Imagination
Jason was an artist. All his life he had cultivated his imagination. He read books.
He wrote poetry. He painted pictures. He explored nature. He dreamed dreams. He daydreamed.
He imagined. He had such great ideas that he aspired to one day. Everything he did was so
original and creative. He wrote brilliant science fiction. He built up incredible worlds of fantasy.
He had the inside scoop of all great civilizations. He reinvigorated great tales of love. He
Showing posts with label 2010: The Silver Prison. Show all posts
Showing posts with label 2010: The Silver Prison. Show all posts
Thursday, May 5, 2011
The Sea I Leave by Jazmine Coleman
The Sea I Leave
Oh my, my how can it be
That someone like me would hate this sea
Why this is so, to you I will tell
Because adventures in these waters have hut like hell
Never is it warm
And never does it warn
Of all the many creatures
With painful features
They sting and bite
With all their might
And when I feel that strong breeze
I completely freeze
Though it is beautiful
It is very deceiving
And for that reason
I must be leaving
I know you had it out for me
But you and me just cannot be
So I will say goodbye
Because if I stay I will surely die
Oh my, my how can it be
That someone like me would hate this sea
Why this is so, to you I will tell
Because adventures in these waters have hut like hell
Never is it warm
And never does it warn
Of all the many creatures
With painful features
They sting and bite
With all their might
And when I feel that strong breeze
I completely freeze
Though it is beautiful
It is very deceiving
And for that reason
I must be leaving
I know you had it out for me
But you and me just cannot be
So I will say goodbye
Because if I stay I will surely die
The Mystery of Black Box by Alysa Castillo
The Mystery of Black Box
On a bright summer morning I opened my blinds to let in some sunshine. Just then
I noticed a tall man, a little over weight with dark black hair, wearing an all gray sweat suit
jogging. In my mind I just thought that he was trying to get in shape for the summer season to
impress the ladies, but then I saw something strange. He man the man was wearing fancy shoes
like the kind you would wear with a suit. “How could you jog in dress shoes?” I asked myself.
On a bright summer morning I opened my blinds to let in some sunshine. Just then
I noticed a tall man, a little over weight with dark black hair, wearing an all gray sweat suit
jogging. In my mind I just thought that he was trying to get in shape for the summer season to
impress the ladies, but then I saw something strange. He man the man was wearing fancy shoes
like the kind you would wear with a suit. “How could you jog in dress shoes?” I asked myself.
Pearl's Harbor by Gracie Angelos
Pearl’s Harbor
Has anyone ever tried to convince you to love something that you were scared of?
That’s the story of my life. When my father’s boat was sunk on December 7 my mother
was seven months into her pregnancy with me. There was no turning back; there was no
losing me even though she tried her hardest to; tried her hardest to forget I was a part of
him. I was her first child, the cause of her excitement for years. She couldn’t wait to start
Has anyone ever tried to convince you to love something that you were scared of?
That’s the story of my life. When my father’s boat was sunk on December 7 my mother
was seven months into her pregnancy with me. There was no turning back; there was no
losing me even though she tried her hardest to; tried her hardest to forget I was a part of
him. I was her first child, the cause of her excitement for years. She couldn’t wait to start
The story of Dr. Kim and Mr. Tamjung Kim by David Kim
The story of Dr. Kim and Mr. Tamjung Kim
I had an important mission, to keep a golden diamond that was the last jewel in the whole world, and give it to the right person. Since I had to secure the gem, I slipped the luxurious gem into my underwear, decorated with different, colorful crystals. Waiting for my destination to Bangbae in Korea,
I had an important mission, to keep a golden diamond that was the last jewel in the whole world, and give it to the right person. Since I had to secure the gem, I slipped the luxurious gem into my underwear, decorated with different, colorful crystals. Waiting for my destination to Bangbae in Korea,
Renewed by Bethany Cannon
Renewed
Although to a guest there was much noise, all was silent to Haley. Her ears
had grown accustom to the beeping machines, the squeaky wheels, the moaning
patients, the rushing footsteps of nurses, her crying family, and the sounding alarms.
Although to a guest there was much noise, all was silent to Haley. Her ears
had grown accustom to the beeping machines, the squeaky wheels, the moaning
patients, the rushing footsteps of nurses, her crying family, and the sounding alarms.
Thursday, April 7, 2011
Mary Whitaker
The Silver Prison
The room was quiet, shut off from the rest of the house, muffling the cacophony of
snoring, gunshots, explosions, and obnoxious infomercial hosts. The room was dark, but one
small ray of light pierced the darkness, casting shadows that crawled along the floor and
slithered up the wall; they then crouched on the ceiling to wait eagerly for more of their shadow
kin. More rays collected together, permeating through gauzy curtains. Shadows danced along the
ceiling, greeting each other in the morning haze. I watched this. I was lying in bed, staring at the
ceiling, extremely entertained by the shadow ballet. But my buzzer rang, breaking the silence,
and the shadows jumped and scattered. I was alone.
I stood by my door, dreading the noise that awaited me on the other side. I reached for
the cold door handle and, through my peripherals, I saw a monstrous figure looming to my right
side, extending a cracked and splotched claw towards me. I turned but in front of me was a girl
with atrocious bed-head, looking perplexed and some what frightened. So I walked out of my
room into the noisy world. I did not look back, but behind me I could feel movement, as if the
monster was stepping out of its silvery prison.
Around 4:00, the fog covering the ocean oozed itself over the hill and enveloped the
neighborhood in grey. A girl who was walking home with me saw the fog appear, and
commented on the sudden weather shift.
“Wow!” she exclaimed, “It’s thicker than pea soup”.
“Nice use of cliché”, I said in a semi-sarcastic tone.
She narrowed her eyes at me and then turned, changing face. “I can barely see that stop
sign.” She pointed. In front of her, about 20 feet away, was a stop sign with an Inn n’ Out sticker
slapped on the front, above the white-lettered command. However, we could not see the sign or
the sticker, but we knew it was there from passing it numerous times. The fog was thick, just like
pea soup: murky and dense. The girl’s long arm was disappearing in the murk, her hand replaced
The girl looked at me, hand on her stomach and said, “I’m so hungry! Are you hungry?”
“No, I plan on going home and waiting until dinner to eat.”
She walked ahead of me, into the fog. “Oh, ok… I’ll see you tomorrow at school. I’m
going to go buy a burger. You can come along if you want”.
“That’s ok. I’m going home.”
I watched her disappear into the fog. I was alone, standing isolated from the world in
a small grey room, a silent grey room. Then a deep growl reverberated around me. I turned
full circle, searching for the source, but could only see grey. I yelled into the fog, towards the
invisible girl. “Your stomach is really loud!” There was silence.
I was in my room, looking at my reflection in the mirror. I stood, staring, traveling across
my face, examining every detail: my nose, my eyes, my cheeks, ears, and mouth, all of my
features, plain, neither pretty nor ugly, just plain. I stood there for a millennium, lost in a glassy
world. I did not notice the figure behind my reflection, hiding half of its deformed face. I broke
my stare, and saw her. Her skin was hanging loosely, connected directly to bone by an intricate
web of tendons. Every bone stuck out and when she moved toward me, her bones punctured
the skin like a dagger through leather hide. I turned around to face the being directly. I reached
out my hand and she took it. The fingers were brittle, breakable, and the skin on the hand was
swollen and yellowish. I looked into her thin face, a strangely familiar face and said, “You’re
beautiful”. She smiled. The smile was weak; every face muscle was straining to maintain the
The fog lifted from the hills and light flooded into the room. She began to fade and I was
left standing alone, looking out my window at the rising fog. Light diminished and darkness
encircled my room, stalking its prey. It was dark and I was alone, but not completely alone; I had
her, my monster, my ideal reflection.
The room was quiet, shut off from the rest of the house, muffling the cacophony of
snoring, gunshots, explosions, and obnoxious infomercial hosts. The room was dark, but one
small ray of light pierced the darkness, casting shadows that crawled along the floor and
slithered up the wall; they then crouched on the ceiling to wait eagerly for more of their shadow
kin. More rays collected together, permeating through gauzy curtains. Shadows danced along the
ceiling, greeting each other in the morning haze. I watched this. I was lying in bed, staring at the
ceiling, extremely entertained by the shadow ballet. But my buzzer rang, breaking the silence,
and the shadows jumped and scattered. I was alone.
I stood by my door, dreading the noise that awaited me on the other side. I reached for
the cold door handle and, through my peripherals, I saw a monstrous figure looming to my right
side, extending a cracked and splotched claw towards me. I turned but in front of me was a girl
with atrocious bed-head, looking perplexed and some what frightened. So I walked out of my
room into the noisy world. I did not look back, but behind me I could feel movement, as if the
monster was stepping out of its silvery prison.
Around 4:00, the fog covering the ocean oozed itself over the hill and enveloped the
neighborhood in grey. A girl who was walking home with me saw the fog appear, and
commented on the sudden weather shift.
“Wow!” she exclaimed, “It’s thicker than pea soup”.
“Nice use of cliché”, I said in a semi-sarcastic tone.
She narrowed her eyes at me and then turned, changing face. “I can barely see that stop
sign.” She pointed. In front of her, about 20 feet away, was a stop sign with an Inn n’ Out sticker
slapped on the front, above the white-lettered command. However, we could not see the sign or
the sticker, but we knew it was there from passing it numerous times. The fog was thick, just like
pea soup: murky and dense. The girl’s long arm was disappearing in the murk, her hand replaced
The girl looked at me, hand on her stomach and said, “I’m so hungry! Are you hungry?”
“No, I plan on going home and waiting until dinner to eat.”
She walked ahead of me, into the fog. “Oh, ok… I’ll see you tomorrow at school. I’m
going to go buy a burger. You can come along if you want”.
“That’s ok. I’m going home.”
I watched her disappear into the fog. I was alone, standing isolated from the world in
a small grey room, a silent grey room. Then a deep growl reverberated around me. I turned
full circle, searching for the source, but could only see grey. I yelled into the fog, towards the
invisible girl. “Your stomach is really loud!” There was silence.
I was in my room, looking at my reflection in the mirror. I stood, staring, traveling across
my face, examining every detail: my nose, my eyes, my cheeks, ears, and mouth, all of my
features, plain, neither pretty nor ugly, just plain. I stood there for a millennium, lost in a glassy
world. I did not notice the figure behind my reflection, hiding half of its deformed face. I broke
my stare, and saw her. Her skin was hanging loosely, connected directly to bone by an intricate
web of tendons. Every bone stuck out and when she moved toward me, her bones punctured
the skin like a dagger through leather hide. I turned around to face the being directly. I reached
out my hand and she took it. The fingers were brittle, breakable, and the skin on the hand was
swollen and yellowish. I looked into her thin face, a strangely familiar face and said, “You’re
beautiful”. She smiled. The smile was weak; every face muscle was straining to maintain the
The fog lifted from the hills and light flooded into the room. She began to fade and I was
left standing alone, looking out my window at the rising fog. Light diminished and darkness
encircled my room, stalking its prey. It was dark and I was alone, but not completely alone; I had
her, my monster, my ideal reflection.
Will Cook
A water story
River's flow with melodious grace.
All is still until the leaf picks up pace.
Nothing so melodious as the stream's trickle.
The spoken splash of fish's ever-changing path of fickle.
The ocean picks up with a sound of thunder.
Slamming down everything that used to be under.
Sand crabs send messages to dig down.
While every other creature tries to stay above ground.
The tidal wave forms as the child jumps in.
Was there any madness to the wave that would win?
Chlorinated water killing all creatures.
The once trodden grass hopper had lost all of it's features.
River's flow with melodious grace.
All is still until the leaf picks up pace.
Nothing so melodious as the stream's trickle.
The spoken splash of fish's ever-changing path of fickle.
The ocean picks up with a sound of thunder.
Slamming down everything that used to be under.
Sand crabs send messages to dig down.
While every other creature tries to stay above ground.
The tidal wave forms as the child jumps in.
Was there any madness to the wave that would win?
Chlorinated water killing all creatures.
The once trodden grass hopper had lost all of it's features.
Will Cook
"The lights glared down on the stage"
The lights glared down on the stage. The curtains were anxious to unfold. Everything up to this point had been a preparation for this magical moment. The floor creaked, as he cautiously stepped onto the old wooden floors. So many before him, had made this journey, from back stage to the front of the stage. He laboriously went over his act in his head. One card trick, one bunny in the hat, one joke, and then he would end with a blowup doll. Everything seemed well planned out in his head, but just as he was stuffing his tricks up his sleeves, the curtain was accidently opened so that his entire show was unfolded quicker than anyone would have wanted.
He shook and without a moments notice, everything fell on the floor: the bunny, the folded hat, the doll. He slumped down and began to weep. The audience, slowly agonizing over the embarrassment with him, stood up and began to clap. “I don’t know what to say”, said Charles. “ My whole act is ruined.” The applause pounded until he figured he would have to figure out a way to finish the show.
He ran back stairs and grabbed the only trick he had not done. “But I haven’t practiced this one since I was a kid,” he thought to himself. He knew it was his only hope, so he put the deck of cards into his pocket and plodded himself back on stage.
“Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, this next trick would dazzle the minds of young and old alike. What I need is a volunteer. You sir, you with the tall black hat.” As young Chireesius stumbled up the stairs, his chest pounded with anxiety. He had never stood before a crowd before, but he knew there was a first time for everything.
Charles unbuttoned his sleeves, and pulled out the cards. He began to tell the crowd about how the trick would work, but meanwhile Chireesius was too fascinated by the way his heart was beating. He had never heard such a rhythm before. It seemed as if, his heart might as well jump out of his chest at any moment. However, when it came time for him to take the card from Charles’s deck, he carefully selected the card, and put it in his pocket. “No,” said Charles. “Keep the card in your sight at all times.” As little Chireesius slipped the card back out of his pocket, it was evident to Chireesius that he had a deep fascination about how and what Charles was about to do. But even before Charles had time to comprehend the future, the card had magically changed colors and was no longer in Chireesius’s hand.
The audience cheered, and Charles bowed, along with Chireesius. After the show, Charles invited Chireesius back stage and they had a talk about the future that they might be able to have together. However, as Charles was only seven years old, they both saw that it would be difficult for them to pursue a future together. Chireesius was busy with school, and there was no way his mother would allow him to skip school just so they could go on tour. So instead, Chireesius said goodbye to Charles, and Chireesius’s family left.
Charles packed up his bags, and without even desiring payment for this show, made his way to his Ford Model A car. He then drove home across the bumpy cobble stone roads, and before he knew it, he was home. He unlocked the driver’s door, and before he could even step foot outside. He found himself being gagged with a bag over his head. He drifted off, and the next time he awoke was when he felt water being splashed on him. “Get up, you filthy scum.”
With that, Charles stood to his feat, and to his surprise has hit in the back with a chair. After he fell over, they pulled the sheet off and sat him upright. “Is this him boss?” said Bernard. “You idiots,” said the boss, “I was looking for Chireesius, the magistrate’s son, not Charles the magician. How could you be so stupid? I told you several times that this job could not be screwed up. Do you all not understand that my life is at stake? Return him at once.”
(7 months later)
Charles, sat patiently waiting in the magistrates office. “Was this the man, they were looking for? Why had it been so hard for them to find this man? He was nothing more than a common man, but something must be special about him.”
“He is ready to see you Charles”, said his secretary.
“Very Well”, said Charles.
He stood up and walked past the double doors, and saw sitting his with back turned towards Charles appeared to be the magistrate. Bernard turned around and Charles soon became aware, that they had found this man. A huge gash appeared on his right cheek and he saw that he had a patch over one eye. “Have a seat Charles,” said Bernard. “ I have called you hear today, to talk about what took place on July the second of last year.” Do you remember anything of that day at all?”
“Well,” said Charles, “I do believe that that day was the debut of my show in London. It was the day, that my show was ruined and I was forced to pull sympathy from the audience by pulling a boy from the audience.”
“Do you perchance, happen to remember that young boy’s name,” said Bernard.
Charles began to sweat; his brow glistened under the reflection of the fireplace. Was he in trouble for using this child without consent? “Surely this could not be the case,” so he mustered all the strength he had and without warning blurted out. “Chireesius!” said Charles.
The magistrate glared at him with disgust. “Do you have any idea of who that boy is?”
“In fact I do not,” said Charles. All I know is that he wore a tall, black hat and seemed to be nervous with stage fright.”
“Yes that is the child all right!” said Bernard. “We have been searching for that boy, my son, for several months after he was mysteriously taken from our house that night.” “Do you remember if he said anything peculiar to you, as you departed.”
“No, nothing to strange, but now that I think of it, he did happen to wink at me almost as if he was performing a magic trick on me.” Said Charles.
And with that, Bernard stood up and began pacing across the room. Charles noticed the various awards on the wall, and saw just how many pictures of Chireesius, that Bernard had. Some of him, painted by eloquent painters, and others: photographs, longing to be dusted. Charles knew that Chireesius must not have been an ordinary son, and the thought of being able to help this man find his son, soon turned a key in his soul, and he suddenly remember to here details from the conversation from the car which had taken him to where he was kept for a few hours. They said the boy’s powers had manifested themselves over time, and he was now able to do things that were otherwise thought to be impossible. Everyone was trying to lay there hands, on this young boy. “The card!” Thought Charles. “He made the card disappear, but I could never think of how he actually performed this trick. Here I thought I was the magician, and the next thing I know, I’m the one who was getting the joke played on him.”
“Exactly,” said Bernard. “He had special powers that were otherwise not supposed to have existed.
And with that, Charles stood up. “We must find this boy!” He has powers that could be used worldwide. Surely something must be done to find him.
The lights glared down on the stage. The curtains were anxious to unfold. Everything up to this point had been a preparation for this magical moment. The floor creaked, as he cautiously stepped onto the old wooden floors. So many before him, had made this journey, from back stage to the front of the stage. He laboriously went over his act in his head. One card trick, one bunny in the hat, one joke, and then he would end with a blowup doll. Everything seemed well planned out in his head, but just as he was stuffing his tricks up his sleeves, the curtain was accidently opened so that his entire show was unfolded quicker than anyone would have wanted.
He shook and without a moments notice, everything fell on the floor: the bunny, the folded hat, the doll. He slumped down and began to weep. The audience, slowly agonizing over the embarrassment with him, stood up and began to clap. “I don’t know what to say”, said Charles. “ My whole act is ruined.” The applause pounded until he figured he would have to figure out a way to finish the show.
He ran back stairs and grabbed the only trick he had not done. “But I haven’t practiced this one since I was a kid,” he thought to himself. He knew it was his only hope, so he put the deck of cards into his pocket and plodded himself back on stage.
“Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, this next trick would dazzle the minds of young and old alike. What I need is a volunteer. You sir, you with the tall black hat.” As young Chireesius stumbled up the stairs, his chest pounded with anxiety. He had never stood before a crowd before, but he knew there was a first time for everything.
Charles unbuttoned his sleeves, and pulled out the cards. He began to tell the crowd about how the trick would work, but meanwhile Chireesius was too fascinated by the way his heart was beating. He had never heard such a rhythm before. It seemed as if, his heart might as well jump out of his chest at any moment. However, when it came time for him to take the card from Charles’s deck, he carefully selected the card, and put it in his pocket. “No,” said Charles. “Keep the card in your sight at all times.” As little Chireesius slipped the card back out of his pocket, it was evident to Chireesius that he had a deep fascination about how and what Charles was about to do. But even before Charles had time to comprehend the future, the card had magically changed colors and was no longer in Chireesius’s hand.
The audience cheered, and Charles bowed, along with Chireesius. After the show, Charles invited Chireesius back stage and they had a talk about the future that they might be able to have together. However, as Charles was only seven years old, they both saw that it would be difficult for them to pursue a future together. Chireesius was busy with school, and there was no way his mother would allow him to skip school just so they could go on tour. So instead, Chireesius said goodbye to Charles, and Chireesius’s family left.
Charles packed up his bags, and without even desiring payment for this show, made his way to his Ford Model A car. He then drove home across the bumpy cobble stone roads, and before he knew it, he was home. He unlocked the driver’s door, and before he could even step foot outside. He found himself being gagged with a bag over his head. He drifted off, and the next time he awoke was when he felt water being splashed on him. “Get up, you filthy scum.”
With that, Charles stood to his feat, and to his surprise has hit in the back with a chair. After he fell over, they pulled the sheet off and sat him upright. “Is this him boss?” said Bernard. “You idiots,” said the boss, “I was looking for Chireesius, the magistrate’s son, not Charles the magician. How could you be so stupid? I told you several times that this job could not be screwed up. Do you all not understand that my life is at stake? Return him at once.”
(7 months later)
Charles, sat patiently waiting in the magistrates office. “Was this the man, they were looking for? Why had it been so hard for them to find this man? He was nothing more than a common man, but something must be special about him.”
“He is ready to see you Charles”, said his secretary.
“Very Well”, said Charles.
He stood up and walked past the double doors, and saw sitting his with back turned towards Charles appeared to be the magistrate. Bernard turned around and Charles soon became aware, that they had found this man. A huge gash appeared on his right cheek and he saw that he had a patch over one eye. “Have a seat Charles,” said Bernard. “ I have called you hear today, to talk about what took place on July the second of last year.” Do you remember anything of that day at all?”
“Well,” said Charles, “I do believe that that day was the debut of my show in London. It was the day, that my show was ruined and I was forced to pull sympathy from the audience by pulling a boy from the audience.”
“Do you perchance, happen to remember that young boy’s name,” said Bernard.
Charles began to sweat; his brow glistened under the reflection of the fireplace. Was he in trouble for using this child without consent? “Surely this could not be the case,” so he mustered all the strength he had and without warning blurted out. “Chireesius!” said Charles.
The magistrate glared at him with disgust. “Do you have any idea of who that boy is?”
“In fact I do not,” said Charles. All I know is that he wore a tall, black hat and seemed to be nervous with stage fright.”
“Yes that is the child all right!” said Bernard. “We have been searching for that boy, my son, for several months after he was mysteriously taken from our house that night.” “Do you remember if he said anything peculiar to you, as you departed.”
“No, nothing to strange, but now that I think of it, he did happen to wink at me almost as if he was performing a magic trick on me.” Said Charles.
And with that, Bernard stood up and began pacing across the room. Charles noticed the various awards on the wall, and saw just how many pictures of Chireesius, that Bernard had. Some of him, painted by eloquent painters, and others: photographs, longing to be dusted. Charles knew that Chireesius must not have been an ordinary son, and the thought of being able to help this man find his son, soon turned a key in his soul, and he suddenly remember to here details from the conversation from the car which had taken him to where he was kept for a few hours. They said the boy’s powers had manifested themselves over time, and he was now able to do things that were otherwise thought to be impossible. Everyone was trying to lay there hands, on this young boy. “The card!” Thought Charles. “He made the card disappear, but I could never think of how he actually performed this trick. Here I thought I was the magician, and the next thing I know, I’m the one who was getting the joke played on him.”
“Exactly,” said Bernard. “He had special powers that were otherwise not supposed to have existed.
And with that, Charles stood up. “We must find this boy!” He has powers that could be used worldwide. Surely something must be done to find him.
Ahra Jo
Fifteen days of contract with the devil
“Who are you? Why am I here?” said Rosie. There was a man wearing black suits
standing in front of her to stop crying in the graveyard.
“My name is scheduler, who we used to be called the Grim Reaper or the angel of death,”
scheduler continued, “and our job is to take you to the heaven or hell.”
Rosie could not understand what he was saying and her current situation which made her
to frown and give him ugly face. Then she realized that she was in a miserable car accident to
her wedding with her “destiny.” However, she was still puzzled by the situation she is in looking
at her dead body in front her where the accident happened with crying sounds of her parents.
Suddenly, she was moved to a hospital where she was lying on the bed in COMA status. Then
the scheduler explained, “You are not suppose to die today according to my schedule, but like
this unexpected situation, there is an option for you. If you decided to live again, you have to
sign a contract which is to get three “true” tears from the people who cry for you within fifteen
days. If you don’t them within this date, you will have no choice. Would you like to challenge
“Of course, this is so easy for me since I already have more than three because there is
my parents, my three best friends, and my fiancé,” replies Rosie.
“However, the person will not be you, but you will be borrowing someone else’s body in
order to accomplish the contract,” tells the scheduler.
“I will definitely try no matter what in order to live again, because I have to marry with
my destiny fiancé and I’m too young to die,” confirms Rosie.
Scheduler tells her the rules to keep while trying to accomplish the three tears which he
strictly informs, “be home by 12 o’clock, do not make any trouble, earn money by yourself to
use for yourself, and lastly since you are borrowing someone else’s body, you should not ruin
her life and not let her or anyone else know about your existence.” He continues by explaining
the information about her informal body which she will use, “her name is Lizzy, and she does
have part-time job at 1 am to 9 am, that’s what I can tell for now. Now go!” But he stops and
makes last statement by throwing a cell phone, “if you have emergence, then call me, but you
should not make calls for some stupid things. Got it?” Then Rosie nods and he disappears in two
First tear was given by Rosie’s parents when they heard from the doctor that Rosie would
not able to come back to the life unless there is a miracle to happen. Also, the doctors were
suggesting her parents to give up on her since there is no way she could survive this COMA.
Then they were crying for several hours for her that they could not see her alive again since she
was the only child for them. However, they did not give up on her even though, the costs of
hospital is overdraft and leads her father’s company to have financial crisis and management
problems since her father was staying in the hospital taking care of her all the time. As she sees
the ongoing situation, she realizes how important family is to her because family to her was just
like a bank which keeps money for her, and she thought they did not care about her because of
the company. However, they were actually caring about her at the back instead of expressing it
in front of her. Therefore, her first mission was completed and two more “true” tears were left.
“10days and 7 hours left,” notifies the cell phone.
“I better hurry up to get two more “true” tears until it’s too late,” shouts Rosie. So she
went to her fiancé who she thought he had already cried since their wedding and marriage are
delayed. However, when she goes to see him with her soul, she was shocked by the unexpected
scene which was having affair with her best friend, Amy, for six years, and everything was
planned from the beginning by them to steal her father’s wealth and company. Then she retreats
from getting tears from him since there is no he is going to cry out for “true” tears from his heart.
Second “true” tear was from unexpected person Mackenzie, who was Rosie’s just high
school boy friend and best friend with Rosie’ fiancé when they were studying oversea. One of
the rules was to earn money by yourself, which leads her to get a part-time job in Mackenzie’s
restaurant as a server and as Lizzy. As time goes by, Mackenzie falls in love with Lizzy since he
does not know Rosie’s soul is in her and her actions and behaviors are so similar like Rosie that
he confuses himself since he loved her as a secret crush from high school. Being 5 days left till
the deadline, Rosie and Mackenzie were going to shopping for the restaurant, and while they
were walking across the street, a car ran into them. They were transfer to the hospital by the
ambulance but Rosie had a minor injury since Mackenzie was covering her up, but he was in a
major damage. So he was in a vegetative situation, and Rosie had to stay with him since she fell
in love with him. Being two days left, it was miracle that he woke up and was looking her Rosie
for the first thing. Then he cried in front of her after seeing no injuries on her which was
his “true” tears for her. Therefore, the second “true” tear was accomplished.
However, being one day left, there was no way she could accomplish and finish the
challenge that she agreed with the scheduler. On the last day, she wrote a letter to her family, and
friends what happened to her, what she saw during the fifteen days, and what she realized, then
she mailed to her parents before the deadline.
On the D-day, she had no excuse for her challenge and had to follow the rule. On the
other side, her family and friends read the letter together which led them to cry for “true” tears
what they have done to Rosie.
“Who are you? Why am I here?” said Rosie. There was a man wearing black suits
standing in front of her to stop crying in the graveyard.
“My name is scheduler, who we used to be called the Grim Reaper or the angel of death,”
scheduler continued, “and our job is to take you to the heaven or hell.”
Rosie could not understand what he was saying and her current situation which made her
to frown and give him ugly face. Then she realized that she was in a miserable car accident to
her wedding with her “destiny.” However, she was still puzzled by the situation she is in looking
at her dead body in front her where the accident happened with crying sounds of her parents.
Suddenly, she was moved to a hospital where she was lying on the bed in COMA status. Then
the scheduler explained, “You are not suppose to die today according to my schedule, but like
this unexpected situation, there is an option for you. If you decided to live again, you have to
sign a contract which is to get three “true” tears from the people who cry for you within fifteen
days. If you don’t them within this date, you will have no choice. Would you like to challenge
“Of course, this is so easy for me since I already have more than three because there is
my parents, my three best friends, and my fiancé,” replies Rosie.
“However, the person will not be you, but you will be borrowing someone else’s body in
order to accomplish the contract,” tells the scheduler.
“I will definitely try no matter what in order to live again, because I have to marry with
my destiny fiancé and I’m too young to die,” confirms Rosie.
Scheduler tells her the rules to keep while trying to accomplish the three tears which he
strictly informs, “be home by 12 o’clock, do not make any trouble, earn money by yourself to
use for yourself, and lastly since you are borrowing someone else’s body, you should not ruin
her life and not let her or anyone else know about your existence.” He continues by explaining
the information about her informal body which she will use, “her name is Lizzy, and she does
have part-time job at 1 am to 9 am, that’s what I can tell for now. Now go!” But he stops and
makes last statement by throwing a cell phone, “if you have emergence, then call me, but you
should not make calls for some stupid things. Got it?” Then Rosie nods and he disappears in two
First tear was given by Rosie’s parents when they heard from the doctor that Rosie would
not able to come back to the life unless there is a miracle to happen. Also, the doctors were
suggesting her parents to give up on her since there is no way she could survive this COMA.
Then they were crying for several hours for her that they could not see her alive again since she
was the only child for them. However, they did not give up on her even though, the costs of
hospital is overdraft and leads her father’s company to have financial crisis and management
problems since her father was staying in the hospital taking care of her all the time. As she sees
the ongoing situation, she realizes how important family is to her because family to her was just
like a bank which keeps money for her, and she thought they did not care about her because of
the company. However, they were actually caring about her at the back instead of expressing it
in front of her. Therefore, her first mission was completed and two more “true” tears were left.
“10days and 7 hours left,” notifies the cell phone.
“I better hurry up to get two more “true” tears until it’s too late,” shouts Rosie. So she
went to her fiancé who she thought he had already cried since their wedding and marriage are
delayed. However, when she goes to see him with her soul, she was shocked by the unexpected
scene which was having affair with her best friend, Amy, for six years, and everything was
planned from the beginning by them to steal her father’s wealth and company. Then she retreats
from getting tears from him since there is no he is going to cry out for “true” tears from his heart.
Second “true” tear was from unexpected person Mackenzie, who was Rosie’s just high
school boy friend and best friend with Rosie’ fiancé when they were studying oversea. One of
the rules was to earn money by yourself, which leads her to get a part-time job in Mackenzie’s
restaurant as a server and as Lizzy. As time goes by, Mackenzie falls in love with Lizzy since he
does not know Rosie’s soul is in her and her actions and behaviors are so similar like Rosie that
he confuses himself since he loved her as a secret crush from high school. Being 5 days left till
the deadline, Rosie and Mackenzie were going to shopping for the restaurant, and while they
were walking across the street, a car ran into them. They were transfer to the hospital by the
ambulance but Rosie had a minor injury since Mackenzie was covering her up, but he was in a
major damage. So he was in a vegetative situation, and Rosie had to stay with him since she fell
in love with him. Being two days left, it was miracle that he woke up and was looking her Rosie
for the first thing. Then he cried in front of her after seeing no injuries on her which was
his “true” tears for her. Therefore, the second “true” tear was accomplished.
However, being one day left, there was no way she could accomplish and finish the
challenge that she agreed with the scheduler. On the last day, she wrote a letter to her family, and
friends what happened to her, what she saw during the fifteen days, and what she realized, then
she mailed to her parents before the deadline.
On the D-day, she had no excuse for her challenge and had to follow the rule. On the
other side, her family and friends read the letter together which led them to cry for “true” tears
what they have done to Rosie.
Julianna St. Geme
The Man with Black Eyes
It was a dark, stormy night when I heard a loud clamor coming from my basement. I had
been in my bed for only an hour when the noise shook me from within. Though terrified by the
sounds, I assured myself that the noise was nothing more than a creak in the floor. So I rested my
head back on my pillow and slowly closed my eyes when, suddenly, I heard the noise once more.
However this time, the noise was much louder than before, as if a large animal had somehow
made its home downstairs. I decided I would not be able to sleep another second without the
resolving the problems down under. So with one quick shift, I headed down to the basement, and
with each stair Idescended, my heartbeat grew as loud as the ominous noise. When I reached the
final step and my foot pressed against the cold, hard floor of the basement, the noise suddenly
ceased. For only a mere split second, I was able to let out a brief breath of relief when all of
the sudden I was pulled aside by an unmoving force. I quickly realized that the noise was not a
creaking floorboard, but a large size man threatening to take my soul. His visage was nothing
less than horrifying. He appeared to have a scar on the side of his face, as if he had been slashed
with a knife. His eyes were dark, almost black, and his hair long, dark, and stingy. In a rough
voice, he ordered me upstairs and told me to do everything he said or he would mark my face in
the same way his was. So I followed his grip up the stairs in unhindered fright where he began
tying my arms and feet to a chair. He then proceeded to tell me a story of the death of a young
woman whose name he believed began with a B. He told me she lived alone and one night while
asleep was awoken by noises that lead her to a deeply demented murderer. He told me that this
woman was beat and killed, only to be left with an enormous slash across her face. I assumed
this story was my own. Real or fictional, I knew my fate would be the same as the woman whose
name began with a B. So I closed my eyes in terror as the man pulled out a knife, and just as he
began lifting it towards my face, I opened my eyes and found myself lying in my bed with the
sun glaring through my bedroom window. Apparently my brush with death was nothing more
than a simple nightmare. So I headed downstairs, directly to my front porch where I picked up
the newspaper. As I was walking back inside my house, peaking at the front cover story of the
paper, my heart began to vigorously pound. The cover story was about the murder of a woman
name Becky who was killed in her home last night. However, when I reached my kitchen, still
struck with terror, I saw the most horrifying thing of all: a chair with two ropes aside a large
knife, soaked in cold red blood.
It was a dark, stormy night when I heard a loud clamor coming from my basement. I had
been in my bed for only an hour when the noise shook me from within. Though terrified by the
sounds, I assured myself that the noise was nothing more than a creak in the floor. So I rested my
head back on my pillow and slowly closed my eyes when, suddenly, I heard the noise once more.
However this time, the noise was much louder than before, as if a large animal had somehow
made its home downstairs. I decided I would not be able to sleep another second without the
resolving the problems down under. So with one quick shift, I headed down to the basement, and
with each stair Idescended, my heartbeat grew as loud as the ominous noise. When I reached the
final step and my foot pressed against the cold, hard floor of the basement, the noise suddenly
ceased. For only a mere split second, I was able to let out a brief breath of relief when all of
the sudden I was pulled aside by an unmoving force. I quickly realized that the noise was not a
creaking floorboard, but a large size man threatening to take my soul. His visage was nothing
less than horrifying. He appeared to have a scar on the side of his face, as if he had been slashed
with a knife. His eyes were dark, almost black, and his hair long, dark, and stingy. In a rough
voice, he ordered me upstairs and told me to do everything he said or he would mark my face in
the same way his was. So I followed his grip up the stairs in unhindered fright where he began
tying my arms and feet to a chair. He then proceeded to tell me a story of the death of a young
woman whose name he believed began with a B. He told me she lived alone and one night while
asleep was awoken by noises that lead her to a deeply demented murderer. He told me that this
woman was beat and killed, only to be left with an enormous slash across her face. I assumed
this story was my own. Real or fictional, I knew my fate would be the same as the woman whose
name began with a B. So I closed my eyes in terror as the man pulled out a knife, and just as he
began lifting it towards my face, I opened my eyes and found myself lying in my bed with the
sun glaring through my bedroom window. Apparently my brush with death was nothing more
than a simple nightmare. So I headed downstairs, directly to my front porch where I picked up
the newspaper. As I was walking back inside my house, peaking at the front cover story of the
paper, my heart began to vigorously pound. The cover story was about the murder of a woman
name Becky who was killed in her home last night. However, when I reached my kitchen, still
struck with terror, I saw the most horrifying thing of all: a chair with two ropes aside a large
knife, soaked in cold red blood.
Dominique Roy
Inside my closet…
It was a dark and stormy night. I lay in bed quietly listening to the pitter-patter raindrops
hit my window furiously as if they were anger at this world. I could see the shadows that were
casted in my room by the trees swaying back and forth as the gusty wind pulled them along its
path. I knew that this blizzard was going to be the worst one this year as many grey masses rolled
in and covered every single spot of the beautiful blue sky. I lazily rose from my bed and shuffled
my way to the window. As I was about to reach the window, I heard loud and obnoxious noises
perforating from my closet. For a minute, it sounded as if there was a zoo of chimpanzees in
my closet. As I was about to open the door, I heard human voices and big explosions. I could
hear the clashing of metal tools, the tapping of glass, and the devilish laughs of those humans.
I slowly cracked open the door to find three men dressed in long white coats with long gray
ponytails that went pass their shoulders gathered around the center table.
I could not see what they were doing or what was on the middle table. They seemed to
be “want-a-be” scientists. The one with the weird arch brow and hooked nose grabbed a flask
filled with a bubbling blue substance. He said to the other scientists that “Let’s inject him with
this substance into his bloodstream to see the effect.” The scientist on the far right gave me the
chills. He was this tall, lanky fellow with a massive gray beard that seemed to have specks of
food caught in it. He had this metal filled smile as he had many cavities and was missing his
front two teeth. He looked at the other two with an amused smile as if he was critiquing their
every step. But the only feature that I could not take my eyes off of was this dark speck on his
cheek. Hairs were growing out of it and yellow pus drained out and rolled down his cheek. I was
thoroughly grossed out. As he strolled over to the table closer to the door, where I was residing, I
could feel myself vomit inside. He was a horrible image to stare at.
My curiosity was eager to see what they were experimenting and on who they were
experimenting their madness. All of a sudden, I saw a mushroom shaped cloud hovered over
the scientists and the center table. The smoke filled the every single corner of my closet. My
eyes started to water. I could feel lukewarm tears roll down my cheeks at this powerful chemical
penetrated my eyes. I could feel the thick smoke crawling it’s way down my throat as I started
to cough. I felt light-headed and dizzy. I could feel my hands trembling uncontrollably. My
eyes started to roll back losing any idea of what was happening. I must have fainted and lost
conscious to my surroundings. As I tried to clear my vision and look pass the thick smoke, I had
a weird tingling feeling inside. I knew something was wrong. I struggled to look past the smoke
to the mirror on the wall and all I could see was a brown mass. I could not make out any details.
I realized the scientists were facing me. I stared down at my hands, arms, legs, and face to realize
my entire body was covered in long brown hair. I had a craving for raw meat. What happened?
How did I end up on the table? What was I? How did I become the brown mass?
It was a dark and stormy night. I lay in bed quietly listening to the pitter-patter raindrops
hit my window furiously as if they were anger at this world. I could see the shadows that were
casted in my room by the trees swaying back and forth as the gusty wind pulled them along its
path. I knew that this blizzard was going to be the worst one this year as many grey masses rolled
in and covered every single spot of the beautiful blue sky. I lazily rose from my bed and shuffled
my way to the window. As I was about to reach the window, I heard loud and obnoxious noises
perforating from my closet. For a minute, it sounded as if there was a zoo of chimpanzees in
my closet. As I was about to open the door, I heard human voices and big explosions. I could
hear the clashing of metal tools, the tapping of glass, and the devilish laughs of those humans.
I slowly cracked open the door to find three men dressed in long white coats with long gray
ponytails that went pass their shoulders gathered around the center table.
I could not see what they were doing or what was on the middle table. They seemed to
be “want-a-be” scientists. The one with the weird arch brow and hooked nose grabbed a flask
filled with a bubbling blue substance. He said to the other scientists that “Let’s inject him with
this substance into his bloodstream to see the effect.” The scientist on the far right gave me the
chills. He was this tall, lanky fellow with a massive gray beard that seemed to have specks of
food caught in it. He had this metal filled smile as he had many cavities and was missing his
front two teeth. He looked at the other two with an amused smile as if he was critiquing their
every step. But the only feature that I could not take my eyes off of was this dark speck on his
cheek. Hairs were growing out of it and yellow pus drained out and rolled down his cheek. I was
thoroughly grossed out. As he strolled over to the table closer to the door, where I was residing, I
could feel myself vomit inside. He was a horrible image to stare at.
My curiosity was eager to see what they were experimenting and on who they were
experimenting their madness. All of a sudden, I saw a mushroom shaped cloud hovered over
the scientists and the center table. The smoke filled the every single corner of my closet. My
eyes started to water. I could feel lukewarm tears roll down my cheeks at this powerful chemical
penetrated my eyes. I could feel the thick smoke crawling it’s way down my throat as I started
to cough. I felt light-headed and dizzy. I could feel my hands trembling uncontrollably. My
eyes started to roll back losing any idea of what was happening. I must have fainted and lost
conscious to my surroundings. As I tried to clear my vision and look pass the thick smoke, I had
a weird tingling feeling inside. I knew something was wrong. I struggled to look past the smoke
to the mirror on the wall and all I could see was a brown mass. I could not make out any details.
I realized the scientists were facing me. I stared down at my hands, arms, legs, and face to realize
my entire body was covered in long brown hair. I had a craving for raw meat. What happened?
How did I end up on the table? What was I? How did I become the brown mass?
Dominique Roy
Wonders
I wandered along the coast
Were the waves just a dream
Was the breeze just a memory
A dark speck flew across th horizon
It struggled to keep against the wind
I wondered about the troubles in my life
Was I like the dark speck
Should I fight back against my troubles
And keep moving on.
I stood and stared off into the horizon
Gradually getting pulled into the sea.
I, myself was becoming the dark speck.
I wandered along the coast
Were the waves just a dream
Was the breeze just a memory
A dark speck flew across th horizon
It struggled to keep against the wind
I wondered about the troubles in my life
Was I like the dark speck
Should I fight back against my troubles
And keep moving on.
I stood and stared off into the horizon
Gradually getting pulled into the sea.
I, myself was becoming the dark speck.
Dane Odegaard
"The conflict..."
The conflict that had arisen within Jake confused his perception of reality. He had never experienced this situation before; it was as if two sides, opposing forces, had inhabited his soul and were waging war inside of him. His tendency to do whatever he wanted, to do what he felt like doing regardless of who his actions affected, was repulsed by the young, and seemingly friendless, freshman’s attitude. It was as if this boys soul had attacked Jake’s and unshackled a side of Jake’s self that had lain dormant. His ability to care and discern the feelings of other, rather than just his own feelings, was activated within him. The young freshman had been the target of many of Jake’s snide remarks and teasing character, yet had responded in a completely uncommon fashion. It was not a response of rejection of rejection or hatred, but one that thoroughly confused Jake. It was kindness and love, and he couldn’t understand where such a response had originated from, and why it had caused such inner turmoil. This boys contrary act of love had shattered his view of life. How could such a “nobody”, a person who seemingly had nothing, affect “somebody” like himself. Up till now, he believed that he had everything at his fingertips: he had all the friends he needed, he was popular, and he had a nice car. Yet this young freshman didn’t seem to care about the things that he had. It was almost as if he truly cared for Jake himself. This had been a gradual process: weeks upon weeks of this seemingly unusual behavior. Yet to Jake, it had been an epiphany, like a flash of lightening, or a sudden blow struck by an unknown enemy…..or was it a friend?
The conflict that had arisen within Jake confused his perception of reality. He had never experienced this situation before; it was as if two sides, opposing forces, had inhabited his soul and were waging war inside of him. His tendency to do whatever he wanted, to do what he felt like doing regardless of who his actions affected, was repulsed by the young, and seemingly friendless, freshman’s attitude. It was as if this boys soul had attacked Jake’s and unshackled a side of Jake’s self that had lain dormant. His ability to care and discern the feelings of other, rather than just his own feelings, was activated within him. The young freshman had been the target of many of Jake’s snide remarks and teasing character, yet had responded in a completely uncommon fashion. It was not a response of rejection of rejection or hatred, but one that thoroughly confused Jake. It was kindness and love, and he couldn’t understand where such a response had originated from, and why it had caused such inner turmoil. This boys contrary act of love had shattered his view of life. How could such a “nobody”, a person who seemingly had nothing, affect “somebody” like himself. Up till now, he believed that he had everything at his fingertips: he had all the friends he needed, he was popular, and he had a nice car. Yet this young freshman didn’t seem to care about the things that he had. It was almost as if he truly cared for Jake himself. This had been a gradual process: weeks upon weeks of this seemingly unusual behavior. Yet to Jake, it had been an epiphany, like a flash of lightening, or a sudden blow struck by an unknown enemy…..or was it a friend?
Brooke Prinzing
The Reek of Decay
What is that disgusting smell?
The one like steaming sulfurous hell.
I thought perhaps it was the trash,
Or maybe even your festering rash.
But we keep the dumpster far below.
And the poison oak cleared days ago.
Oh what’s that, it’s your lunch?
It’s some eggs, some eggs a bunch?
Well can I please throw them away?
Please don’t bring them another day.
The cursed stench threatens to overpower,
And haunt my dreams to the very last hour.
What is that disgusting smell?
The one like steaming sulfurous hell.
I thought perhaps it was the trash,
Or maybe even your festering rash.
But we keep the dumpster far below.
And the poison oak cleared days ago.
Oh what’s that, it’s your lunch?
It’s some eggs, some eggs a bunch?
Well can I please throw them away?
Please don’t bring them another day.
The cursed stench threatens to overpower,
And haunt my dreams to the very last hour.
Taylor Noonan
"Raggedy Anne"
The little doll sees all. Raggedy Anne is her name and killing little children is her game. She
looks so nice and sweet, but the little girls and boys who play with her will later become her
treat. Tiny Suzy Kay received the red-haired doll on her birthday. She screamed and jumped for
joy! She had never been given such a pretty toy! She bragged to all her friends, not knowing life
as she knew it was going to end. She braided Raggedy Anne’s hair and cleaned the doll’s button
eyes, not aware that her actions were unwise. She danced with the cloth doll, pretending that she
was at a magnificent ball. She did something, though, that really angered her pretty little
plaything. Suzy Kay left Raggedy Anne on the shelf which caused the demon doll to fall.
Raggedy Anne descended down to the ground with a crash, and then with hostility, she rose in a
flash. She creeped around the princess pink room, soon to be tiny Suzy Kay’s tomb. She
prepared her marvelous trap, and decided to devour Suzy Kay during the toddler’s nap. Raggedy
Anne climbed to the top of the desk, dwelling more and more upon her plan-oh so grotesque.
Raggedy Anne’s stitched smile grew bigger and her button eyes began to gleam at the very
thought of her child-eating dream. The perverted doll waited until the time was right, and sleepy-
eyed Suzy wanted to go to sleep for the night. Her dear mother tucked her into bed, unaware that
her child would soon be dead. The lights turned out, Raggedy Anne began to lurk about. She had
a fleeting thought that in her murdering Suzy, she might get caught. Should she do it, or should
she not? Raggedy Anne did not think long, and she began to sing her dark little song. The
eeriness awoke the little girl; however, she could not do much, for she was paralyzed in her head
by Raggedy Anne’s evil touch. Suzy could not think, move or scream, and all circulation was cut
off from her bloodstream. Raggedy Anne smirked and smiled, singing her song all the while.
Poor little Suzy died that night, but surprisingly, she was not a victim to any bite. No, Raggedy
Anne was not satisfied with Suzy’s peanut butter smell, and the demon doll quickly decided to
quit the scene in a disgusted farewell. Raggedy Anne traveled far and long to a department store,
where she waits for new child bait like a wild boar. She might find you, somehow, some way, so
beware of little red-haired dolls and pray stay far away.
The little doll sees all. Raggedy Anne is her name and killing little children is her game. She
looks so nice and sweet, but the little girls and boys who play with her will later become her
treat. Tiny Suzy Kay received the red-haired doll on her birthday. She screamed and jumped for
joy! She had never been given such a pretty toy! She bragged to all her friends, not knowing life
as she knew it was going to end. She braided Raggedy Anne’s hair and cleaned the doll’s button
eyes, not aware that her actions were unwise. She danced with the cloth doll, pretending that she
was at a magnificent ball. She did something, though, that really angered her pretty little
plaything. Suzy Kay left Raggedy Anne on the shelf which caused the demon doll to fall.
Raggedy Anne descended down to the ground with a crash, and then with hostility, she rose in a
flash. She creeped around the princess pink room, soon to be tiny Suzy Kay’s tomb. She
prepared her marvelous trap, and decided to devour Suzy Kay during the toddler’s nap. Raggedy
Anne climbed to the top of the desk, dwelling more and more upon her plan-oh so grotesque.
Raggedy Anne’s stitched smile grew bigger and her button eyes began to gleam at the very
thought of her child-eating dream. The perverted doll waited until the time was right, and sleepy-
eyed Suzy wanted to go to sleep for the night. Her dear mother tucked her into bed, unaware that
her child would soon be dead. The lights turned out, Raggedy Anne began to lurk about. She had
a fleeting thought that in her murdering Suzy, she might get caught. Should she do it, or should
she not? Raggedy Anne did not think long, and she began to sing her dark little song. The
eeriness awoke the little girl; however, she could not do much, for she was paralyzed in her head
by Raggedy Anne’s evil touch. Suzy could not think, move or scream, and all circulation was cut
off from her bloodstream. Raggedy Anne smirked and smiled, singing her song all the while.
Poor little Suzy died that night, but surprisingly, she was not a victim to any bite. No, Raggedy
Anne was not satisfied with Suzy’s peanut butter smell, and the demon doll quickly decided to
quit the scene in a disgusted farewell. Raggedy Anne traveled far and long to a department store,
where she waits for new child bait like a wild boar. She might find you, somehow, some way, so
beware of little red-haired dolls and pray stay far away.
Lewis Deyerle
"You shield your eyes and fall asleep"
You shield your eyes and fall asleep
In the driveway next door.
The first and last of another week
In the sun on the floor.
It's been an awfully long time since morning
and I can't wait anymore.
You sent a message to me last night
With your hand in my hand
That I could finally be alright
If I just did what I planned.
In the dancehall you sent me a warning
Which I left in the sand.
Now my words might mean nothing to you
And I hope you don't think it's a hopeless demand.
You shield your eyes and fall asleep
In the driveway next door.
The first and last of another week
In the sun on the floor.
It's been an awfully long time since morning
and I can't wait anymore.
You sent a message to me last night
With your hand in my hand
That I could finally be alright
If I just did what I planned.
In the dancehall you sent me a warning
Which I left in the sand.
Now my words might mean nothing to you
And I hope you don't think it's a hopeless demand.
Tim Smedlund
"Lead flew by at ridiculous speeds"
Lead flew by at ridiculous speeds. Wood exploded next to my shoulder. I’m pretty sure I got a projectile splinter in my lower left bicep. I turned to Gary, my partner.
“Yeah, let’s go on in. Yeah, they won’t have that many guys in there. We can take them on ourselves.” I said it in a decisively sarcastic tone. It was that idiot’s idea to come in here, all Dirty Harry like, guns blazing.
“Shut up and keep shooting!” Our voices were at a yell, despite only being a few feet apart. The combination of constant gunfire and the ringing in our ears required it. I chose to accept Gary’s advice, and took in a deep breath preparing to expose myself to get off a few shots. I turned, gluing my right shoulder to the wooden support post. I brought my Glock .45 up with my left hand and shut my right eye tight. I looked down the sight and tried to find a target. I heard a whoomp before I felt my left arm collapse. My body was corkscrewed sideways and I flew into the post. I hit the ground and watched the red ketchup looking stuff ooze out of me. I knew I had been shot, but my physiological side hadn’t quite caught up yet, because I felt no pain. My back was warm and wet. So this is what it feels like to die.
24 hours earlier
“They were here. They had to be.” I stared at the empty warehouse building, trying to figure out how they had cleared out so quickly. There was no way they had known we were coming.
“They knew we were coming Frank. That is the only way. With the equipment they would have needed to break into that bank last night that is the only way they could have gotten out in time.” Gary, my partner on this job, was on the same track of thinking I was.
“I know that, but there isn’t any possible way they knew. We only used non-federal cameras to piece together their location. They could never have known we knew where they were.” I ran my hand through my hair. “What is going on Gary?”
“This is the best band of thieves I have ever seen in action.” Said Gary, “Either by dumb luck or uncompromising skill we are always one step behind.”
These guys weren’t just the best in our lifetimes; these guys were the best ever. 6 bank jobs, 14 art galleries and a museum in the past 4 years, the total worth of the merchandise stolen coming to approximately 37 million dollars, and not once has the FBI or any other agency been able to collar this band of thieves. Me, Gary, and my FBI task force came close once, in Peru, working with the local agencies. We caught on of their stolen items on the black market, and were this close to making an arrest when our man on the inside disappeared, and the sting operation we had set up had to be terminated. That sting was probably the most airtight I had ever set up, and I was a master of the sting. His body washed up on the shores of the Pacific a week later. Gary took a step closer to me.
“You think we have a rat in the henhouse?” I gave him a bit of a sideways look. Gary had an unhealthy obsession with rats in our task force.
“Let’s not jump to any conclusions, not yet at least.” I didn’t want to cause any paranoia with in the team. Besides, I didn’t have anyone who I thought was actually worthy of looking into as a rat. I had hand-picked every member of my task force, and was willing to trust my life to any one of them.
“I’m just saying, it looks more and more likely by the minute.” Gary did have a point though. These thieves seemed to be 3 steps ahead of us no matter where we tried to hit them, and they never made mistake. That reeked of an inside job. It reeked to high heaven.
“Hey Frank!” My CSI guy, Bo, called out to me. Bo originated from the Deep South, and therefore had a heavy drawl in his speech. But don’t let that fool you. Bo was the very best at what he did, and what he did was find evidence. I walked over to where he was, about halfway across the warehouse 20 yards away.
“What you find Bo?” I asked.
“The dang jackpot, that’s what.” He held up a piece of broken glass that had been dusted for prints. Two thirds of a fingerprint could be seen on the glass shard. “Those careful boys finally missed one.”
“Perfect. Bag that sucker Bo, and rush it back to the lab.” I told him.
“Bo,” Gary said, “How about you keep this one quiet, ok? Don’t want to spook any of the team.” Bo looked at me. I was the boss, and Bo would keep quiet if I told him to keep quiet. I nodded my head yes.
“Quiet it is then.” Bo said. He set the glass in an evidence bag, sealed it, and put it in his pocket.
“We got them.” Gary said, smiling. Strange. His smile looked forced to me. No, I’m just being paranoid. All this talk of an insider is messing with my head.
9 hours later
Gary and I were sitting at the counter of a little mom and pop hamburger shop. The bacon cheeseburger I had ordered was absolutely delicious. We were still waiting for Bo to get back to us about a print. Nothing had come up so far, but the last time I talked to him was about two hours ago. My phone rang as if on cue. It was Bo.
“Hey Bo, you find something?”
“I got a dinger on that finger-print. Guy’s name is Norman Jackson, 32 years old. American.” Yes. We got those punks by the throat now. “Had to run it through Interpol to get his print to hit. He didn’t have a rap sheet here, but he got printed once in an airport for a suspicious item in his carry on. That turned out to be nothing, but that’s not important. What is important is this little tidbit of information I just came across.” I had been about to take another bite of my cheeseburger, but I set it down and leaned forward in my chair. “He boarded a flight to Paris, one way.” My eyes got wide with excitement.
“When does it land?”
“One hour ago.” I closed my phone and looked straight at Gary.
“Pay the bill,” I said. “We’re going to Paris.
8 hours later
Gary convinced me that it could only be me, him, and our computer guy, Jackie, on that flight to Paris. French police were notoriously hard to deal with, and despite the fact that we had special international privileges we didn’t want to step on any toes with a huge FBI task force rolling into town like Wild West cowboys. That behavior was generally frowned upon. As soon as Jackie stepped off the plane, he had tapped into every camera feed he could find in the general area. Luckily, France seemed to have an uncanny amount of cameras in the area. We all watched the monitor looking for a sign of Norman Jackson. Finally, after watching footage for nearly an hour, we caught him loading a bag into a van with multiple other people piling in at the same time. I told Jackie to track that van with every red light camera, every security camera and any other source he could find, but we needed that vans final destination. Jackie found it. He is a bit of a wizard like that. It was only a few miles from the airport, which we were still in.
“Gary, we need to call the French police, get them to send us some help.”
“There is no time for that Frank. We got to hit them now; we can’t wait for any help. They won’t be ready for a fight. Don’t worry, we can take them down.” Of course, he was right. And of course I listened to him. So we drove to the location Jackie showed us. Kicked in the door. Came in, like Dirty Harry, guns blazing. Whoomp. Ketchup oozing. And I was lying on the ground. My back wet and warm. I was hazy, going in and out of consciousness. Losing a lot of blood really fast. I wasn’t too far gone to not notice Gary yelling out to the people behind the barrier shooting the guns at us. The gunfire stopped. He turned to where the bullets were coming toward and started yelling. What are you doing Gary? Get back behind the pillar before you get shot! I think adrenaline brought me back from the edge of death for a bit, because I regained my hearing. I caught Gary in mid-sentence.
“…were supposed to hit him, not me! Where did you idiots learn to shoot!?” Wait, what? “I’m the mastermind to this whole operation, what were you planning on doing, clipping me on accident?” It can’t be. Gary turned to me. He saw my eyes open. He saw the life in them.
“Sorry it had to be this way Frank. But you got too close. You know, I thought you might catch on earlier. All my talk of a rat in the henhouse; I was dropping pretty big hints.” I felt a fury rising in me. My best friend had betrayed me for a bunch of criminals. I felt the gun clutched in my hand. I knew what I had to do. With all my remaining strength, I lifted my hand cannon toward Gary. “Sorry pal can’t let you do that.” He aimed his weapon. I aimed mine. Muzzle flash. Lights out.
Lead flew by at ridiculous speeds. Wood exploded next to my shoulder. I’m pretty sure I got a projectile splinter in my lower left bicep. I turned to Gary, my partner.
“Yeah, let’s go on in. Yeah, they won’t have that many guys in there. We can take them on ourselves.” I said it in a decisively sarcastic tone. It was that idiot’s idea to come in here, all Dirty Harry like, guns blazing.
“Shut up and keep shooting!” Our voices were at a yell, despite only being a few feet apart. The combination of constant gunfire and the ringing in our ears required it. I chose to accept Gary’s advice, and took in a deep breath preparing to expose myself to get off a few shots. I turned, gluing my right shoulder to the wooden support post. I brought my Glock .45 up with my left hand and shut my right eye tight. I looked down the sight and tried to find a target. I heard a whoomp before I felt my left arm collapse. My body was corkscrewed sideways and I flew into the post. I hit the ground and watched the red ketchup looking stuff ooze out of me. I knew I had been shot, but my physiological side hadn’t quite caught up yet, because I felt no pain. My back was warm and wet. So this is what it feels like to die.
24 hours earlier
“They were here. They had to be.” I stared at the empty warehouse building, trying to figure out how they had cleared out so quickly. There was no way they had known we were coming.
“They knew we were coming Frank. That is the only way. With the equipment they would have needed to break into that bank last night that is the only way they could have gotten out in time.” Gary, my partner on this job, was on the same track of thinking I was.
“I know that, but there isn’t any possible way they knew. We only used non-federal cameras to piece together their location. They could never have known we knew where they were.” I ran my hand through my hair. “What is going on Gary?”
“This is the best band of thieves I have ever seen in action.” Said Gary, “Either by dumb luck or uncompromising skill we are always one step behind.”
These guys weren’t just the best in our lifetimes; these guys were the best ever. 6 bank jobs, 14 art galleries and a museum in the past 4 years, the total worth of the merchandise stolen coming to approximately 37 million dollars, and not once has the FBI or any other agency been able to collar this band of thieves. Me, Gary, and my FBI task force came close once, in Peru, working with the local agencies. We caught on of their stolen items on the black market, and were this close to making an arrest when our man on the inside disappeared, and the sting operation we had set up had to be terminated. That sting was probably the most airtight I had ever set up, and I was a master of the sting. His body washed up on the shores of the Pacific a week later. Gary took a step closer to me.
“You think we have a rat in the henhouse?” I gave him a bit of a sideways look. Gary had an unhealthy obsession with rats in our task force.
“Let’s not jump to any conclusions, not yet at least.” I didn’t want to cause any paranoia with in the team. Besides, I didn’t have anyone who I thought was actually worthy of looking into as a rat. I had hand-picked every member of my task force, and was willing to trust my life to any one of them.
“I’m just saying, it looks more and more likely by the minute.” Gary did have a point though. These thieves seemed to be 3 steps ahead of us no matter where we tried to hit them, and they never made mistake. That reeked of an inside job. It reeked to high heaven.
“Hey Frank!” My CSI guy, Bo, called out to me. Bo originated from the Deep South, and therefore had a heavy drawl in his speech. But don’t let that fool you. Bo was the very best at what he did, and what he did was find evidence. I walked over to where he was, about halfway across the warehouse 20 yards away.
“What you find Bo?” I asked.
“The dang jackpot, that’s what.” He held up a piece of broken glass that had been dusted for prints. Two thirds of a fingerprint could be seen on the glass shard. “Those careful boys finally missed one.”
“Perfect. Bag that sucker Bo, and rush it back to the lab.” I told him.
“Bo,” Gary said, “How about you keep this one quiet, ok? Don’t want to spook any of the team.” Bo looked at me. I was the boss, and Bo would keep quiet if I told him to keep quiet. I nodded my head yes.
“Quiet it is then.” Bo said. He set the glass in an evidence bag, sealed it, and put it in his pocket.
“We got them.” Gary said, smiling. Strange. His smile looked forced to me. No, I’m just being paranoid. All this talk of an insider is messing with my head.
9 hours later
Gary and I were sitting at the counter of a little mom and pop hamburger shop. The bacon cheeseburger I had ordered was absolutely delicious. We were still waiting for Bo to get back to us about a print. Nothing had come up so far, but the last time I talked to him was about two hours ago. My phone rang as if on cue. It was Bo.
“Hey Bo, you find something?”
“I got a dinger on that finger-print. Guy’s name is Norman Jackson, 32 years old. American.” Yes. We got those punks by the throat now. “Had to run it through Interpol to get his print to hit. He didn’t have a rap sheet here, but he got printed once in an airport for a suspicious item in his carry on. That turned out to be nothing, but that’s not important. What is important is this little tidbit of information I just came across.” I had been about to take another bite of my cheeseburger, but I set it down and leaned forward in my chair. “He boarded a flight to Paris, one way.” My eyes got wide with excitement.
“When does it land?”
“One hour ago.” I closed my phone and looked straight at Gary.
“Pay the bill,” I said. “We’re going to Paris.
8 hours later
Gary convinced me that it could only be me, him, and our computer guy, Jackie, on that flight to Paris. French police were notoriously hard to deal with, and despite the fact that we had special international privileges we didn’t want to step on any toes with a huge FBI task force rolling into town like Wild West cowboys. That behavior was generally frowned upon. As soon as Jackie stepped off the plane, he had tapped into every camera feed he could find in the general area. Luckily, France seemed to have an uncanny amount of cameras in the area. We all watched the monitor looking for a sign of Norman Jackson. Finally, after watching footage for nearly an hour, we caught him loading a bag into a van with multiple other people piling in at the same time. I told Jackie to track that van with every red light camera, every security camera and any other source he could find, but we needed that vans final destination. Jackie found it. He is a bit of a wizard like that. It was only a few miles from the airport, which we were still in.
“Gary, we need to call the French police, get them to send us some help.”
“There is no time for that Frank. We got to hit them now; we can’t wait for any help. They won’t be ready for a fight. Don’t worry, we can take them down.” Of course, he was right. And of course I listened to him. So we drove to the location Jackie showed us. Kicked in the door. Came in, like Dirty Harry, guns blazing. Whoomp. Ketchup oozing. And I was lying on the ground. My back wet and warm. I was hazy, going in and out of consciousness. Losing a lot of blood really fast. I wasn’t too far gone to not notice Gary yelling out to the people behind the barrier shooting the guns at us. The gunfire stopped. He turned to where the bullets were coming toward and started yelling. What are you doing Gary? Get back behind the pillar before you get shot! I think adrenaline brought me back from the edge of death for a bit, because I regained my hearing. I caught Gary in mid-sentence.
“…were supposed to hit him, not me! Where did you idiots learn to shoot!?” Wait, what? “I’m the mastermind to this whole operation, what were you planning on doing, clipping me on accident?” It can’t be. Gary turned to me. He saw my eyes open. He saw the life in them.
“Sorry it had to be this way Frank. But you got too close. You know, I thought you might catch on earlier. All my talk of a rat in the henhouse; I was dropping pretty big hints.” I felt a fury rising in me. My best friend had betrayed me for a bunch of criminals. I felt the gun clutched in my hand. I knew what I had to do. With all my remaining strength, I lifted my hand cannon toward Gary. “Sorry pal can’t let you do that.” He aimed his weapon. I aimed mine. Muzzle flash. Lights out.
Hemali Panchal
"Robert Sutton..."
Robert Sutton was a somewhat quirky but relatively average thirty-six
year old Caucasian male. He played golf on Tuesdays. He owned a store
that only sold buttons. He’s quite clever. Robert Sutton owns Sutton’s
Buttons. Robert was single but he was not looking for love. He seemed
to be just another functioning member of Santa Cruz County. No one
ever noticed how no one saw him at DeLaveaga Golf Course, though he
claims to simply be near another hole or using the bathroom. No one
questioned why his car was in his driveway every Tuesday. People did
question his obsession with curry popcorn, however. This awkwardly
disgusting combination seemed to delight him to no avail. He always
had at least a few bags around the store for his customers to enjoy
(abhor). He always kept a full stock in the back with his buttons, for
emergencies. What emergency requires massive amounts of curry popcorn
is unknown even to Robert.
What Santa Cruz County did not know is that Robert conducted
clandestine experiments every Tuesday. Though he painted himself to be
a normal denizen of Santa Cruz, his true occupation was that of a
eugenicist. He was trying to alter the human genome to create a
perfect super human. His idea was to create a human machine, much
like a cell phone. This glorified human would be able to send and
receive messages instantaneously, much like the human nervous system.
However, this system would be amplified and able to communicate with
other humans just as synapses communicate to one another. These super
humans would have a quirky desire for buttons. It would be innate. He
wants to create a human race that is as intelligent as Einstein, as
efficient as a Tianhe 1-A computer, and as physically fit as Rosie
O’Donnell.
On a regular Monday evening, a few of Robert’s neighbors came by his
house to visit, or rather complain to Robert about the stench of the
curry popcorn. As soon as Robert opened the door, the smell permeated
the space between them. As they recoiled in horror, they noticed
advanced computer equipment in his living room. They also noticed a
cadaver submerged in some sort of fluid. His living room looked like
it had come straight from one of James Cameron’s movie sets.
Robert noticed the changed expressions on his neighbors faces, from
disgusted to appalled. In that instant, he realized the answer to his
problem.
No, Robert did not successfully create a super human race that had a
quirky desire for buttons. He did not go on to manufacture curry
popcorn either. He did not stop his alterations of the human genome.
He needed specimens.
He created an online dating profile.
Company would be nice, he thought.
Robert Sutton was a somewhat quirky but relatively average thirty-six
year old Caucasian male. He played golf on Tuesdays. He owned a store
that only sold buttons. He’s quite clever. Robert Sutton owns Sutton’s
Buttons. Robert was single but he was not looking for love. He seemed
to be just another functioning member of Santa Cruz County. No one
ever noticed how no one saw him at DeLaveaga Golf Course, though he
claims to simply be near another hole or using the bathroom. No one
questioned why his car was in his driveway every Tuesday. People did
question his obsession with curry popcorn, however. This awkwardly
disgusting combination seemed to delight him to no avail. He always
had at least a few bags around the store for his customers to enjoy
(abhor). He always kept a full stock in the back with his buttons, for
emergencies. What emergency requires massive amounts of curry popcorn
is unknown even to Robert.
What Santa Cruz County did not know is that Robert conducted
clandestine experiments every Tuesday. Though he painted himself to be
a normal denizen of Santa Cruz, his true occupation was that of a
eugenicist. He was trying to alter the human genome to create a
perfect super human. His idea was to create a human machine, much
like a cell phone. This glorified human would be able to send and
receive messages instantaneously, much like the human nervous system.
However, this system would be amplified and able to communicate with
other humans just as synapses communicate to one another. These super
humans would have a quirky desire for buttons. It would be innate. He
wants to create a human race that is as intelligent as Einstein, as
efficient as a Tianhe 1-A computer, and as physically fit as Rosie
O’Donnell.
On a regular Monday evening, a few of Robert’s neighbors came by his
house to visit, or rather complain to Robert about the stench of the
curry popcorn. As soon as Robert opened the door, the smell permeated
the space between them. As they recoiled in horror, they noticed
advanced computer equipment in his living room. They also noticed a
cadaver submerged in some sort of fluid. His living room looked like
it had come straight from one of James Cameron’s movie sets.
Robert noticed the changed expressions on his neighbors faces, from
disgusted to appalled. In that instant, he realized the answer to his
problem.
No, Robert did not successfully create a super human race that had a
quirky desire for buttons. He did not go on to manufacture curry
popcorn either. He did not stop his alterations of the human genome.
He needed specimens.
He created an online dating profile.
Company would be nice, he thought.
Jasmine Daniele
"The mail carrier"
The mail carrier was a senile man in his late sixties who did not heed the orders
of the sender. When Mrs. Halding informed Mr. Frewer that the telegraph was urgent,
he muttered under his breath and set out in his carriage at his usual pace of one mile
per two hours. The telegraph was supposed to reach Mr. Sawyer no later than two
hours after it was sent, but it did not reach the woodshop for six hours. Immediately
after being placed in Mr. Andrew Sawyer’s hand, the envelope was ripped apart and the
contents read swiftly. The man did not have to read the letter thoroughly as he was able
to understand the just of the message by finding the keywords. Andrew thanked Mr.
Frewer and hurried him out of his shop so he could close down.
Within the hour Mr. Sawyer was trotting away in his horse. With ease, he pressed
the spurs of his boot into the thigh of his steed, Everest, enough to irk him into a faster
speed. The six hours that it took Mr. Frewer to make from the house to the shop could
be reduced by two thirds if Andrew pressed on at this pace. The leather of the saddle
was beginning to wear onto his calves. They were sore and begging for him to stop the
vigorous trek, especially on the uneven terrain. But he was determined to make it home
as promptly as possible; there was much at stake when he would arrive there. Over
the course of his ride, the sky had drastically changed from a pleasant blue to a dark,
depressing gray. Andrew could sense the storm, lingering in the sharp air, but refused
to acknowledge it. He and Everest could ride it out, he was sure. Andrew jumped
slightly as a crack of thunder rumbled over his head. Thankfully for him, he arrived at his
house right as the rain tumbled down. Dismounting and running towards the front door,
Andrew reached for the knob, he became irritated when he found it locked. He was at
his house, for God’s sake, and he was locked out of it? He banged loudly amidst the
heavy flow of rain and the incessant thunder and lightning.
“Open the door!” He screamed, his fist still beating at the door. After what
seemed like eternity, the wooden door creaked open enough to let the man through. He
pushed the rest of the door open and ran to the bedroom. The first thing he processed
when he entered the room was Mrs. Halding sitting on the edge of the bed crying. No.
His eyes immediately shifted to the bed and to the woman laying in it. Her eyes were
closed and her arms were gently folded in her lap. No. Andrew rushed to the bedside
and lifted the woman’s head.
“No.” He spoke aloud. He pressed his ear to her neck: silence. He put his fingers
to her wrist: nothing.
“No.” He uttered more intensely, brushing the woman’s hair out of her eyes.
“No. No. No!” He cried, tears dropping from his cheeks to hers as he hung his
head over hers. Andrew held her head tightly to his chest, his hand stroking her golden
Andrew wanted to curse Mr. Frewer for being so incompetent. If the letter was
put into his hands four hours earlier, he could have made it to her and helped her
survive. He wanted to curse the fortune teller at the circus. He could replay every
minute of the scene vividly in his mind. The carnival was in town for just one week and
Amy was begging him to take. Her womanly ways finally got to him and he gave in
and took her. They bought some popcorn and passed by a Fortune Teller’s booth on
their way to the Ferris wheel. Amy tugged at Andrew’s arm, leading him towards the
booth. He protested at first, but his desire to make her happy was stronger than his own
feelings. He peeled back the curtain to reveal an old man sitting criss cross behind a
glass ball. He ordered them to sit, which they did, as he read their fortunes. The words
still pierced in his head, ‘You will die in childbirth.’ At this point, Andrew was fuming mad
and confused. He abruptly stood up and took his wife by her hand and marched out of
the tent. Who was he to tell them that she was going to die?
Andrew forgot about the man’s words after a while, but a few months later when
he came home from work Amy turned to him in bed and told him she was pregnant.
Excitement and utter horror were the two most potent feelings in his body at that
moment. He hid the horror and hugged Amy tightly, deciding against reminding her
about the fortune teller’s words.
And now here he was, holding her limp and motionless body, sobbing and hating
himself for not being there. He heard Mrs. Halding clear her throat behind him.
“Andrew?”
The broken man turned his head towards Mrs. Halding and his eyes gazed on a
baby wrapped gently in a blanket.
“Amy asked that she be named Andrea.”
Andrew slowly reached for the girl and pulled her towards his chest. The love of
his life had died, but a new one had been graciously put into the world by God.
The mail carrier was a senile man in his late sixties who did not heed the orders
of the sender. When Mrs. Halding informed Mr. Frewer that the telegraph was urgent,
he muttered under his breath and set out in his carriage at his usual pace of one mile
per two hours. The telegraph was supposed to reach Mr. Sawyer no later than two
hours after it was sent, but it did not reach the woodshop for six hours. Immediately
after being placed in Mr. Andrew Sawyer’s hand, the envelope was ripped apart and the
contents read swiftly. The man did not have to read the letter thoroughly as he was able
to understand the just of the message by finding the keywords. Andrew thanked Mr.
Frewer and hurried him out of his shop so he could close down.
Within the hour Mr. Sawyer was trotting away in his horse. With ease, he pressed
the spurs of his boot into the thigh of his steed, Everest, enough to irk him into a faster
speed. The six hours that it took Mr. Frewer to make from the house to the shop could
be reduced by two thirds if Andrew pressed on at this pace. The leather of the saddle
was beginning to wear onto his calves. They were sore and begging for him to stop the
vigorous trek, especially on the uneven terrain. But he was determined to make it home
as promptly as possible; there was much at stake when he would arrive there. Over
the course of his ride, the sky had drastically changed from a pleasant blue to a dark,
depressing gray. Andrew could sense the storm, lingering in the sharp air, but refused
to acknowledge it. He and Everest could ride it out, he was sure. Andrew jumped
slightly as a crack of thunder rumbled over his head. Thankfully for him, he arrived at his
house right as the rain tumbled down. Dismounting and running towards the front door,
Andrew reached for the knob, he became irritated when he found it locked. He was at
his house, for God’s sake, and he was locked out of it? He banged loudly amidst the
heavy flow of rain and the incessant thunder and lightning.
“Open the door!” He screamed, his fist still beating at the door. After what
seemed like eternity, the wooden door creaked open enough to let the man through. He
pushed the rest of the door open and ran to the bedroom. The first thing he processed
when he entered the room was Mrs. Halding sitting on the edge of the bed crying. No.
His eyes immediately shifted to the bed and to the woman laying in it. Her eyes were
closed and her arms were gently folded in her lap. No. Andrew rushed to the bedside
and lifted the woman’s head.
“No.” He spoke aloud. He pressed his ear to her neck: silence. He put his fingers
to her wrist: nothing.
“No.” He uttered more intensely, brushing the woman’s hair out of her eyes.
“No. No. No!” He cried, tears dropping from his cheeks to hers as he hung his
head over hers. Andrew held her head tightly to his chest, his hand stroking her golden
Andrew wanted to curse Mr. Frewer for being so incompetent. If the letter was
put into his hands four hours earlier, he could have made it to her and helped her
survive. He wanted to curse the fortune teller at the circus. He could replay every
minute of the scene vividly in his mind. The carnival was in town for just one week and
Amy was begging him to take. Her womanly ways finally got to him and he gave in
and took her. They bought some popcorn and passed by a Fortune Teller’s booth on
their way to the Ferris wheel. Amy tugged at Andrew’s arm, leading him towards the
booth. He protested at first, but his desire to make her happy was stronger than his own
feelings. He peeled back the curtain to reveal an old man sitting criss cross behind a
glass ball. He ordered them to sit, which they did, as he read their fortunes. The words
still pierced in his head, ‘You will die in childbirth.’ At this point, Andrew was fuming mad
and confused. He abruptly stood up and took his wife by her hand and marched out of
the tent. Who was he to tell them that she was going to die?
Andrew forgot about the man’s words after a while, but a few months later when
he came home from work Amy turned to him in bed and told him she was pregnant.
Excitement and utter horror were the two most potent feelings in his body at that
moment. He hid the horror and hugged Amy tightly, deciding against reminding her
about the fortune teller’s words.
And now here he was, holding her limp and motionless body, sobbing and hating
himself for not being there. He heard Mrs. Halding clear her throat behind him.
“Andrew?”
The broken man turned his head towards Mrs. Halding and his eyes gazed on a
baby wrapped gently in a blanket.
“Amy asked that she be named Andrea.”
Andrew slowly reached for the girl and pulled her towards his chest. The love of
his life had died, but a new one had been graciously put into the world by God.
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