Voices to be Heard

Zarin - Chapter 1

2012-06-13T13:13:00.002-07:00

The flight panel was HUGE. Zarin couldn't stop himself from staring around it in wide-eyed fascination. There had to be a million people bustling around in the main lobby, and that wasn't even including the other hangers and hallways and everything else. People were shouting, throwing things, glaring at each other, as well as smiling and passing money back and forth. Zarin knew he shouldn't just stand there looking like a awestruck newborn, but part of him couldn't help it. It was like being shoved into an overturned beehive. He was just waiting for them all to turn on him like wasps.

The little ticket felt heavy in his hand, like it was made of something more then just paper. Where the crap was he supposed to go? There were so many different hallways and roadways to different places he wasn't entirely sure where they could all be going. Why would anyone ever need this amount of choices? This was ridiculous. And unfair. He was only trying to get to Roonib.

“Are you lost son?” someone asked. He turned toward them, biting the inside of his lip. The term ‘don’t talk to strangers’ flashed through his mind, and he almost laughed. Like any of those stupid little phrases mattered anymore. If they took him away they’d only be doing him a favor.

“How do I get to Roonib?” he asked, showing the person his ticket, “Flight seventy eight? What does that even mean?”

“You’re going to Roonib?” It was a woman. Zarin couldn't help but think that her response was ridiculously unhelpful. She was tall, her hair graying at the temples and giving her a severe look. She didn't look necessarily old, but she wasn't particularly young either. She fixed him with a look, as though trying to see into the twelve year old. Zarin put on his best smile, which probably made him look like he was about to steal her shoes.

“Yes,” when he was younger, Kaylynn had taught him to always address his elders by their proper titles. “Sir,” “Ma'am” “Mr.” or “Mrs.” it didn't matter, as long as he said them, and said them respectably. Then again, he'd always had a problem with authority. “Didn't I just say that?”

“That doesn’t exactly seem like a very good place to be now does it?” The woman questioned, “Why are you going there?”

“For the fantastic atmosphere,” Zarin said, scowling.

“Are you meeting someone there?”

“No.”

“Are you transferring to a different flight and going to a different planet, after you reach there?”

“NO! I just want to go to the criminal planet. It'll be a wonderful vacation. Where’s the hanger?” Zarin twirled his ticket impatiently, wanting nothing more than to get out of there. Actually, he wanted to go home. But that wasn't really an option either. The woman narrowed her eyes, considering him, then pointed him to the right corridor.. Zarin didn’t bother to thank her. The woman frowned as the boy marched away. She could see him shivering slightly, but didn't think it was from the cold. What was that child's story? She couldn't imagine why anyone would allow a child to go to Roonib.

A young boy walked up to her, a strut to his step. He paused and followed the woman's gaze, looking out after Zarin.

“At first glance he seems so young and innocent. And then he opens his mouth. . .” She sighed, shaking her head.

“Who is he?” The boy asked, frowning.

“I don’t know, but trust me, with looks like his and with the place he’s going, we’ll see him again.” she smiled, her slightly wrinkled face tightening. “We will definitely see him again.”

Zarin's palms felt sweaty, something he was trying fervently to ignore. Sweaty palms meant he was nervous, which he wasn't. Life was going to be just fine. He could already imagine his mother coming through the doors and rounding on him, probably yelling at him for leaving without even saying goodbye and then explaining that he actually was needed at home and they couldn't manage without him.

A pretty blond flight attendant walked up the aisle and stopped next to his chair, she smiled, “Hey, do you need any help with the seat latch?” her hand reached out to pull the buckle closed. Zarin snarled, his upper lip curling to reveal teeth.

“Leave me alone,” he growled, “I'm fine.” The woman jumped slightly, looking down at him then hurrying off. His entire body felt like it was shaking now. He pulled his knees up to his chest, trying to curl into as small a ball as physically possible. Why was she taking so long? Whenever Zarin ran away, Kaylynn would follow and bring him home. It happened every single time. Without fail. Where was she? Zarin could feel his heart pounding in his chest, he wondered if the entire shuttle could hear it. It was only ten minutes until lift off. She had better come soon if. . . she’d better hurry or the spaceship would leave.

And take him to Roonib.

Panic flashed through him like fire. He could feel it twist his stomach and burn through his insides. Roonib. The criminal planet. The planet where someone went when they wanted to escape the Emperor's laws. The planet that thrived off murder and theft and scams. It would be amazing, finally being somewhere he would really belong. They sold slaves under the table and beat children on the streets, just because they could. There was no law in Roonib. No prisons, or at least so he'd heard. He would fit right in, it would be amazing. Zarin tried to calm his breathing, tried to make his heart stop pounding, but it wasn't working. He had heard that the sky rained acid and there were no trees or vegetation on the entire planet. It was just mindless city, sprawled throughout everywhere. All powerful and all consuming. How was he supposed to survive. . . No! He would always survive.

The engine began to hum, making the seats vibrate and sending a tingling up Zarin's spine. Wher was she?! Why wasn't she coming for him? Surely his own mother wasn't going to let him. . . Wasn't going to. . . The image of Kaylynn's disappointed face looked back at him from his mind's eye. Her green eyes were the exact same shade as Kelly's, they would fill with tears when they looked at him, her face was as blank as a stone.

“Stop it!” He tried to keep himself from screaming, but only barely managed to keep his voice down. He needed to get out. This was a mistake. This wasn't supposed to happen this way. He needed to go. . .home?

His heart was still pounding, so he dug his fingers into his hair, trying to pierce the scalp. I'm fine, he thought, breathing deeply, I'm fine. Calm down, breathe, calm. He hadn't felt this panicked since the police had arrested him. The cell had been horrible; small, damp, and confining. No matter how hard he tried, he wasn't able to get out. When the police had caught him while robbing the jewelry store, he hadn't been prepared, hadn't listened to his instincts enough to escape them. He’d been robbing from jewelry stores for six months, trying to get something nice for the girl down the road. Katie had wanted a ring from this particular store. The store that had gotten him caught. She had been reaping the spoils from Zarin’s excursions continuously since he'd decided he was in love with her. It was surprising to him that the love and infatuation that had filled him during the past six months had vanished the moment the police’s flashlight had shined into his eyes and the cuffs had been snapped on his wrists.

The cuffs had been bad. They rubbed his wrists, binding and confining him. His hands were always free roamers, picking up random objects and sticking them in his pockets or even just moving them to a different locations. The cuffs had prevented all of that. He hadn't been able to get them off, and the panic had nearly sent him into a frenzy. But when they had thrown him into that cell. . . Zarin closed his eyes, his breathing beginning to calm, as he rested his sweaty forehead against his knees. He wasn't in the cell now. He wasn't bound, he could get away. But he didn't want to. He wanted to go to Roonib, it was where thieves like him lived. It was where he was supposed to be.

“Are you sitting all by yourself?” someone asked. It was a young woman. Probably in her twenties. Zarin didn't bother looking up to assess anything more than that. His gaze remained on his lap.

“Yes.” What did she want?

“Can I sit here?”

“No?”

“Oh, sorry.” she moved on. What was that about? Did he look that incapable? But he was capable, and he’d prove it to them. He’d prove it to all of them that Zarin Clyde. . .

Clyde?

“Ladies and gentlemen, please fasten your seat belts, we’re about to take off and everyone must remain seated and buckled in until we’ve cleared the atmosphere, thank you.” the pilots voice clicked off the intercom. Everyone in the seats around Zarin began to buckle their seat belts. With a slightly quivering stomach, Zarin clicked the belt around his waist. The craft began to shutter harder, the engines really gaining power. Where was Kaylynn? Was she really not coming?

“Mom?” he whispered. Surely she would come. She had to come. She wouldn’t just leave him here. Would she?

The roar of the shuttle reached its peak. The large space bird began lifting itself up from the ground and heading toward the sky. The weight of the world crashed onto Zarin’s small shoulders, forcing him back in his seat. Gravity pushed down on him and for a moment he thought the weight would tear his lips down below his teeth.

It went faster and faster, picking up speed as it went higher. He sneaked a small peek out the window to his side and saw the ground rapidly getting further and further away. Planes were taking off from the airport next to the flight station, they looked tiny in comparison with the large space birds taking off next door.

Zarin shifted his gaze from the ground to the sky. The faint blue of early morning was rapidly changing to deep black. An eternal night sky was stretching out before him, the stars glittering in greeting.

And to his surprise, he liked it.

Soon Earth had disappeared behind him. The small blue green planet dwindling until it was smaller and smaller and then gone. Kaylynn didn’t come. Kelly didn’t wave at him from the mountain. But a whole universe stretched out before him. A new chance. New people. And with new people came loose pockets.

After all, Zarin was, first and foremost, a thief. And he wouldn’t stop thieving. Not for anything. Not for anyone. Nobody could stop him and he liked it that way. He could do this. He would do this, and prove to the universe that he didn’t need his family. He didn’t need his parents. He didn’t need Kelly. He didn't need anyone.

Zarin put his head on his knees so no one around would be able to see, and began to cry.

Zarin: prologue

2012-06-03T22:56:00.001-07:00

This is the prologue to my novel. I've been working on it and want to know what people think. I'm hoping to get this one published as an actual book someday. A lot of people have read this, but a lot haven't as well. So enjoy! Tell me what you think.

The rain poured. Drops fell on the soggy ground, soaking through the blades of grass and forcing the dirt into mud. Large, black clouds covered the sky, rolling and turning in anguish. A fork of lightning broke through the blackness, illuminating one, small figure. She was sitting on the side of a mountain, staring down at the tiny house nestled against the cliff's edge.

The house was lonely looking, the darkness pressing against it on all sides. The light from the windows reached outward into the night, but were quickly swallowed up, leaving only shadows. If nothing else, it looked warm and dry, but the girl didn’t make a move towards it. Her chin rested on her knees, her arms wrapped tightly around her bare legs for warmth. The rain clung to her hair and clothing, sending little rivers down her skin. She was shivering, though she was trying desperately not to. The mud should have helped to stop the cold, at least a little.

Kelly Clyde didn't want to go home. She didn't want to go to that little house, to see her mother and father. She was only eight, but she felt as though she'd aged a lot in the past few hours. If she had a remote to control time, she would rewind it and change everything. She would have stopped him from leaving. She would have stopped them from fighting. She would have done. . . something.

But it was to late now. He was gone forever.

***

“Kelly, move!” Kaylynn ordered. Kelly jumped out of the doorway, making room for the older woman.

“What’s happening Mom?” She whispered, “Is. . .?”

“I don’t know,” Kaylynn answered, biting her lip. Kelly didn’t want to move from the front door, but knew her father would be home soon. And the last time she had seen him, he hadn’t looked too happy. But then, he wouldn’t be. As if Zarin hadn’t disobeyed him enough.

The door smashed open, making Kelly squeak and hide behind her mother. A large imposing figure stood there, drenched from the rain. He wore a large dark beard that covered over half his face. His eyes a steely gray. Derek Clyde was an intimidating sight on the best of circumstances, with his large leather boots, pants and jacket. But now he had an expression of pure rage lighting his heavy set features, his hand holding the scruff of a young boy. A boy with a devilish smirk and his fathers eyes. Zarin grinned at his little sister as his father threw him into the room. Like a cat, he twisted around and caught himself before he could fall. A little absentmindedly, he rubbed the back of his neck where Derek had been holding him.

“What do you have to say for yourself, boy?” Derek growled, “After everything we’ve told you, after everything you’ve done. . .”

“I’d tell you I’m starving.” Zarin pipped in, smirking, “Prison food sucks.”

“Zarin!” Kaylynn warned. The boy threw a sidelong glance at his mother, it was a look full of the boy's usual confidence and arrogance. Kelly wanted to smack it of his face.

“We told you to stop your pick pocketing!” Derek screamed, his face cracking and eyes bulging out of his head. Three huge steps brought him right in front of his son. As fast as Zarin was, he still didn’t see the blow coming until it was too late. Derek’s slap snapped the boy’s head back and sent him flying. He crashed to the ground on his back, stunned. For a moment he didn’t move, then he jumped to his feet, swaying, but trying not to show it. His gray eyes blazed, the devilish mouth ground into a hard line.

“It wasn’t just a pick pocketing,” he told them, “I full on robbed a jewelry store. Not for the first time either. I’ve stolen things a million times and you’ve never known about it. Of course, if you weren’t so stupid you’d let me steal stuff and we wouldn’t have to worry about money anymore! Or anything! You’re just too stupid to think that maybe bending the rules a little isn’t such a bad thing!”

“You’re not bending them boy! You’re breaking them and enjoying it!” Derek yelled, his face was purple and his eyes looked every bit as angry as the boy's. Zarin laughed, the sound only sounding slightly forced. Kelly silently pleaded that Derek wouldn't hit him again.

“Zarin stop it!” Kelly yelled, Zarin looked directly at her for the first time and smiled. It wasn’t a smirk, but an honest smile, like they were sharing a secret. Kelly knew Zarin better then any other person in the world. He was an obnoxious show off and smart mouth, but she knew that he didn’t want his father to hate him, he just wasn’t willing to let go of some of his ‘hobbies.’

“Sorry Dad, but I am who I am, and I’m not going to change.” Kelly put her head in her hands, Zarin’s tone of voice was infuriating. But it was true, he would never change. He was too pig-headed.

“Is that so, boy?” Everything went silent. Zarin shifted his feet uneasily, for once seeming to use his head to think for a second. Nobody moved, Kaylynn didn't even seem to be breathing.

“Yeah, Dad.” Zarin finally said. He stood up as tall as his twelve year old body could hold itself. “Yeah it is. I'm a thief. And a blasted good one.” Kelly swallowed, trying to work some moisture into her mouth.

“Zarin. . . ? Please. . .” Her brother didn't even look at her.

“Well then,” Derek spoke very softly, but he might as well have been shouting. “You’ve left me with no other option, boy. Get out.” Zarin blew out a breath, his face going from arrogant to confused.

“What?”

“Get. Out.” Derek breathed again. He reached out and grabbed the boy by the collar of his shirt flinging him around and shoving him toward the door. Zarin flew through the air like he was nothing but luggage. He stumbled, banging his shoulder against the wall and almost falling. His eyes were huge, smart-mouth working silently.

“Derek. . .” Kaylynn started but her husband cut her off.

“No, this is it, I’m sick of it. I’m sick of his attitude, I’m sick of his habits and to be frank, I’m sick of him. Twelve years this boy has lived under my roof, and twelve years was too many. Get out Zarin. And don’t come back.”

“You can’t do that!” Zarin finally managed to yell.

“I’ll do what I please! This is my house!” Derek yelled back. He thrust his hand into his pocket, pulling out a handful of bills. “Take the money and get. Go to Roonib, where they'll appreciate your stupidity.”

“Derek!” Kaylynn plead, reaching out to grab her husband's arm, but he pushed her away. “You. . .”

“No, Kaylynn.” He moved his glare from Zarin to his wife. Kelly could have sworn there was a bit of moisture hiding behind that gaze, “I'm done with him. He's no longer my son.” He thrust the money toward Zarin, who snatched it out of his hands. Zarin's lips were peeled back, he almost seemed like a cornered animal, snarling.

“FINE!” he said, “I don’t want to be here anyway. I hate you all! You’re all just a stupid bunch of morons with no brains!” The boy bolted for the door, throwing it open and running out into the rain. Kelly tried to follow but her father grabbed her arm.

“I don’t want you to catch a cold, Kaylynn,” He told her, using her full name which made Kelly jump slightly. She stared at him, hesitant, then yanked her arm free and ran through the doorway after her brother. Zarin hadn’t gotten far. He was staring down the road toward town. The rain had already soaked through his black hair, already sending trails of water down the back of his shirt.

They didn't look anything alike. Where Zarin had a tall frame and broad shoulders, Kelly was short and thin as a reed. Zarin had gray eyes and midnight hair, while Kelly had emerald eyes and was platinum blond. But he was her brother. Her best friend. And now he looked all alone.

“Zarin?” Kelly whispered, taking his hand.

“I didn't mean it.” he said.

“I know you didn't.”

“I don't really hate them.”

“I know.”

“No, Kelly, you don't!” He pulled his hand away from hers, “You don't get it. I’m only twelve,” he took a deep breath, “I can’t do this.”

“He wasn’t serious,” Something was blocking her throat, and the night seemed a lot warmer, “Come back, he’ll forgive you, you'll see! Just don’t steal anymore!” She reached out to take his hand again but he jerked away.

“No,” he said, his face hardening in a look all too familiar, “I won’t stop. I can’t.”

“Yes you can!” She wanted to beat him, wanted to bang her fists against him until he listened. Until he really listened! “You just don’t want to!” Kelly could feel the tears threatening to overflow. A sob wrenched itself from her chest. Everything was wrong, it was all falling apart! “Don’t leave Zarin, please!”

“I have to Kelly," he said, looking away, blinking his own eyes rather quickly. "I'm not wanted here."

"He didn't mean it Zarin! He was just mad! Wait and see, he'll come out and tell you not to go! I know he will!"

"It's too late, Kelly." The tears finally overflowed and spilled down her cheeks. She brought her hands to wipe them way, but only ended up crying harder. Zarin reached out and hugged her tightly, "I'm sorry Kelly," he whispered.

"How will you live Zarin?" she cried, "What will you do? What will you eat? Where will you sleep?!" Zarin stayed silent until she was almost done crying. then he gently tilted her head up, forcing her to look at him.

"Kaylynn," he said, calling her by her full name for the first time, causing her to swallow nervously, "do you remember yesterday, when you wanted me to go looking for the newborn glarenine in the mountains?” she nodded, “I want you to go and find them. I want you to take one of the pups and raise it, just like we always said we would one day. And when you worry about me, or wonder if I'm okay, or if I'm even alive, I want you to take care of the pup. It'll be like a good luck charm." He smiled, and even in the darkness she could tell that it was one sided and crooked. She nodded, her eyes still red.

"What. . .will I name it?" she hiccuped.

"Well. . . if it's a girl, name her. . . Jinx."

"Jinx?"

"Yes, because all girls are Jinx's." he teased, forcing a small giggle from her.

"And if it's a boy?"

"If it's a boy. . . Call him Link. Because that's what he'll be, a link between you and me." He smiled and ruffled her hair. She forced herself to smile, but let it drop off her face when Zarin's back was turned. He straightened his shoulders and began to walk, the rain shrouding his figure until there was nothing but pouring moisture. Mud squashed beneath her bare toes, her hair fell down her face in ringlets. She watched him grow smaller and smaller, until his smudge completely vanished. She didn't move from that spot for a long time. She ignored her father's call. Ignored her mother’s pleading voice.. She just stood there, wondering if she would ever see her brother come back.

But he wouldn’t. He would never come back.

“Kelly?” Derek called, the sound of his large boots hitting the mud reached her before he did. He placed a large hand on her shoulder, squeezing it gently, “I promise Kelly, it had to happen. I’m sorry.” For a moment, it appeared as though tears threatened Derek as well. Kelly felt her shoulders begin to shake. Felt the horror of what had happened break over her, crushing her.

“No you're not,” she whispered, jerking away from his grip, “You’re not sorry, you won’t ever be sorry, and I’ll never, ever forgive you!” She turned and ran, the mountain was only feet from her, and she scrambled up it like a mountain goat.

Derek watched his daughter flee. He didn’t go after her. Instead he stared down the road his son had taken. “I’m sorry Zarin,” he whispered, “but you’ll learn. Maybe the world can force you to learn.”

Kelly dug her fingers into the loosening dirt of the mountain, pulling herself up further and further. She would find the glarenine. She would find the little creatures of light and raise one of the pups. She would take care of it and if she took care of it then maybe the gods would take care of Zarin.

It didn’t take long to find the little cubby hole in the rock she had spotted the day earlier. She dug at it, ignoring the father glarenine coming out to protect its family. He wasn’t a real protector, he just did whatever he wanted. No matter what the consequences of it was. It didn’t matter, it didn’t matter that it hurt people or made her fingers bleed or her heart cry out in pain. That stupid little father glarenine had no idea what it was doing. Had no idea that her family. . . that her family. . .

Tears clogged her vision again, choking her. She pulled her hands away from the hole. The male glarenine bared its sharp teeth at her before scrambling back into its den. Glarenine’s were like little foxes with burning blood and glowing skin. They weren’t native to Earth. They had been shipped here a long time ago, and now were as common as rats. Kelly turned away. Curling into a ball at the top of the mountain.

There was no other sound beyond the pouring of the rain. The mud coated Kelly's arms and legs, soaking her through. The clouds churned, rumbling overhead, and lightning split the heavens like the hand of god. Kelly didn't move, barely seemed to breathe, as she looked down the mountainside to the little house that barely stood out against the night. She never wanted to go back there again. She didn't want to return to her parents, didn't want to see their faces. Not when he wasn't there anymore. Not now that her family was broken.

Because he was gone now. He was gone forever.

Nation part 3

2012-03-17T17:43:00.000-07:00

Okay everyone, sorry it's late, but here's part 3. Also, remember that the purpose of this blog is so that I can get feedback on my writing! It's still a rough draft, so if you all could give me storyline feedback, character feedback, and voice feedback, that would be great. Enjoy the story!

Mindy had no idea what the man was saying. He, of course, was oblivious to the fact that both Mindy and Andrew were just nodding and smiling as he rambled. The words kind of sounded like giant flying insects of nonsense rambling out of this mouth. Mindy imagined trying to bottle the words, catch them in a jar because they sounded like butterflies.

So, she was officially losing it.

“Mom?” Andy leaned close to her, his dark eyes studying the man, “What's he saying?”

“I don't know.”

More mindless jumble came out of his mouth. Things that should have been English words but were too garbled to really be anything. But, he looked upset. The truck began to slow down. Mindy kind of felt like she was in a covered wagon from back in the pioneer days. The truck had that same fabricy type feel to it, and it was definitely rocky enough to be one. Pulling back some of the fabric by the rear, she looked outside. They were pulling over to the side of the road. A large hill extended above them, rippling like the ocean on ground. “What's that?” Andy whispered, peeking out himself.

“Probably rice fields,” Mindy said. She'd only ever seen pictures of them before, but that's what she thought they were. The truck continued to slow until it stopped right by the edge of one of the ripples. A straw cone popped up from behind one of the ripples, bobbing as it got closer. A little man in tight woven black clothing whistled as he approached the truck, a long stick slung over his shoulders with two baskets hanging off either side, like a scale. He smiled when he approached the truck, calling out in Chinese.

The bearded man Chuckled and answered, throwing back the curtain that protected the back of the truck. He hopped out and embraced the other, laughing and making sure the baskets didn't tip over. The two men exchanged rapid words in Chinese, giving all the more impression of having flapping flurries flying out of their mouths. The new man was obviously younger than their rescuer, and his eyes were black and glittered mischievously. “Ho!” he called, leaning around his companion, one arm slung casually over the stick as though it weighed nothing at all, “What're you doing hiding in there?”

“You speak English?” Mindy crawled out cautiously, holding a hand out to keep Andrew in the truck.

“So does Bai,” he replied, his accent barely affecting his speech at all, “He's very proud of it.” The bearded one, Bai, tried to say something in English, but Mindy felt a headache begin and stopped listening.

“Who are you?” She asked instead.

“I'm one of the few people on Earth that actually don't want the different Nations to kill each other. How about you?”

“I'm Miranda.”

“Nice to meet you.” The man tipped his straw hat, grinning. He swung the scale around, resting it on the ground and rubbing his shoulders. He'd been standing so straight, it'd looked like there'd barely been any weight on them at all, but the baskets were full of rice; thick soggy rice. His shoulders red and rubbed raw. Mindy hesitated, then stuck out her hand. He shook it graciously, smiling. “My name's Jian. This is my uncle Bai. He fancies himself an English speaker. What brings you to China?”

“I'm looking for my husband,” Mindy took a deep breath, she knew it wasn't always wise to just tell people what she was looking for, but it also took too much time sometimes to be elusive. “I have to find him.”

“And you know for sure that he's here?” Jian's face was friendly, but his tone made her straighten her back a little bit.

“He has to be,” she whispered.

The real search had begun in San Francisco. It hadn't taken too long to sell everything they had, people were grabbing at everything they could possibly hold, the family that bought their house looked like they hadn't been living under a roof in weeks. The money they paid for it was scrap, of course, but Mindy accepted it graciously. She could only hope that it would be enough.

Andrew hefted his backpack, looking up at his mother with tear stained cheeks, “Mommy, where are we going?” he hiccuped, trying to get a hold of himself. Mindy dropped to her knees next to him, grabbing the little body and pulling him close.

“I'm so sorry,” she whispered, he cried into her shoulder, his entire body shaking. He was still just a baby. Just a little baby. . .how could she do this? Her mother's words drifted into her mind again, accusing and angry. She shoved them away.

“We're going to find daddy, okay? We're going to find him and bring him home.”

“Where did they take him?”

“I don't. . . I don't know. I plan on finding out.”

“Okay.” He didn't ask the question that any adult would have. He didn't ask how she was going to find him, how she was going to figure out where he could have gone. He had total faith that she just would. Mindy took a deep breath, ruffling his hair.

“Let's go sweetie.”

“Are we ever going to come back?” he looked over his shoulder at the little house, grasping her hand with all his strength. Mindy couldn't help but feel how weak and little it was.

“I don't know.” Would they ever be able to come back? Wouldn't they just come and take Jason away again if they did? It didn't matter, they had to get him back first. She'd worry about the other bits later.

They'd made their way to San Francisco. Mindy was hoping that they'd be able to find transportation to where ever they needed to go from there. She knew that there was a government office holding there, a special place for someone sent specifically from D.C. to watch over larger cities. What she planned on doing with that government office building was still a mystery to her, which was beginning to be a problem. Everything was too sporadic, too unorganized. She needed to figure out exactly what she was doing or she would get herself and her son killed.

They walked through the streets, the skyscrapers soaring above them, people everywhere milling about as car horns honked and people clamored amongst themselves. Andrew stayed close, holding her hand. Mindy picked up a city map on a street vendor as they wandered, hoping to find a cheap hotel where they could stay for a few days while they figured this all out. She'd sold everything when they'd left home, the government tracked phone signals to their owners anyway, so her phone's gps and other apps would've been useless if she wanted to remain hidden. Besides, all the useful websites had been blocked anyway.

Mindy followed the map until they found a run down little motel. It was dirty, the “Vacancy” sign missing half it's letters. Business hadn't been booming for places that depended on travel for a while. Most of the smaller hotels had gone out of business years ago. Mindy couldn't help but wonder if this place had been full of people at one point. Squeezing Andy's hand for reassurance, they approached the building.

The lady at the front counter smiled when they walked in. She looked exhausted, large black circles around her eyes and wrinkles sagging down her cheeks. But her eyes were radiant and clear, moon shaped classes perched on her nose, “May I help you ma'am?” she asked cheerfully.

“We'd like a room, please,” Mindy said, trying to smile back.

“Of course, how many nights will you be staying with us?”

“I'm. . .” Mindy hesitated, sighing, “A week.” A week should give them
enough time.

“Alright, let's get that calculated up for you.” Mindy paid for the room and allowed herself to be escorted to the tiny one-bed room. It had a bathroom, but Mindy couldn't help but wonder if she should clean it herself before letting Andrew anywhere near it. The sink was dirty and the carpet was covered in sand, dirt and grass. The sheets were the only pristine looking ornament in the entire room, which was something of a comfort, and there was a little TV across from the bed. The women kindly asked if there was anything they needed, and Mindy told her no. She left, shutting the door with a sound click.

Andrew immediately fell on the bed, exhausted. He'd been sleeping in a car for the past few days, his poor little body couldn't take anymore. Mindy stroked his soft hair, listening to him breathe. He looked so much like Jason, blond hair, shining blue eyes if they'd been open. The perfect picture of what the standard “white” beauty would be. But that hadn't stopped them from taking Jason. Mindy couldn't help but wonder if they'd come for Andy next, claiming he was half alien. Would they take him and leave her all alone?

No, that's why she'd brought him with her. They'd never take anything from her again.

“Mommy?” Mindy jumped.

“Yes?”

“I love you. Don't leave, kay? Don't go away.”

“I won't sweetheart.”

“Promise forever,” he held out his hand, pinky up, Mindy linked her little finger through his. Her throat choked up, Jason used to play this game all the time. They'd started when the two of them had been dating, then Jason used it as a bargaining tool to make Andy do his schoolwork.

“I promise forever.” Mindy kissed his forehead, within seconds Andy had fallen back asleep.

Standing, Mindy pushed the baby under the blankets, tucking him in. A flick of the switch brought the room to darkness, making her fumble for her keys. Silently praying that Andy would sleep through the night, she slipped out the door.

San Francisco was still bright, even at night. Cars still wizzed down the streets, though they looked more brilliant, not as dusty and dull. The buildings were lit up too, brightening the black sky. Mindy pulled out her map, following the streets until she found a large white building, the American flag hanging limply from a tall pole. Most of the windows were dark by this time of night, but there was an emergency contact office open at all hours. Mindy approached cautiously, crossing and uncrossing her fingers.

She hadn't lost all hope in government. She knew that there were some really good things they were able to accomplish, and the reason everything was going down hill was because the world was going to hell. China had become the biggest rival for world power, it already dealt with most of the world's trade, almost having a monopoly on over sea businesses. They were leaving the US alone for now, most people assumed they had some sort of alliance going on that wasn't openly discussed. Europe was in an ever going explosion, some countries randomly coming together and attacking, while others had completely gone into isolation, refusing to have any contact with anyone. Everywhere seemed to be preparing for world wide war, but nobody openly talked about it. The “Alien removal” had just been another step in that direction, trying to prepare for a stupid war.

Mindy took a deep breath, then pushed her way into the office. A women sat there, typing rapidly on a computer. She approached cautiously, and for a moment the secretary didn't notice she was even there. When she did, she jumped slightly, then smiled broadly and gestured to a seat.

“Can I help you ma'am?”

“I. . .I have a question. About some of the new policies being implemented.”

“Well, we have all access to the policies right here, I'm sure I can answer any questions you have.”

“The. . .the American Boarders law, the one that removed all aliens from our boarders. . . “

“Yes?” she was still smiling. Mindy forced herself to sit straight. It was ridiculous that she was feeling so nervous, she was just asking questions, they were still allowed to ask questions.

“Where do they take them?”

“The official statement is that they are sent back to their home countries.”

“But. . .” back to their home countries? “I have. . . a few friends that were sent home. They would have contacted me if they'd just been sent home.”

“I cannot tell you why your friends haven't contacted you.” She shrugged, Mindy noticed she didn't suggest that Mindy try to contact them.

“Are you sure they are sent home? I saw some of them taken, and it wasn't in a kindly manner.”

“Don't be silly, ma'am. The United States government only has its people's best interests at heart.” But, according to them, Jason was no longer one of the United State's “people”. Mindy sat back in her chair, trying to think quickly. “Is there anything else I can help you with, ma'am?”

“Yes, the man they took was my husband. I have rights. I have a right to know where they took him, where he is now, and how to contact him.”

“I don't think that's possible, miss.” The warmth was beginning to leave the woman's tone. She looked away from Mindy, rummaging with the papers on her desk. Her hands trembled slightly, but she compensated by tapping her nails on the desk, “The location of immigrants. . .”

“He's not just an immigrant! He's my husband!You can't just break families like this!”

“People do it all the time.” the women stood up. “I think it's time for you to leave now, Miss.”

“It's Mrs.” Mindy stood up, “have they really sent the immigrants home?”

“Yes.” the women looked away.

“Ah, Ms. Renalds, you're here late this evening.” A man with slick, black hair stepped through the door. It was the first thing Mindy noticed, just how smoothly he'd brushed the hair back, giving it a glossy “new car” type of gleam. He wore a crisp business suit, carrying a briefcase in one hand. He smiled at Mindy, nodding politely. “Welcome to the government office, Ma'am, is there any way we can be of assistance?” Miranda wanted to scream at him. Had he heard what she'd said before?

“I. . .”

“Her husband was one of the immigrants that got relocated after the law was passed,” the woman said.

“Ah, truly unfortunate. Of course, you realize, Ma'am, that because of the relocation you are no longer legally married? All marriages to non-Citizens were annulled after the law was passed.”

“No,” Mindy shook her head.

“I'm afraid it's true. The law was quite specific. The threat to the nation and to our citizens could not be ignored. There are too many nations that require their citizens loyalty, and there are too many wars going on to make that a comfortable thought. Do you understand?” His tone was calming. As though he were talking reasonably.

“You're. . . You're not making any sense!”

“Am I not? Miss, I don't know you, but I do know the laws, this country, and its proud history. We need to unite as Americans, we need to make sure that our boarders are secure. This nation began under an isolationist theory, that of staying out of world affairs, and we've radically changed the position our founding fathers would have wanted. We're trying to protect the people of this country by putting a little more of that back into play.

“This is an immigration country,” Mindy chocked down her panic. She was terrified, something about the man's crisp appearance and his soft voice made her feel like a young disobedient child. But his words, his words were nonsense. How could anyone believe what he was saying? Everything that came out of his mouth sounded so. . . reasonable. But everything he was saying was absolute rubbish. “All of our ancestors are immigrants!”

“Not anymore. Miss, we must ask that you leave the premisses.”

Mindy stood up slowly, her hands shaking, and she tried to bite her tongue to keep herself from shouting, taking a deep breath, clearing her head, “You can't keep doing this to people,” she said, trying to mimic the man's tone, smooth, self assured, quiet. “Eventually they're going to figure out what rubbish this is, and they're going to put a stop to you.”

“What is your name?” he asked, slightly cocking his head to the side, reminding Mindy horribly of a rooster.

“It's Miranda,” the secretary said, “Miranda Moore, or. . . Ibori. Miranda Ibori. I just looked it up in the files.”

“Your husband will be returned safely to his homeland, Miranda,” He reached out to put his hand comfortingly on her shoulder, but she jerked back, she bit her tongue harder to keep back the tears, “You don't have to be concerned. We are just strengthening the nations borders.”

“You're a bastard,” she whispered. “A bloody bastard.”

“It says here that she has a young son, Andrew, about 6 years old this last May.”

“Where is your son Miranda?” the man leaned over the desk, looking at the files, “It looks like you're a long ways from home.”

“She sold her house 3 days ago, gave away everything she doesn't have on her.”

“How do you know all this?” Mindy whispered, “How could you possibly have that recent of records? That sale was between me and the new owner of that house.”

“Everything is our business, Miss Ibori.”

“She's traveled long distance, with a minor, and didn't purchase a permit or tell anyone where she was going. She's in violation of Code 683 of the Citizen Protection Act.”

Mindy realized a second too late what they were doing, she backed up, reaching for the handle of the door. It was locked.

“Miranda, please sit down. Where is your half-breed son?” Once again, that voice did not match the words.

Mindy turned around, pulling frantically at the door.

Why had she left Andy alone?

Sorry!

2012-03-10T19:34:00.000-08:00

Hey! I'm so sorry, but this week has been crazy so the next part of "Nation" wont' be coming out this week. I'll try to make sure that it's finished by this upcoming Saturday! In the meantime, I'm going to post up the first bit or so of the story that will be posted up after "Nation" is finished. Kind of like a sneak peak. Thanks for your patience!

It was always kind of frightening, flying at high speeds through the air and never really knowing if we were going to crash into a wall or not. I pulled sharply on the reigns, trying to get my animal to turn, but it just buzzed angrily, kicking its legs and running along the empty air.

“Come on, Tara!” Zack shouted at me, keeping perfect control over HIS beast as though he'd ridden every day of his short life. Which wasn't actually a showing of how much skill he had, more of how much of a teacher's pet he was. He got the best pick of the bunch, and it showed. Which was irritating.

“Pull right!” the teacher's voice sounded in my ear, and I tugged incessantly at the reigns, but instead of turning left the way the creature was supposed to, it shot upwards. I screamed, dropping the reigns and just starting to bang incessantly on the outer exoskeleton. It snapped, swinging its head around to try and bite me, but I leaned back to avoid the mandibles.

“Why won't you just do what I say??” I shouted.

“TARA! The hardair!”

I spun around in panic, just as the wall hit me. The barrier looked just like any other patch of open air, but it was hard and slippery. The entire left side of my body crashed against it, making my head ring. The buzz from my animals wings sounded like a thousand sirens shouting “HERE I AM! HERE I AM! KILL ME!!” My saddle was slipping to the side, and I tried desperately to reorient it, but my head was still spinning from the impact.

“Ugh. . .”

“Tara! Get away from that part of the sky! You need to fly to safety!” HOW? I wanted to shout back. My stupid animal won't listen to a single signal I give it!! And now it was trying to break through the hard air and escape out onto the outside. Which could only be worse then the inside. Right?

I pulled on the reigns, trying to reassert control. After a few seconds of fighting it, the beast finally seceded to my reign and began to fly downwards. Which was partially what I wanted, so it worked for me. I landed on the cliff, jumping down from my seat immediately to feel the firm ground beneath my feet. Whoever decided flying these things was a good idea was obviously a moron.

Zack landed next to me, hoping off his carefully trained pet with precision and grace. I glared at him. “Tara, are you okay?” his face looked all concerned. It was almost sweet. In the obnoxiously angering type of way.

“I'm always okay,” I snapped, go away. I wanted to add, but didn't. Because every once in a while, some of my family's teachings stayed within me. Things like, don't make enemies of people who pretend to be your friend. Not outright anyway.

Nation part 2

2012-03-03T10:19:00.000-08:00

“Mom? You're crushing my head.” Andy squirmed a little, trying to loosen Mindy's hold on him. She let go, taking a deep breath and looking away. The others in their compartment were still just sitting there, seemingly not doing anything at all. It had been months since they'd taken Jason, but the memory still left her feeling cold. Cold and lonely.

Mindy ruffled Andrew's hair, forcing herself to smile. “We're going to be there soon,” she said softly, “Can you wait to see it?”

“What will it be like? Covered in bamboo? Will there be pandas everywhere?”

Mindy laughed, “Maybe, I've never been.”

“I'm so excited,” his little eight year old face split into a grin, eyes shining, “We'll get dad back and then visit The Great Wall!” Mindy tried to keep her smile fixed.

“Yeah, we'll do that.”

“Promise?” His hair was so dirty, the previously blond hair was streaked with grease and dirt, his face grubby. His fingernails were cracked, some of them looking like they were getting ready to start bleeding. His clothing was torn and ripped, his blue eyes shining despite the thick film of misery that lurked just behind the gaze. He would stand out like a sore thumb among all the Asians. He'd taken after his father, looking more white than Mindy's dark complexion and short brown hair. She still wasn't sure how that had happened, weren't her genes supposed to be dominant?

“Yes,” she said, “I promise.” The ship heaved to the side, making Mindy's stomach flop upwards. Andy jumped up in case she lost whatever lunch she'd managed to force down. He put his hand on her head the way she'd done whenever he was sick.

“I don't think you're head is too warm,” he said, she smiled.

“Well, that's good to know,” she gulped down the bile.

“You won't leave me, will you?”

“Never.” she hugged him tight again, “I just can't wait till we get off this blasted ship.” Andrew nodded. “We should be there by nightfall.” she reassured him. He nodded again, closing his eyes and resting on her shoulder. His breathing was smooth and even.

“I'm going after him,” Mindy told her mother, the morning after they'd taken Jason. She'd stayed up all night, tossing and turning. She couldn't imagine what they would do to him, would they just send him home? Was he being held somewhere? It didn't matter. He was her husband. She was his family. She was going after him.

“Miranda, sweetheart.” Her mother twisted her shirt, biting her lip, “You realize what will happen don't you? They're not just going to let him go. They don't want foreigners in the country, and they say it'll make us safe. . .” she was twisting the hem of her shirt faster and faster. Mindy closed her eyes, trying to breathe deeply and calmly, “I know,” she said, her fists clenched, “But. . . Mom. . .” she took in a deep breath, “HOW CAN YOU BELIEVE THAT? How can you possibly think that Jason would do ANYTHING that would hurt this country? All he ever did was try to take care of his family, all he ever did was his own business. We're even cleared of all the debt! How can they just. . . How can they just. . .” her shoulders shook, the entire world was falling apart. Everything was just. . .wrong.

“Shh, shh Miranda.” Her mom pulled her into her arms, stroking her hair, “shh, don't cry, it's going to be okay, shh, shh.” It's not okay, it's not okay for as long as he's been gone.

“I'm. . .” Mindy gulped, trying to swallow the lump in her throat, “I'm going after him.”

“Miranda, you can't. What will Andy do? You can't just leave him.” Andrew. Her little boy. This was the hard part. But what right did they have to take away her family? What right did anyone have to say that they shouldn't be together? Everything inside of her told her that what she was about to do was risky. Her first instinct was to protect her son. She couldn't just take him with her when she might be thrown in jail, or shot or. . .who knew what else. She should leave him somewhere safe. He should be free of all of this, grow up in a fantasy where people didn't just take their parents away from them. But he wasn't going to.

“Mom, we're going to war,” Mindy said, “The entire country is preparing for it. It'll be almost everyone else against just us. They're going to be taking people from everywhere, there's going to be invasions, the US isn't safe anymore.”

“Don't be silly. . .”

“You KNOW it's true. It's not just the American government that's going to pot, it's EVERYWHERE. The entire world is going insane. I don't know what's going to happen, but I know that I can't live like this. I won't let this happen. If my family is going to die, we're going to die together. I'm taking Andy with me.”
* * *

The door to the ship compartment burst open. The captain stood there, his beard bristling as he smelled the stink from all the passengers. There weren't too many reasons to be trying to get into China these days, but they each had their reasons, and none of them were very willing to share. In the three weeks they'd been on the ship had stretched their endurance, almost everyone was sick from the conditions and the stink from those that had originally gotten sea sick. But now it was time to leave, just like they'd originally planned.

Captain Adrian Tai was known for his fair play. He was also known, if anyone had ever bothered to check, for piracy, smuggling, and double dealing. But he was probably the only pirate that dabbled in those activities governed by a highly sensitive moral conscience. He knew that people had their reasons for wanting to get into the different nations. He also knew that most of the time they had no way of doing so, and were desperate enough to pay the highest sum possible. He was essentially a good man, or liked to think of himself that way. He just didn't like playing by someone else's rules. After all, if you gotta go to jail for something (and these days, you really did) then it might as well be something you feel good about.

There were plenty of people willing to help you if you had the cash, and the desperate usually found a way to get the cash. Adrian thought of the mother and her little son. They were probably the saddest of all the refugees, definitely the youngest member was that little boy. He sometimes wondered if he did the right thing in accepting their money, or if he should have just told them both to go home. It was dangerous in these waters. It was dangerous to be anywhere you weren't supposed to be. But he'd recognized that look, if he hadn't helped them, they would've found someone who would.

Might as well be him getting paid.

Each piece of cargo was carefully labeled. All of the refugees would be sent ashore and given to a certain supplier. They would all, of course, be going different places. There was no point in trying to smuggle people in if they were all just going to get caught. They were given very specific instructions. Not all of those picking up their goods knew their were people hiding amongst them, and it was probably better that it stayed that way.

Adrian stood calmly, holding his hands behind his back and staring at the coastline. He'd be back, and some of these people might come back with him, but he was willing to bet that the majority of them wouldn't be coming back. A barrel was rolled past him, down the plank and carried onto the dock. The buildings extended far into the distance, the skyscrapers reaching for the sky and flashing their shiny lights against the sun. the loading docks seemed tiny in comparison. Adrian tipped his hat, turning around and retreating into his cabin for his records, it was going to be a very long day.
* * *

Mindy pulled her legs up to her chest, feeling her heart pounding against the rib cage. Her palms were sweating, her back was already beginning to ache, and it was all she could do to keep herself from making a sound as they rolled her barrel over and over again. Her already upset stomach flipped around, trying to keep itself form disintegrating in its own bile. Andy was supposed to be in the barrel next to her, going to the same dock, but she had no idea if that was true or not. She didn't even know 100% that the captain was trustworthy. What if she got out and Andy. . . No. No, there wasn't any point in panicking. Right?

Mindy closed her eyes, wishing everything would just. . Stop. Actually, she wished that Jason was there with her, and that they were sitting in their yellow house and everything was shiny and perfect. Unfortunately, life didn't always run that way.

The barrel jolted to a stop, tipping in it's side and finally sitting upright. Mindy's cheek smashed into the bottom of the barrel, her body's weight smashing onto her face. She wiggled a little, trying to be careful and not move the barrel. All the blood rushed to her head and she had to swallow her stomach juices again. If she ever lived through this, she would never set foot on the sea again.

She heard the rolling of another barrel, it sounded like it was being set up somewhere close to her. She could only hope that Andy was in that one. They weren't supposed to get out of the barrels until they were at their destination, and then sneak out at night. Hopefully that would take them to some of the inner cities, Debjit had explained that if Jason was still in China, he'd be in Anshan. Mindy had no idea where that was, but she had a name. She just needed to find the person, and he'd help her save her husband. That's what the Indian had told her anyway. It was hard, just relying on someone to tell her the truth, hoping that they were right. But she really had no other choice.

Distant yelling gave Mindy the opportunity to shift her position. Voices yelling in gibberish, calling out to each other while feet pounded against the dock. Somebody screamed, and Mindy could hear something heavy being dragged against the wooden floor.

“Please! No, Please! You don't understand!” It was an older woman's voice, “Let me go!” Mindy scrunched up her eyes, trying to cover her ears. She didn't want to hear this. She recognized that voice, it was one of the refugees. She'd just sat in a corner, minding her own business the whole time. Mindy didn't know why she had come to China, none of them had really wanted to talk about it. More shouting in Chinese, Mindy wished she could understand what they were saying. The sound of feet moving along the dock resumed, making Mindy hold her breath. She could guess that with the discovery of the older women, they'd start looking for any other stowaways.

They were told that under no circumstances were they to get out of the barrels. They were to stay inside and wait until they reached their destination or at the very least were loaded into the trucks. There was no way they'd survive if they did otherwise. But. . . Andy.

What if they found Andy?

The crack in the top of the barrel was designed so if she stuck her fingers in the little wedge, the top would pop off. She wasn't sure if it would pop off or if she could slowly life it up, but she needed to take the risk. She wiggled, bringing her body into an upright position. She tried to jostle that barrel as little as possible, but it definitely jiggled. Fitting her fingers into the indent, she lifted the top off easily. Peeking through the crack showed her people running back and forth, pushing over barrels and a few grabbing weapons and running toward the ship that was already setting sail. The captain was a smart man.

They were at the edge of the dock, right before the city. There were large buildings going out in all directions save the one leading back to the ocean. She could faintly see a road further back, with people walking back and forth. Would they be able to loose people in the crowd?

Yeah right, she was a black woman with a white child in a city of Asians. They'd stick out worse than a daisy amongst a bunch of roses. But she just needed to make sure that Andrew wasn't caught. Should they try to leave now, or just wait and see if they were caught? Was it worth the risk?

Peeking through the top, she could see the crate next to her, it was a good foot smaller than her barrel, but she couldn't tell if anyone was inside it. She whistled softly, the tune they used to whistle to call their dog before he died. An answering whistle, barely perceptible, came out of the crate. He was there, and following instructions exactly. Staying quiet, staying in the barrel. Mindy lowered the top, feeling better, but then peeked out again at the men going through the packages. What would they do if they got caught? They hadn't come all this way just to be sent back home, or thrown in prison. They hadn't come all this way for nothing.

The men were shouting in Chinese still, going through all of the different packages, pulling out the other passengers. Some of them started crying, trying to get away, others just silently accepted their fate. Mindy and Andy were at the edge of the dock, furthest away, should they run?

“Keep youl head down miy, 'le you wan' be caugh'.” The lid slammed down tight, forcing Mindy to tuck her head, “quie' quie', you be fine,” The barrel lifted, and before being thrown into a harder surface. A second later, a squeek from nearby told Mindy Andy had been thrown too.

“You okay?” She whispered.

“I think so. . . We're going to see the wall right?”

“Yes Andy,” Mindy gulped as the surface below her began to rumble. “We're gonna see the wall. Someone started shouting in Chinese. Mindy felt the engine rumble louder beneath her feet, and heard a man shout something that was probably profane.

“Any English?” someone yelled. The voice from before answered in Chinese. “Then let us check!” The voice didn't have an accent. Mindy rubbed dry lips with her tongue, fitting her fingers into the whole again, giving her a view. A barrel chested Chinese man was facing down another in a business suit. The man in the business suit had a clean shave and short black hair, whereas the other had long hair and a mustache. He was waving his hands around, gesturing to the ocean, the buildings, even his truck. When he was finished he put his hands stoutly on his hips. The business man was shaking his head and smiling, white teeth flashing against darker face. He held out his hand, rubbing the fingers together.

The other threw up his hands in the air, glaring at the other. Until, finally, he dug out of his pocket a few bills, throwing them at the man, who caught them and tipped an imaginary hat and walked away. The mustached man growled, turned on his heel and climbed back into the truck, pulling up the back and sitting next to Mindy's barrel.

“You keep dat 'id down, mi'y,” He said, pushing on the lid to cut off her view, “You get caut an' I ro'e 200 do'arr.”

Nation: part 1

2012-02-27T14:03:00.000-08:00

This is the first of a series, hope you like it!

The sound of water slapping the hull of the ship mingled with the rest of the crew's mutterings. The sun was just beginning to rise over the horizon, the water changing from midnight black to a cool aquiline blue. Mindy rested her head against the railing, feeling her stomach heave with every turn of the waves. Andrew was doing just fine, looking out over the waters and laughing every time the spray touched his face. If he was a few years older, Mindy might have been afraid that he'd want to join the navy, or run away to join some sailing company. But for right now he was content to stay at his mother's side, no matter where she might take him.

“Girl,” a big man grabbed her shoulder, forcing her to turn around and look into his face. Most of it was covered with a large bushy beard, big lips sticking out underneath an even bigger nose. His skin was sun tanned from the sea, but the scars on his arms and hands gave away the secret of “ease” that could be had upon the waves. “How many times have I told you to stay away from the edge?” his voice was raspy, like those big lips hung onto every word he said before they were able to pull free.

“I can't,” Mindy gulped down the bile already reforming, “Unless you want me to vomit on the others.”

“I'd rather they be covered in vomit than chains,” he whispered, grabbing her arm and shoving her toward the cabin, “Get out of the light!”

“Aye aye captain!” Andrew saluted the man, before taking his mother's hand and leading her toward the inside of the ship. The captain shook his head, his eyes concerned as they followed the two. A mother and her six year old son. What were they doing at a time like this? Why couldn't people just stay where they belonged?

It was damp inside the vessel, even a cargo one like this, where the shipments should have been kept dry. Mindy kept her head down and clung to the walls so the heaving of the ship didn't send her sprawling. They had to make their way down a narrow hallway of stairs before they would reach the main holding, where 13 other people were mingling with each other. The stench was wretched, and Mindy almost threw up the remnants of whatever was in her stomach. Even Andrew wrinkled his nose in disgust. Many of the other passengers were sitting next to the wall, some holding their heads, others their stomachs, and some were just staring into space.

Mindy sat down next to the doorway, where occasionally a breeze of fresh air might wiggle its way down into their holding. “Mom,” Andy whispered, “Are we close to finding dad?”

“Hopefully soon,” Mindy whispered, stroking his hair, “Hopefully soon.” Andy closed his eyes and rested his blond head on her lap. Mindy knew that he wanted nothing more than for her to gather him in her arms, kiss his forehead and tell him that dad was coming home in fifteen minutes and that he should be patient. She couldn't do the last step, but she gathered him up and kissed him just the same, “Are you afraid?” she asked.

“No,” he shook his head, “I'm not afraid of anything anymore.”

“Nothing?”

“Nope.”

“Not even the soldiers with their big guns?”

“They can't hit me, I'm too little and fast.”

“What about the politicians, who smile and say things that they don't mean, like we should understand and trust them, when we know they're just going to stab us in the back?”

“Mommy, they lie.” Andrew shook his head like that made them less terrifying,

“They can't hurt me when they lie. I always know that they're lying, no matter what they say.” He said the last part fiercely, closing his eyes and clenching one of his hands into a fist. Mindy knew what he was thinking of. The man with the greased back hair and practiced smile, teeth so white it was like they blinded you just by looking directly at them. “Your husband will be returned safely to his homeland, Miranda. You don't have to be concerned. We are just strengthening the nations borders.” or later, once she'd learned the truth, “Go home, Miranda. Your husband is no longer a threat to this nation.” As if he'd ever been a threat in the first place. He'd had permanent residency, he'd lived there for 8 years. The only thing he'd ever been guilty of was being a foreigner.

Mindy put her head down, resting it on Andy's. He smiled and held her tightly. “ They can't hurt me when they lie. I always know that they're lying, no matter what they say.” He was a smart, brave little boy.

The ship jolted, thrusting a few of the passengers into one another. Mindy gulped, feeling the bile rise again in the back of her throat. She did NOT like being at sea. She wanted to go home, the image of her yellow house, blue blinds and flower ridden garden made her sick. Everything had been empty when they'd left. Every inch, every shamble of the place that made it look like home had been sold. She could still remember the look on her mother's face, the horror of what her daughter was about to do. “How could you? What right do you have to do that to your son??” but she'd had her reasons.

Mindy squeezed her eyes shut tighter. Andy rubbed her arm, humming softly to himself. He was getting too old, too old to be her little boy. “Mommy,” he whispered, “What do you think they really did to daddy?” Mindy shook her head. She didn't want to talk about it, didn't want to tell him what she thought they might have done.

It had been sometime in October. A Saturday, the TV making ridiculous noises as Andrew sat and took in every word and image. The house lit with that bright yellow sunshine that only happens on particularly clear days. Mindy couldn't help the smile, even as she tried to push the memory away and held Andrew more tightly. It'd been beautiful that day, she'd been moving through the kitchen, grabbing the papers lying about on the counters. A few newspapers crumpled into little balls and thrown into a corner, most of the others were bank notices or other bills. They'd finally all been paid off. All of them. Mindy hummed softly to herself as she sent them through the shredder, leaving nothing but long, white paper lines to fall into the trash bin.

“Hey, shredder-butt,” Jason kissed her on the cheek as he passed, “Enjoying your morning?”

“Why yes,” Mindy grinned, sending another bill through the machine, it was oddly satisfying. “Some people never live to see this moment.”

“Yeah,” Jason sighed, turning away, “I know.” Mindy paused, then continued shredding. She shouldn't have said anything. Jason was acutely aware of everything everyone was going through. She bumped into him, jabbing her shoulder into his upper back.

“No sad faces!” she kissed him, then skipped away.

“Oh, fine then,” he laughed, walking after her. The living room was messy, toys strewn around and the cushions lying in haphazard positions from where Andrew had arranged them as a sort of tent. He huddled inside them, waving his remote as the cartoon characters ran around screaming.

“They'll get you!” He yelled, his tiny little body getting into every action. It was in the middle of a battle scene, and he was actually quivering from excitement.

“Don't burst a muscle,” His father teased, peeking under the barricade, “How would you fight off the bad guys then?”

“My brain.” Andrew smiled, “It's strong.”

“Not if you keep watching these shows,” Mindy groaned, “They'll melt your brain into putty.”

“Noooo! They're brain builders! I know how to battle the king of snakes now!”

“Sure you do,” Jason laughed. A knocking sounded at the door. Andrew hid his face into on of the pillows, making a satisfying smacking noise. Jason threw back his head and laughed again, “Does this mean you don't want to answer the door, Andy?”

“The shooow. . .”

“I'll get it,” Mindy headed down the hallway, family pictures smiled from a burgundy table by the door. She looked through the peep hole, but could only really see a uniform. Something cold settled into her belly, and the breath in her lungs seemed to freeze. Why would someone in a uniform be here? They'd just finished paying all their debts. There was no reason for anyone in the government to be here. She opened the door, aware of the slight squeal of the hinge. “Yes?” she tried to smile at the man standing there, but felt like the muscles in her mouth only slightly twitched.

He was an older gentleman, his hair slightly gray on the sides and wrinkles around his eyes and jawline. He was well built, his shoulders way broader than Jason's, who would be as comparable as a tree limb to a barrel. He had brown hair, but it barely showed under the green uniform cap that he wore. His uniform was decorated with metals, and a small pistol hung at his belt.

“Mrs. Moore? Is your husband home?” He spoke with a clipped, brisk, professional tone. His voice a low baritone. Mindy hesitated.

“Y-yes he is. May I ask why you're here?”

“No, Ma'am. Our business is with your husband.” He stepped forward, gently, but firmly, pushing her out of the way. She stepped back into the house, feeling her body begin to shake a little. A few years ago she might have protested his entering her home without permission, but this was not a few years ago. This was now.

Jason came around the corner, looking surprised when he saw the officer there, “Can I help you?”

“Mr. Moore?”

“Yes?”

“You are in violation of The United States Purification act. As a Non-Citizen of this country I must require that you come with me until further notice.”

“What?” Mindy said, rushing to her husband she grabbed his arm, “What do you mean? He's a permanent resident, we have the papers if you want to check them over. . .”

“The rules have changed. Mr. Moore, please come with me.”

“You can't be serious?” Jason looked from the officer to Mindy and back again, “This is a clear violation of my rights! I . . .” The front door opened, two more officers stood there, each with a rifle. Mindy took a deep breath, feeling the blood drain out of her face.

“What are you doing?” she whispered.

“Sir,” the first officer repeated, “You are coming with us. Please do not struggle. Anything you do can, and will, be held against you.”

“This is insane,” Jason said. Two steps forward brought the man within reach of Jason, he backhanded him across the face, sending the small man staggering backwards.

“You will not be so disrespectful of an American Government official. Please come with me.”

“No! He will not be coming with you!” Mindy stepped forward and the officer slapped her, she spun smashing into the table and sending the family pictures crashing to the floor. Glass shattered everywhere, digging into the palms of her hands.

Jason lunged for her, crying out but the officer grabbed him, spun him around and slammed him against the hallway wall. One of the other men pulled out handcuffs and snapped them onto Jason's wrists.

“You can't do this!” Mindy said, pulling herself back onto her feet. She wanted to lunge at him, kicking and screaming, but before she got a chance one of the other men shoved her to the side making room for the officer and her bound husband to be lead through. Jason struggled but the officer just slammed his head against the wall. “What are you doing!” Mindy yelled.

“Teaching the alien some respect.” The officer said. He turned his head to her, smiling slightly, “You might want to think about the people you want to be associated with, Miss Ibori. This is a time of great distress within our country. You'll want to be careful.” He shoved Jason out the door, blood slightly seeping from beneath his hairline, and slammed the door behind him.

Mindy stared after them, feeling her head spin.

“Mommy?” Andy whispered, he was peeking from around the corner of the play room, his eyes wide, “Mommy, where are they taking daddy?”

Time

2012-02-24T23:33:00.002-08:00

No time to spare,
When the clock bells chime
No moment for those here around us.

No listening word,
When the kids all scatter,
There simply are too many,

Will there be a sight,
To pause the masses?
Will there be an idea so beloved?

When our lives are measured.
By what we attain,
Instead of by what we imagine.

Work comes in all forms,
But will minds be open,
To ideas and thoughts to be fed?

To reach for the sky,
Then be stopped by a wall,
Caused by far greater men to stumble.

But by stumbling, we fall,
By falling, we crawl,
And slowly move onward again.

Then our eyes will be clear,
Our sight will be given,
We'll know when to stop and to listen.

To see more than lines,
To see more than fences,
But discover and be more than living.

English

2012-02-23T08:17:00.001-08:00

Literature has enabled mankind to remember a lot of different things. We look back through the past and view history through the eyes of people that wrote down the stories. The fictional ones, the real ones, the ones that commented on society and the growing norms, it doesn't matter. For hundreds of years we based the intelligence and growth of a civilization off of their literature, what they decided was important enough to be written down. The bible has survived 2000 years of civilization change, people change, ideology change, but still it remains, still it is a marker of something that is important to millions of people. Literature is what we used to think was the most important mark of an intellectual, the writer is who came to define history.

And yet, look at the English Major now.

I find it fascinating that what was once the most studied, the most important, and the most intellectual of all the subjects is now looked down upon. When I tell people that I'm an English Major, a lot of them smile little smiles of "oh, I see. You're just here to get married." Or, "Where are you going to go with that? Home with the children?" It frustrates me that so many people think I'm only learning about English because it's "easy" and I'm just going to college so I can say I have a degree but then never use it. It's so strange, because the history of English, the history of literature, is so rich and full of ideas. Ideas drive mankind, it's what leads us and pushes us to progress. Even now, when people look back at this time we'll see all of the technology advances, we'll see all of the change that has occurred, but how will we study it? How will we look at it? Through the literature that is being produced. Through what is being written down now!

I'm writing this for a variety of reasons. One of them is because I was having a little bit of an identity crisis for the past few months. I haven't updated this blog in so long because part of me had given up on the idea of ever becoming a writer, or ever doing something that would really effect the world. But, I recently came to the realization that giving up on any dream is foolish. Even if I don't do anything else, I can still be a writer, and I can still get my words out there.

A few weeks ago, I was trying to decide whether or not I wanted to remain an English major or change that major to something else. I was contemplating English Teaching, even though that had never been something particularly appealing to me. I was hoping that by teaching English perhaps I could feel like I was doing something useful with my major, actually developing a skill that I'd be able to market. But something continually held me back. Every time I felt like I had made the decision, that I wanted to be a teacher, I would start to voice that desire and immediately begin to doubt myself. It was an uncomfortable teeter-totter ride. I began to get exceedingly frustrated, and started talking to close friends about it. One of them told me I was looking at it the wrong way, and that I needed to stop thinking, “What can I market?” and start thinking, “What do I want to do?”

I took his advice to heart, sitting down with myself and really trying to think about what I wanted to do. What brought me joy, what was something I would love to do for the rest of my life? The answer came quietly, barely a whisper above all the other raging, arguing voices in my head. It was the voice I'd shut down as impossible, as being too irresponsible to actually pursue. It sounded astonishingly like a junior high/high school version of myself. It whispered, “I just want to write. . . I want to tell stories.”

I was shocked. I just sat there for a moment, dumbfounded. How could I have forgotten? How could I have let myself degrade so far that I had actually allowed my main goal since I was 12 years old fall into disrepair? I hadn't written a story in months, my ideas were fleeting and never seemed to last more than a paragraph at best. I hadn't invested any time into creativity, because I was “just too busy.” I'd failed myself.

But I'm not going to let that happen anymore. This story blog has been neglected for months, almost an entire year since the last post. I don't want that to happen again. I have to make time for storytelling.

So, the English major has been frowned upon by a lot of modern society, thinking that it is frivolous, foolish, and that it can't take you anywhere. But history tells us that it is the literature, the writers, that decide the future of the world. So let's see what we can do, shall we? Let's see what kind of history I, personally, can create.

Growing Up

2011-04-13T22:12:00.000-07:00

This is the beginning of a new story idea. I might post more chapters here, but it all depends on the feed back I get. If you guys want more, please tell me. Thanks! (oh, and this is a rough draft, so I'm sure there are issues, my apologies)

The neighborhood wasn't extravagant. It followed a little side road, bending into a coldasac. The sidewalks were cracked and worn looking. It wasn't like the place had been there for a long time. It just seemed well used. Children still ran around and played in the trees. Some kids were riding their bikes on the road, trying to make sharp turns and race each other back to their driveways.

Kieran kept his head down, looking only at the sidewalk slabs as he moved his feet slowly forward. Why was he doing this? It was just like stabbing himself repeatedly through the heart. He could feel the organ pulsing in his chest, but he didn't really want to think about it. He just knew that he needed to come back. He needed to look at this place. The home where he grew up, where everything began. Lifting his head a little, he watched the children playing. Their bikes were of a different style, they wore different clothing, but everything else was essentially the same. They'd even made a make-shift jump from old wooden planks no doubt taken from their father's tool sheds. Kieran couldn't help the small smile from forming as he watched them.

And there, over by the red bricked house was the apple tree he and Cali had climbed. She'd slipped and broken her arm. Kieran almost laughed aloud at the memory, though he'd been panicking at the time. He'd thought she was going to die, and while he'd been panicking, Cali had been screaming her head off. They'd only been around six or seven.

Kieran walked up to the tree, putting his hand on the rough bark. It was a lot bigger than it used to be. He could probably even climb it now and have it hold his weight. Part of him was tempted to do just that. Throw down his pack and scramble up into the branches just like when he was a child. He wondered if the view was the same. If the two branches that perfectly provided cover so they could peek out and spy on the neighborhood were still in the right spot. He wondered if the apples tasted as sweet. Probably. Why would the taste of apples change? But at the same time, he couldn't help but wonder if they had. Couldn't help but wonder if even something as small as the crunch of an apple could escape the change.

The gravel crunched under his feet as he headed toward his house. His old house, more appropriately. It still had a green door. Kieran was kind of surprised the new owners had kept it that way. But then, why wouldn't they? He'd always thought the color was nice. A deep forest green. It wasn't anything like Cali's door, which was the next house over. Her door was a brilliant red. He used to always tease her about it. She said that it meant welcome. He said it reminded him of blood.

Blood. . .

It was like a flood. Every street light, every yard, every house, they all had stories. They all had memories. Kieran took a deep breath, pushing his feet forward. It didn't seem normal. Didn't seem like this place could hold all this pain. Not when it was a place of so many childhood memories. Why did they all ache? Was it because each one had Cali in them? Was it because she wasn't with him? Would he even want her there if she'd offered?

Kieran turned away, feeling bile rise in his throat. He didn't know why he'd come back. He didn't know why he felt the need to torture himself. Was it just another punishment? Something to show him what he could never have again? He was never going to return to this life. It wasn't his. He didn't have a right to it.

He didn't have the right to want it either.

Chapter One

“I swear, I won't put the worm in your mouth.” Kieran crossed his hand over his heart, a fiendish grin on his face, “Now close your eyes.”

“I don't believe you,” Cali scowled down at the wriggling creature in Kieran's hands, her nose wrinkling in disgust, “You'll try to put it down my shirt, or something.”

“I will not.” Kieran shook his head, “You have to trust me.”

“Um. . . No.”

“I dare you.”

“No.”

“I DOUBLE dare you.”

“Mom said double dares were stupid.” Cali crossed her arms. Kieran was tempted to grab her and shake her, just for fun.

“Your mom obviously doesn't know the rules,” he explained, his face attempting at sincerity, “Once you've been dared, you can't back down.”

“Mom said. . .”

“Mom said, mom said, what are you, a goody good?”

“I don't want you sticking that worm down my mouth!” Cali grabbed at it, taking Kieran by surprise and knocking him over. They wrestled for a second, Kieran trying to keep the worm out of Cali's reach while she desperately clawed for it.

“Stop! You're going to kill it!”

“Then give it to me!”

“No!” Kieran jerked his hand back just as Cali lunged forward. Her head collided with his jaw, making him gasp in pain. He jerked his hand forward, the worm wiggling free and slapping Cali in the face.

“Kieran!” Cali screamed smacking her face with her hands, squirming away from him and panicking, “It's in my hair! Kieran it's in my hair!”

“Hold still! Hold still and I'll get it out!”

“It's in my hair, Kieran! Kieran!”

A silver car turned onto the street. The engine purred nicely as it crept up the street at the slow pace required of everyone traveling in a family neighborhood. Kieran finally managed to pull the worm away from Cali, throwing it into the dirt. The car crept closer, Cali turned to look at it, frowning.

“Who's car is that?” she asked, distracted. Kieran followed her gaze and frowned. He didn't recognize it. It was too shiny to be a car that came from their neighborhood. It pulled up to them, rolling down it's windows.

“Hey kids,” The man poked his head out the window. He had light brown hair and a cheerful smile. The summer day was bright, so he had sunglasses on against the glare. Kieran frowned, shifting his feet uncomfortably. Something bothered him about the man. He seemed normal, but Kieran never liked strangers. His mom had just had a new baby, and Kieran felt like every stranger that came by was trying to steal his baby brother. Plus the man's smile. . . it was really white. Almost obnoxiously white. No good person could have teeth that looked like that. “Do you know how to get to Walmart?”

“Walmart?” Cali repeated, frowning. “It's down the hill.” Kieran couldn't tell where the man was looking, because of his sunglasses, but he felt like he was being watched. He shifted his feet uncomfortably and took Cali's hand. He pointed with the other, back the way the car had driven.

“Turn that way,” he motioned with his left hand, “And go down the hill. Once you're there you should see it across the busy street.”

“Thanks Kieran,” the man smiled, pulling back into his car, “You know,” he said, “You usually don't see two kids like you playing together.” Kieran looked at Cali, then the hot summer sun above them, and then at the other kids littered around the coldesac.

“What do you mean?”

“How old are you?” The man asked instead. Kieran hesitated.

“We're nine.” Cali frowned, her blue eyes confused, “Why?”

“Just wondering.” The man began to pull his car backwards. Kieran felt a rush of anger at him. He grabbed one of the rocks by the road and threw it, hoping it broke through his windshield. The car sped away, and Kieran almost thought he saw the man laughing.

“Kieran!” Cali shouted, shoving him, “You can't do that!”

“That guy was creepy, Cali.”

“So? What would your. . .”

“If you say mom, I swear I'm going to hit you.” Kieran scowled. Cali sighed and turned away.

“You can't just throw rocks at cars,” she said firmly, “It's wrong.”

“Not when they're creepy.”

“Even when they're creepy.”

“Well, that's a stupid rule.” Kieran turned toward his house, pulling Cali's hand, “Come on, let's go get some lemonade.”

“Yum, okay!”

Kieran was almost afraid that Cali would tattle on him and tell his mom about how he threw the rock at the car, but she didn't say anything. She threw him a look when his mother's back was turned, but otherwise kept her opinions to herself, which he was grateful for. They had sandwich's and lemonade. Kieran's baby brother was trying to nap, so they had to be extra quiet. It was just a typical summer day. The two friends had spent every day of summer vacation terrorizing their little town. They took turns going to the other person's house, though Kieran was always really excited when Cali came to his house. It wasn't too long ago that he didn't think his mom would let him be friends with Cali anymore, because she was a girl.

“You need to spend sometime with the boys too,” she'd said.

“Why?”

“Because. . .Sometimes it's good to be with boys, and other times with girls.”

“But Cali's not a boy.”

“No, she's not.”

“But how can I spend time with boys when Cali isn't a boy?”

Sometimes it was better to just not ask questions.

Years later, Kieran would remember everything they did that day. It wasn't like it was any different than most other days. The only notable thing at all was the appearance of the creepy stranger. But every detail was still burned into the boy's memory. He remembered how they biked down to the river by the horse pastures and played in the water even though their parents had told them not to. He remembered that they camped out in Cali's backyard, with a fire pit and marshmallows. He remembered that Cali's parents taught him the constellations and told them about the Greek myths.

He wanted to remember all of it. Because if he didn't, then none of it would have been real. And everything would have just been a nightmare from the beginning.

But it wasn't. It didn't start out that way. The nightmare began when someone ripped the tent open.

Shadows

2011-02-11T10:01:00.000-08:00

Two shadows followed them.

It was just a normal shadow, following behind them because their bodies blocked out the sun. There were two, just walking down the road that didn't seem that extraordinary. There were mountains in the distance, a sunset on the horizon. The shadows held hands, though the people didn't touch.

They were talking, low murmurs as they walked. Neither wanted the walk to end, but neither could allow it to continue on forever. The shadows held onto each other tightly, as though trying to become one shadow, one patch of darkness smeared over the ground.

The first person stopped, turning toward the second. They stood and faced each other, still speaking softly. The second was shaking their head, covering their face. But the first continued to speak. The shadows turned to each other as well. One reached inside itself, pulling out a shadowy heart. It pushed its gift toward the first, gesturing for the other to take it. It was vulnerable, pulsing. The first shadow pushed the heart away, almost afraid.

“Please,” The second person whispered, reaching to touch their friend. The first turned away, tears flecking their face. The shadow slumped in on itself, quivering. Then pulled something from inside itself. The second shadow still held the heart, reluctant to pull it in. The first brought out a long sharp tool.

The knife wasn't substantial. It was a just a shadow, an echo of something real. But it was sharp, like the tooth of a jaguar, or the tongue of snake. It reached forward, piercing into the tender skin of the vulnerable muscle. It sliced through the meat, ripping the soft organ apart, like the tearing of a lamp chop or chewing through a steak. The second shadow tried to pull back, squirming and writhing in terror and pain. The person reached out to the companion, trying to touch their hair. The second fell back, holding their head in their hands. Both shadow and human shook and trembled, their movements matched and reflecting. The shadow pulled into itself, becoming nothing more than the huddled shadow of the huddled person who sat on the ground, unable to stand.

Tears streaked down the first person's face, as they turned away and began to walk back down the path. But the shadow smiled as it turned away, pulling out a cloth to methodically clean its hardened blade.

Sonnet

2011-02-02T13:13:00.001-08:00

So, My old Creative Writing Teacher made me write a poem because I was bored. And I figure, why not post it? I like posting things.

So here it is!

They dominate the Western lands
With all their fright'ning power
Emotions are cold, unclear and sour
As they hold us in their hands

And the beaches and sands
Morph into her dower
Never to be free of this frightening coward
Who fears to release our bands

But the people rebelled
Because when a person sees clear
He recalls all that he holds dear
He sees the black smoke, the waste, and the pain
As the companies continue their weld
And will fight them off for his own gain.

Light

2011-01-27T22:42:00.001-08:00

So this is just a sketch. I think the idea is cool but I'm not sure if I'm completely satisfied with the results just yet. Please tell me what you think so I can know where I should fix it or how I can make it better. Thanks!

She held a light.

It was small, barely noticeable. But it glowed around her, illuminating the small patch of concrete she stood on. There wasn't much around, except the concrete and the light. She pulled the light closer to her chest, hoping that it wouldn't go out, because it flickered and dimmed but would then brighten. If the light went out, there would be nothing but the darkness. Nothing but the shadows.

But for now, she stood there in the light, with the fringes of the abyss reaching toward her, but still held at bay. She liked it that way. She could see the abyss, she could see the darkness, but it couldn't touch her. She was safe.

But for how long?

The light flickered again, sending little rays to push at the dark but then returning as it pulled back. It wasn't a normal kind of darkness. It didn't seem content to stay at the edges, it wanted to reach out and touch her. Reach out and pull her in. She wasn't sure if that was a good or bad thing. What would she do if it reached her? What would she do if it didn't stop until there was nothing but the black night?

She wasn't sure if she was content to simply sit there in the darkness, with nothing but the light to keep her safe. What if just this little light wasn't enough and the shadows and darkness grabbed her? She needed to move, move forward, sideways, or backwards, it didn't matter. She just needed to get away from her small slab of concrete. She needed to find her way out of the dark and into the light. Because there had to be light. She didn't know why, but she knew that there couldn't always just be dark everywhere. Somewhere, some place, there was light, and she needed to find it. It was very important.

Very. . . important. . . She took a step. The ground quivered a little bit, and the light flickered threateningly. She shivered, but didn't stop. She needed to keep moving. If she didn't move, then nothing would happen. And that was bad. Wasn't it? Her mouth felt funny, like something was different about it. It felt strange. She swallowed to make it go away, but the feeling remained. Her steps were coming faster now, and she had to keep herself from bolting forward. She needed to be careful. She didn't want to trip.

Wait. . . what was a trip? But she knew. . . she knew that tripping was when you fell. She couldn't fall. It was vital, if she fell, her light might go out. She pulled her light closer again, her heart beating frantically. The light must not go out. It must never be allowed to go out.

The sounds of her steps echoed against the blackness. Instead of swallowing it up, it seemed to bounce back at her, each step a soft thud. The girl took a deep breath, feeling something surge in her chest. It felt a little like the light, or a balloon, but inside her. She blew it out and whistled, the tune simple but sweet. It was easy to keep track of, easy to walk to, and the sound bounced off the darkness and wrapped around her. Like a blanket. She whistled louder. Her light grew brighter and the night seemed to push back a little, freeing her even more. The concrete wasn't so plain now. There were little specs of color in it, like glitter. The girl rubbed her foot along the floor, feeling the roughness, the texture. It was then that she realized that she was barefoot, the ground rough against her feet. It felt nice, and she wiggled her toes as she walked, revealing in the feeling of the ground beneath them.

The light was very bright then. It shined around her like a halo, brightening her step and sending her music floating through the air. She twisted, letting herself dance. Her feet played across the ground, sending her through the steps gracefully. She was alone, but she was free. She was beautiful. There was a silver dress that draped her frame, and it swung out as she spun. The material was soft, glistening in the brilliant light around her. She laughed, the sound breaking the darkness apart. Bits of it cracked, and the light sped into them, illuminating the area all around. There was still blackness, but the light was large, so that the girl could see a great many things around her.

The ground was no longer just concrete, but tiles, smooth and brilliant. There were cracks in it, large and jagged pieces torn up from the ground and leaving large chasms gaping in the earth. The girl paused, surprised at the ugliness the light illuminated. Her light grew smaller, the sights disappearing before her, until the light was just a small circle around her once more.

The darkness hid the torn up ground, but now she was afraid. She stopped, and stood there for a moment, clutching the light to her chest. She was afraid that it would go out, but she was also afraid of what it might show.

But then she saw the other lights. Dim, and far away, but she could see them. They were yellow, or white, far away and in the distance, but they were definitely there. Were there people in those lights? Were there others like her? She took another step forward, but was afraid to keep going. What would she find? Or would she fall into the gaping chasms around her? But. . . how could she keep going if she couldn't see?

She had to see.

“Melanie!” The voice echoed along the darkness, but the girl recognized it. “Melanie!” it was a name. It was her name. Melanie felt the light grow brighter, and she was aware of the tile beneath her feet and the dress hanging on her shoulders. It felt nice, and carefully, she pressed her lips together and sent out the little tune. An answering whistle drifted back through the darkness. She smiled, and with one bounce of her heels, ran toward the sound.

Melanie's light grew brighter, the glow illuminating her steps once again as she danced, but now more lights were alongside hers. They didn't touch, but she could see them. Other people, men and women, all dancing with their lights glowing around them. Many of them laughed, all were smiling, and all looked at her with a bright joy in their eyes. Their eyes! They were green, gold, brown, black, blue, and every shade between. One of the girls ran to her and threw her arms around her, “Melanie,” she said, holding her shoulders and pulling back. She wore a golden dress, with the same design as the girl. Her name was. . .

“Jill,” The girl whispered. Jill smiled and took her hand. Their lights both grew brighter, illuminating four times as much as when they stood alone. The others turned toward them and hesitated, but Melanie gestured for them to come forward. One boy took a breath and called out the whistle, and Melanie and Jill answered. The boy came forward. He wore a plain white t-shirt and tan pants. He approached them cautiously, since they were standing still. Melanie held out her hand, and he took it. They both grinned widely as the light broke forward, and though it illuminated broken landscape and wrecked grounds, the light was beautiful. Like crystal or gems. The boy was named Michael.

“Michael,” Melanie whispered. He nodded, then turned his gaze out to the people still in the dark. Their lights were strong, but when they stood together it was stronger.

“Jacob,” Michael said, holding out his hand. Another boy stepped forward, hesitantly, but with determination. Jill held out her hand as well. He came forward and grasped it. Michael clapped his free hand and clapped him on the shoulder. There were tears in his eyes, but the light grew so bright that they glittered like precious stones upon his face. The others were out there still. But they came. One at a time. And they clasped the free hands of the people who had joined the circle. They clasped the hands until everyone was together, all connected in a great line. Their light was so bright that there was no spec of darkness in the entire area. It was all filled with light.

And the sight was beautifully terrifying.

There were people. Lying down in the once darkness. Their faces cracked, their eyes shut, their limbs splayed apart on the floor. All of them lay on the ground, all of them had tracks of tears rolling down their cheeks. There were men and women, with different clothing and hairstyles, with different skin colors and facial features. They were all so different, and yet all the same. Because all looked so very alone.

Melanie pulled her hands free of Jill and Michael. They stared at her, reaching out to grab hold of her again, but she pushed them gently away. It was hard to pull away from the crowd and approach the still bodies on the floor. Part of her wanted to flee back to the safety of the others, but she pushed herself onward. If she had been on the ground, she would hope that someone would come to her. She knelt by the person closest to their group. She knew him. His name was Richard. She pulled him gently toward her. Pulling him into her lap. “Richard?” she whispered, brushing back his hair, “Richard?” his eyes fluttered and new tears began to fall. As the brilliant green eyes opened he only stared at her, then shook his head, mouthing a silent denial.

“It's okay,” Melanie said. And the world shattered. The words weren't just a name. They were a confirmation. Something new, something different. “It's okay.” Melanie said again. The world wasn't being destroyed. The shatter cracked open the light, bringing forth something. . . more. The other bodies began to stir, a little light resting gently upon their chest. Melanie helped Richard to his feet, and the others began to help the waking ones.

As more of them were helped to their feet, the light began to overcome everything. There was no darkness now, no shadows or hidden areas. It was beautiful and it was frightening. Though many were stirring, the bodies stretched into the distance, lying on their backs or their bellies, as still as death, and the landscape was still broken and terrifying. But the light showed it all. Melanie straightened her back and took a step forward, the others following behind her. The way was rough, many had fallen, but they were here now.

And their lights had yet to go out.

Sixth Heart

2011-01-24T08:30:00.001-08:00

The Fates created a heart,
It was fleshy and weak,
soft like velvet and red like blood.

They handed it to someone who didn't understand,
Who dropped it and crushed it,
With a single step when he ran.

The fates wept from pain,
But didn't want to quit,
So they created a new heart.
Believing they would make it right.

The new heart was brittle,
With an outer hardened shell,
But a rough setting cracked it open,
Splitting it apart to let the insides drip and spoil.

The third heart was like glass,
Shining and glittering in the light,
It was taken and thrown,
The wall shattering it's beauty,
The shards splitting, and cracking, and screaming.

The fourth was thick,
Fleshy but strong,
It beat with determination,
Continuing, beckoning, but wrong.
The people took their needles,
Jamming into the thickened skin,
They tore it to shreds,
Each bit by tiny bit.

So the fates hid their final piece,
Behind walls of granite and stone,
They guarded it with beasts,
With chains and locks,
Hoping no one would enter,
And tear out their heart.

But one brave soul,
He mounted the walls,
He fought off the beasts,
And unlocked the cages and chains,
When he finally reached the heart,
It was beating determinedly,
He picked it up and cradled it,
Careful to be gentle,
Reluctant to see it freeze.

But no man is perfect,
No one without fault,
And he squeezed that poor heart,
Throbbing its muscle,
Interrupting it's strong beat.

And the Fates mourned,
Wondering what to do,
All their hearts had been ruined,
Broken, slashed and killed.
Was there no good here?
Was there no reason to continue?
What was the point when all their work was battered and betrayed?

Then someone came to them,
And opened their hand,
The sixth and final heart,
Its beauty defied all men,
It was light as the air,
Strong as the mountains, wind and sky.

“It cannot be destroyed,” he promised,
as he handed the heart to them,
“Just let it fly, and let it float, and let it touch everyone here,
There is nothing that can harm it,
No weapon that will rip it,
But it will travel to all those people,
Who need it but won't take it.
This is the sixth heart,
And it belongs to all who behold it.”

The Price

2011-01-19T23:25:00.000-08:00

I just. . . wanted him to come home.

The iris was purple, the petals fanning out and looking as though they were just waiting to fall. I held it carefully in my hands, kneeling on the side of my grassy hill. I hadn't been here in a long time, ever since he was called away, ever since he'd put on that uniform, I hadn't wanted to come back. I didn't think I wanted to see this place anymore.

Which was silly. I'd never had him come with me to this place. This place was mine. My eyes stung, the tiny prickles threatening to restart the waterworks, but I didn't let it. I was done crying. It didn't even take any effort to hold the tears in anymore. Why hadn't I brought him here? I could imagine what would have happened. What I would have said. I would have explained everything. I would have told him what had happened and then he wouldn't have left. If he'd known. . .he wouldn't have just left. He would have stayed.

That's what I told myself anyway.

The flower twirled slowly in my hands. I wanted to throw it, tear it to shreds. I didn't know if I could stand looking at it anymore. I didn't want to think about what it meant. I didn't want to think about. . . about. . .

My breathing shook, my eyes clouding over. NO. I wasn't going to cry. I'd cried too many times already. It didn't do anything. There was no point in crying when no one was there to comfort me. Then it was just worthless tears. They were all worthless. WORTHLESS.

I took a deep breath, calming down. I was being silly. I knew the consequences of him leaving. I knew that. . . I knew he wasn't coming back. I should. . . I should. . . I sighed, putting the flower down softly in the long grass. I stood up, walking to the top, where a little garden bravely fought against the weeds. I pushed them aside, using my fingers and nails to dig a small hole. Leaning back to pick up the flower, I stuck the stem firmly into the ground, moving the dirt back to keep it firm. If all went well, the flower would grow a root and maybe then my special place would be covered with them. Covered with little irises. Wouldn't that be nice? I smiled, scrubbing at my eyes a little. Smearing mud on my face.

It was chilly, the wind scraping across the grass like an icy breath. I put my hands in my jacket pockets, forgetting why I hadn't done so before. The little folded piece of paper crinkled in my fingers. My breath sucked in, freezing my chest. But like always, I pulled it out, smoothing the wrinkles and peering at the too tidy print. It was such a little letter. Shouldn't little letters be unimportant? It should be the long letters I'm afraid of, not short ones. But that wasn't the way reality worked. That wasn't the way my world worked.

Dear Mrs. Gunther,

Your husband was a brave man. He died a hero. You should be proud. He served his country well, and we will all miss him. His donation to our cause has made a difference and we hope that this knowledge will help you through this difficult time. Please accept our deepest condolences.

I should be proud.

My husband died and I should be proud. My hands shook, my shoulders trembled. I didn't want to move, didn't want to keep drawing breath. One hand gently cradled my growing belly, the slight kick sending a tremor of pain through me.

My husband died a hero? That's wonderful. But now he would never live to be a father.

I just. . . wanted him to come home.

Room

2011-01-16T19:55:00.001-08:00

I was in a large, bright room. The walls were white, the floor lightly tiled in a speckled pattern around my feet. And it was filled with people. People I knew, people I loved, people who meant more to me then anything.

They clustered around me, smiling, showing their hands. I smiled back, taking them, pulling myself toward them. They held me, and I held them, happy with their presence, with what they represented, with where I was. I was comfortable. Surely nothing could be more perfect then this, in a bright room, with people all around. Surely nothing was safer, surely nothing was better.

One of them turned away for a moment, squinting across the room. I cocked my head to the side, watching as she turned her back to me. Then someone else began to walk away. I grabbed his arm, but he shoved me off, still moving. Another person looked around, beginning to move outward. I tried to hold onto her, but she pushed passed. Soon they were all turning, all moving away. I tried to reach out, to hold them all in, but they wouldn't stop.

Soon I was alone by the wall, the speckled tile beneath my feet. The tile lurched, sending me sprawling. I tried to stand again, but the ground shifted, sending me flat on my back. Nobody seemed to notice as they walked further and further away. I tried to call out, but nobody seemed to hear.

Tears stung at my eyes, sending little bits of pain through the eyelids. My lips tried to form words, tried to make sound. “Come back,” I tried to whisper, but the ground jolted again, and my words were drowned out as I crashed to the wall.

I curled there, unable to move, seeing only the fuzz through my tears, doing nothing but stare toward the backs of the departing figures. I tried to reach out but my arms wouldn't move. I was alone.

Alone.

I wanted so badly to run after them, to hold them to me, to tell them not to leave. Why were they leaving? Why did they feel the need to go away? I needed them! Why couldn't they see I needed them? My head ducked into my arms, the tears falling freely now.

Something soft stroked the top of my head, lifting it up. A single hand reached toward me, palm up, waiting. I didn't move for a second, staring at the outstretched limb. He leaned down, gripping my wrists firmly, but gently. “Stand up,” he said, pulling me to my feet. I swayed, the ground still feeling like a wave. I looked into his face, feeling slight recognition. He wore robes of white and seemed to emit a soft, muted glow.

I licked my lips and tried once again to speak, but the words wouldn't form in my mind. I wanted to cry, but the presence of him kept me still. “It will be alright,” he promised, helping me take a step. I didn't want to. I was afraid to lift one foot and place it down again without all of my friends around me. I was afraid that the ground would shift and I would fall. I was afraid to do anything. But his hand was firm and strong. His step sure. So I followed.

Slowly, but I followed.

“You've never been alone,” he said, “And you won't ever be alone. But sometimes, when things get rough, you need to learn to stand.” He slowly let go of my hand, making me take a step on my own. I turned toward him in a panic, terrified that he would turn his back. But he didn't. He smiled at me, motioning me forward, “I'll always be close by and if you need me I'll be there.” My next step was firmer. My feet feeling more secure. “But sometimes you won't see me, or you'll forget to look for me.” I shook my head, turning back to him, “I'll never leave you.” I smiled holding out my hands, he took them, pulling me along, but then he let go.

“But by the same token, you must learn to walk on your own.” I closed my eyes, and when I opened them he was gone. Nothing but the retreating backs of those that left me behind. I didn't know for sure if he was gone, but I didn't think so. I looked around searching for a place to go. A door popped out at me, inviting me in. I moved forward each step more confident then the last. I didn't know what was behind that door, but I knew that I needed to find out. And even if nobody came with me, I knew that I had to do it anyway. But someone was coming with me. Someone would always come with me. Because he promised he would be.

Girl Code

2011-01-05T20:36:00.000-08:00

So, I wrote this story in like. . . half an hour. Maybe less. I was bored, had a few minutes, and decided, why not? It's completely ridiculous, but I think it's kind of funny. Oh, and it's not meant to be deep or anything. It really is just a ridiculous story that I busted out in a few minutes, and I decided to post it because the site has been boring lately.

Running is hard work.

I'm not kidding! Sweat was pouring down my face as I ran against the conveyer belt, my eyes fixed at some nonexistent point in the distance, trying NOT to think about how fast I was going and how tired I was. But that never really works.

Running is one of those weird exercises that most people hate—who're sane– some people love—they're the crazy ones– and some do just because they have to—that's me. I don't completely hate it, I think it's fun to feel the stretch and pull of your muscles, the feeling of going and going and going and never stopping, but on the other hand. . .

My lungs were stretching and pulling and I wanted to stop really badly.

But I didn't. Like always I pushed on, forcing my legs to keep going even though I didn't really want to. Running was the time when life just seems to flash before your eyes, you know? Like having a near death experience in a half hour. It could be called wonderful, but ever since my ipod broke it meant that I had to sit-- well, run-- through all of my problems every day. It was extremely annoying.

At the moment, the problems were all related to one thing: boys. Like always. This time it was my best friends boyfriend. He was flirting with me and making me exceedingly uncomfortable. But on the other hand. . . I'd liked Chris for more than half a year. Both Rachel and I had. When she'd caught him I'd respectfully backed off because that's what best friends do. You don't break that girl code. You just don't. Not unless you wanted to lose yourself a friend at least.

But now. . . he was totally flirting with me. And his eyes followed me whenever I moved. I couldn't help but think he was admiring my runners body. Speaking of which. . . Dang was it time to STOP yet? Nope. Still had fifteen minutes to go. Blast.

He had the most gorgeous dirty blond hair, it was cropped short, and I knew it was fun to fuzz. We all teased each other, and he fuzzed my head so I fuzzed his back. He has really, really good hair. Ugh. . . This train of thought was not helping me.

Rachel and I had been friends since we were two. Our mom's had been college buddies and they'd lived near each other after that. It was a miracle that neither of them ever moved, and Rachel and I had grown up together. We'd had our fair share of fights, who didn't? But life was good. We always made up and we'd gone through High School together, liking different boys the ENTIRE time. Our taste was COMPLETELY different. And yet. . . Why did she have to fall for Chris too? Chris was the only guy we could ever agree on that was completely hot. Completely gorgeous, which is weird because normally she had totally weird taste in guys, I mean. . Totally. But here we are. . . grrrr. ..

Run, run, run, run, run. . .

Why do I even care about this? This is crazy.

Run, run run run run run run run run. .

I'm so tired. . .

Runrunrunrunrun. . .
He has green eyes. . .

Runrunrunrunrunrunrunrunrunrunrunrunrunrunrunrunrunrun. .

“Lucy!” Rachel called. I yelped, twisting my head. My foot slipped, right off the conveyer belt.

Oh snap.

My legs flew backwards, sending my face straight into the tredmill. I fell forward, sliding down and collapsed onto the ground. My heart was still going a million miles an hour, my face was covered in sweat, and I was seeing double.

And laughing hysterically.

“Lucy, are you okay?!” Rachel ran over to me, trying to help me to my feet. I laughed her off, waving my hand nonchalantly.

“I. . hahaha,” I drew a deep breath, “Guess I have my answer.” Confusion cross my best friends face as I took her hand and she pulled me to my feet.

“And what's that?” she asked.

“I'm an idiot.” I grinned, giving her a gross sweaty hug.

I fell off a tredmill the other day, hahaha, it was great.

Waterfall

2010-12-21T10:19:00.001-08:00

When all else fails?

Jump.

Kori stared into the frothing mist of the waterfall, feeling the blood drain from her face. There were two choices, either let the hunters catch her, or jump down into the abyss and hope she didn't land on any rocks.

This should not have been that hard.

Kori swalowed, turning around and peering into the trees. She knew she didn't have much time. She held her backpack close to her chest, biting her lip worriedly. What was she thinking? This had obviously been a really bad plan from the beginning, and yet here she was, holding her bag and hoping she wasn't going to die one way or the other.

Heh. She sniffed at herself disdainfully, she'd accpeted that she was going to die a LONG time ago. Time to make use of it.

The huge bulldogs burst through the trees. Kori closed her eyes and jumped, throwing herself into the forthing, churning mess of the waterfall.

Look out, she thought, holding her breath as her body tumbled this way and that. She felt her skin hitting the side of the cliff, felt as some of it ripped, but it all seemed very distant. No doubt she would feel that later. But for now. . .

The water poured over her hair, drenching it. She felt shockingly freezing. The end was coming up, the poor of water was going to smash into her and envelop her, thousands of gallons of water were going to dump onto her head and she was going to die.

Well, that was the theory anyway.

Here I come.

Addiction

2010-12-02T15:49:00.000-08:00

This is something I wrote for my creative writing class. I'm a little concerned with my mental health. . . but whatever. it's a first draft, so have patience with it. This might say something about my mental health but I kind of like it :D Careful, it's ridiculously long.

It was just after six in the evening three months after the world went to Hell. Taern ghosted through the streets without making a sound, following after a man in a long blue coat. He stopped as the man reached a blank wall, looking up at it's height. He was almost as tall as Taern, but stood hunched over which made him seem much smaller.

“I know you're there Taern,” He said, “You don't have to hide.” Taern stepped out of the shadows and faced the man, keeping his hood covered.

“You know me,” he said.

“I remember you. Years ago it seems. Back in a time when you weren't afraid to walk out into the light.” He looked up at the street lamp lighting the small patch of gravel he stood on. Taern stayed as far from the illumination as possible. The man smiled sadly, his eyes swimming in the faint light, “Come with me Taern, we have something to discuss.”

He turned and began walking down along the wall, going toward the right. Taern thought about stopping him, but then began to follow. His eyes darted along the shadows, trying to keep everything that moved within his sight. The shakes were getting worse, he needed to finish this soon.

The man led him through the alleys until they reached the main road. Once there they followed a side road that led to a neighborhood of houses. They were all lit, the windows streaming light and the faint sound of voices crying through the doorways. Mothers called for their children to come inside out of the cold and fathers demanded that they hurry because they wanted dinner. The ground was crisp and chill, a faint frost dusting the lawns and houses.

“Wait a moment, Taern,” the man turned to face him once more, his green coat hovering around him, “We don't have to continue on just yet.” Taern stopped, his black boots crunching into the cold grass and breaking their fragile stems. His breath hovered around his face like a cloud and his fingers felt numb with the cold. He was still shaking, but he could control it for a little while longer. The man had to know how much danger he was in, why wasn't he running? What did he want?

“You think you've lost everything, don't you?” the man asked, trying to peer past the cowl of Taern's cloak. Taern was determined not to reply. His green eyes glittered in the midnight light. “Answer me, Taern,”

“What right do you have to demand anything?” Taern's voice was soft, barely more than a rumble in the night.

“I know something you don't.”

“Then tell me what it is,” He was tired of the wait, he needed this to be over, then he would return to the hills to live out his miserable existence until he couldn't stand to wait any longer. The man looked toward one of the houses on the street. There were more children around that house than any other, a woman calling to them as she wiped her hands on a green towel. Taern let his hand fall to his belt, pulling out a long obsidian blade. The warped, blackened glass reflected none of the dim light around it.

“Do you remember Taern? Do you remember?” The man spoke again, jolting
Taern from his thoughts.

“Remember what?”

“Remember when.” He began to move, walking toward the house with the most children. Taern scowled, his hand trembling where he held the blade. If he didn't answer his questions soon then. . .then what? He'd commit the deed before children?

Innocents?

What if they were like him?

Taern shoved the thought away. There were no others like him. He had searched, he was an anomaly. Unique. Not special, just a freak. He tried to steady the weapon, but if anything the shaking increased. “What are you talking about?” he whispered after the stranger. Why was he following him? Taern began to follow, almost against his will. Why didn't he just complete the deed and be done with it?

“I'm talking about this,” the man said. Taern followed his gaze. There was a little girl, blond, her hair chopped short, her gray eyes glittered in the street light, she knelt in the frosted grass, playing with frozen fingertips. She was freezing, but she continually ignored the woman's calls to come in. “I'm thinking about the girl.” Taern stared, fascinated. She was young, but not a baby, not a child. She had to be closer to 12 or 13. It seemed like years before she finally stood up and began walking toward the house. She walked with a frighteningly familiar step.

“Jessie,” Taern whispered. The name puffed out in a breath of white mist. The girl turned back, as though she'd heard him, then shrugged and rushed forward.

“I know something you don't know,” the man said. But he never finished. Taern yelled, spinning on his heel and ramming the black blade toward the man's heart. Let's see what you know.

The blade slowed, the world hesitated. The wind no longer felt cold and everything grew still and silent. Slow.

Silent.

Warm.

End.

And then it began.

[I]He'd been eleven when his father left. His sisters had all gotten older and left him before his mother got sick. But he'd always played with the chickens outback. Those stupid chickens that weren't good for anything but food. But he played with them, because there'd been no one else to play with.

Men came when he was fifteen. They told him things, things he'd never dreamed of. His mother told him to stay, begged him to stop, but he'd hit her and run away. She couldn't stop him. She was weak because she'd let his father leave. She couldn't stop him, and now she couldn't stop her son either. The boy ran.

He joined the group, he got older, learned how to fight, learned how to take care of himself. He learned that there were things out in this world, things that he didn't care to really know about. They scared him, but he fought them. He killed them, burned them, destroyed them. They grew to fear him, and ran when he came near. But he was strong. He stayed. He fought.

There was a girl, a beautiful girl with curly red hair. He loved her. They talked, smiled, held hands. He was afraid. Was he strong enough? Was she? What would she do if she found out what he did? He couldn't tell her, but he wanted to. He wanted her to love him the way he loved her. But was that possible?

They told him she was a monster, one of the ones he fought against. He told them she wasn't, she was different, he would change her. Tears fell from his eyes for the first time in a long time. He yelled, cried, fought, but he couldn't beat them. He watched in horror as they tied her to a stake and burned her alive, her beautiful green eyes wide with terror. Why? They asked him. Why?

Years later, he left. He wandered. He searched. He found someone, a young boy. Taern jolted within his mind, recognizing the black hair and steel gray eyes. The boy was reserved. Taern hadn't realized he'd been so different, even back then. He was the boy who would change everything. Should he kill him?

The boy was so young, he didn't know what he had done. The danger he had put the young girl in. ######The man felt a pain where his heart had been, so many years ago. He saw the cursed child with the girl. They were happy the way only the young were, before it was beaten out of them. But they didn't have much time left.

But he was too late. By the time he reached them the girl was already dead. The boy was gone, fleeing into the night. He had lost everything. The man searched through the rubble, his heart sinking. And then a small cry reached him. He turned over a spare table cloth, pulling out a young baby. He tucked the baby under his arm and walked away.

More images tumbled through the air. Taern watched every aspect of the man's life. He saw all of the horrible things he had done, all of the good. He watched him kill, watched him save lives. Saw the man save the baby and drop her off here, leave her with the lady at the care center. The man had searched for him for years. Looking for the cursed child. He hadn't found him.

Until now. [/I]

Like he always did, Taern tried to pull back, tried to stop the blade from its killing blow. Like always, he felt the blade bite into the soft flesh, peeling it back, a warm gush of blood seeping from the wound to coat his chilled hands. Gods help him, but it actually felt good.

The man fell to the ground, his eyes glazing over in pain. But a small smile lit his face, a sigh of relief, the last thought entered Taern's mind before the man went still and dark. The last thought to haunt him forever.

[I]Now it's in your hands, Boy.[/I]
* * *

Jade looked up when the lights went out, “Mrs. Laney?” she whispered. A few of the other children started to cry and she grabbed one of the younger kid's hands, gripping it tightly. “Mrs. Laney? What's going on?” There was no reply. The children's sobs were getting louder and Jade had to resist the urge to put her hands over her ears. What was going on?

“Jade?” She turned to the little girl who's hand was grasped tightly in her own, “What's wrong?”

“Nothing, the lights just went out.”

“Jade?”

“Yes?”

“What's that?” Jade spun around, her eyes widening as the silvery point of a blade rested at her throat. She froze, her entire body icing over and leaving her immobile. Something flashed in the darkness and the little girl began to cry with the others. Jade couldn't take her eyes off the shiny material pressed up against
her neck.

“Jessie,” a man whispered, his voice was dark, deep. Jade tried to keep herself from quivering, but only slightly succeeded.

“I-I'm not Jessie,” she whispered, the blade pressed tighter against her skin, “I-I'm Jade.”

“Jade?”

“Y-Yes.” She hated the quivering in her voice. She hated the stumble over the words. She straightened her back, tried to seem brave, but it was hard. It was difficult to think about anything but the feeling of the cold steel against her throat. She closed her eyes, hoping that if she couldn't see it gleaming then she wouldn't be able to feel it anymore. But she could. It was cold and sharp.

“What are you doing here?!” It was Mrs. Laney, Jade opened her eyes only slightly to see the woman's blur run toward the stranger. “What are you doing??!” she screamed. Jade jumped backwards when it seemed like her guardian would ram into the intruder, she had her nails out and seemed to be about ready to scrape them across the strangers back when he shifted.

It was so slight, Jade might have missed it if she hadn't been staring at his blur so intently. He barely moved, but in that movement the blade vanished from against her skin and flickered through the air. Mrs. Laney gasped. Jade thought someone was screaming but couldn't tell who. It seemed an eternity, like the world had decided to slow down and stop in that one, measureless moment. Jade opened her eyes wide, because she knew that she couldn't be allowed to miss a second of it.

A light seemed to be coming from Mrs. Laney. A whispy trailing light that flickered against the darkness. Jade frowned, feeling her stomach muscles tighten and jolt, if she squinted, she could see tiny figures dancing in the light. Little people. Most of them looked like Mrs. Laney, only younger. There was a little girl dancing through some flowers, a child crying by a tombstone. Two girls linking arms. A man leaning in to kiss a young woman. The images continued. Until finally the world seemed to speed up and the light vanished into the stranger.

And Mrs. Laney slumped to the ground.

“I'm the girl's father,” the stranger spoke to her corpse, he sounded tired and sad, “I'm here to take her home.” it was only then that Jade realized the screaming was her own.
* * *

Taern dropped his daughter onto a horse and rode. They rode far, the ride seemed like it would last forever, like nothing would ever stop them from just riding and riding and riding. He didn't know how much the young girl could stand but she never complained. She never said anything. Taern wondered how much of the Transition she saw. Did she see death the way he did? Did she have the curse that would make her life a living Hell if she ever shed another persons blood? Or was she just a normal girl who'd been shocked into silence after she'd essentially been kidnapped?

“Do you know who Jessie is?” Taern finally asked, trying to keep his voice impassive. He didn't know what to think of this girl, but she looked so like her. Looked exactly like the woman Taern had loved so long ago. Was it even possible that this was really her daughter?

“No,” the girl said, her voice quiet, “I don't know her.” She sounded strong despite the lack of volume. Taern could almost believe she wasn't frightened. Almost. He nodded and continued to ride. The two fresh lifespans he'd consumed warmed his insides and played out behind his eyelids. Sometimes he would do nothing for days after a Transition but sit and watch the life of the person he'd consumed. He sit and watch, criticize their stupidity, feel proud at their triumphs and cry at their sorrows. He almost never thought about how he'd killed them anymore. He never thought about how they would never get to return to whatever family they'd had before. He didn't think about how he was the one who had stolen their lives from them.

No, he couldn't think that way. Instead he would sit and watch, the memories alive and fresh in his veins. He felt good, felt alive as they played out along his insides, as though he had consumed their very souls and they were no warming his. He supposed that in a sense they were. If he even had a soul anymore.

Going without a Transition for more than a couple of days was torture for him. He would get the shakes first, but if he didn't satisfy his need soon then he would convulse on the floor, vomiting until he found the strength to push forward until he found the next life he wanted to consume. He couldn't live without them. If you could call whatever it was he did living.

The man he'd consumed had been a member of a group of people that hunted monsters like him. People who were different, who had. . . abilities. Some had the powers of the gods, others were more like curses. For Taern, it was a living nightmare. The man he'd killed should have been hunting him, but he hadn't been. He'd been leading Taern to his daughter. To the child of the only person Taern hadn't felt the need to kill, the only person who he had wanted to consume in an entirely different way. .

Taern bowed his head, his shoulders shaking. The tip of his forehead rested against his daughter's hair, making her shift uncomfortably beneath him. “Who are you?” she finally asked. She had Jessie's fierce temper. Taern looked up, they were traveling through fields of grass. The mountains in the distance. Should he take her there or should he continue to a town?

What, precisely, had he ever thought about doing with this child?

“I'm Taern,” he said, “Your mother was Jessie.” He didn't want to talk about it, but the words felt compelled to come out of him. Maybe it was because he'd never spoken them aloud before. Only let them consume his nightmares. “What's your name?”

“J-” Taern could almost here her clamping her jaw in an attempt to stop stuttering, “Jade.”

“That's a pretty name.”

“Why did you kidnap me?”

“Because. . .” Why had he kidnapped her? “Because you're my daughter too.” The girl fell silent for a moment, her body shaking.

“You killed Mrs. Laney.”

“Yes.”

“W-why?” Taern was taken by surprise at the question. Which was odd, since it really wasn't that strange of a question. In fact, it was rather reasonable. Why had he killed the woman? Maybe he was just so used to killing by now that the thought of there actually being a legitimate reason astounded him. When was there ever a good reason for killing someone? Didn't that seem a little like a oxymoron?

“She. . . was in the way.” Taern squinted, trying to pretend that there was something he was trying to see in the distance. The girl shivered in his arms and he tightened them automatically around her. She stiffened but he pretended to ignore it.

“What are you?” she whispered. Taern dug his spurs into the horse's flank, making him leap forward. The wind howled in his ears, his heartbeat loud in his chest. What are you? What are you? What are you?

The girl didn't ask anymore questions.

There was a little village at the bottom of the mountains. It was cute. The little houses all lined up in rows behind the main street. There weren't many shops, most of the “villagers” lived further out on their farms. Jade shifted uncomfortably in the saddle, obviously feeling restless. Taern was slightly surprised, forgetting the hours it had taken for him to become accustomed to the saddle. She would be sore for days. They headed toward the town, stopping at the little inn that hovered just at the edge of town. Taern jumped off the horse, extending his hand for the girl. She hesitated, obviously unwilling to take it, when he grabbed her and pulled her down. A stable hand came out and took the horse, leading him toward the stables. The girl crossed her arms and looked away, still quivering slightly. Taern wondered if she was cold.

He grabbed her shoulder and steered her into the Inn, half expecting her to make a run for it the moment they walked in the door. People stopped and stared as they walked in. A few whispered urgently to each other. Taern walked up to the bar tender and ordered a drink and some water. The man stared at him for a moment, his jaw agape.

“Taern. . .You're. . .”

“The drinks Sampson.” Taern said.

“You're not supposed to be here, Freak,” the voice came from a man behind them. Taern glanced over his shoulder and saw a huge man standing up in his chair. His girth doubled past his belt and rippled as he straightened. Taern was dwarfed in comparison.

Jade watched as her captor sighed, his expression mildly annoyed, “Do you really want to push this?” he asked, “It's been years.”

“You should never have shown your face here again,” the big man said. Taern bit back a grimace. Jade scooted closer to him. He killed Mrs. Laney, but he wasn't nearly as frightening looking as the men around her. She hated herself for it, but she stayed close. “Who's the girl?” the big man demanded, “Now you're resorting to children.”

Taern made a snap decision, “She's my daughter,” he said. There was murmuring and angry noises from the onlookers, Taern couldn't help but smile, “Maybe
you should fear her as much as you fear me.”

“Is she like you?” For the first time, the giant looked small as he cowered before a twelve year old girl.

“Do you want to find out?” Taern's expression was neutral and uninterested. His eyebrow raised ever so slightly. Jade shifted uncomfortably under all the stares, but something else was stirring too. It was like she wanted them to come at her. She wanted to see if she could beat them. She wanted to see if she could beat them all.

Was. . . was she like her father?

“Get out!” The bar tender yelled. Taern glowered at him.

“I want my drinks,” he said, the entire tavern had gone silent. Taern reached to his belt and pulled out a long black dagger. All the light seemed to be drawn to it, like a black hole. Jade couldn't tear her eyes away from it. She wanted it. The same strange feeling she'd had when all of those men were staring at her, she wanted it. She wanted to feel it in her hand, she wanted to know if she could wield it. Or would it wield her?

What did that mean? How could a knife wield someone?

“How long has it been Taern? Since you last. . . fed.” It was the bar tender again, his voice gruff in the silence. Taern raised his eyebrows at him it was the only facial expression he gave.

“Last night,” he said, his body was completely calm, none of the tell tale shakes to show his usual need.

“Then maybe you'll run dry,” Something big leaped forward, ramming into Taern and knocking him backwards into the bar. The bar tender smashed a bottle, making the glass fly away in jagged, sharp points. The newly forged weapon was shoved toward Taern's throat but he was already in motion. He shoved his first attacker back, spinning and shoving him into the broken bottle. The bar keeper gasped and tried to pull back, but it was too late, the glass had already run him through. Now the others were in motion, the entire bar was in chaos, most running to mob Taern and the others dashing for the exit.

Taern leaped and rolled, moving so quickly he seemed like he was flying. His black dagger was merciless, drinking up the flood of life as it cracked their bodies open. Jade was fascinated, it was like everything was going in slow motion. He would be about to sink the dagger in and everything would slow, and the little light figures would begin to dance into Taern. Jade watched all of them, her father draining the body dry, before he would try to pull the knife back and spare the attacker.

It was always too late.

And then everything would speed up again.

As he fought, Taern looked like he was bursting with health. His eyes were bright, his skin gleaming. The more he killed the healthier he looked. Jade huddled underneath the bar, her legs curled up under her as the whirlwind of sound and screams cascaded down from everywhere. Part of her wanted to scream. She wanted to cry out and yell and yell and yell until the world stopped and people stopped dying. The bodies looked very strange right before they hit the ground, like something was missing. Like he'd done more than take their life. Some were grimacing, some crying, some growling, but all had one thing in common. They were dead.

What a worthless way to die.

Shouldn't death mean something? Why didn't it mean anything for them? Blood flooded the girl's cheeks as she glared at the men attacking her father and dying. They were all dying, and for what? Shouldn't they try to stay alive so it isn't worthless? Or was everything worthless already? Was that why they kept on fighting?

But no. . . now they were running. The few still standing turned and ran from Taern, some of them yelling, some of them just fleeing as fast as possible. The bar keeper was slumped over the counter, his hand still clutching the broken bottle. There were at least six men lying on the ground. None of them were breathing. None of them were moving at all.

Taern didn't leave survivors. Why didn't that surprise her?

Or more importantly, why didn't it mortify her?

Jade pulled herself out from under the bar, looking down at the bodies that lay between her and Taern. There was something missing. Something vital. A soul? Jade wasn't sure she believed in souls. She wasn't sure that such a thing existed. She knew what did exist though, lives. Living. People had stories, they had lives, they had secrets. Was that what was gone? Did such a thing leave a mark upon a person? She turned to her father, who was staring at her from dark eyes. He didn't say anything, just stood there. His blade wasn't even bloody, it still gleamed from the light it sucked into it.

“I know what you do,” She whispered. Taern tilted his head ever so slightly to the side, examining his daughter. “Stories.”

“What?”

“Their stories. You steal them. That's the only thing that nobody should be able to take, but you take them. You take their life story.” Jade took a deep breath, surprised that she was trembling. Taern started to take a step toward her when she vomited all over the floor. She fell forward onto her knees, her hands snaking out at the last moment to catch herself. There were tears in her eyes, but she couldn't seem to make them go away. “You steal them,” she repeated, “You steal their stories.”
* * *

“Does it hurt?” She seemed tired, her eyes drooping and red. She poked at the fire with a long stick, roasting the tip of it. Fire was strange. It only consumed. It ate and ate and ate without regards to anything else. Any good that it had, any good it presented, was just a by-factor of the consumption.

“No,” Taern said, “Not anymore.” Of course not. Why should it hurt him? Jade swallowed the lump in her throat. Did he think of them as friends? He must know them more than their closest family members. He would see where they were born, where they came from, their first love, their every loss. . . did he hate them? Or did he love them? Did their faces haunt his dreams? Would Mrs. Laney be remembered among all those faces?

“H-how do you. . .live?”

“By breathing.” Taern stopped, gazing up at the sky, “In and out.”

“You know what I mean,” she snapped at him, it seemed wrong. He shouldn't say things like that. He shouldn't joke. It wasn't funny. He didn't reply. The snap of the logs being consumed by the flames sent up a flurry of sparks. She jerked away to avoid getting burned. “Will it happen to me?” he stayed silent. “Answer me!”

“What do you want me to say?”

“I want you to say no,” there was a catch in her voice now, but she shoved it down, “I want you to say nothing is wrong with me.”

“You want me to say you're not like me.”

“Yes.”

“I can't.”

“So I am like you?”

“I didn't say that.”

“You just don't know.”

“No, I don't.”

“How can you stand it!? How can you look at them. . .”

“I don't look anymore.”

“Did you ever?”

He flinched slightly, but didn't look at her face. His eyes reflected the dancing flames. “I remember their eyes,” he finally said, “They were black. Soulless. Looking into them for too long made me feel like I was drowning. So no, I don't look at them anymore.” He stood up abruptly. Agitated. The flames parted in his eyes and Jade wondered if maybe she could see the memories, feelings and stories playing out behind his gaze. Did he still watch them when it was over? Did he remember all of their names? Did he love them or hate them? She had to know. She had to know if she was like him. She had to know if she was cursed like he was.

“Why did you take me?” she whispered, “I would have been safe where I was, I would never have the opportunity to. . .to. . .to kill anyone. I wouldn't have to worry about it!” Why did she worry about it now? What was the point? If she just didn't kill anyone. If she just didn't slide that obsidian dagger into anyone's lifeblood. . .

“Because.” Taern raised his hands and then dropped them lifelessly. “You look like her.”

“What?”

“Jessie.” he turned away, “You look like Jessie.” It wasn't an excuse. It didn't even come close to an excuse. And yet Jade laid down by her spot near the fire and didn't ask anymore questions. She didn't want to know, she decided. She didn't want to understand.

The night passed swiftly. Jade dreamed of monsters and fangs dripping with blood. When she woke up, Taern was already packing up the little camp, stamping out the fire, the few belongings already strapped to the horse. Jade laid there for a moment, her breath catching. When she could finally force herself to her feet it felt like the world was trying to shove her back down. What was her story? Did she even have one anymore? All these things happening to her. . .they didn't feel real. Like she was watching it from the sidelines. It was some other girl, some other time, some other reason. It wasn't real. It was all in her head.

Her blood pulsed in her ears, she wondered what it would look like if it spilled out over the ground. Would it be gleaming scarlet? Like rubies? Or would it just fall to the ground while all of her stories were stolen by the man behind her?

Why did she care?

Taern's dagger laid on the grass a few feet away from her. Jade took two steps and swept it into her hands, holding it gently. What would it be like? Having all of those stories to fill up your own? You wouldn't have to think about how your life was worthless, how nothing mattered. Because you would see the things that do matter. You would see the things that are important and some feeling would return to you. Maybe. Maybe he stole the stories because he couldn't live knowing his life had no reason and no point. He couldn't live believing he was a freak, so he killed people who didn't know, he killed them and lived through their lives. Maybe some of them actually made him feel better about himself. Maybe others made him want to die.

Maybe he should die.

“Jade?” His voice was very near. It wasn't angry, it wasn't annoyed, it was tired. Like everything was finally hitting him.

“How many have you killed?” she whispered.

“One or two every week for twelve years.” he said quietly. She nodded, her hands trembling. The dagger turned, pointing toward her.

“Do you love them?” she said, her breath puffing out in the morning air, gently misting her face.

“Every single one.”

Jade nodded, her hands trembling. It would be easy. What stories would she see? What things would she know?

Or should she just end it here and now?

“Jade.” her name sounded pretty coming from his mouth. Like it was something precious. Jade looked behind her at him, looked into those eyes and saw all those stories playing out behind them.

“How did you meet my mother?” she asked.

“We were school mates. She was my best friend. She didn't know I was a freak.”

“How did she die?”

“They found out.”

Jade turned slowly toward him, still clutching the dagger's hilt tightly in her hands, “Do you miss her?”

“Every single day.”

“Every single day,” Jade repeated, “Every single day.” The knife flew forward and everything slowed down. The blade slowed, the world hesitated. The wind no longer felt cold and everything grew still and silent. Slow.

Silent.

Warm.

End.

And then it began.

Titleless

2010-11-26T22:41:00.000-08:00

Look up.
Look down.
Look to the side.
Look around.

What do you see?
What do you want?
What do you hope for?
What can you pray for?

I don't know.
I never knew.
I don't understand.
I don't think you do.

Have you seen a person?
Have you seen a soul?
Have you seen the eyes of a pain wrecked hole?
Have you wondered why the world doesn't always seem to turn?

Done is the beginning.
Done is the end.
Done is my endless wandering around this wretched bin.
Done is my only cry as the horror pushes on.

Look what I have done.

Light

2010-11-21T13:47:00.001-08:00

Can you see light?

The light in the sky, the light in the wind, in the trees. Can you see the soul? The soul of a person, thought, being.

I thought we'd all get along great, I thought this world would hold true.

It doesn't.

It won't.

Light.

It flies through space and time, it goes faster than anything, moves more gracefully and efficiently. Why can't we all just be a little more like light?

What are we missing?

Choices.

We make mistakes, we are delusional, we forget. I don't want to forget, but how can I not?

Why do I write?

I write because to not would be to kill me, I write because I'm whinny, I write because I don't know what else to do.

Fly.

Soar.

Light.

Shine.

Don't forget. But what is it you really want to remember?

This is the way my brain thinks. This is the way that it functions and rolls. Do you recognize it? Can you see similarities between my brain and yours?

Or am I really all alone?

Home

2010-10-25T09:58:00.000-07:00

I'm not sure I like the idea of putting this one up here, but I'll do it anyway. This is another essay about another close topic. This one talks about home.

There's this street in my hometown of American Fork that runs exactly through the middle of everything. It's not extremely long, but it will take you from the New Walmart, to the library, through the fast food restaurants and all the way passed Macey's. It isn't the best street in the world-- No street within the borders of AF could be considered “The Best”-- but I cannot ride, walk, or look down it without having flashback mania.

Everything happens on that street. I worked on it; my best friend worked on it; it was the street we drove on to get anywhere and it was the street I walked on to travel everywhere! It was the street you could not avoid.

Once, after my best friend Caitlyn was finished working at the library, she, John and I were all hanging out around her car, staring out at that street. We were laughing, talking, teasing each other and texting everyone else in the known universe while we were doing it. I remember trying to keep things light while not actually looking at either of them since they would continually make goo goo eyes at each other, something that made me uncomfortable.

Knowing us at this period of time, it would never have surprised you that we were chatting with each other and texting every other friend known to mankind. Why? Because this was “The Era of Great Depression,” a period of time ranging approximately from January to the beginning of March. My senior year was terrible but January and February were the worst on dealing with it. So if we had a spare moment, it was spent hanging out with our friends and texting the ones that couldn't be there.

On this particular night, we were the unwilling witnesses to a texting battle we had been prepared for but didn't particularly want. It was between two of my closest friends, Erika and Amanda, and I don't even remember what it was about anymore. It lasted for. . . an hour? An hour and a half? Somewhere around there, and I played my usual role of jumping between the two trying to figure out what was going on. And at the same time was keeping up a pleasant conversation with Caitlyn and John and acting happy and hyper.

We were a bipolar bunch. Or we just had really good masks.

Even though I don't remember the specific reason for the fight, I do remember the sudden feeling of panic when Amanda sent out a text that said something along the lines of, “Whatever. It's fine. I just can't do this anymore,” and then stopped responding. Knowing Amanda at the time and the different things she was going through caused me to jump to a less-than-stellar conclusion as to what she meant. I launched myself into Caitlyn's Volkswagon Bug, Owen, (Yes, we named the car, and it was one of the coolest cars on the face of the planet. I swear, I spent more time in that beat up piece of junk then I did in my own house!) and told Caitlyn to drive to Amanda's as fast as she could!

I had been almost positive that Amanda was going to commit suicide.

I can't ride down that street at night without having flashbacks of that evening. It didn't turn out the way I thought it would; Amanda had no intents on committing suicide and had to talk to me for a good forty-five minutes before I would calm down. But as strange and anxious as the event was, it was only one of a long list of weird nights that I could spend pages upon pages talking about. See, American Fork is a dinky little town in the middle of Utah County. Nothing “cool” is ever supposed to happen there because it is Mormonsville within Mormonsville. The whole scenario is supposedly quite drab and altogether sleep-through worthy. And it was drab for most of my time living there. I had a few adventures when I was younger, but nothing too extravagant. Nothing that would scar me or make me remember every detail of a specific location or time for the rest of my life.
Until my senior year of course.

Then everything went a little psycho.

So home, to me, isn't home without the memories creeping up on me and sometimes forcing me into a little ball of pain. There have been many times where I want to hide from them and then turn around and realize that many of them were amazing On that same main street there is a park that sits right in front of our town Library. I sat there with the first boy I'd had a crush on in years and talked to him for hours. He kissed me in that park, on three different occasions. I can't walk through it without noticing the spots we sat, the places where he explained his life to me. It makes me smile even as it makes me sad.

In fact, I don't think there is a single spot in that entire city that doesn't bring back a rush of memories for me. Driving through the city with Caitlyn, running in the cool morning air, getting ready to have John teach me self-defense; getting my first bruise from said self-defense. I did a lot of crazy things my senior year. Not going to deny how fun it was, but it also left a lot of scars in a lot of places. The High School being one of the greatest. I never want to return there again, because the memories there are sharper than the memories on main street.

It was at the front of that building that the buses pulled up to a huge crowd of people, all standing silently with tear-filled eyes. I remember wanting to hide my face, duck down under the cushions and never come out. It was one of the hardest things I've ever done, to pull myself upright and walk with the rest of my band down the aisle of the bus and walk out those doors and into the crowd. They were all clapping their hands, the tension building in the air because I could tell that many of them wanted to break through those carefully constructed lines and rush at us. To be able to grab hold of their friends and children and never let them go again. I had to turn away my face because tears were beginning to fall from my already cracked and tired eyes.

I'll never forget that night; the night of the bush crash where one of our teachers was lost and a fourth of our band didn't come home with us, but instead were taken in emergency vehicles to the hospital. That night haunted me for months, making me unable to sleep and soaking my pillow through with tears. No, I don't want to go back to the High School. Some memories are even more painful than others.

My room was probably the place that I can most assuredly call home. I lived in the rest of the house only kind of. If I was home, I was hibernating. Which isn't to say that me and my family weren't getting along just fine, I just often wanted to be alone. Of course, that's only when I actually was home. Usually I was out with my friends doing some stupid thing or other; but if I was home, I was in my room. And if I was in my room, then I was texting.

Oh the wonders of texting! Most people would be astounded at my mad skills in that area. I've had fights, emotional realizations, and therapy sessions all via text message. Lots and lots and lots of therapy sessions. Usually they weren't for me, though I'll admit that some were, but most of my therapy sessions were for the friends who were struggling the most at the time. I love them all dearly, but I also stayed up until three in the morning talking to a few of them to make them feel better about themselves without them remembering that I would be getting up two hours later to go running.

Not exactly considerate but, at the same time, I never blamed them, or told them to stop. I wanted to be there, because for some strange reason I thought that maybe my presence helped. We were all depressed, but we clung to each other in the hope that maybe it would get better. And not all of my conversations were depressing. Many of them were fun and happy! Those are the ones I wish I could remember better.

My room became a place of music to keep me awake, homework half done as I texted my friends, and novels. Lots and lots of novels! I couldn't get enough of them throughout my childhood, let alone through my senior year. My room was my refuge; my hidden space. I loved it there and can still close my eyes and remember it exactly the way it was, before we cleaned it out and moved me to Provo.

So what does home mean to me? To be honest, the feelings are mixed. The memories of home all seem to be sharply inclined toward pain, which was actually one of the reasons I decided to move to BYU in the first place. I was tired of the flashbacks, tired of being unable to go down a single street without being taken back to that moment, or that second, whether good or bad. But by the same token, I wouldn't want those memories to ever go away. I wouldn't want to ever forget. Because those are the memories that shaped me, that shaped who I am today.

So I guess my only definition of home would have to be the result: Me.

Memory

2010-10-25T09:56:00.000-07:00

Okay, this isn't a story, but it's an essay and it's for creative writing so I think it's okay.

I really like this one.

I have a lot of really good memories. I have memories of days I took on dragons and monsters and knights in battle armor. I have memories of picking locks and stealing goods for the poor, or being Princess Peach and battling Bowser. I have memories of arguing with my step-brother about whether or not Wood Elves were better than Light Elves, and of acting out a story that would later turn into my first novel. Going through my drawer of memories is like watching a movie of adventures; half of them fake, half of them real. I know that some of my childhood extravaganzas will go away and fade with time, but the real memories, the ones I breathed in and saw and felt, will remain with me forever.

I've mentioned in a few essays about how this last year was life-changing for me. I've talked about how it was difficult and how it was filled with pain and challenges. That's all true, but some of that pain led to the most memorable experience I have ever had. And for a change, it isn't one that will haunt my nightmares.

Sadly, the wonderful experience wouldn't have occurred without the tragedy that preceded it. On October 10, 2009 the American Fork High School Marching Band was coming home from Pocatello, Idaho after sweeping, or winning every caption, of the Pocatello competition. I can still remember how good we all felt! I was laughing and talking with my friend Zoe and sending a random text every once in a while to my friend Shelby, who was on a different bus because she was a woodwind and played clarinet. It was a little unusual that I actually had my phone on me, since I had often forgot it in my case or at home during those days.

I will never forget the moment Mr. Arnold, our assistant director, stood up and shouted at us all to “Shut up!” His voice was panicked, a phone to his ear. The message was delivered down the bus as the vehicle pulled over and sat there. I didn't know what to think, what to do. It was several hours later that any of us knew the extent of what had happened in that second.

One of our buses had overturned, the driver passed out at the wheel. They had narrowly avoided falling off a sheer cliff side only a few feet to their right. It was the woodwind bus. Our teacher, Heather Christensen, had jumped forward the instant she saw the driver begin to teeter at the wheel. She'd grabbed it, barely managing to maneuver the bus away from the drop beside them; she was thrown out the window and smashed beneath the monster for her troubles.

She saved all of those children's lives.

Everyone I knew had started to call, or text, my phone. They asked if I was okay, asked about what had happened. I gave them all a mechanical, genial response, unable to think past the fog in my brain. At first I had panicked, thinking Shelby had been on that bus, but she hadn't been. She'd been on the Color Guard bus. She, Erika, and John had all waited for me because I had been late and they hadn't been able to find a spot on the woodwind bus that day.

It was my fault that my three best friends in band weren't on that bus when it crashed and flipped.

Am I a bad person for being grateful for that? Am I horrible and evil for thanking God that I had been a few minutes late? How dare I be grateful that my closest friends weren't on that bus when others were. How dare I feel even a glimmer of happiness on that night when the world went to Hell.

I've kept my phone on my person every second of the day ever since that moment. I didn't even march without it in my pocket. Leaving it for even a moment makes me feel like I'm about to have a heart attack. What if something happened? What if I couldn't reach my friends in time?

Unfortunately, it's necessary for me to explain this experience in order to understand the one that came after it. My world was shattered that night; a quarter of my family, my fellow band members, had been on that bus. Had been in danger. We all became so close as a band family, it's hard to even comprehend one of them being lost. Because of Heather, not one of them were taken away from us. The police made sure to push this point home to us, over and over. This was a miracle.

They all should have died.

Our band tour that year would take us to the Western Regional Championship. My first year in marching band the American Fork Band got second in the Western Region for the first time since we'd been founded. I still consider that one of the best memories I have. In 2008 we had actually won first place in the entire Region. That memory is one of the shinning points of my life.

And yet, that doesn't hold a candle to how what it felt when we marched onto that field in 2009. This year, this time, I wasn't marching for me. I wasn't marching for anything that I wanted. I wasn't marching for glory or for the chance to win the championship. I was marching for the person who saved my family. The person who protected the people I care about. Flashbacks played underneath my eyelids, bringing that night back to me with perfect clarity. Sobs were clogged in my throat, but I held my head up high, eyes shinning as the rest of my family marched around me. They were all there. Not one of them was missing from this most important of all performances.

It was because of her that they all had been there, standing and marching beside me.

I prayed hard that night, closing my eyes in those moments right before we marched onto the field. My friends surrounded me, the trumpet section being more accepting than I had ever known them to be. They were literally my brothers and sisters. I hugged each and every one of them, individually. Then I went and sought out John, Shelby, and Erika. Then I went and looked for Zoe's little brother, Sam, who had been on that bus that night. I hugged him too. It was time to perform.

There are no words. No words that could ever give justice to marching onto that field beneath that crowd. No words to explain the lights that shinned down, to explain the goosebumps that erupted along my skin as I looked up at the screaming crowd as they leaped off their chairs and cheered us on. No words to describe the feeling of the tears falling down my cheeks and onto my beautiful silver trumpet.

I wish something I wrote could ever give it justice. I wish something I spoke would ever be able to explain, but it won't. I could never even come close.

We performed. We performed in a way that I have never done before nor sense. Even when we went to Grand Nationals afterward, something nobody thought would happen, it didn't match this moment. It came close, but I had been hoping for another performance after that one. On this occasion, I thought that this would be my final show. The final time I would stand in that uniform, perform this music. On this occasion, I thought it was my final chance to give tribute to my hero.

I don't think there was a dry eye in the entire stadium. I know mine weren't; the tears cascaded down my cheeks but I had to ignore them. I couldn't focus on them, because I needed to perform that night. And tears would only get in my way. I played with everything I had. I tried to put my soul into my horn, put my heart into the music. It was the most amazing experience I have ever had. I never stood straighter, held my horn higher, or looked upon the judges with more pride.

We had a purpose. We were one family and we had lost a member. A beautiful wonderful woman who had saved her children. We were playing for her.

For Heather.

When it was finished, not a single soul remained in their seats. Not one person attempted to stop the flow of moisture from their eyes. The lump in my throat grew into an unbearable size and my tears flowed unhindered. Looking around me showed the same for everyone else.

So if someone asks me, “What is your most memorable experience?” Or asks what I have accomplished in my life so far, I will always give them an answer. I will always tell them it was the night I played my horn for a hero. I will tell them it was the night we won Western Regionals.

It was the night Heather Christensen looked down from heaven and smiled.

Needle

2010-09-20T09:17:00.000-07:00

(This is an older thing of mine, but I still like it.)

The last customer left the shop, the small bell letting out a high ding as the door closed. I sighed in relief, dropping my hands to my sides. Thank goodness, the day was finally over. Mercy bustled around the kitchen as I left the counter and went to help her close up. Flour was everywhere, covering pots, pans and most importantly, Mercy herself. Mercy’s red hair was clinging to her forehead, her green apron only visible under the dough and icing.

“Will you make sure these dishes are cleaned?” She begged, grabbing her coat and getting flour all over the black velvet. “They won’t want to clean them in the morning.”

“Yes, I promise,” I assured her, my eyes rolling. The bakery was Mercy’s heart and soul. The thought of leaving me here alone scared her to death. What if I broke something?

“Just. . . Don’t forget to lock up.”

“I won’t.”

“And don’t forget. . .”

“Mercy! Go home.” She threw me an insulted glare before glancing around the shop one more time nervously. Only a few short steps brought me to her side and allowed me to grip her shoulder. I pushed her around and opened the back door one handed. “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, but will my bakery?” she grumbled. I laughed and shoved her through the door. She spun around, opening her mouth to continue the argument. I snapped the door shut, shoving the dead bolt home. The lights flickered above me sending little spidery shadows all along the walls.

Finally! I hummed a little as I went about my work, putting the finishing touches on a few pastries as I closed up. It was dark outside, nearly one A.M. and I couldn’t wait to be able to go home. It had been a hectic day, no less then 12 orders of cinnamon rolls had come in during my shift alone. That was nearly twice the amount we normally received!

I plunged the roller into the steaming, soapy water, pushing against the clinging dough with impatient fingers. My bed was waiting and when I got there I wouldn’t leave until noon. The water felt good against my skin, warm and steamy. I could feel the sweat on my brow, but didn’t mind it so much as my hands transferred dish after dish from one sink to another. My eyes burned with the effort of keeping them open, my work turning to autopilot as my mind drifted.

I just couldn’t wait to go home to my warm bed. My pillows were soft and clean, my blankets would wrap around me and be my sails as I was taken from harsh reality into the warm comforts of. . .

Something very cold touched the back of my head. It wormed its way into my hair, shifting through the thin strands like a snake. Screaming, I whirled around, my hands jumping to my hair in panic. It was gone, ripping a few of the strands along with it. For a moment, I didn’t move. Just stared around the kitchen. It looked just like normal, the big black oven to my left with a preparatory counter off to the side. Great silvery cabinets adorning the walls.

My hand rubbed the sore spot gently as I turned back to the sinks. The lights above me flickered unsteadily. Calm down Natalie, I ordered myself, taking deep breaths. It had probably just been my hair getting caught on one of the drying utensils above my head. My heart beat slowed down to a more normal pace allowing my breaths to come easier. It was nothing, don’t be stupid.

It didn’t feel like nothing though, I could still imagine the cold hand wrapping around my hair. Touching me. . . I shoved the thoughts from my mind, grabbing a bowl and shoving it into the water with unnecessary force. Water slopped all up the sides and stained my apron, showering my shoes. I held my breath in anger, trying to calm down. It was stupid, it wasn’t like I had never closed up shop before.

[I]But never alone,[/I] a snide voice whispered in the back of my mind. I ignored it and went to grab the mop. The thing was so old bits of fiber were missing from the bundle. I gripped the rough worn handle comfortingly, as I pulled it back, a small piece of mirror fell from the shelf it had been leaning on. I tried to grab it before it hit the ground but it slipped through my fingers, shattering against the cold linoleum floor.

“That’s bad luck,” something whispered. Tell me about it, I thought. I dropped the mop and grabbed the broom instead. My heart was pounding again, sending the blood rushing through my veins. Thumpthump, thumpthump, thumpthump. Skittering sounded off to my right and I almost dropped the broom.

“Please,” I begged, “Don’t let it be rats.” Mercy would never forgive me if she found out there were rats in her store.

“Natalie. . .” something whispered, it’s voice was oily and smooth, goose bumps erupted all along my skin, my heart pounding ferociously.

“Shut up!” I yelled, it echoed around the store, bouncing off the silver surfaces. I felt stupid. It wasn’t real, I was just freaking myself out. I leaned my head against the broomsticks handle. Closing my eyes and breathing deeply. I was being stupid. It wasn’t real. I was just freaking out.

Now open your eyes, and just get back to work, I commanded, slowly peeling the lids back.

The mirror hung on the wall opposite me, completely full and unblemished. My fingers gripped the broom tighter. My mouth going dry. My eyes darted to the ground, where the shards of broken glass had just been scattered. There was nothing. I raised my eyes back to the mirror. My arms shaking.

The face looking back at me was distorted, strangled and thin, with dead sunken in cheeks and black lifeless eyes.

I touched my own face with shaking fingers, probing the skin. It felt the same. The mirror laughed at me, making no noise. She placed a long, white finger to her lips; motioning for me to be quiet, then pointed toward the walls.

She laughed again when I turned to gaze at them, when I looked back she was gone.

Nothing could hurt me here, it was all in my head, it was just a fake, unbelievable. . .

“Natalie,” My head jerked up, the voice coming from above me, “Naatalieee. . .” it called, soothing and quiet. It was a woman’s voice. “Please come upstairs.”

“Who. . . Who are you?”

“Please come upstairs Natalie, we don’t want to hurt you.” a snickering, high pitched giggle sounded from beneath me. I jumped backwards, straining to see clearly as the lights flickered above me. Something cold and clammy touched my bare leg. “Please come upstairs.”

The lights flickered faster, making my eyes stream water. I gasped and tried to rub them clear, but when I opened them again the kitchen was dark. Something sharp scraped against my shin, making me scream and jump into the air. Another high pitched giggle sounded. I ran, running from the supply closet in blind panic. My foot caught on the edge of something, causing me to sprawl to the ground, smashing my head against the cold, metal floor.

It giggled as it let go of my ankle.

“Natalie,” the voice whispered, its breath ruffling my hair “Oh Natalie. . . “

I pulled away, curling into a ball and clutching my bleeding leg. A shape was emerging from the darkness, a shape barely larger then a six month old child.

It was white, the skin glowing through the darkness like a beacon. Small little red eyes peered at me from a hairless face. It walked on two legs like a man, but clutched a long, thin needle in one hand. Something dribbled down the creatures mouth, spilling from its pale lips and down its little chin.

“We like you Natalie,” it whispered, “oh beautiful Natalie. . .” it rubbed its sharp needle down the length of my cheeks, caressing it gently. Another giggle sounded from above me and another from the side.

“Oh Natalie,” the voices called, “Sweet Natalie.” I screamed as they plunged their needles toward my heart.

***

When I awoke, I laid upon the flat, hard surface. My insides quivering uncontrollably. Cold seeped up through my clothing, attaching itself to the bumpy pieces of my goose pimpled skin. I couldn’t see, the night pressed in upon me, suffocating. I was stuck, my limbs iced over in cold My eyes frozen in their sockets.

I strained my muscles, trying to force them to move, but they remained stiff and immobile at my sides.

Thump.

I tried to breathe, tried to let the air flow through my lungs. Nothing happened.

Thump.

Memories of pale skin and sharp needles piercing through me, I was dead. They had killed me!

Thump. . .thump.

Something hit the roof above me. My finger twitched.

Thump. . .thump. .thump.

Slowly, painstakingly, my eyes began to shift. Becoming looser and slipperier in my sockets. They shifted, trying to pierce through the thick layer of darkness around me.

Thump.

The wood above me creaked, a small stream of dust falling on my lips.

Thump.

More dirt.

Thump, thump, thump.

A Thieving Child

2010-09-12T14:14:00.000-07:00

“Zarin, what are you doing?” Kelly knelt down in the sand next to her older brother. She was trying to be careful and not get her new white, Sunday dress all ruined. Zarin looked back and smiled at her, his grin mischievous.

“See that ball?” he whispered, pointing to the round rubber ball that was next to a chubby ten year old licking a chocolate popsicle. The chocolate was all over his chin and cheeks, his grubby fingers getting the mess all over his beautiful red and gold ball. Kelly nodded, tilting her head to the side. Zarin didn't seem to care that his brand new church suit was getting covered in wet sand and ripping from the rose bush that he was hiding behind. She pulled on his sleeve.

“Zarin no! Don't you remember what Daddy said?” She tugged insistently, but he shrugged her off.

“Look at it Kelly!” he whispered in excitement, hardly even noticing the girl pulling on his arm, “isn't it so pretty?”

“Zarin! Daddy said no more! He said if you do it again. . .”

“Dad doesn't have to know everything,” Zarin snapped, pulling his arm free, “Go bug someone else Kelly.”

“I'll tell!” Kelly stood up, her little hands balled into fists on her hips, “I promise I will!” Zarin grabbed her and pushed her down into the dirt, smearing it all over her dress. Tears rose to her eyes and she tried to roll away from him but he held her there.

“No you won't,” Zarin hissed angrily, “You won't because if you do I will put bubble gum all in your hair and then make mom cut it all off!” The tears overflowed and she pushed him with all her strength. Zarin moved away from her and looked through the bushes once more. “It's only a little ball, Kelly,” He said, almost apologetically.

“Daddy said no,” Kelly murmured angrily under her breath, sitting with her back to him. Zarin frowned and sat down behind her, pulling her into his lap the way he used to when she was a baby and gave her a hug, for a moment she squirmed, then she stopped and hugged him back.

“If I get it, then you can have it,” he promised, “I know Mitch popped your last one.” Kelly sniffled into his shirt, Zarin smiled and patted her head. “See? Everything's going to be fine.”

“Dad said someday you'll go to jail,” Kelly whimpered.

“Dad's wrong,” Zarin said harshly, “Do you. . .” he shook his head, changing his mind on what he was going to say, “Dad can't lock me up anymore.”

“Okay,” Kelly sniffed and Zarin hugged her again.

“You're so little,” he told her, almost giggling-but Zarin was too old to giggle now. “Like a little doll.” Kelly stuck her tongue out at him.

“Just go get me the ball Zarin Clyde,” she ordered, pointing with her little fingers. Zarin mock saluted her then put her down on the grass instead of the dirt.

“Be right back!” he promised.

Kelly waited.

Zarin snuck on his belly, keeping his head low to the ground as he crawled like a spider to where the older boy was sitting. If he happened to hear anything then Zarin's cover would be blown and he'd be in big trouble. Big kids didn't approve of little kids sneaking up on them.

Zarin grit his teeth, digging his hands into the soft grass. Well, he wasn't a little kid anymore. He was big now too. He could try to beat him up, but Zarin would win. Just because he wanted to. That's the way it worked.

Like him wanting that ball. He wanted it, so he would have it.

The little boy grinned, pulling himself closer and closer to the edge of the park to where the boy was still sloppily eating. He wouldn't see him. Don't see me, Zarin thought to himself, creeping slowly forward, please don't see me. I'm not here, you're eating a popsicle and enjoying it. Don't see me. I'm not here. . .

He was only a few feet away now. . . just a few more seconds. . .
* * *

“Zarin!” Kelly yelped in surprise when her brother came back, he was walking with pride, his back straight and his head held up. There was a little red and gold ball tucked under his arm and a look of absolute satisfaction upon his young face.

And a great big bloodied gash across his cheek and a swelling black eye.

“What happened?” Kelly cried, running over to him. He handed her the ball.

“I didn't look behind me,” Zarin said happily, lounging on the damp grass. “Turns out usually big kids have friends.”

“What did you do?”

“I took it anyway. Turns out big kids aren't nearly as tough as they think they are either.”

Run

2010-09-05T21:32:00.000-07:00

“Just run. And keep running, until you can never, ever come back.”

I ran. The wind blew in my ears, the rain stained my cheeks, but still I ran. It was so dark that night. The stars weren't shining, the street lamps weren't turned on. I could only run, and run quickly.

My heart was beating in my chest. Ka-boom, Ka-boom, Ka-boom, reminding me with each step that I had to go faster. Be stronger. Live longer.

Run.

I didn't want to run. I wanted to turn back, to face it. To live with it. I wanted to be stronger. I wanted. . . so many things. But I couldn't have them. I could never have them.

I just had to run.

Go. Go. Go.

Run, flee, be quick.

They couldn't hold me down. They couldn't stop me. Nobody could. Nobody can. I'll run until I'm ready to turn back. I'll run until the strength fills my bones, my muscles. Until they can't defeat me.

Monsters seem to be coming at me from all sides. They face me and grow, pushing in, snarling and trying to catch me unaware. But I can't fight them right now. I can't face them. I'm not strong enough.

Run! Please!

I push my muscles faster, push the legs until they burn. They can't stop me. They can't defeat me. They can't crush me.

Not if I'm running.

And while I run; my muscles build strength. My pumping arms becoming stronger, my legs become faster and harder. As I run, I begin to grow.

My running sparks growth. My growth sparks strength. And my strength sparks courage.

So, yes. You think you have me defeated. You think you have me scared and fleeing. You think that I'm finished.

But I'm not.

I never will be.

But until I'm ready, I'll continue to run.