply turning and leaving the room.
And so, that was how it had been.
They had decided to just give me to the scientists and let me be experimented on.
I had tried running away, of course, but my ‘father’ had caught me, brought me home, and kept me locked in my room (and I couldn’t get out the window unless I wanted to jump and break both legs – my ‘room’ was in the attic – so on the third ‘floor’) until the scientists came.
I still remember when they got there. I heard the door to my room open as I sat on my bed, crying my heart out.
I brought my head up, my heart pounding with fear. Someone was coming up the steps.
Finally a woman, tall and slender, came into view. She was wearing – you guessed it.
A white coat.
Typical scientist garb.
Eish.
Anyway.
“Skye?” she said, slowly approaching me. I had gotten off the bed when I’d heard someone coming up the steps and backed up against the wall. “Skye,” she repeated, “I’m not going to hurt you. I want to help you.”
“N-no,” I croaked. “No, you don’t. You’re lying. You want to kill me.”
“Oh, Skye,” she said, smiling sympathetically. “We don’t want to kill you! We just want to do a few tests on you – to find a cure for you and fre – mutants – everywhere.”
“You were going to say freaks,” I said, my hands curling into fists.
“No, no, I wasn’t,” she said in the same calm tone. “Really, Skye – we just want to help you.”
Go by your instincts, Skye – they’ve never led you wrong. Never, my mind suddenly seemed to say.
“I – I won’t go with you,” I said, my voice shaky. “I won’t.” My voice was steady now – I wasn’t backing down.
“Please, Skye – just make this easier on everyone by cooperating,” the woman said, coming toward me again.
“Stay away from me!” I hissed.
“Now, sweetie,” she said. I cringed at the word – it was positively terrifying coming from someone like her. “Just come quietly. No one’s gonna hurt you – I promise. I will see to it myself that no one lays a hand on you.”
I. Will. Not. Go. With. You,” I spat.
“Alright,” she said, defeated. “I’m sorry to have to do this, but you really made up my mind for me.” She suddenly pulled something out of her jacket…a gun.
Screaming I tried to throw myself to the ground before the bullet (at least, that’s what I thought it was) hit me.
But I was too slow.
The next thing I knew I was waking up in a completely white room on some sort of metal bed. There were were more than five people in the room – somehow I figured that out even though I was so groggy – and they were all wearing white. White scrubs, white gloves, white masks, white things covering their hair…there was so much white my eyes screamed for relief. I needed darkness…everything bright – or white – felt like it was searing my brain right now. What had that woman shot me with?!
“She’s waking up,” I heard a voice say frantically.
At that moment I lifted my arms up – only to find they were strapped to the bed, as were my legs. I strained against those straps with all my might, but what did it do? Nothing.
“She’s trying to get up!” a different voice said.
“L-let…me…g-” I tried to speak, but that was a failed attempt too. What were these creeps doing to me?!
“Give her another shot – and fast,” a man’s voice said. “If she wakes up entirely she could die.”
What? Die? my mind screamed.
But then I felt a quick, pinching pain on my arm…and I was falling back asleep…

~

And so, now you know how I got here.
I’m still here.
And I don’t know if I’ll ever get out.

~

The metal door swung open, and my heart began to pound in fear.
Experiment time again.
“No! I will not go!” I shrieked. If I had to go through experiments again I would die.
I just knew it.
“Shot – give her a shot!” one of the freaks in white shouted at another.
It was coming – that little pain and then I wouldn’t know anything until I got to ‘the Lab’.
Then every pain imaginable would visit me.
Except this time I wasn’t going down without a fight.
This time they weren’t going to be able to take me down.
Before the three freaks in white (as I so lovingly began to refer to them) could react, I jumped and delivered a beautiful roundhouse kick right to the one freak’s chest. Gasping, she doubled over, a few moments later falling to the ground.
Here it was…my chance! The door was open – if I could jump over the gasping woman and get past her two startled accomplices I could make it!
“Get her now!” one of the men shouted (I had figured out it was two men and one woman by their voices).
They both (the two remaining freaks – the two men)reached out to grab me at the same time, but I nimbly danced away, jumped over the woman, and bolted from the room.
Skidding on the slippery white floors, I raced down long, twisting hallways. My pursuers were catching up…
I could see kids looking out of their ‘cells’ as I raced past. “Look – she’s escaping!” I heard a few people breathe. “She’s gonna make it!”
“She’s so dead,” others said amongst themselves.
I tried to ignore all of it. Just focus on getting out of here in one piece, I told myself.
And then, abruptly, just as I saw a set of doors ahead of me – freedom! – I felt arms come around my ankles, and I slammed to the ground, the breath in my lungs leaving with a Whoosh!
Every rib in my body felt bruised – and or cracked – but that didn’t stop me from trying to get up and keep running…but it was no use.
“That was a bad move,” my captor hissed. “Very bad.”
My heart began to pound so hard with fear I just knew it would come out of my chest. I was probably going to be punished for my little escape attempt…and punished good.
I felt something that hurt as a much as a bullet suddenly slam into my left shoulder…and then everything went dark.

~

The experiments were worse than ever when I woke up to find myself in the Lab once more. They were longer and more painful, and I knew that my assumption had been right – I was being punished.
When they were finally over I had to be dragged back to my cell – I was that out of it. I knew that behind all these doors, kids had listened to the scuffle of my feet as I tried to escape and then heard me be brought down and dragged back. They were probably completely drained of hope now. They knew someone had tried to get away and failed, and they knew that that meant there was probably no chance for them.
This hardened something inside of me. I was gonna get out of here – some time – for me, and for all these other kids.
And I was gonna free as many as I could on the way.
Suddenly a sound came from the air vent at the bottom of one of the walls in my cell (I had been locked up again). “It’s okay,” a voice said. “You’ll make it next time.”
A bit afraid, I tentatively went over to the air vent. “Wh-who is that?” I asked.
“My name’s Chase,” came the reply. “I’m in the cell next to you, and we kids on this floor have discovered that talking into the air vents works well as means of communicating with the kid in the cell next to you. I saw you try to escape and I just wanted to say good job. You’ve got guts.”
“Thanks,” I said, a bit embarrassed. “How old are you?”
“Sixteen,” he said. I just noticed how deep his voice was. “What’s your name and how old are you?”
“Skye, and I’m fifteen,” I said wearily.
“Skye,” he said, seeming to think about it for a moment. “They pushed you hard today, didn’t they,” he said. It was more of a statement than a question. “As punishment.”
“Yeah,” I said quietly, my ribs aching anew. “But it doesn’t matter. I’m gonna get out of here – and I’m gonna help as many of you as I can.”
“That’s the spirit,” he said. I knew he was probably smiling, and suddenly I wondered what he looked like.
“You ever try escaping?” I asked.
“Once…nearly died from what they did to me after as a ‘warning’,” he said. “But I won’t get caught again.”
“Same here,” I said firmly. “We’re getting outta here, Chase – and soon.”
Soon turned out to be two months.

Categories: Modern Fiction.

Tags: , , ,

Matchstick (Draft 5) by Miracle

September 20, 2009

Matchstick
Rebekah Burcham

The room smelled of medicine and rubbing alcohol and the lavender someone had brought in a plastic vase. It had one bed, a TV, continually on Nickelodeon, an open window, a metal table, and a humming collection of machines and tubes. A balloon was tied to the little girl’s wrist that read get well soon in purple letters, with a note: love you, baby, dad.
Her mother, Caroline Love, was there too, pretending to be brave, pretending she hadn’t bought the balloon herself that morning, pretending her four-year-old daughter wasn’t dying.
“Mama?” The little girl’s voice shook. No! Caroline’s heart throbbed. This was wrong, Sarah should be laughing and running and tossing messy curls and dancing wobbly ballerina steps to pretty music, not watching cartoons all day long as she laid in a bed that wasn’t hers with an IV in her arm and oxygen tubes up her nose.
“Yes, baby?” She didn’t deserve those adoring eyes looking up at her or those soft fingers in her hand even if her womb had carried them for eight months. She was only nineteen, what right did she have to be a Mama?
“Are you scared?” her daughter asked.
“Why would I be scared?” She tried to smile.
“Your hands is cold.” Caroline withdrew her fingers quickly from Sarah’s hand and tried to warm them on her sweater. “No, keep holding me, please.” Caroline took her hand again. “I’m not very scared, Mama. Auntie Kate said good little girls go to a happy place and get wings when they die. Have I been a good little girl?”
“Did she say you were going to die?” Caroline asked sharply. How dare her sister talk to a sick child about death?
“No, but she was very sad. Am I a good girl?”
She’d swallow her anger until Sarah fell asleep and she could call her sister.  “You’re a very good girl, baby.”
“Good,” the little girl sank back on her pillows and sighed a long, adult sigh. Caroline’s eyes stung. Why did a child have to find peace with her own death?
“Don’t be scared, Mama, it doesn’t hurt.”
“What doesn’t hurt?” She stroked her daughter’s skinny fingers.
“Leaving – only its more like going than leaving.” She closed her eyes and smiled wistfully.
“Sarah!” Caroline leaned closer and gripped her daughter’s hand almost angrily.
“It doesn’t hurt. I love you, Mama.” She squeezed Caroline’s fingers back.
“Stay with me, Sarah. I love you too.”
Five slow minutes passed. Her daughter’s breaths became more and more ragged and her pulse weaker. Five minutes. Then they stopped.
Caroline wept. Wept because her body had been too young to carry her child for nine months, because she had been too selfish to be a real mother, because she had been stupid to let the kind of boy who let his own daughter die without a visit use her body four years ago, because it was her fault that such a precious creature had suffered for four long years. If she hadn’t made that mistake four years ago, if she hadn’t made stupid choice after stupid choice…
An hour later, the doctors and nurses had finished their duties and her daughter’s death-room had been sanitized and emptied. She sat in the waiting room because she didn’t want to go home to her empty apartment. For a few minutes she didn’t move, just watched the people and the walls and the floor. Then she snapped open her cellphone and dialed her sister’s number.
“Kate! Why did you tell Sarah she was going to die? Didn’t you – ”
“She told me, Caroline. I comforted her.”
“But – ”
“Is there any news? Did – ”
“She’s gone.”
Pause. “ – gone?”
“Yes, to a happy little place to get pretty little wings.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“I should have aborted her!”
“What?”
“I should have! I was a terrible mother and she lived a terrible life!”
“Caroline – ”
“Her father didn’t even come.”
“So he’s a pothead and an idiot, that doesn’t mean you should have deprived her from the little life she got.”
“She was in pain, Kate. Always in pain.”
“She was strong, Caroline, and her life wasn’t wasted. Think of the lives she touched, the moments she was happy!”
“What lives? What moments?”
“Her little friends – “
“ – who she could never play with.”
“Caroline. Her friends who learned to sit and play quietly, setting aside their favorite games for a friend’s sake. Our mother, who learned to stop judging the teen girls at the adoption clinic she works for. My family and I, who were finally able to spend time with you.  And you, especially you. I’ve watched you change from a spoiled child to a loving adult. You care about people now, and you’re strong. It’s like she started your life.”
“And happiness?”
“Remember the picnic? When my husband scooped her up and gave her a piggy back ride? She laughed and laughed.”
“Until she was blue.”
“And Darrell set her down and gathered all the children into his lap and told them a story. All those fairies and princesses, but she liked the talking eagle best.”
“I remember.”
“Did you know? Once when you left her at my house for the day, the children put on a little skit of what they wanted to be when they grew up, firefighters or ballerinas or things. She stretched out her arms as wide as she could and said:  “I’ll be a bird!” She smiled so big when she said that.” Her voice became husky. “Sweet, sweet Sarah.”
New tears spilled down Caroline’s face. She mumbled a goodbye, closed her phone, and ran to her car suddenly desperate to leave this place of dying things. She drove to her lonely apartment, unable to face anyone’s sympathy.
Inside, everything was unaffected. The stove still messy from macaroni and cheese, art on the refrigerator, bills on the table. It looked like a scene from someone’s present, instead of her three days past.  She walked to her bedroom. Her bed was made and she had left the lamp on.
Then she saw Sarah’s bed. It was a hand-me-down toddler bed from Kate, made lumpily with a silly stuffed parrot perched on top of the pillow. Sarah had been practicing making her own bed. She kneeled beside it, stroking the bird, and sobbed.
“You remember the match?” her sister had asked once. “We’d always used dad’s cigarette lighter to start that old grill, but he quit and threw it away, so we had to use matches. The first time you saw dad strike it against the box and light, you thought it was magic. You asked to keep it, but dad just laughed. When it burned away, you were so angry. “Why did it do that?” you demanded. “It’s gone now.” Dad told you that was just the way things were. Sometimes little things have to burn away to start a fire. You said that was a stupid way and Dad laughed and nodded. “Sometimes it seems like that, Carrie.” I didn’t know what he meant then, but I do now. It’s a hard thing to learn.”
A very, very hard thing to learn.

Categories: Modern Fiction, Short Stories.

Skye Iris: Fly Away (Prologue)

September 19, 2009

If you are reading this – my story – then hopefully…hopefully…I’m still alive. It means I went on to lead an almost normal life…a happy one.
If.
If this is never read by anyone, then I’ve been caught. And probably killed.
Or I suppose there is always the possibility that you found this laying somewhere.
Maybe, in a scuffle with the ‘scientists’ trying to get me, I dropped this on a sidewalk. At the bottom of a tree. Into some hole in the ground.
But I can’t exactly predict the future.
And so, since all I can do is hope that someone will find this and learn what it’s really like to be a mutant – and see that we’re not just mindless freaks – I will tell my story.
I will tell it for me.
And I will tell it for mutants everywhere.
My name? Skye Iris.
And this?
My story.
Hope it helps someone somewhere.
Signing out,
Skye Iris

Categories: Modern Fiction.

Tags: , ,

Chapter Two: Something Lurking

August 10, 2009

not even close to as long as the first one…lol :) enjoy…though not much happens in this chapter…

Beep, beep, beep.

Somer’s eyelids fluttered open, her gaze coming to rest on a tall man with dirty-blond hair. He sat in the chair by her bed, and he looked out of sorts almost, as if he wasn’t sure what exactly he was doing in the room.

Bits and pieces of a name came to her.  Mason…Ride…no; that wasn’t it. Ryder Mason. That was his name.

She looked around the room she was in. It was a hospital room, and the walls were a cheerful blue color. There was one, large window in the room, and when she looked out she realized it was nighttime. She must have been here awhile.

Beep, beep, beep, went her heart monitor again (it had been doing that this whole time, though she had tuned it out at first). She looked to her left and saw that plus a few other machines, also beeping, that she didn’t recognize.

She tried to lick her lips but discovered that there was something in her mouth. She reached up to her face and felt a thin, flexible tube going across it, then into her nose and mouth (there was some sort of mouth piece attached) and then it led down and off of the bed-she must be getting oxygen.

Ryder suddenly looked at her (he had been looking around the room, a bored expression on his face), and he perked up. “Hey! You’re awake,” he said, smiling cheerfully.

A nurse came in just then to check on her. “Well, hello!” she said just as cheerfully as Ryder had. A friendly smile spread itself on her face. She came over to Somer’s bed and removed the mouth piece so she could talk and get a drink of something.

Somer smiled (albeit wanly) back, thinking that he was really very handsome and the nurse was really very nice (they both were). “Like I got run over by fifty big trucks,” she said wryly, her speech a bit slurred with weariness, even though she was sure she’d been sleeping (or been passed out) for a few hours already.

Ryder and the nurse chuckled. “But a tiny bit better?” he asked.

“A tiny bit,” she replied, straining her eyes to look down at her right shoulder which was aching dully. She discovered that she was in a hospital gown, and it felt like there were bandages around her ribs and around her shoulder. Her shoulder did feel better now that the bullet was out…assuming, of course, that it was in fact out. Thankfully breathing wasn’t so hard, even though she still felt pretty terrible.

The nurse put something around her left arm to start taking her blood pressure. As she squeezed ‘the little rubber thing’ (this was what Somer had always called them in her head) ha ha what ARE those little rubber things that get squeezed to make the blood pressure thing inflate and get tighter?! :) at the end of a rubber line attached to the blood pressure strip, the strip got tighter and tighter until Somer almost couldn’t stand it. Really, everything touching her right now seemed to annoy her. She was glad when the nurse took the strip off her arm.

The nurse then looked at each of the machines, writing something down on the clipboard that hung at the end of Somer’s bed. “Everything looks good so far,” she announced at last. “I’m going to give you another shot of morphine now, and then the doctor will be in to see you.”

She administered the shot (which Somer hated much, much more than the blood-pressure-taking) and then, saying “Hang in there; I’ll see you later,” she left the room, closing the door softly behind her.

Suddenly Somer flinched so hard that, had there not been side-guards on the bed, she would have fallen off of it. Ryder’s face was instantly worried. “What’s wrong?” he said.

She didn’t speak at first-she only stared out the window, her face petrified.

“I’m getting a nurse,” Ryder said, standing up to go do just that.

“N-no,” Somer stammered, finally seeming to ‘come to’. “I just thought…I thought someone was looking the window.”

“We’re on the fourth floor,” Ryder said, very concerned.

“I know, but I looked out the window and…well, it looked like a man was staring in at me,” she said, paling at the thought of it.

“I think we need to tell the doctor when he comes in,” Ryder said.

“No!” Somer cried. Ryder looked at her in surprise. “Please…they’ll think something is majorly wrong with me and…and stick me in a nut house or something.”

Ryder couldn’t keep the corners of his mouth from twitching as he tried not to smile. “Somer, the most they would do is take your temperature and make sure you’re not hallucinating-though a high fever and hallucinations are nothing less that what can be expected after having a traumatizing day, during which you’re shot in the shoulder. You’re all outta wack,” he said, trying not to chuckle.

But the need to chuckle instantly disappeared when Somer didn’t seem to get any less scared. “You don’t understand. My family has a history of…well, crazies,” she said. “The doctors would look my history up, see that, and put me in some house for crazy people and leave me there to waste away…” She was talking in a dazed, frightened way, as if she was the only one in the room, or as if she was in a trance.

“Hey.” Ryder put his hand on her arm and gave it a little squeeze. “I won’t let that happen,” he said. He didn’t know, but for some reason he felt this overwhelming urge to protect her-take care of her.

Somer turned her strikingly pretty blue eyes toward him. “Really?” she murmured.

“Really,” he replied, smiling kindly.

“Thank you,” she said even more softly. Then her eyes closed and she fell asleep.

Somer Rush was a mystery, no doubt, but for some reason he felt he shouldn’t leave her side.

Like there was something dark and dangerous lurking outside, waiting to get her alone.

No.

He wouldn’t anything happen to this woman-he just wouldn’t.

Categories: Modern Fiction.

Tags: , , ,

Conclusion to “Beat It”

August 9, 2009

by Roxanne

When we awake, the couple is nowhere to be seen and we’re parked outside a casino in the heart of L. A. We wake the bewildered twins up and climb out of the truck. My stomach growls hungrily but I know none of us has food or money. We all four keep our complaints to ourselves and scurry away from this rough neighborhood. We stop for directions many times before finding the twins parent’s uppity neighborhood. Cliff whistles as we climb their front steps.

“Not too bad, guys. This is a nice house…” he raises his fist to knock just as a smothered shout comes from inside.

“If you hadn’t started all this we never would have had to send the kids away in the first place!” A woman’s voice screams.

“Yeah, well if you hadn’t decided you wanted a divorce they never would have tried to run away in the first place,” a man replies. The twins hang their heads in embarrassment. Cliff knocks anyway. An uncomfortable minute passes before two middle-aged people show up in the doorway. The woman has blue eyes like Sims and the man has strawberry-blonde hair like June. All four family members stand in shock for what seems like eternity. Cliff scratches his neck awkwardly and I lean against a pillar. The mother finally speaks.

“Sims, June! How did you get here?” She cries, embracing them as though she never intends to let go. The father joins in the hug, kissing June’s forehead. The twins don’t answer, words encompassed by emotion. 

“We ran away from the school,” Sims spurts. “They were hurting us.” June nods her agreement repeatedly.

“We just had to get back,” she says. “And we couldn’t have without them.” She gestures to Cliff and I. The parents thank us and pull us into the family embrace. We both flinch awkwardly but accept the parents gratitude.

“We just didn’t want them to end up like the other students there,” Cliff says modestly. We introduce ourselves and Mr. and Mrs. Williams lead us inside where they heat up frozen dinners and make mac n’ cheese. We eat slowly, making sure to keep it all down. The taste of real food is overwhelming after nine months of barf. I wish that Alexa could be here, but rest in knowing that we have beaten the school and it’s doomed to a downward spiral after this.

Over the next few day the parents visit the school and it is closed almost immediately. They also discontinue the divorce process on their marriage-to the twins delight. It takes a long time for us to be completely up to strength, but soon enough Cliff and I start to feel out of place. We say an emotional good bye to the twins.

“You’ve got a good future ahead of you,” I say to June. “Don’t waste it.” We hug one last time, as Cliff says goodbye to Sims.

“You are the one that saved us. We have your guts to thank,” Cliff says. We jump, waving to the teary-eyed twins, onboard the bus traveling to the northern-most part of the city. We settle down in the back and relax as the city rushes past.

“Would you mind if I came to Seattle with you? Just to see if your aunt is cool and everything?” Cliff asks.

“Sure you can come, but I won’t be staying long. I just have to get my passport and my social security number and say goodbye one last time,” I reply. He nods.

“It’ s on the way to Yellowstone anyway,” he smiles.

“Sure,” I laugh. The Williams’ gave us money for plane tickets but we decide to keep it and hitch-hike to Seattle, both of us having experience with hitch-hiking and greater uses for the money. After riding in a couple semi’s and a station wagon we find ourselves in Washington state, 10 miles outside of Seattle. We trudge up the highway for a few minutes before a Jeep stops to pick us up. As soon as we take a seat the driver pulls back onto the highway. All we can see is the man’s aviator’s in the rear-view mirror.

“Whoa,” I say. “Where are you going?” The man doesn’t answer, but pulls up a side road and parks. Cliff and I exchange worried glances, he climbs out of the car and is knocked on the head by the driver. I’m jumping out of the Jeep as Cliff falls, too late to react. The man grabs my wrists, and I recognize him.

“Mr. Reynolds,” I whisper.

“Yes,” he snarls. “You think I was going to let you ruin my school and get away with it? You little criminals!” He wraps duct tape around and around my wrists, finishing just as Cliff comes to. He binds him also. I try to hit the man but he very quickly pulls out a pistol from his belt and points it in my direction.

“Freeze,” he says. I freeze. He jumps into the Jeep, pulling the squirmy Cliff after him. He duct tapes him to the frame of the Jeep, doing the same to me on the other side.

“Where are you taking us?” I splutter.

“To court, where you in everyway will be judged as delinquents and sent to juvenile hall as you deserve,” Mr. Reynolds replies. “And my school will be reopened under a new name, and a new location, like backwoods Tennessee or New York.”

“The things you do at your school will never be allowed,” I say. He puts a strip of duct tape over Cliff’s mouth. I look at Cliff frantically. What are we going to do?

“Oh, starting the school is no problem, methods evolve-if you will,” His stubbly face bends over me. “Maybe the state of California will even send you two to my school. Wouldn’t that be fun?” He straps duct tape over my mouth as I wriggle hopelessly. He gets into the Jeep and turns around, back to Los Angeles. Cliff and I stare at each other, dying for any ideas for escape. I turn my head around as much as is possible in the confined circumstances and see a police car. It gives me an idea. Cliff sees it too. I look at his face, then at his foot. It takes him a minute but eventually it dawns on him. He waits for the policeman to get closer, then lifts himself up by his arms and kicks the back of Mr. Reynolds’s seat-head with both feet. Mr. Reynolds falls forward, and swerves off the road. He tries to get control but over steers and the Jeep flips off the road onto it’s side. I hear the front airbag go off. My arms are almost wrenched from their sockets and we land on Cliff’s side so I’m almost dangling by my arms. When we come to a stop I get my feet under me and stand up through the empty window. Mr. Reynolds drags me out in a rage, cutting my wrists on the tape. He throws me onto the ground and screams profanity in my face. He pulls out his pistol and points it at me, then jerks it towards Cliff who’s emerging from the Jeep. I shriek. And a gun is fired. For a split second I think that Cliff has been shot and I’m next but then I realize that Mr. Reynolds never fired. And there’s a hole surrounded by blood in his Left breast pocket. I look back to see a policeman and woman approaching. They tear the remaining duct tape from our hands and faces.

“What happened here?” They ask. And we give them the whole story, padding the parts about our “families” a little bit. They give us some food and drink and offer to drive us into Seattle. We accept gratefully. My heart still pounds from the experience and I try not to wonder what would have happened if the police hadn’t shown up. We enter Seattle as the sun sets and it is twilight by the time we’re dropped off in front of my aunt’s apartment.

“You sure you don’t need anything else?” The policewoman checks.

“No, we’re okay now but we owe our lives to you. Thanks so much,” Cliff says.

“Yeah, thanks,” I agree, slamming the car door, failing to suppress my nerves. We turn and enter the apartment.

“What number?” Cliff asks.

“117,” I say, taking a deep breath. We climb the stairs to the second floor and stand before number 117. I pull a key out from under the mat.

“What a good hiding place,” Cliff comments sarcastically.

“She never was very bright,” I roll my eyes. I unlock the door and we enter the smoky room that reeks of beer and nicotine. I cough and let my eyes adjust to the poor lighting.

“Who’s there?” A woman’s voice calls and my aunt enters the room. She stands in shock for a moment, dressed in sweats and a halter-top. Her square glasses are tucked up in her hair and she pulls them down to make sure that it’s me.

“What are you doing here?” She says. “You weren’t supposed to come back until you were eighteen.” It feels like I’ve been punched in the chest. I was supposed to stay there for 2 years?

“Um, the school closed down, Aunt Lori. I just came back for my social security card and my passport, then I’ll be gone for good.” She eyes me suspiciously.

“Well good luck finding it here,” she lights a cigarette and watches as we start looking around for the papers. It takes us about an hour to find the passport but the card is not to be found. I decide to leave without it, as opposed to exposing ourselves to such thick second-hand smoke any longer. We stand on the doorstep of the apartment, Aunt Lori leans in the doorway.

“Well have fun where ever you’re going and please try not to get in trouble,” she says, then slams the door in our faces.

“What a jerk,” Cliff says. We descend the stairs and I try to swallow back my tears. Two slip down my cheeks before I can stop them. We sit on the stairs and Cliff sits next to me. I had seen the love of the Williams family and experienced the love of Alexa, the twins, and Cliff and somehow I led myself to believe that there was a love for me here. I had been wrong. Nothing has changed and I’m still just an annoying responsibility to my family. But maybe I did have a chance, at least I had a friend. I sigh and once I get a hold of myself I whisper.

“Can I come to Yellowstone with you for a while?” I ask.

“You bet you can.”

We head full-speed to Yellowstone and Cliff’s family.

 

Three months later I’m sitting on a huge rock on the edge of a beautiful lake. The RV I’ve been living in is behind me, and Cliff and his little brother are repainting the outside of it. Cliff’s cousin was more than welcoming and assured us that he could use the extra help around the park. Les, Cliff’s little brother, had immediately fallen in love with me and we’ve been best friends ever since. It really feels like a family, however long it’s going to last. I shiver in the chilly air and press myself into the warm rock. Cliff walks over and sits beside me. We watch the trees sway and the water ripple. And for the first time in my life, I don’t feel alone.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Designed by Tim Sainburg from Brambling Design

Designed by Tim Sainburg from Brambling Design

Categories: Modern Fiction.

Tags: ,

2nd to last “Beat It” post

August 7, 2009

by Roxanne

 

Our punishment for the previous nights’ fight finally comes this afternoon and I’m put up on the pole again while the twins are in the grates and Cliff on the parallel bars- the place where I first saw Alexa. He grunts with the effort, but eventually finds a comfortable-enough position to talk, face to the dirt below.

“What happened to you, Endie? I mean what changed?” He asks. I sigh.

“I just got confused for a minute. I thought that all I wanted was to get out. But now I realize that it’s more than that. That I have to get out and remain undefeated. The only way for us to succeed is by escaping as ourselves. June and Sims reminded me. And  now here we are. A no-fail escape plan underway.”

“I wouldn’t say no fail…” I suppress a smile as it hurts my cracked lips.

“I’m sorry, Cliff. I watched you take too many beatings to be a real friend.”

“To tell the truth, I thought you were lucky. This whole time being able to forget your real self and be what they wanted you to be. You almost got to forget the pain…but somehow I just couldn’t do it. I couldn’t give up, and now here we are.”

“The way it should be.” I conclude. He glances up at me, squinting through the sun’s glare.

“The way it should be.” He echoes. He is taken away about half an hour later- his wrists eventually giving out- to be chained to another lovely pole on the other side of the campus. The twins remain in the grates until all four of us are released Tuesday night, our spirits a little worse for wear, but we’re hopeful nonetheless. Cliff shows up Wednesday morning, patting his back pocket to show that he had obtained the med during the night. June and Sims exchange excited looks.

“You won’t be excited once this stuff hits your gut.” Cliff warns.

“I’m ready.” Sims counters, determination scrawled across his face. June squeezes his hand as we separate for the last time before the escape. He is to meet us outside the nearest hospital(only 10 miles away) the first time he is left alone after twenty minutes at the hospital. All dependant on the ambulance taking at least half an hour at the school, and not seeing us on the way to the hospital. Classes pass even slower than the first time we tried to escape. I can tell June feels it too, and I’m afraid she lets it show too much. Thankfully no one notices and we’re well on our way to dinner when we hear a great ruckus coming from the boys dorm. We rush over as Sims emerges, spewing bile everywhere. The terrified look on his face makes me wonder if we didn’t make another mistake. Before we can see more, Cliff pulls us behind the girls’ dorm where we wait for the ambulance.

“Is this what’s supposed to happen?” June looks worried.

“Yeah, he’ll be fine.” Cliff puts an arm around her. I keep my eyes glued to the gate. About ten minutes later we hear the sirens and sneak towards the gate. Sims is dry-heaving now, I have to pull the horrified June towards the gate. Thankfully, none of the other students consider this an opportunity to escape, but remain crowded around in Mr. R’s way.

We slip through the gate seconds before it closes, as the guard watches the ambulance inside. We run as fast as we can for about two hundred metres but then June falls behind and we slow, merging into the shrubbery alongside the dirt road. We don’t speak but face the road ahead of us with determination. We can’t get there too late, or it will all be over.

They’d taken my shoes the first day I’d been here along with my other clothes and I haven’t seen them since. Soon my feet start blistering and the dirt feels like it slices through them. At the school we ran without shoes but that was always in the morning before the dirt had soaked up the sun all day. June starts stumbling because her feet haven’t had as much time to callous so I carry her piggy-back for a while, until Cliff offers. We alternate for about half an hour more then we hear the ambulance coming up the road from the school. We dive deeper into the shrubs until they’re well past. Newly motivated, we start jogging again and reach the outskirts of the hospital parking lot minutes after they unload the still-shaking Sims out the back.

“I’ll go in.” I say. Somehow we overlooked arranging a meeting place. Cliff nods.

“Meet us at the North gate to the hospital.” He and June dash that way. I walk nonchalantly into the hospital’s maintenance entrance, hoping no one has seen kids from the school dressed like me. I take the stairs to the ER, and I arrive as Sims’ gurney is rolled in. The nurses roll him behind a curtain and go into a medicine fridge next door. I swallow my fear and sprint in. He lays there, a little pale, but happy to see me.

“It’s a good thing you came up,” Sims says while I unstrap him. “I don’t know if I can walk by myself.” I nod and pull him up. He leans on my shoulder and we head for the South side of the building, taking the stairs. At the bottom he dry-heaves again but we’re able to get out before any alarm sounds. Cliff runs up to meet us at the edge of the parking lot and puts Sims on his back.

“We have to get out of here.” He whispers, looking around. “Mr. R showed up while you were in there.” I nod, breathless.

“Let’s go.” We jog out of the parking lot, June holding Sims’ hand. We jog and walk and jog for what seems like eternity. Sims tries to walk but doesn’t last long. I take a turn with him on my back but soon my legs start shaking uncontrollably. Cliff and I balance him on our shoulders between us. June stumbles along beside.

“I don’t know how much farther we can go.” I say, addressing no one in particular.

“We have to make it over the border.” Cliff gasps, sweat dripping from his chin. “It should only be about a mile away.” I nod, swallowing back the bile rising to my throat.

“I’ve got an awful headache.” June whimpers.

“Dehydration. How did we not think to bring water? We’re in Mexico!” Cliff rants. I sigh in frustration.

“Lean on me.” I tell her. “There’ll be good water in the U.S.” We plod on for five more minutes. Cliff stops suddenly.

“What?” I say. He holds up his hand and we listen. I hear the purr of an engine and gasp.

“Mr. Reynolds!” We run over the next hill with all our strength.

“There it is!” Sims cries as the border patrol comes into view. Cliff and I forget our former worries of being kept by the Patrol and run straight for them, Mr. Reynolds’s Jeep catching up fast. He cusses and shouts threats at us. Tears fall down June’s face as her small legs pump harder than ever to keep up. I hold her on my right side, Sims still leans heavily on both Cliff and I. I hear gunshots and exchange a harried glance with Cliff. There is fear written all over his face. We have no chance of making it if one of the twins get shot. I push June in front of me so my body blocks her from Mr. R’s sights. But I still am afraid that he will get to us before we get to the border. In one last desperate attempt,  Cliff yells from the bottom of his throat.

“Over here! Over here! He’s trying to kill us!” By now we can see the two guard’s faces and they look up at the noise. They race towards us and raise their guns to Mr. Reynolds. He shouts one more insult before turning his dusty Jeep around. We keep running past the patrol and collapse next to a little concrete building, all literally gasping for breath. Sims bends over and dry-heaves once more. June actually loses whatever there is in her stomach. I just swallow it back and focus on regaining strength and getting control of our situation. What will these guards think? Do they know about the school and allow it to go on like this? Does it count for us that we were being shot at? They return in their dirty pick up minutes later.

“What are you kids doin’ down here?” A darkly tanned man asks. His partner, a native Mexican stands behind him. Cliff looks at me, then back at the man and says.

“We were at that old  man’s boot camp for troubled teens. We’ve been abused for the last 9 months. He got sick,” gesturing to the sheet-white Sims. “And we took the opportunity to escape.” The two guards blink in surprise. Why is he spilling our guts? I wonder. My heart pounds in anticipation of their response.

“You ran all the way up here?” The American asks. We nod. “Abuse you say?” Nods again. “Well ya’ll just sit up here inside and get a drink while we call the Marshal.” We walk inside and sit on benches lined against the wall, he shuffles to the back room. The Mexican waits outside.

“Where’s the water?” Sims rasps. We all look around without seeing any. I sigh. Minutes pass, our muscles quiver, and our hearts beat. Finally, the American walks from the back.

“He’ll be here to pick you up in about ten minutes,” he says. Something about the way he says it sounds wrong. A look at Cliff’s face confirms my suspicion. We play along anyway.

“Good. But can we get some water?” I ask. He laughs.

“Oh yeah, sorry about that kids, here you go.” He opens a small refrigerator and pulls out two bottles of water. “Sorry, this is all we’ve got.” He tosses them to us and I unscrew the lid for June, Cliff for Sims.

“Drink slowly,” we caution. The water dribbles from June’s chin and she wrinkles her forehead from the chill. The man laughs at our delight and steps outside. Cliff watches him and slips next to the door. He listens for a second, then jumps up, heading for the back of the building. We follow.

“We have to get out of here,” he says, yanking the screen out of the back window.

“What’d they say?” I ask.

“He called the school. Mr. Reynolds will be back soon with some of the security guards.”

“Darn it,” I say. “I’ll climb out first and catch the twins on their way down.” Cliff nods and gives me a leg up. Thankfully the window is wide and I fit through no problem. I drop to the other side and look around. No one is in sight, but the most wonderful thing I have ever seen is parked next to me; a four wheeler, keys and all. I smile and my lips crack and bleed. We are out of here. I help Sims and June down and Cliff comes out after.

“Look what I found,” I whisper and climb onto the ATV. June gets in the basket, I drive, and Cliff holds the fainting Sims with his legs hanging over the rear.

“Go,” he whispers. And with that we’re off, full speed ahead towards the grey buildings in the distance. The hot wind whips our faces but we embrace it. So much better than limping away on foot. Soon I hear Cliff yell.

“They’re here!” I push harder on the gas and we lurch ahead.

“What are we going to do when we get to the city?” I cry, realizing that we can’t just drive a four-wheeler on city streets, no matter how rural they may be.

“Get into an alley and we’ll ditch it there.” Cliff yells back. Somehow we reach the outskirts of town before the truck tailing us and we turn immediately into a empty alley. Cliff and I pull the twins off the ATV and walk towards the inside of the city. A truck with an empty bed is driving off a few feet away. We climb in without hesitation, laying flat in the bed. It doesn’t take long for all four of us to fall into deep, weary sleep, rocking with the trucks swaying movement. I awake at least an hour later to voices. I look up. A darkened man and woman stand at the end of the truck bed. Cliff is talking to them.

“We need to get to Los Angeles.” He says pleadingly.

“I’m sure taking them in the back can’t be a problem,” the man says to the woman.

“Yeah, just so long as they don’t expect us to feed them,” the woman replies.

“Yes, Boy, there’ll be none of that,” the man agrees.

“Yes, Sir, no feeding us, we just need a ride,” Cliff says gratefully. I crawl up beside him as the man and woman enter a diner.

“Where are we?” I ask.

“Two hours outside of Los Angeles.”

“Wow, we must have slept much longer than I thought.” I yawn, rubbing my eyes.

“Apparently we were all out like lights.” He says. I look at the twins, who lay motionless still.

“Some of us still are.” I say with a smile. “Do you think they’ll be able to convince their parents of what happened?”

“Yeah. I really do. How hard can it be to believe that when both your kids are saying it and they’re sunburnt to a bloody crisp.”

“Hope so,” I say. Cliff pauses.

“Where are you going?” He asks me.

“Guess I’ll pay my Aunt a little visit. Then probably light out for Europe.”

“You don’t really want to go there. You want wide open spaces, like Wyoming. That’s where I’m going, no doubt in my mind. Even if I have to walk.”

“Looks like you just might,” I joke, ignoring the pain of having no place to go.

“No, really, Endie, come with me. We can recoup together, help my cousin at the park and he’ll feed us both. Plus you can meet my little bro. It’ll really be great.” Cliff argues.

“I don’t know,” I lie. “Maybe it would be okay. We’ll see once we drop these two off.” I lay back down next to June, exhaustion sweeping over me once more. I hear Cliff sigh and settle down on the other side of Sims.

Designed by Tim Sainburg from Brambling Design

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

Tags:

Chapter One: Stay Alive

August 7, 2009

author’s note: for any of y’all, like maybe roxanne, who have never seen this story on WE, i have put the prologue on- so just search for ‘Somer Rush: Keeping the Beat : Prologue’ or something like that… lol :) and um…yeah…this chapter is maybe a bit too long and i know all of it stinks, but you will have a vague idea of what is going on in it. it will-DUH-have to be rewritten, coz it’s awful, but trrrrrrrrrrrrryyyyyyyy to enjoy yourself while you’re reading it. hee hee :D oh and btw because i posted this reeeeeeeeally late at night, i didn’t get much of a chance to edit it-sorry :) so yeah. you don’t have to critter this whole thing-might take a few years…sorry it’s so long! i should prob. break it up into two chaps or somethin…well, ta :)

One of the men ran toward her, thinking she was going to try and get away-as if she could with the six of them in front of her- and she sprang into action. She danced on the balls of her feet, too fast for the man. She got around him and delivered a chop  to the back of his neck-one down.

Five more to go.

Two more came at her at once. They were tall, muscular men, and what she lacked in strength they lacked in agility. She was too fast for them as well, and danced all around them, confusing them…and then the fight began.

She saw it too short a time before it hit-one of the men’s huge fists, swinging through the air at her. She took a hard punch to the ribs, and she was certain she felt some of her ribs crack.

No! her mind screamed at her as she doubled over in pain. Keep going! Keep going!

She straightened, resolved once more, and delivered a round-house kick to one man’s guts. He doubled over this time, gasping, and a quick chop to the base of the neck took him out. Three left.

She didn’t know if she could take much more. Her ribs were throbbing, making it hard to breathe, and she was becoming so exhausted…when was the last night she’d had a full night of sleep?

Somer couldn’t remember.

Suddenly Somer heard the sound of what seemed to be a small explosion-which was a type of explosion-the kind of a bullet exploding from a gun. Then she heard someone scream…

Her.

She looked down at her right shoulder-it was gushing blood. The bullet had not even gone all the way through her shoulder-it was lodged there, and she was now in excruciating pain that took the little breath she had (she must have had more ribs broken than she thought) away completely, leaving her winded.

She looked up to find one of the men looking at her, a triumphant smile on his face. One of the three remaining men had pinned her arms behind her, and the other two men were now approaching her and her captor slowly.

Her mind was so foggy…why was the world spinning? Why were there stars and little black dots floating everywhere? Or were those bugs? Stars couldn’t be floating! They were in the sky…

Her head was swirling once more, and there was hardly a clear thought in it…

Except for ‘LIVE.’

She had to get away-she just had to!

Somehow, though she never figured out how she did it in her pained state, she yanked her left arm from the man’s grasp and then slammed her elbow into his gut. He gasped and eased his grip just enough that she was able to wriggle out of his hands.

There it was- a gap. The two men who had been approaching had been right next to each other (on their left they had been next to the wall), and there was now a huge space on their right side.

The way to freedom.

Somer saw her chance…and took it.

Everything seemed to go in slow motion now. The men were running toward her, foolishly not spreading out (not that Somer minded, of course)…and somehow, she got past them. She went into super-speed mode, her adrenaline spurring her on.

At last she was out of the alley! She raced across the little street, heading for the busier streets-the ones with lots of cars that, if she got around first, her pursuers would be caught waiting for unless they wanted to throw themselves in front of the cars and die.

There it was-the main, busy-it was rush hour-street. She started across it, her whole body on fire.

She was nearly hit by about five different cars, but she managed to get across. She kept on running, stealing a glance over her shoulder to see her pursuers stuck waiting for the light to turn red-there were too many cars zooming by for them to cross. Somer’s plan had worked. She looked straight ahead and forced herself to run even faster. If she could get out of sight before they crossed the road, then she could lose them.

Somer didn’t know how far she ran, or even where she was going-she just kept running. Her ribs and shoulders throbbed excruciatingly, and she knew she had to get medical help for her shoulder, which was still gushing blood. She already felt weaker.

Suddenly the places she was running past registered in her mind. There was a grocery store; a drug store; a book shop; a cafe…if she could get inside one of those, she would be safe. Just a little further, she thought to herself. You can make it. You can make it.

She found herself next to the book shop-she had already passed the grocery and drug stores. She burst through the door, hoping with all her heart that her pursuers had ‘lost her trail’.

The book shop was empty (it appeared to be closing hour), but in her hurry Somer slammed into the end of a book case with her wounded shoulder. She cried out and fell heavily to the ground…but she had to get up. She had to get help.

She grabbed onto the edge of a lower shelf on the book case and pulled herself up, watching her blood pool on the floor and on everything else. She held onto the shelf so tightly her knuckles were white, but it was so hard to get up her arm was shaking with the effort.

She looked over her shoulder to make sure her captors weren’t there-and her heart nearly stopped beating. Somehow they had figured out the direction she had been going, and one of them was just outside the book shop (though thankfully not looking in yet). His ‘buddies’ must be inside the other stores, looking for her there…and it appeared this man was going to come into the book shop to look for her!

Her heart was going to pound its way out of her chest. Somer just knew it.

She barely had time to race behind a very tall book case before the book shop door swung open. Don’t move…don’t breathe, she thought to herself. If she did breathe, her ragged gasps would give her away, so, as hard as it was not to breathe, she held her breath.

Her pursuer looked behind each book case…he was so close to the one she was hiding behind…he would look here next…she was dead meat…

Suddenly a man, taller than her pursuer and fit, holding a clip board in his hand, came out of the back room. “Uh, sir, didn’t you see the closed sign?” he said, surprised to find someone standing there.

Her pursuer only managed to growl, “I was just leaving.” He was so angry he looked like he might punch a book case, but he just frowned and strode angrily from the little shop.

Somer waited until she couldn’t see him out the window anymore, and then she let out a sigh of relief. The man who seemed to work in the shop went over the door and locked it, muttering under his breath in annoyance.

The man had been headed back to the back room, and he whirled around now. “Who else is in here?” he demanded, locks of his shaggy, dirty-blond hair falling into his blue-green eyes. “I can press charges, you know, against people who refuse to leave once I’m closed for the day. If you don’t believe me, go downtown and ask someone in the police department.”

Somer slowly came out from behind the bookcase, sorry that her blood had now ruined many of the books on it…but she couldn’t help it. When the man saw her, his mouth literally dropped open.

His eyes incredulously took in her bloody clothes, more bloody near her right shoulder, and the way she was breathing raggedly. “What-what on earth…” he started to stammer disbelievingly.

“Please,” Somer begged. “Don’t press charges. That man that came in-he was trying to kill me. Please believe me. I had to…hide…” A stab of pain suddenly went through Somer’s shoulder-she had to get the bullet out! She gasped and tried not to collapse on the ground.

The man was shaken from his dazed state at the sound of her gasp. “How do I know you didn’t try to kill someone? Why would someone be trying to kill you anyway?” he said, rather shocking himself by asking such a question. But the ‘really-think-it-through’ side of him was taking over now.

“Sir, I-I promise you,” Somer started, her pain getting worse with each passing second. She bit her lip so hard to keep from crying out that she tasted blood in her mouth. “These men…have been chasing me…they shot me…I need your help…pl-please!” Tears were welling up in her eyes- he didn’t believe her. The whole scene played in her mind. He was going to take her to the police department. There would be a trial, and if she made bail her pursuers would come, pay it, and then take her and finish her off. “They’re going to kill me,” she whispered, petrified, falling to her knees. The tears came now, albeit slowly, and there was nothing she could do to stop them.

The man abruptly started toward her then. He put one of his hands out, and Somer flinched back, expecting to be hit by him. She stole a glance at his face. “I’m not going to hurt you; I’m going to help you,” he said, his face troubled and still a bit confused. “I’ll help you up, you lean on me, and then we’ll walk to the car, okay?”

Somer nodded wearily. Then her eyes widened as she remembered something. “Please-they can’t-they can’t recognize me. They’ll kill me if they do,” she said almost inaudibly.

The man looked around, and, upon seeing his jacket, went and got it. “Here,” he said, putting it around her shoulders and pulling the hood up. “I’m afraid that’s the best I can do. Now come on, we’ve got to get you to a hospital.” He grabbed a nearby rag that someone had been using to clean the dust from a bookcase and pressed it to her shoulder once he had helped her up. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

“I think-I think I’ve got some broken…ribs,” Somer said slowly, her pain intensified by her getting and walking, even though she was leaning on this man.

“Is that all? How bad is your shoulder?” he asked, leading her to the back room, where the back door was-he had parked his car behind the building in the small, private parking lot he owned (he owned the shop as well, though he wasn’t rich-but he and his few employees at least had a private space to park in). They got to the back door and went outside, and he quickly locked the back door behind them.

“The bullet…is still in my shoulder,” Somer rasped, wanting to die now-her pain was unbelievably awful. She gasped as another stab of pain went through her shoulder. Her legs felt like they were turning to jelly.

~

“Okay-hang on. We’re almost there,” the man said.

He unlocked his car and helped her into the passenger side. Her face was pinched with pain and weariness, and he knew he needed to hurry. He hopped in the car and put the key in the ignition, his mind racing.

The nearest hospital would be Tristan (an unusual name for the hospital-no one in New York really knew how exactly the name had come about), and that hospital in particular was a good one. He’d gone there when he’d broken his hand a couple of years ago, after a very heavy crate of books fell on it. They were cheap too, so that was a big plus.

The young woman in his car, who didn’t look much younger than him, leaned her head back against the seat. He could see the way she dug the nails of her left hand into her palm-her pain must be terrible right now. He eased the car into a faster speed-if he got pulled over, then they would have a police escort to the hospital, which would be rather helpful.

He took every back road he possibly could, not at all wanting to get caught in New York rush hour traffic. The sun was setting now, and ‘rush hour’ (which seemed to happen much earlier in New York than in other places in America-of course, the traffic in New York never stopped or slowed completely) had been going for quite some time.

“The name’s Ryder-” Ryder (‘the man’) said suddenly, hoping that talking might get the woman’s mind off her pain, “-Ryder Mason.”

“I’m S-Somer Rush,” she said quietly, her pain obvious in her voice.

“Well, Somer, I need you to just hang on for me, okay?” he said softly.

“I’ll tr-try,” she said, her shaking now obvious.

There it was at last-Tristan Hospital. Somer let herself relax a bit, knowing that if her pursuers looked in a hospital, they would think she had gone to a smaller, less noticeable one-and this hospital was anything but small and unnoticeable.

Ryder quickly parked near the entrance of the ER in the parking lot, turned off the car, got out, and came around to her side to help her out. “That’s it,” he said, being as gentle as he could with her. “Lean on me.”

He helped her walk as quickly as possible into the ER…and his heart sank as he saw the other people waiting there ahead of them.

Somehow, in the sea of people, he managed to find a chair for Somer. He helped her sit down, promising to be back as soon as possible, and then he ran to a large, high desk, behind which sat a woman.

“My…friend… needs help right away,” he said, looking back at Somer so the woman would know who he meant. “She’s been shot in the shoulder, and the bullet is still lodged inside it.”

“She’ll have to take a number slip, and then wait ’til her number is called,” the woman drawled in a bored, uncaring tone. She obviously didn’t really care that Somer would die if she didn’t get medical attention.

Ryder glanced around the room. There had to be at least twenty other people in here! Somer couldn’t wait that long!

“Please-she’s been shot, lady! She needs a doctor now!” he said desperately.

“The basket of number slips is right in front of you,” the woman continued in her monotone. Ryder wanted to grab her by the throat and shake her. No one else here seemed to be on death’s doorstep-at least none of them were gushing blood! Couldn’t the woman see that?!

“Look, if you don’t go call a doctor now I’m going to go find one myself!” Ryder said angrily. The woman couldn’t give two rips who lived or died-he was certain of it. He started counting in his head, something he only did when he was angry. Usually, when he counted, he could distract himself from his anger…

But not always.

The woman looked up at him, shocked. Then her face hardened. “Sir, take a seat before I call security,” she said in just as angry a tone.

“Please do call security! Hopefully they won’t be so dumb that they won’t be able to see my friend is dying!” Ryder shouted.

The woman glared at him before pressing a button and talking into a mic built into the wall. “Security, you need to come take a man out of the ER. He’s going ballistic-I’m afraid he’s going to hurt someone,” she lied.

Just you! Ryder thought furiously, but he was glad that ‘security’ would be coming. He gave one last glare at the now-triumphant woman before stalking off back to Somer to check on her.

It turned out, however, that security and a doctor arrived at the same time. “I’ll be right back,” Ryder promised Somer. Then he quickly left his chair and approached the two security guards and the doctor. “Please-my friend needs help!” he said, directing his words to the doctor. “She’s been shot.”

“That’s him!” the lady behind the desk screeched.

The security guards started toward him, but Somer’s heart picked that moment to stop beating for a couple seconds. The bullet had hit one of her vital arteries, and in a few more minutes she would be dead. She slumped forward, falling off her chair and onto the floor.

“Someone get a gurney out here!” the doctor shouted, he and Ryder running toward Somer at the same time. The doctor felt her pulse. “She’s barely alive!” he exclaimed. The gurney arrived a couple seconds later, and two men lifted her onto it, the doctor shouting instructions. “Get her into the OR, and get an oxygen mask on her now!” he bellowed.

Somer was rushed away, and Ryder was left standing in the ER, the ‘desk lady’ glaring at him. Another doctor came out then, though, to take the next person who had been waiting to see one, and so the desk lady kept her mouth shut.

“Come with us,” a woman in hospital scrubs, accompanied by the security guards, said to him (she had come into the room when all the commotion had started with Somer falling off her chair).

Ryder obediently followed them, stealing a glance back at the desk lady. She smiled triumphantly once more…and then he did the most childish thing he’d done in a long time (though she was behaving quite childishly herself).

He stuck his tongue out.

The woman’s mouth all but dropped open clear to the floor.

Categories: Modern Fiction.

Tags: , ,

3rd Installment of “Beat It”

August 6, 2009

by Roxanne

 

Moments pass and we’re left alone, until Mr. Reynolds emerges from the offices and orders us with renewed vigor to clean the bathrooms, dorms, and do our laundry for the second time this week. I get bathroom duty, Cliff laundry. We’re locked inside the foul-smelling bathroom while the chaperone stands outside, away from the smell. I’m scrubbing dirt-caked sinks when Queeny and her little minions come up behind.

“We saw what you did. Broke rule nine again. Just can’t stop can you? Well I told Mr. Reynolds and he gave us permission to punish you.” Queeny sneers, advancing on me. I look through the mirror to my attackers; five girls, equally bony and desperate to get out. It doesn’t look good. I’ll just have to slow them down.

I feel a terrific pain in my back, and I turn to punch Queeny square in the face, she ducks, but I get a cheap shot on the girl behind her. I see a sharpened plastic spoon from the cafeteria. So that’s what went about half an inch up my back. I don’t have time to think anymore as the girls advance on me, pinching, slapping. I fight back with a few punches here and there but they’re all over, suffocating me, limiting my mobility. I land one more good punch to Queeny’s second in command before she kicks my feet out from under me and I fall to the floor, knocking my lights out on the sink, and landing face-down on the floor.

When I come-to I sit in the grate once more, sun blazing upon me. I cough and feel blood caked on my lips. I also can’t breath from my nose. It’s broken, I know the feeling because it’s not the first time. But I still don’t have the guts to set it straight myself. So I sit, holding my wounds, wondering what’s going on above me. Minutes later, Cliff joins me in the other grate. He shows up without his usual fanfare of a struggle, as far as I can hear.

“You two stay in here and don’t say a word and we might let you out before next week. But you yell or try anything while the parents are here and you’ll be left on the tower until you think you’re gonna die, and then we’ll put you in here for another week!” Bruno whispers loudly, then stalks away. We don’t talk for a minute, I imagine he’s been beat just as bad as I have.

“How many was it?” I finally ask.

“Five of the guys. And Zaccheus whose spite was released on me because he’s this close to getting out.” He replies.

“Yeah, I think my nose is broke and they shoved a plastic spoon up my back.” I relate.

“Hhhmm, I got one of the screws from the wall shoved up my back. And I think my right ring and pinky fingers were somehow broken. We got to get out of here, Endie, because Mr. Reynolds is turning it over more and more to the kids and they won’t stop.”

“That’s the thing, Cliff. I just don’t want to get out anymore. I want to die here, like Alexa. I don’t deserve to get out.”

“It’s not your fault that Alexa died, neither of us saw it coming. We can’t let them beat us. We have to get out for Alexa and for all the other kids like her. The ones that nobody cares about because they’re weak. We have to beat this and end it. How hard can it be to get cops down here and tell them what is really going on?” Cliff argues.

“But it’s not our country. Our cops have no rights down here.” A pause. “I just don’t want to anymore, maybe it’s over for me.” I conclude.

“It’s never over. And I’m not going by myself, so I’m ready for a long wait until you change your mind.” Silence continues until we’re released for dinner in the cafeteria without Queeny and Zaccheus, and without Alexa. The new “student leaders” have no problems adjusting to their new roles in which they are allowed to kick, steal, pinch, and annoy to their hearts’ content. All to please the ever-present guards and chaperones who will someday recommend them to Mr. Reynolds as good students. I ignore this horrible cycle and harden myself against all that goes on around me. There’s no way to stop it, and trying only lands me in the grate, so I just accept it. Maybe I’ll even be the kid they want me to be and go back to my relatives a subdued little suck-up. I can tell Cliff is not on the same page. He gets in trouble much more than me and sometimes I see him staring off to nowhere and I know he’s thinking about Yellowstone and his little bro. His beatings get worse and always I’m forced to watch. They play over and over in my mind as I lay in bed, as well as Alexa’s death. I feel as though my mind is going to eat me alive while the school destroys the only friend I have. Yet, somehow I can’t find the strength to resist. Like Mr. Reynolds says; I deserve this.

Then, weeks, maybe months later, two new kids show up. They’re twins, about 13, a boy and a girl. I’m assigned to show the new girl the ropes- a new student position that symbolizes the progress I’m making. Her name is June. She’s from Los Angeles where she lived with her mom and dad before they got a divorce and things started going downhill for her and her brother, Sims. Eventually they ran away while their parents were in a court hearing. That’s what landed them here.

“It doesn’t seem to bad.” Sims muses, across from me, next to Cliff. Cliff ducks his head in a mocking gesture. I grin painfully.

“Just wait until tomorrow morning. You’re lucky you arrived for lunch, this lunch especially, the food isn’t usually this good.” I say.

“Ugh.” June sighs.

Sure enough, next morning the twins don’t finish the drill in time and are hauled away to the grates. June comes back sunburned and down-hearted.

“This is stupid,” she complains. “Why do they stick us in there just for having trouble with their exercises in the hundred and eighteen degree heat?!”

“Like Mr. R says, they just want you to be a better person and obey…like we should.” She gives me a confused look.

“Sims said that Cliff told him you were still okay, like you haven’t given in yet. He said you were cool and that you almost escaped before.” I don’t reply.  “What’s wrong then? Was he lying?” I hold her gaze until she looks away. We’re doing our laundry on the outside concrete and the glare from the sun forces us to close our eyes frequently for relief.

“Yeah.” I sigh. “He lied.”  She looks confused.

“So are you going to tell on me? For talking about escape and all?” I shake my head, unable to speak because of the knot in my throat. We head over to the clothesline where Cliff and Sims are already hanging up their laundry. I avoid eye contact with Cliff and focus on my laundry. The new Queeny orders June to hang up her laundry as well.

“No.” June says, ignoring the other girls warnings.

“Excuse me?” The red-head from Texas says. “What did you say?!” Kids gather around, anxious for an excuse to hit someone.

“Do your own laundry,” June says, less sure of herself now.

“You’re supposed to listen to ME! You’re a new girl and not near as good as me. So I suggest you pick up my laundry and put it on the line!” June hesitates, and Texas jabs two fingers into her throat, holding them there. June gasps, seconds away from blacking out.  Texas drops her.

“Do it.” She says and strides back to the dorm. June sits on the dirt for a minute more then gets up and throws the laundry over the line.

“This isn’t over.” Sims mutters. June nods.

“No way.”  Cliff catches my eye, pleading, reminding me that we now have two more reasons to get out. I look away. The rest of the day I suppress all the feelings bubbling up inside of me, refusing to remember the feeling of being alive, my own person.

Mr. Reynolds shows up for dinner in the worst mood I’ve seen him in yet. The rumour is that Alexa’s grandparents had showed up this morning and would’ve sued if Mr. he hadn’t paid them off. This brought my anger into my throat but I just swallowed it back once more. He also congratulated the new student leaders and recommended that they help June and Sims adjust to the schools’ policies. This pretty much meant they were to beat the twins until they were unconscious. Like me. I shrug that thought away, protesting just isn’t worth it. I don’t understand why he’s doing this now, promoting violence in the students, allowing them to take matters into their own hands. When I first came, the policy had been ‘put the kid out in the hot sun for a couple of days and then let them fight back’. Now it was just plain violence. How could that provide the results he was looking for?

Tonight we’re allowed to sit outside an extra hour because of the stuffiness of the rooms. The chaperones meander farther and farther away. Soon the redhead approaches with the guy’s new student leader. Their minions are close on their heels. I am tempted to stand with Cliff between them and the twins until I remember my resolve to get out of here and thus stay back.

“What was it Mr. Reynolds said, Mickey?” Texas asks the guy next to her.

“He said to teach the new kids this school’s policy. And you know what that is?” He grabs Cliff by the throat and throws him aside, five other boys holding him down. “That you’re nothing!” He shouts, punching Sims in the stomach. The other kids advance upon both of them, insults flying as thick and fast as the hits. I lick my lips and try to turn away. But I can’t, so I just stand and watch the twins and Cliff struggle and fight hopelessly. Then Texas yells above the den.

“You, Endie!” She says, pointing to me. I look at her. “Come over here and show us that you’re a better kid than them.” She gestures to June. I walk over and pause above June who cowers, blood streaming from her split lip. Her sad eyes beg me to stop and it’s then that I realize just how ridiculous I have been. This whole time I’ve been denying myself, ignoring my real desire to escape as the same person I was before. I have betrayed Cliff when he needed me most, and turned June down when all she needed was a friend to get her through this. I have failed in every aspect of the word and now I see Alexa in June’s face and know that I have failed her too, even as she lies cold in the ground. Now It’s time for me to fix it all. We will fix it and we will get out, all four of us. But for now, I will fight. I raise my fist as to strike June, then turn and punch the redhead full in the face, and, while she and all the others stand back in shock, I help Cliff out of the hands of the kids clinging to him and grab Sims and June. Cliff lands a well placed shove onto Mickey who falls back into the crowd of kids. We bolt for the safety of the girls’ dorm.  June and I hustle to the other side, letting the guys out before a chaperone sees them there. Cliff grabs my shoulder.

“I knew you weren’t gone.” He says.

“I wasn’t going ta let them get away that easy.” I joke sullenly. He smiles wide and darts away into the boys dorm.  I lean my head back against the concrete wall and take a breath. I feel free. Like I’d been trapped these last months. The free Endie has come back. I smile so big I think my lips might split then remember June beside me. She stares at me, blood clotting all over her face. I chuckle, then grab her hand.

“Let’s get you washed up,” I say, heading for the outdoor water spicket. The other girls start returning to the dorm as we head out. They give us smug looks and Texas stares us down, reminding us that we will pay. But I ignore them, too caught up in my new freedom of heart and mind to consider the coming repercussions.

Sims, Cliff, June, and I all meet at the water hose. Cliff and I gingerly wipe the blood away from the angry twins’ faces. They grumble the whole time, but I’m too happy to notice and Cliff seems to have his old vigor back. We talk in hushed tones of escaping again.

“I don’t think riding with Cooky will work. They check his cab now too.” Cliff says.

“Yeah, it’ll have to be something else,” I reply.

“Maybe we could create a diversion and get out while everyone’s preoccupied.” Sims throws in.

“Well, the gate will remain closed no matter what’s going on in here. Unless…” Cliff’s face lights up, and I continue his train of thought.

“Unless the diversion requires the gate to open.”

“Like an ambulance?” June asks. Cliff nods.

“If for some reason we need an ambulance one of us could ride in it and the rest could escape while the gate is open for it.” He says. “The problem would be getting Mr. Reynolds to call the ambulance in the first place.”

“That’s easy, the nurse has Wednesdays off. Something just has to go wrong with one of us physically that day and all the chaperones will freak out.” I conclude. “What could go wrong…” I wonder. But just then the whistle blows and we rush back to the dorms for bed, all four of us wondering what could go wrong.

At lunch the next day, Cliff whispers his idea.

“I’ll sneak into Nurse’s cabinet and lift the …….. Then I’ll take it and be throwing my guts up after an hour tops. Mr. Reynolds calls the ambulance and boom, we’re out of here!” I nod.

“Not too bad.”

“I think one of us should take it.” Sims says. June nods her agreement.

“They won’t suspect anything out of us since we’ve only been here for a week.” She says.

“No, I can do it.” Cliff protests.

“It’s not a bad idea, Cliff. You’ve been here a while, and you’re older, it’ll take Mr. Reynolds longer to call for you.” I reason.

“Well which one of you?” Cliff gives in.

“I’ll do it.” They both say at the same time. I laugh.

“Alright then, pick a number between one and ten.” Two is my number

“Five,” June says. Sims chews his bottom lip.

“Three,” he says, fingers crossed. I point to him with a smile as we’re herded back into line.

“You are the lucky winner.” He smiles and June gives him a quick hug good naturedly.

“Wednesday it is.” I hear Cliff mutter through gritted teeth as he slips into line behind us.

 

Designed by Tim Sainburg from Brambling Design

Categories: Modern Fiction.

Tags:

A little bit of “Beat It”

August 1, 2009

This is ridiculous. Being taken below the border to some barbed-wire crap school. There’s no way it’s legal. Well, maybe there is since I’m a minor. But that’s not the point. The point is that I’m getting out of here as fast as I can and no one is going to stop me.

  Endie Maguire’s my name and, as I said before, escaping is my game. I’ve been here less than an hour and already I know they can’t keep me. I’ll get out of here when I’m good and ready.

Driving up here, my first impression was that it was some kind of military training camp, but on closer inspection I could tell it wasn’t. The strange and bloodied implements throughout the grounds attested to that, also much less sanitation and much more security.  The fat man who had driven me up opened my door and released my cuffs. That surprised me, until he nodded in the direction of a dark man with a machine gun.

After that he leads me into a short concrete building to our right where I’m  lectured at by a hulking old guy called Mr. Reynolds. I zone out after; “You deserve to be here because you disobeyed your authorities, who are better than you…”. The rooms’ décor consists of 2 mounted rifles, a Mexican flag, an American flag and the old guy’s metal desk. A gun safe stands in the corner.

On top of the desk lays my file. I hate that file.  I’ve seen it passed between so many adults without one of them really giving a care about me – they cared about what it said. I don’t matter to any of them, it’s the file they listen to, and someday I’ll be rid of it. For good, and no one else would judge me by it’s prejudiced side of the story.

Upon the termination of that pleasant exchange(as if I’d said anything other than “yes, sir”), I am led into another concrete building. This one painted orange with “ninas” painted across the side. The girls’ dorm, how lovely . A tall woman leads me inside where it smells like sweat and bile. She tells me to strip off my clothes. As demeaning as it sounds it’s actually  a bit of a relief since the muggy, hot climate is already getting to me. She lets me keep my sports bra on, but the underwear goes with the rest. My guess would be to the garbage. She throws me a  pair of heavy cargo pants(Oh joy!) and a high-necked white tank top.

“You have two sets of these, do not lose or damage them in any way or you will have only one pair. There aren’t replacements,” she says sternly. I smile and nod, hoping she doesn’t detect the sarcasm. At this point I need to play it safe and take it all in. After that, I’m led into the bunk room where at least 10 other girls, similarly dressed, lay flat on mattresses spread across the floor. Most are close to my 16 years, but some looked like they are just hitting puberty-junior high I guess. All are a little bit smaller than they should be; Malnutrition.  The lady leaves me with a heartwarming “Lay on your mat and don’t get up until the whistle is blown.” I shrug and do so. A list of 25 “school rules” is plastered about 8 times over the ceiling. They’re all pretty generic: “Don’t fight”‘ “Don’t cuss”, Don’t talk back”. The most unique I’ve seen in a while is number 9: “No physical contact”. ‘Guess bonding between students isn’t really promoted. Probably a good idea on the school’s part.

I flip on my side and address the girl next to me. “What’s your name?” I ask. She looks at me with big brown eyes and shakes her head frantically. I give her a questioning look, since there’s no adults in the room. She looks to her left. A dark haired girl who looks way to old to be here raises her head at our slight movements. Her face is shaped into a perpetual scowl.  She must be some kind of den mother or just a suck up. Either way she’s an enemy. I can smell it.

 

About 20 minutes later a shrill whistle is blown and automatically the girls-I count 14 including myself-stand and line up behind the older girl; Queeny. I saunter to the back of the line. But am hustled to the front, behind Queeny, and directly behind me, a girl, probably 14, stands with her eyes down. She’s horribly sunburned and she has purpling bruises up and down her forearms and wrists. Troublemaker. I’ll have to be talking to her. Maybe not the first day though. We begin marching, back into the sweltering heat. Our destination turns out to be another concrete building, this one painted white. On the other side I see the boys dorm. It’s painted a sickening green and “ninos” is scrawled across its side. An equally weak-looking group of boys files from it into the white building. Inside it’s cool and smells strongly of pepper(among other things). We approach the buffet where Queeny reverses the line and I’m left at the back while she’s the first to help herself to whatever is putting off that tangy smell. The boys’ line files in behind me, led by a haughty older boy. He has no neck and is short and leanly muscled. As I reach the food I grimace in disgust. Pots of oozing red soups/stews sit on the buffet before me and I feel bile gathering in my throat, the smell is so strong.

Zaccheus behind me turns me toward him. “Do you have a problem?” he asks aggressively.

“Look at it!” I say, gesturing toward the sickening squash.

“What? You don’t want dinner? I think you’re going to regret that.”

“I’m not that hungry yet,” I say, still fighting back the urge to spew whatever is in my gut in his face. He smiles and calls to a guard at the door. “Excuse me, but she doesn’t want her dinner, Sir,” he points to me. I shrug and go to the guard, expecting to be led back to the dorm. Instead, he grabs my wrists and twists them over my head, clapping cuffs on.

“What the?!” I exclaim. He secures the cuffs to a iron hook in the middle of the ceiling. I have to stand on my toes to keep from pulling my arms out of socket. After that I pretty much cuss the little Zaccheus dweeb to high heaven.

 

  The next morning the whistle blows again and I sit up rubbing my sore wrists. My toes are sore too but at least they’re not disgustingly bruised. We all file to the “lawn” in front of the “school”. I rub the sleep from my eyes as another dark and buff dude explains the rules to us, then the exercises of the morning.

“All of you will run 3 miles this morning. That’s 2 laps around the school’s inside perimeter.” he gestures with his forefinger, then rubs his black mustache. “After that 25 push-ups, sit-ups and squats will be expected. I’ll meet you all at the top of that tower in less than an hour.” He points, then jogs towards a metal tower with jagged outcroppings all up the wall. I figure we’ll have to climb up the front while he takes the stairs. The girls and guys set out facing opposite ways for the run. I know I’m not in perfect condition but I’ve always had endurance and I figure this can’t hurt me too bad. Plus I’m in better shape(for now) nutritionally than the other girls. Thus I have no trouble keeping up. After the running, I lay on the grass next to all the girls and  guys who are still fighting through the calisthenics, the older and stronger kids jeer down at us from the tower. I finish the push ups and start up the metal wall. The jagged hand-holds are warm and they cut into my hands. Higher up the handholds get fewer and those that are there are coated with the slick blood of the previous climbers. The jeers of my comrades get thicker as I approach. For some reason it seems like they want me to fall. Maybe it’s because I’m new, maybe it’s because they get rewards for jeering, maybe it’s just because they hate the world. It doesn’t matter, what matters is that I make it up in spite of my burning lungs and cramping muscles.

“Hey Newby!” A tall, thin, white guy calls down at me. I make the mistake of looking up and get his spit in my eye as a result. This brings a hail of spit flying down upon me, girls and guys alike seem to enjoy my soaking. Finally I reach the last row of metal shelves. Just as I reach for the highest one to my right Zaccheus leans over, says “You’re so weak!”, and spits on my right hand. This causes me to let go with that hand, and my body swings violently around. A metal shelf juts into the small of my back. My left hand loses it’s grip. I fall 70 metres to the ground and lay there, breathing heavily, the anger gathering inside me. It feels like I could never move again, the pain in my back throbs along with my beating heart. But I’ll forget that as soon as I see the beady eyes of that stubby Zaccheus. The guard at the top of the tower blows a whistle and the kids slide down by the ropes hanging on its sides. They circle me, but I lay still. My arm is over my face so they don’t know that I have a pretty good view of the kids’ feet. When I’m positive I see the right stumpy toes I gather all my strength and jump to my feet. Before anyone can react I’ve lunged for Zaccheus, throwing my whole weight at him. But before I get there I feel a rough pressure under my left rib cage and a rippling volt of electricity flows through me. I fall to my knees before the smirking Zaccheus. To my left the guard from the tower, Bruno, grabs me by the back of my neck and yanks me up.

“You failed the exercise!!” he screams. I gasp for breath and point to the group of kids. “But they…” I gasp, unable to finish because of the pain. Bruno gives me a deathly look.

“Not only have you failed to do as you were told, but you blame your failure on your fellow students. You are a sick girl. And that is unacceptable here. Here you are no longer the person you came as. You’re no longer going to be a sick girl, we are going to make you better. You will be a person who respects her parents and never ever talks back. What you think doesn’t matter and won’t until you’re grown up and realize what a fool you have been. And here, you are going to learn your lesson.” With that he wraps a thin wire around my wrists and drags me to a telephone pole sticking halfway out of the ground. I squint up at the top. Loops of metal stick out all around it. More handholds. Good.

  “Climb to the top,” Bruno says. I hesitate and he tasers my side again.

“Come on!!” I gasp.

“Get up there,” he repeats. I ignore my pain and head up. It’s much easier to climb than the metal tower but I feel the sun burning into my skin the higher I get. Once at the top, Bruno calls:

“Attach that wire to your wrists. Let me see it.” I hook the wire holding my wrists together through a metal ring secured into the wood pole, figuring that getting down would only bring more trouble, and security down on me. I lift them up the 3 inches I’m allowed to show Bruno. He nods and tells me to secure my ankles as well. Another small wire loop hangs from the pole. I slip it over my left ankle and hold that out as well for Bruno to see.

“ Think about your foolishness,” he says, turning and barking at the other kids to get inside. They all walk away giving me turdy looks. I smirk back at Queeny. Only minutes later I start to feel the heat sapping my energy away. My skin warms and then starts to change to a darker shade. My lips crack and dry out, as well as my parched tongue. I distract myself by imagining what all the metal implements are used for. All are pretty obviously used to tie kids to and leave them in the hot sun. One does puzzle me though; it’s two bars about a foot and a half off the ground, parallel to each other. I don’t have to wonder for long. Around noon a guard comes out, dragging the small girl that I noticed this morning with him. Looks like she’s at it again. The guard shoves her towards the parallel bars as the other “students” spill from the class rooms. The small girl gets up on the bars, putting her wrists on one side and her feet on the other, arching her back towards the hot sun. She shakes, causing her white tank top to fall over her face embarrassingly. The kids laugh and jeer, she falls to her right through the bars to the dirt below. She grunts and hurries back up, but not fast enough. Bruno has come from the cafeteria as well and slaps her across the face. She falls back as he lectures her. Apparently she talked back, again. Eventually they all leave us to our scorching fates.

I call to her. “Hey. What’s your name?” I ask. She looks at me with fear in her eyes then croaks, “Alexa.” I nod.

“Endie.” She looks puzzled.

“What kind of a name is that?”

“I dunno, an American one. Where are you from?” I shade my eyes to get a better look at her.

“California. You?”

“Florida originally. I move around a lot.”

“What did you do?” she asks, her wrists shaking violently from the strain. A guard watches from the shade of the cafeteria.

“Lots of things.” I look away. This ends our little exchange. Minutes later she falls again and the guard come and drags her away. I sigh, hoping they’ll do the same for me soon. My legs hurt from the squatting position I’m confined to and the sun’s heat is getting unbearable. Pretty soon I’ll pass out and fall from the pole.

  In the mess hall I take a seat next to Alexa for lunch. She’s bruised and looks like she’s about to break.

“What do they want from us?” I whisper.

“They want us to admit that we’re nothing. That we can only mess up and have no right to live. They want us to admit that without this school, we would be dead. I refuse to admit to lies,” she whispers fiercely.
“How do they know you don’t admit?” I ask. She shakes her head and looks down at her soup. I haven’t eaten in the 48 hours I’ve been here but I still am only desperate enough to eat half my “soup”. I push the other half to Alexa who slurps it up readily. I see Queeny giving me the stink eye from the next table over. Crap, she saw that, I’ll have to be more careful. Don’t want everyone coming to me for handouts. But then I’m sure these kids would find it more fun to just rat me out and watch me take my beating. Good.

Roxanne

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

Paint It(Black)

July 30, 2009

Four kids ride their bikes up and down the ramps of Old Oak Park. Their swelling hearts beat to the message of “The Anthem” by Good Charlotte, the story of their lives.

A tall girl flips off of a ramp, her wheels spinning. They stop for a split second as she lands before she pedals away from the park behind a dark haired guy. Another girl and guy follow close behind.

They race home; Nic(which is short for Nicky, short for Nicole) skids in seconds behind Chase. They laugh as the younger two fall off their bikes, breathing heavily.

“What, your age catching up with you, Links?” Chase laughs, unlocking the bottom of a yellow garage door.

“Laugh all you want, you two were going like going like thirty miles per hour!” Links says.

“Seriously! I think I ripped out one of my tires,” Mandy, the younger girl exclaims, inspecting her back tire.

“Sorry guys,” Nic apologizes, helping Mandy bring her bike into the must loft. Clothes and BMX bike equipment litter the floor.

The kids settle around a table full of pizza crusts and old cokes.

“What you got for us tonight, Boss Man?” Links asks Chase.

“Better be good. I’m starving,” Nic comments, picking at an old pizza. Chase grins.

“Oh, it’s good! You’ll never believe what this guy offered us! Like seven hundred bucks! But it’s not ’til Friday night…” groans echo across the table.

“What happens ’til then?” Mandy sighs. Nic leans forward.

“Aw, I’ve got some cash saved up for new tires. It’s okay though, go get some food,” she offers. Links and Mandy grab the money and dash out the door.

“Thanks,” Chase says. “This job on Friday’ll pull us through for weeks.”

“What are we…looting the White House?” Nic exaggerates.

“Nah, it’s just like really dangerous or something.”

“Whatever,” Nic replies, crashing on a red couch. “Wake me when the pizza gets here.”

Two days later the four kids gather at an apartment building, dressed in black with newly painted bikes of the same colour.

“We’re robbing this trash dump?” Mandy asks, looking around doubtfully.

“Nope, the guy just told me to meet him here,” Chase answers.

“Well, where is he, Chase?” Nic asks nervously, seconds before a black, suited man walks around the building. He scans the group skeptically, then addresses Chase.

“Alright, all you have to do is go in there, take the blue glass off the bedroom dresser and get the heck* out. Got it?” The kids nod with sharp swallows. He leads them a couple miles up to a nice-looking house. The light is on at the front door.

The man nods, then leaves. The kids approach the house from behind. Links and Mandy open the door and disable the alarm, Nic and Chase head warily to the back room.

Chase jumps in without hesitation, but Nic stops in the doorway and points to the bed. An older lady lies prostrate there, not taking a breathe.

Chase looks at Nic, eyes wide. Nic runs to the bedside and examines the person’s fingernails; the tips are blackening. Chase sees a blue glass on the bedside table. He grabs it with gloved hands and heads for the door.

“That woman was poisoned and that glass must be the only evidence,” Nic whispers, shaking her head. “We’ve gotta leave it.”

“It’s not our business, Nic. Let’s go, forget it,” Chase shrugs nervously.

“No. This is going to far,” Nic replies. They race out the door at Mandy’s call.

The next morning Nic wakes up hours later than everyone else. She puts her hair up, and grabs her mesh backpack.

” ‘Morning, Grumpy,” Chase says, chugging a Red Bull. Mandy and Links lay on the couch playing a video game. Nic stops and looks at them sadly.

“So, what?  You’re gonna ignore me now?” Chase complains in disbelief. Nic rolls her eyes. She walks over and shoves him down, then leaves, shutting the yellow door behind her. Outside she pulls a can of black spray paint out of her backpack. The words “Walk Away” appear on the garage door.

Seconds later a can of paint flies through the small window in the door, sending the shattered glass flying across the room. Chase walks over and picks the spinning can up. A note is tied to it that reads; “Chase, this has all been wrong.”  He sighs and runs his fingers through his hair as Nic bikes angrily away.

Categories: Modern Fiction.

Right (By FrostFire15)

July 9, 2009

Author’s Note: Hi, I’m Frosty. I’m a new member of this site, and this is my debut work! Yay! Now, just a couple words on this story… This is NOT my normal writing. This is a romance story, the result of a romance-story-obsession from long ago. Right now I’m just testing the waters of this place… Seeing how my style’s working out with everyone here! So please, tell me TRUTHFULLY what you think of this work. Thank you!

You’re a little girl again, sneaking into your mom’s make-up supply while she’s away at work. Your hands run caressingly over the little labeled tubes whispering perfection, and you giggle and play naively. It doesn’t matter, as you put blush instead of eyeshadow under your eyebrows. It doesn’t matter, as you create cool designs with lipliner and eyeliner on your cheeks. It doesn’t matter, as you swipe raspberry lipstick on your own.

You parade around the bathroom, looking at yourself in the mirror, pretending that you are not alone, and a handsome prince is rescuing you from the evil witch. In truth, there’s no prince, no hero, and the world out there is as tough as it gets.

In the end, as you wash the makeup off and try to sneak away, the lipstick’s the only thing you got right.

Years later, mom’s helping you with make-up, but not too much, she says, telling you make-up isn’t so important. You shrug and she shades blue on your eyelids and puts eyeliner on.

The dress is ready and the shoes are here. You smile, looking into the mirror. Beautiful.

Wait, she says, and hands you a small tube of raspberry lipstick. You’re beaming now, and spread it on.

Perfect.

The party has started, and you spy him, you true hero. He’s no longer behind mirrors, but with you now…

Tonight, you tell yourself, is the night he’ll ask you to dance, not her. You shield yourself with confidence and ignore the whispers of your mind.

He’s asked her every time, and tonight’s not going to be any different.

You talk, dance, eat, and drink, but notice him.

He doesn’t dance, and merely watches, his eyes (you hope) following you. He exchanges few words with his friends, but stays away.

You wonder why, for he’s usually loud and rambunctious, but he’s calm.

Subdued.

Before you can go and talk to him, the music changes to a slow piece, which is obviously made to create some couples. Your friends and their girlfriends or boyfriends get together and dance, arms curling around each others’ bodies.

You hold your breath, close your eyes and pray. This is the moment

You open your eyes, half expecting him to come, but he’s crossing over to her. He’s asking her quietly and she goes to him on the dance floor. She puts her arms around his neck, and you close your eyes again, refusing to watch.

The song drags on, limp verses of unrequited love bore you, and you decide to move as more and more of those around you pair up and dance. The only empty table is where he sat, the table in the corner.

You slide into the chair, the faint scent of his cologne still fogging the area. You breathe, and for one moment, you can forget the music.

The bliss doesn’t last long, you think to yourself, sighing.

With a last, drawn-out chord, the song ends. You close your eyes and try to ignore the clapping and catcalls.

A tap at your shoulder turns you around and you’re facing him.

He’s frowning down at you. You mutter a half-baked apology and try, awkwardly, to leave, but he shrugs and sits net to you.

There’s silence.

A moment later, he mutters something along the lines of how boring slow dancing is.

A second later, both of you are laughing.

A minute later, you’re talking to him as easily as you can in Science class.

A little later, you can tell he’s starting to ease up, but you don’t care, and you savor the confused looks she’s sending you.

An hour later, the party ends, and as you tell everyone goodbye, he gives you a hug.

Mom smiles as you leap into the car, sensing your joy.

You wash off the makeup and raspberry lipstick and dream of heroes and love.

A party later, he asks you to dance.

This time, the lipstick’s not the only thing you got right.

Categories: Modern Fiction, Romance.

Tags: , , , ,

The Story of AKF- Book Two-Prologue-raven14

February 14, 2009

“Gather as many as you can find,” the Dark One said to his three commanders standing before him now. He had a large army now, but not quite large enough to defeat Kiria. No. For that he would need more men; more pawns. “Take all men, and I mean all. Unless they are eleven years of age or younger, take all you come across. If they must be taken by force, so be it-but should you have to, give out consequences. Toy with their hearts, and if they still won’t come willingly, take everything from them.”

His commanders(the first, in the highest rank, the second in the rank just below the first, and the third in the rank just below the second-yet all commanders) said in unison, “So be it, my King.” They bowed at the waist to him, and saluted, and then left to carry out their duties.

The Dark One left his throne to look out the window at the moon, which was just beginning to show in the sky. He hated the moon, and he hated the sun even more. They hurt his rotting flesh, but even more, they shone light-pure, white light. He hated light. His flesh, which had begun to rot, and his eyes, which were sunken in, burned whenever light hit them. More importantly, Light was what rose up against his Darkness. He would conquer that Light; he would destroy it. So, doing this, he dwindled away in this black castle.  He was living death-and proud of it. He loved to strike fear into people’s hearts. He loved fear itself, black and cold as it was. It’s icy fingers gripped your heart, squeezing until you surrendered.

And he was the Lord of Fear; the Prince of Evil.

He would one day rule all lands, and all peoples.

Or so he thought.

Had he known the opposition against him-which grew every day-he wouldn’t be so confident.

As the Scrolls of Prophesy said,

One day, all of the Darkness shall be overcome with the Light. The Light will always prevail against the Dark, just as all shadows are chased away by the golden rays of the sun. The Light will shine through the Darkness, and we will have peace and justice.

The Light grew stronger, and one day it would overcome the Darkness.

The Light always has prevailed…and it always will.

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

Tags: , , ,

(C) The Sacrifice

February 3, 2009

hee hee…reposting this too. it was also two pages back. :D enjoy to all of you who didn’t see this yet!

Some facts:

I used to live in South Africa. We lived there for five years(me, my parents, and sibs-we moved when I was seven-in 2002- and moved back here at the end of 2007). It was not uncommon to see people begging at intersections, or wanting to hitchhike, or passing out fliers(or is it flyers?sp?).  I did once witness a little girl begging, and going up to a man in a truck, and him giving her food.

Boss-some of the black people would call white men this(I believe) instead of saying “Sir” for instance.

nairtjie(unfortunately I do not quite remember how to spell this ( )- a fruit like an orange, but smaller and sweeter.

The reason the man in the story says, “a hot day in the middle of December” is because South Africa’s seasons are different than ours. When it’s winter here, it’s summer there, and so on and so forth(for those of you who didn’t know :) )

robot- traffic light; it’s what they call it over there in SA

Yeah…I don’t know how great this story is, but at least you learned something about South Africa! D

Enjoy!

And btw, this story is exactly 658 words, not counting this author’s note.

I was sitting in my car, at the intersection. I was in the middle of Randburg, South Africa. It was a very hot day in the middle of December-the middle of summer. The sun was reflecting off the other cars around me and I had to close my eyes for a moment so I wouldn’t blinded by the glinting metal .

When I opened my eyes, I looked out my window to see a little girl, about age six or seven, standing there, watching me. It was a normal thing to see black people at the intersections, passing out flyers or asking for money or food as you waited for the light to change. The little girl standing near my car now said, “Please boss, may I have some food? We’re so hungry,” she said timidly. I looked back to the sidewalk to see another little girl, sitting and watching her sister patiently. I assumed their mother must be somewhere about, though I didn’t see her at present.

“What’s your name?” I asked as I reached into the grocery bag on the passenger seat. I took out a banana, and then a nairtjie as well. I placed these in another plastic bag I had lying on the floor.

“Faith,” she replied.

“Well, Faith, here you go, honey. I’m sorry, but there’s nothing else I can give you,” I said. There wasn’t. I was hardly making enough to get by as it was. I wished I could do more for her, but I simply couldn’t.

“Thank you so much!” she said, and then quickly made her way past all of the other cars back to her sister. I watched out of my side view mirror as she opened up the bag. I watched as she looked about to eagerly tear into the one nairtjie I had given them. Then she stopped and looked at her sister. She handed it to her. Then I watched as she took one of the bananas, peeled it, took one bite, and handed the rest of it to her sister. Her sister ravenously ate the fruit, while Faith sat watching her. It made my heart swell just to see it. Those girls had nothing, and yet the older sister had denied herself the need to eat and fed her sister instead.

I started to get out of my car to give them something else-I didn’t care if I went hungry for a few days. They needed it more than I did-but just then, the robot turned green and traffic started moving again. I had to move with it; there was nothing I could do about it. I glanced at my rear view mirror, and saw Faith take her little sister by the hand and start up another road-with no mother in tow. They had been there alone. My heart ached for them. They must be parentless.

All night long I was pestered with worry for the two girls. Did they have a place to stay? Were they being fed at all besides what I had given them? I decided to go back the next day and see if they were there.

The next morning, on my way to work, I went by the intersection, fully expecting them to be there, begging for food. But they weren’t. I drove around a bit, looking for them, but I never did see them again.

I will never forget the sacrifice(a small one, and yet so great) that sweet, little girl made. Her darling face will be forever engrained in my memory. No, it was not an uncommon thing to see children and even adults begging at the side of the road but on that day, at that moment, I learned more from a little girl than I had ever learned in the (selfish) past forty-five of my life from anyone or anything.

If only we could all learn to be more like her…

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

Tags: , , ,

(C) The Sacrifice -raven14

February 2, 2009

Hey ya’ll! Here’s a short story for the competition(assuming the competition has started…it has, right?). Tell me whatcha think!

Some facts:

I used to live in South Africa. We lived there for five years(me, my parents, and sibs-we moved when I was seven-in 2002- and moved back here at the end of 2007). It was not uncommon to see people begging at intersections, or wanting to hitchhike, or passing out fliers(or is it flyers?sp?).  I did once witness a little girl begging, and going up to a man in a truck, and him giving her food.

Boss-some of the black people would call white men this(I believe) instead of saying “Sir” for instance.

nairtjie(unfortunately I do not quite remember how to spell this :( )- a fruit like an orange, but smaller and sweeter.

Yeah…I don’t know how great this story is, but at least you learned something about South Africa! :D

Enjoy!

And btw, this story is exactly 650 words, not counting this author’s note.

-raven14

I was sitting in my car, at the intersection. It was a very hot day in the middle of December-the middle of summer. The sun was reflecting off the other cars around me and I had to close my eyes for a moment so I wouldn’t blinded by the glinting metal .

When I opened my eyes, I looked out my window to see a little girl, about age six or seven, standing there, watching me. It was a normal thing to see black people at the intersections, passing out flyers or asking for money or food as you waited for the light to change. The little girl standing near my car now said, “Please boss, may I have some food? We’re so hungry,” she said timidly. I looked back to the sidewalk to see another little girl, sitting and watching her sister patiently. I assumed their mother must be somewhere about, though I didn’t see her at present.

“What’s your name?” I asked as I reached into the grocery bag on the passenger seat. I took out a banana, and then a nairtjie as well. I placed these in another plastic bag I had lying on the floor.

“Faith,” she replied.

“Well, Faith, here you go, honey. I’m sorry, but there’s nothing else I can give you,” I said. There wasn’t. I was hardly making enough to get by as it was. I wished I could do more for her, but I simply couldn’t.

“Thank you so much!” she said, and then quickly made her way past all of the other cars back to her sister. I watched out of my side view mirror as she opened up the bag. I watched as she looked about to eagerly tear into the one nairtjie I had given them. Then she stopped and looked at her sister. She handed it to her. Then I watched as she took one of the bananas, peeled it, took one bite, and handed the rest of it to her sister. Her sister ravenously ate the fruit, while Faith sat watching her. It made my heart swell just to see it. Those girls had nothing, and yet the older sister had denied herself the need to eat and fed her sister instead.

I started to get out of my car to give them something else-I didn’t care if I went hungry for a few days. They needed it more than me-but just then, the robot(traffic light) turned green and traffic started moving again. I had to move with it; there was nothing I could do about it. I glanced at my rear view mirror, and saw Faith take her little sister by the hand and start up another road-with no mother in tow. They had been there alone. My heart ached for them. They must be parentless.

All night long I was pestered with worry for the two girls. Did they have a place to stay? Were they being fed at all besides what I had given them? I decided to go back the next day and see if they were there.

The next morning, on my way to work, I went by the intersection, fully expecting them to be there, begging for food. But they weren’t. I drove around a bit, looking for them, but I never did see them again.

I will never forget the sacrifice(a small one, and yet so great) that sweet, little girl made. Her darling face will be forever engrained in my memory. No, it was not an uncommon thing to see children and even adults begging at the side of the road but on that day, at that moment, I learned more from a little girl than I had ever learned in the (selfish) past forty-five years of my life from anyone or anything.

If only we could all learn to be more like her…

Categories: Modern Fiction.

Tags: , ,

(C) The Invisible

December 16, 2008

“Hey guys,” I say, shifting my heavy bag to my other shoulder. “Sorry I’m late.”
“Hey, Rebekah,” Hannah says as all of us pile into my 12-passenger-van.
We have not gone far when I see sleeping bags stacked against a wall, and desolate homeless sitting in huddles around trashcan fires.
“Let’s stop here,” I say.
“We’re out of blankets,” James says, “but we still have soup.”
I take a cup of hot soup and go outside into the frigid air, fighting being revolted by smells and tastes around me. The acrid scent of melted plastic and burnt paper is everywhere, and the formless piles of refuse attract the flies that are buzzing around us hungrily. The homeless do not move.

“Soup?” I ask, moving over to an old man who bends over a fire. I hand him the carton and a plastic spoon. He looks at me with his sad, blue eyes, and slowly takes it from me without a thank you. I will draw that face, with his pale eyes so heavy with hopelessness and years of dirt smudging his old, tired features.
We have enough soup for all of them. I have noticed that there are two kinds of eaters—the ones who devour with soup dribbling down their chins, and those who try to be neat.
It is hard to have so much when they have nothing.
I notice that one woman is not eating any soup. She is giving all of her share to her two children.
“Excuse me…?” I approach her, fighting my shyness.
“You can call me Clara,” she says softly, without looking up.
“This soup is for you, Miss Clara.” I hand her a warm carton. I hold her children on my lap, sitting on the frosty ground and feeding them myself.
“Thank you,” she says, barely audible. She eats the soup with more manners than most. I scold myself inwardly, knowing I should not judge these people by their manners.
Her little boys eat avidly, hastily swallowing everything I spoon into their eager mouths, as if they are afraid it will disappear. They must be only two and four, but they finish a two whole cartons. The rest of the group started passing out loaves of bread, and James hands Clara and me each a loaf. The boys devour the bread I hand them with their eyes wide in excitement and cold.
I forgot Clara as I fed the energetic little boys. They smile at me with full mouths, their eyes gleaming. I have fed them the whole loaf before they stop eating. Three cartons of soup and a loaf of bread—how hungry they must have been!
After they finish eating, I start playing with them, we engage in a playful snowball fight. They smile eagerly, laughing at me, their faces pink, their teeth chattering. The older one keeps rubbing his hands together. I give him my gloves.

He smiles at me, thanks me, and gives one of them to his younger brother, and keeps one for himself. I want to start crying because it was such a sad, selfless act. I take each of their bare hands and hold them in mine. They are so cold, shaking and holding each other, but still smiling, still saying thank you.
Then I feel wretched, wearing my thick coat while they tremble, so I take it off and wrap it around them. Not because I am selfless, but because I am selfish and do not want to feel guilty. They cuddle inside my coat.
I look up, and Clara is watching me, crying.
“Why do you do this?” She asks. “Why do you care?”
I am not sure how to answer. I always feel tongue tied with this question, no matter how many times I answer it.
“I care because God cares for you, and I am his servant. He said ‘Is not love to share your food with the hungry?’ You are important to God.” I look into her tear stained face. I will draw her —looking at me, her eyes asking a thousand questions, tears rolling down her face—her beautiful face, veiled by worry and hunger and dust.
”Then why would he cause my husband to turn me out on the street? This does not sound like a loving God,” her voice is still quiet, but hard. I look over and see her little boys huddling in my coat, whispering.
“I don’t know why terrible things happen,” I say. “But I do know he loves you.”
She looks as if she cannot decide. I reach into my heavy bag and pull out my bible and hand it to her.
“Do you know how to read?” I ask.
“Yes,” I see her eyes looking at it, hungrily. She longs for something to learn, I think.
“These are Gods words to you and me,” I say.
She nods. “I will read it.”
I smile, give her the book. James walks over to me. His eyes tell me its time to go. I stand up, and give Clara a hug. She hugs me back. I bend down to her sweet boys and kiss their cold little cheeks. Then I walk away. I realize that I am shaking with cold, but seeing their beautiful, shiny eyes, I am glad I gave my coat to them.
“Miss, you forgot your coat,” Clara calls me. Her boys are reluctant to give up their warm haven, but she is looking at them firmly.
“It is yours,” I say, and then walk back to the van, feeling her eyes following me with wonderment. I am crying.
Our night is filled with fellowship—the smell of chocolate, coffee, paint, and pencil lead hovering around us. I draw the old man’s hungry face, and Clara’s sad one, and the two little boys tumbling with me. Afterwards we have worship, singing with our guitars and Hannah’s amazing keyboard playing.

Then we all go home, to our hot dinners and warm blankets.

Categories: Modern Fiction.

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