You know, the more I think about it, the more 'changing the color of things' seems like a great power. In books, if it's mentioned, it's almost always a joke. But think about it...
Change someone's retinas black, and they go blind.
Change someone's blood all blue, and they suffocate.
Make more of someone's blood white, and they heal faster.
Make the sky black in a certain area; the plants die, and people get sick (no vitamin D).
In the real world, if you could easily generate sunlight in concentrated doses, solar panel companies would be all over you.
Make the sun red, and the world is burned to a crisp.
Make yourself transparent and pass by security cameras.
One word; propaganda.
If there was a villain with this power, they'd be pretty much unstoppable. Destroying the world would be easy. Murder would only require a thought.
If there was a hero with this power, the book would be over in pages.
Forget flying or super-strength. Color-changing; now that's a real superpower.
That One Song
We were at this party the other day,
Things were good; it was in full sway,
Speakers were as loud as they could play,
We wondered how the time could get away.
They played that song you've got as a ringtone.
They played the song you hum when you're all alone.
They played a slow song, (no one asked you,)
They played a song that tells you what to do.
But then...
It was that one song that nobody knows,
You know how that is, you know how that goes.
You know it's the most awkward thing,
When you don't know what to sing.
It was that one song that nobody's heard,
You mumble, grumble, whisper the words,
And there's always that one guy who,
Belts it out right next to you.
Everyone was singing at the top of their voice,
It was automatic, didn't have a choice,
But there was one song that stopped us dead,
We hadn't heard it or seen it or even read.
'Cuz...
It was that one song that nobody knows,
You know how that is, you know how that goes.
You know it's the most awkward thing,
When you don't know what to sing.
It was that one song that nobody's heard,
You mumble, grumble, whisper the words,
And there's always that one guy who,
Belts it out right next to you.
Things were good; it was in full sway,
Speakers were as loud as they could play,
We wondered how the time could get away.
They played that song you've got as a ringtone.
They played the song you hum when you're all alone.
They played a slow song, (no one asked you,)
They played a song that tells you what to do.
But then...
It was that one song that nobody knows,
You know how that is, you know how that goes.
You know it's the most awkward thing,
When you don't know what to sing.
It was that one song that nobody's heard,
You mumble, grumble, whisper the words,
And there's always that one guy who,
Belts it out right next to you.
Everyone was singing at the top of their voice,
It was automatic, didn't have a choice,
But there was one song that stopped us dead,
We hadn't heard it or seen it or even read.
'Cuz...
It was that one song that nobody knows,
You know how that is, you know how that goes.
You know it's the most awkward thing,
When you don't know what to sing.
It was that one song that nobody's heard,
You mumble, grumble, whisper the words,
And there's always that one guy who,
Belts it out right next to you.
Ephebiphobia
When I was small, there was a playground in the center of my apartment complex. All the kids from the apartments and surrounding area came there to play.
That playground was our favorite place in the entire world. We knew of none better. It was just a small patch of grass with a lonely tree and a pitiful jungle gym, yet it was just large enough that we could pretend it was our own private kingdom, that we were invincible and all-powerful, at least until someone scraped their knee. Rather than bore ourselves on the rusty play equipment, we splashed in a nearby stormwater drain, (our River,) climbed the mounds of dirt yet to be used for construction, (our Mountains,) or ducked behind the drooping tree branches we'd propped up with sticks, (our Houses.)
We gave ourselves free roam of the park, declaring it all ours. We dug holes to find treasure, an activity that was always closely followed by throwing dirt into each other's hair.
Yes, it was our within-walking-distance paradise. Those who could go whenever they wanted, without parent supervision, were the envy of us all. The mothers who insisted on coming sat around a half-rotten picnic table, exchanging gossip and news and whatever else moms talked about.
But no place is truly perfect, no matter how much we wanted it to be so. There was a certain group of people who made our lives miserable; they were the scourge of the park.
Teenagers.
Their arrival was heralded by the roll of skateboard wheels on pavement, or the gaggle of loud voices. Though they were almost always on a bike, skateboard, or scooter, they never wore helmets. They arrived on the scene with confidant swaggers, smoking cigarettes and spewing out words that only a few of us understood.
They were taller than us, and many were taller than our parents. We would edge away from them, like the magnets on a fridge when the poles faced each other. If they decided to lean on the tree, our 'Houses' were left unattended. If they wanted to sit on a jungle gym, it was evacuated. A few brave souls ran up to them, stuck their tongue out, and ran back giggling. The teenagers didn't retaliate, but we still feared them.
One or two of my friends had siblings of that age, and the horror stories they shared only fueled our fear.
"My brother had a fight with my mom last night. The door slammed so hard!"
"My sister came home with a weird boy the other day. He had the biggest holes in his ears!"
"Garret, you know, my brother? He crashed our car."
And they went on an on.
I remember one day, after a particularly loud and fearsome encounter, I proposed that we take a pledge: to never, ever,in our entire lives, become a teenager.
"Unless," Someone added, "Our parents make us."
"No!" Whispered another one. This seemed like the time for whispering. "Even then!"
We made a document out of a large leaf and tried to write on it with a stick. When we couldn't write it all out we agreed to remember it, anyway. We swore with our right arm held up and our left hands on top of one another's, like one boy saw on TV once.
We never brought that oath up again- like so many things from childhood, it slipped out of our minds without resistance. I doubt many of the others remember it, but I do.
I am fifteen years old. Normally, I brush off that promise. We were ignorant; we didn't understand that growing up was inevitable.
But then, other times, when I overhear conversations debating the advantages of various drugs, or my friends drop f-bombs more often than any other word, and I find myself doing the same, I wish I'd found a way to keep that promise.
That playground was our favorite place in the entire world. We knew of none better. It was just a small patch of grass with a lonely tree and a pitiful jungle gym, yet it was just large enough that we could pretend it was our own private kingdom, that we were invincible and all-powerful, at least until someone scraped their knee. Rather than bore ourselves on the rusty play equipment, we splashed in a nearby stormwater drain, (our River,) climbed the mounds of dirt yet to be used for construction, (our Mountains,) or ducked behind the drooping tree branches we'd propped up with sticks, (our Houses.)
We gave ourselves free roam of the park, declaring it all ours. We dug holes to find treasure, an activity that was always closely followed by throwing dirt into each other's hair.
Yes, it was our within-walking-distance paradise. Those who could go whenever they wanted, without parent supervision, were the envy of us all. The mothers who insisted on coming sat around a half-rotten picnic table, exchanging gossip and news and whatever else moms talked about.
But no place is truly perfect, no matter how much we wanted it to be so. There was a certain group of people who made our lives miserable; they were the scourge of the park.
Teenagers.
Their arrival was heralded by the roll of skateboard wheels on pavement, or the gaggle of loud voices. Though they were almost always on a bike, skateboard, or scooter, they never wore helmets. They arrived on the scene with confidant swaggers, smoking cigarettes and spewing out words that only a few of us understood.
They were taller than us, and many were taller than our parents. We would edge away from them, like the magnets on a fridge when the poles faced each other. If they decided to lean on the tree, our 'Houses' were left unattended. If they wanted to sit on a jungle gym, it was evacuated. A few brave souls ran up to them, stuck their tongue out, and ran back giggling. The teenagers didn't retaliate, but we still feared them.
One or two of my friends had siblings of that age, and the horror stories they shared only fueled our fear.
"My brother had a fight with my mom last night. The door slammed so hard!"
"My sister came home with a weird boy the other day. He had the biggest holes in his ears!"
"Garret, you know, my brother? He crashed our car."
And they went on an on.
I remember one day, after a particularly loud and fearsome encounter, I proposed that we take a pledge: to never, ever,in our entire lives, become a teenager.
"Unless," Someone added, "Our parents make us."
"No!" Whispered another one. This seemed like the time for whispering. "Even then!"
We made a document out of a large leaf and tried to write on it with a stick. When we couldn't write it all out we agreed to remember it, anyway. We swore with our right arm held up and our left hands on top of one another's, like one boy saw on TV once.
We never brought that oath up again- like so many things from childhood, it slipped out of our minds without resistance. I doubt many of the others remember it, but I do.
I am fifteen years old. Normally, I brush off that promise. We were ignorant; we didn't understand that growing up was inevitable.
But then, other times, when I overhear conversations debating the advantages of various drugs, or my friends drop f-bombs more often than any other word, and I find myself doing the same, I wish I'd found a way to keep that promise.
Based on 'At Last I See The Light' from Tangled
I guess it was fine, as far as school dances go. There was pizza, cheesy music, all the staples. I could tell that other people were having a blast. But I'd been standing against this wall for more than half an hour now, and no boys had asked me to dance, no girls had come over to gossip, and all in all, I'd been ignored.
There was no denying it. When it came to high school friendships, I was outside, looking envyingly in.
With a sigh, I pushed off of the wall and started to walk towards the door.
The theme was, predictably enough, 'Winter Wonderland'. The cut-out snowflakes that we'd been making since kindergarten dangled from the banisters, and streamers in white, blue, and gold criss-crossed from wall to wall.
I ducked and weaved through the sea of people, being completely ignored by one and all. I didn't know why I decided to come. I didn't have any friends during the school day- why should a dance be any different?
I'd allowed a ray of hope to come into my mind during the dance, but now the familiar brain-fog settled back in.
I nodded to the justifiably bored chaperone manning the ticket stand. I took my worn jacket out from under my arm and slipped it on as I stepped into the cold air.
Unlike the decorations inside, not a single snowflake was to be found here. A star or two could just barely be seen through the glare of the parking lot's lamps. I fingered the cell phone in my pocket, debating whether to call my mom to come pick me up. I decided I could wait a little longer. The hush outside the building was a nice contrast to the hullabaloo inside, and I was not eager to explain the events of the night.
I sat on a parking curb, facing away from the building. My breathing slowed as I made an effort to think of nothing in particular.
A few minutes later, when I was re-considering the cell phone, I heard soft footsteps behind me.
I turned, still sitting, and saw Jake What's-His-Last-Name. He looked awkward standing there, with glasses and clothes that somehow seemed to not fit quite right on his tall, thin frame.
"Hey," he said.
"Hey," I said, standing up.
"Too loud for you inside?"
"Yeah," I said quickly. A too-long pause. "And you?"
"It was getting... boring."
He looked at his feet and shuffled them around. He frowned slightly, and something about this gesture made my heart go out to him.
"Um... Can I show you something?" he asked.
Before I could answer, he continued, "It's this place I found not long ago, a huge tree stump a little up the road from here. You can totally see the stars, like, clearly. I just thought, if you came out here, you might want to see it."
Well. I had nothing better to do. I nodded.
"Great," he grinned.
He started walking.
I followed, and we started to talk, first cautiously, then casually, like we'd known each other forever. It still surprises me how much we had in common- we'd read the same books, seen the same movies, and had more or less the same opinions towards different people. We took out our phones and used them as flashlights, walking slowly down the road. A few cars passed.
We walked a little longer than I thought we would, but I was never bored or nervous. He was funny, much funnier than I'd expected, based on how few friends I'd ever seen him with. I barely stopped laughing the whole way. But then he broke off the road, jogging down a hill, waving me over. Soon we were both standing on the stump, just wide enough for both of us, but not so wide that we weren't touching. I could see my breath, but standing here with him, I felt, warm, real, bright. I didn't see what was so great about the place, (tree stumps everywhere, a bulldozer off a little ways,) until he instructed me to turn off my cell phone.
I gasped.
Rarely had I seen so many stars before. It was even better being here with someone so sweet- it was like the whole sky was new.
And there, away from everything, I felt the fog in my mind lifting again; hope shined through, and everything seemed clear.
He reached down and squeezed my hand. I squeezed back.
I leaned on him, and everything was different. Better.
I knew I was where I was supposed to be.
There was no denying it. When it came to high school friendships, I was outside, looking envyingly in.
With a sigh, I pushed off of the wall and started to walk towards the door.
The theme was, predictably enough, 'Winter Wonderland'. The cut-out snowflakes that we'd been making since kindergarten dangled from the banisters, and streamers in white, blue, and gold criss-crossed from wall to wall.
I ducked and weaved through the sea of people, being completely ignored by one and all. I didn't know why I decided to come. I didn't have any friends during the school day- why should a dance be any different?
I'd allowed a ray of hope to come into my mind during the dance, but now the familiar brain-fog settled back in.
I nodded to the justifiably bored chaperone manning the ticket stand. I took my worn jacket out from under my arm and slipped it on as I stepped into the cold air.
Unlike the decorations inside, not a single snowflake was to be found here. A star or two could just barely be seen through the glare of the parking lot's lamps. I fingered the cell phone in my pocket, debating whether to call my mom to come pick me up. I decided I could wait a little longer. The hush outside the building was a nice contrast to the hullabaloo inside, and I was not eager to explain the events of the night.
I sat on a parking curb, facing away from the building. My breathing slowed as I made an effort to think of nothing in particular.
A few minutes later, when I was re-considering the cell phone, I heard soft footsteps behind me.
I turned, still sitting, and saw Jake What's-His-Last-Name. He looked awkward standing there, with glasses and clothes that somehow seemed to not fit quite right on his tall, thin frame.
"Hey," he said.
"Hey," I said, standing up.
"Too loud for you inside?"
"Yeah," I said quickly. A too-long pause. "And you?"
"It was getting... boring."
He looked at his feet and shuffled them around. He frowned slightly, and something about this gesture made my heart go out to him.
"Um... Can I show you something?" he asked.
Before I could answer, he continued, "It's this place I found not long ago, a huge tree stump a little up the road from here. You can totally see the stars, like, clearly. I just thought, if you came out here, you might want to see it."
Well. I had nothing better to do. I nodded.
"Great," he grinned.
He started walking.
I followed, and we started to talk, first cautiously, then casually, like we'd known each other forever. It still surprises me how much we had in common- we'd read the same books, seen the same movies, and had more or less the same opinions towards different people. We took out our phones and used them as flashlights, walking slowly down the road. A few cars passed.
We walked a little longer than I thought we would, but I was never bored or nervous. He was funny, much funnier than I'd expected, based on how few friends I'd ever seen him with. I barely stopped laughing the whole way. But then he broke off the road, jogging down a hill, waving me over. Soon we were both standing on the stump, just wide enough for both of us, but not so wide that we weren't touching. I could see my breath, but standing here with him, I felt, warm, real, bright. I didn't see what was so great about the place, (tree stumps everywhere, a bulldozer off a little ways,) until he instructed me to turn off my cell phone.
I gasped.
Rarely had I seen so many stars before. It was even better being here with someone so sweet- it was like the whole sky was new.
And there, away from everything, I felt the fog in my mind lifting again; hope shined through, and everything seemed clear.
He reached down and squeezed my hand. I squeezed back.
I leaned on him, and everything was different. Better.
I knew I was where I was supposed to be.
This I believe #2
This I believe; science is one part logic and one part wonder, and far too often, the latter is forgotten.
As a child, I participated in science fairs, I read my fair share of National Geographic For Kids magazines, but I didn't think of myself as a scientist. Unlike some, my fascination with science wasn't piqued by books or teachers. Instead, it was a single moment of wonder.
I remember it clearly. I was ten years old at the time. My family was visiting my grandparents, who live in Long Beach Washington, where deer eat by the roads, clamming is a neighborhood event, and significantly, there is little light pollution.
My grandpa decided to take our family on a walk down to the beach, when it was dark at night. We took flashlights and my sister and I enjoyed shining them on the waving beach grass. The sky was the last thing on our minds. But when we were a good distance from the houses, my grandpa told us to turn our flashlights off, and look up.
I remember giving a little gasp when I did. Back home, I had never seen more than a handful of stars in the sky at the same time. I had seen star charts at school, and I knew, generally, that there were millions of stars in the sky, but never until then had I seen them. Unburdened by the sight-dimming lights of electricity, the stars put on a silent, slow dance for us.
My grandpa, after allowing us some time to ooh and aah, started to point out specific features.
"See that? There's the Milky Way. And over there? That red dot? That's Mars."
My mouth hung open as I stared upwards. The cold of night, the gravelly path, everything around me seemed to fade in the face of something so magnificent.
After several more seconds, I pointed up.
"That one's moving!" I exclaimed.
"That's a satellite," he replied.
I remembered that satellites were man-made objects, sent into orbit. What I had so easily mistaken for a star was, in fact, put there by scientists.
That was when it clicked. Up until then, I had been simply observing, looking at what seemed an unconquerable force of nature. But there it was, right before my eyes, mankind's tiny fingerprint on the whole of the universe. My ten year-old mind realized suddenly, that though humans are comparatively small, we could carve out our niche in the universe.
And, in the end, after the math, the calculations, and the projects, that's what science is all about, isn't it? Whether it's contributions to medicine, sending a rocket to the moon, or studying the habits of birds, science seeks to find, little by little, our place in the cosmos.
To truly be a scientist, one must embrace amazing wonder along with the cold force of logic. This I believe.
As a child, I participated in science fairs, I read my fair share of National Geographic For Kids magazines, but I didn't think of myself as a scientist. Unlike some, my fascination with science wasn't piqued by books or teachers. Instead, it was a single moment of wonder.
I remember it clearly. I was ten years old at the time. My family was visiting my grandparents, who live in Long Beach Washington, where deer eat by the roads, clamming is a neighborhood event, and significantly, there is little light pollution.
My grandpa decided to take our family on a walk down to the beach, when it was dark at night. We took flashlights and my sister and I enjoyed shining them on the waving beach grass. The sky was the last thing on our minds. But when we were a good distance from the houses, my grandpa told us to turn our flashlights off, and look up.
I remember giving a little gasp when I did. Back home, I had never seen more than a handful of stars in the sky at the same time. I had seen star charts at school, and I knew, generally, that there were millions of stars in the sky, but never until then had I seen them. Unburdened by the sight-dimming lights of electricity, the stars put on a silent, slow dance for us.
My grandpa, after allowing us some time to ooh and aah, started to point out specific features.
"See that? There's the Milky Way. And over there? That red dot? That's Mars."
My mouth hung open as I stared upwards. The cold of night, the gravelly path, everything around me seemed to fade in the face of something so magnificent.
After several more seconds, I pointed up.
"That one's moving!" I exclaimed.
"That's a satellite," he replied.
I remembered that satellites were man-made objects, sent into orbit. What I had so easily mistaken for a star was, in fact, put there by scientists.
That was when it clicked. Up until then, I had been simply observing, looking at what seemed an unconquerable force of nature. But there it was, right before my eyes, mankind's tiny fingerprint on the whole of the universe. My ten year-old mind realized suddenly, that though humans are comparatively small, we could carve out our niche in the universe.
And, in the end, after the math, the calculations, and the projects, that's what science is all about, isn't it? Whether it's contributions to medicine, sending a rocket to the moon, or studying the habits of birds, science seeks to find, little by little, our place in the cosmos.
To truly be a scientist, one must embrace amazing wonder along with the cold force of logic. This I believe.
Nature's Wonders
Framed by sky and rimmed
by tree,
A world of wonder waits
for me,
Where light is filtered
through the trees,
Where flowers mingle with
the bees,
Where crickets sing and
birds chime in,
Where worries end and
paths begin.
Breath in the fresh
pine-scented air,
Gaze upon the creatures
fair,
When peace and joy are
what you feel,
And everything is bright
and real,
Then listen to your
soul's glad song,
Enter the woods and walk
along.
Daddy's Zombies
I swung my legs under the too-big chair, tapping my fingers on the thin wooden sides. I hummed to myself while I waited for my dad.
All around me, dead bodies rotted.
Most of them were coffined, some of which were stacked like boxes in a moving van, while some stood alone. A few bodies lay out in the open, faces grey and sunken. There were even a few urns, sprinkled around the room on top of or next to the towering stacks of coffins.
The walls of the room disappeared behind coffins, urns, and piles of bodies higher than a full-grown man. I'd walked for a long time to get here, to the exact middle of the room, to sit in this hard wooden chair. I'd gotten tired towards the end, and Daddy's employee had to carry me.
I breathed in the rotting stench of death and kicked my legs faster. A wide grin spread across my small, round face. It smelled beautiful- like baking bread, or wet paint and sawdust. It smelled like home to me.
I heard footsteps plodding down one of the aisles. Soon, a man in a previously white lab coat, now stained with browning blood, turned a corner and came into view. Swimming goggles protected his eyes from anything that might splatter. He held a test tube with a strange liquid in either hand- one was blue, one was red.
"Daddy!" I squealed, jumping off my chair and hugging his waist.
He laughed, setting the test tubes down next to an urn to pick me up and swing me through the air. Then he set me down, still giggling, on my chair.
"Okay, Sara," He said, retrieving the vials. He held one out to me, and I wrapped my little fist around it.
"You got it?"
I nodded, and he put the other vial, the blue one, in my left hand.
He knelt down to be eye-to-eye with me.
"Close your eyes," he instructed. I did.
I'd started to hone my abilities even before he said, "Focus, Sara." I knew the drill.
Every hair on my arms stood on end. I opened my eyes to watch the show.
Hastily, Dad called into his walkie talkie to turn off the lights. Then he took the batteries out of the tool and tossed them away. Any electrical device in the area could be dangerous.
It started with a spark, a single ark of purple light, and then a whole matrix was jumping back and forth between the vials, like a constantly changing spiderweb. The electricity traveled down my arms, into the floor.
It tickled.
Then sparks started going further. One entered a bare body, and it's fingers began to twitch. Another arc dove straight through a coffin's lid, and a few seconds later it's occupant fell out, squirming on the floor, unable to remember how to stand.
Soon the room was as well lit by the purple sparks as it had been by luminescent bulbs minutes ago.
All around the massive room, bodies rose. But what was really interesting was what happened to the urns. All the ashes from every container rose into the air and collected in a heap in an area cleared for that propose. There, it collected into the vague shape of a giant- Arms, legs, head, torso, and as more ashes floated in, it grew and grew.
Whole minutes passed until every body was affected. They stood slowly swaying, waiting for orders.
The sparks died down. The lights came back on. I blinked at the change. I tossed the vials aside; they were empty.
"Say what we practiced, Sara." Daddy grinned, practically jumping up and down with excitement as he surveyed his new army.
I remembered the time we'd spent in my bedroom, when he'd pounded the sentence into my head so many times, I'd known it was impossible to forget.
I took a deep breath. I spoke slowly, but sure of myself. "By the power given to me by those who bestow the gift of Ner- Nero-..."
I heard Daddy suck in a breath as I strained to remember how it was pronounced.
"Necromancy, I order you to heed the orders of this man."
I pointed sternly at my Dad, scowling at the multitude.
I looked at my Daddy. I'd never seen him smile so wide; at least, not since I first touched a dead man, and he twitched.
He bent down and kissed me on the cheek.
"Thank you, sweetheart."
Then he turned to face his army again. Wide metal doors at one end of the room began to lift.
"Thorough the doors!" He shouted. "Into the world!"
Obediently, they began to shuffle through the now useless wooden boxes. The ash giant, by now, had to duck to get through the door big enough for an airplane.
My Dad followed them, calling over his shoulder for me to go back to my room.
"You don't need to see this next part," He told me sternly.
But I wanted to see the helicopters take off- I didn't know where they were going, but I loved the wind and sound the propellers made.
So, after waiting for my dad to disappear, I scrambled towards the doors.
I almost immediately ran into a man whose overalls were almost as bloody as my dad's coat.
He frowned. "Didn't boss tell you to go back to my room?"
"No." I hate lying; always have. "Well... Yes."
He sighed, and escorted me back to my room. We walked down white, sterilized halls, without window or decoration. Then we came to my door. It was painted pink.
When he opened it, it revealed a room holding almost everything a little girl could want. Almost.
Stuffed animals stacked on a huge, fluffy, pink bed. Dolls and a huge, multi-level doll house. Paint; crayons.
But no books, no TV, no computer. The only way I knew any of that existed was Sam. He worked for my dad, but he liked me more. He'd said so.
Sam hadn't been able to actually get me any books, but he'd gotten me a newspaper. Newspapers, he'd explained, wrote about what happened in the world. Important things, like wars and fashion and earthquakes and some place called Wall Street that had lots of numbers in it.
My Daddy told me that what we were doing, what he'd been working on, (he called it 'our little project',) was going to change the world. So maybe it'd show up in the newspaper.
Sure enough, next week came around, and Sam brought me another newspaper. The headline was in all caps. That made it important.
Before sounding out the headline, I looked at the picture below it. I smiled. It was a picture of Daddy, and his army, standing on the steps of a very large, very white building with lots of pillars and a dome on top.
I looked at the headline again. I didn't know that word. The next chance I got, I asked Sam about it.
He shivered, and then said... How did it go...
Ah, ah-pok, ah-pok-al....
Right! Apocalypse.
All around me, dead bodies rotted.
Most of them were coffined, some of which were stacked like boxes in a moving van, while some stood alone. A few bodies lay out in the open, faces grey and sunken. There were even a few urns, sprinkled around the room on top of or next to the towering stacks of coffins.
The walls of the room disappeared behind coffins, urns, and piles of bodies higher than a full-grown man. I'd walked for a long time to get here, to the exact middle of the room, to sit in this hard wooden chair. I'd gotten tired towards the end, and Daddy's employee had to carry me.
I breathed in the rotting stench of death and kicked my legs faster. A wide grin spread across my small, round face. It smelled beautiful- like baking bread, or wet paint and sawdust. It smelled like home to me.
I heard footsteps plodding down one of the aisles. Soon, a man in a previously white lab coat, now stained with browning blood, turned a corner and came into view. Swimming goggles protected his eyes from anything that might splatter. He held a test tube with a strange liquid in either hand- one was blue, one was red.
"Daddy!" I squealed, jumping off my chair and hugging his waist.
He laughed, setting the test tubes down next to an urn to pick me up and swing me through the air. Then he set me down, still giggling, on my chair.
"Okay, Sara," He said, retrieving the vials. He held one out to me, and I wrapped my little fist around it.
"You got it?"
I nodded, and he put the other vial, the blue one, in my left hand.
He knelt down to be eye-to-eye with me.
"Close your eyes," he instructed. I did.
I'd started to hone my abilities even before he said, "Focus, Sara." I knew the drill.
Every hair on my arms stood on end. I opened my eyes to watch the show.
Hastily, Dad called into his walkie talkie to turn off the lights. Then he took the batteries out of the tool and tossed them away. Any electrical device in the area could be dangerous.
It started with a spark, a single ark of purple light, and then a whole matrix was jumping back and forth between the vials, like a constantly changing spiderweb. The electricity traveled down my arms, into the floor.
It tickled.
Then sparks started going further. One entered a bare body, and it's fingers began to twitch. Another arc dove straight through a coffin's lid, and a few seconds later it's occupant fell out, squirming on the floor, unable to remember how to stand.
Soon the room was as well lit by the purple sparks as it had been by luminescent bulbs minutes ago.
All around the massive room, bodies rose. But what was really interesting was what happened to the urns. All the ashes from every container rose into the air and collected in a heap in an area cleared for that propose. There, it collected into the vague shape of a giant- Arms, legs, head, torso, and as more ashes floated in, it grew and grew.
Whole minutes passed until every body was affected. They stood slowly swaying, waiting for orders.
The sparks died down. The lights came back on. I blinked at the change. I tossed the vials aside; they were empty.
"Say what we practiced, Sara." Daddy grinned, practically jumping up and down with excitement as he surveyed his new army.
I remembered the time we'd spent in my bedroom, when he'd pounded the sentence into my head so many times, I'd known it was impossible to forget.
I took a deep breath. I spoke slowly, but sure of myself. "By the power given to me by those who bestow the gift of Ner- Nero-..."
I heard Daddy suck in a breath as I strained to remember how it was pronounced.
"Necromancy, I order you to heed the orders of this man."
I pointed sternly at my Dad, scowling at the multitude.
I looked at my Daddy. I'd never seen him smile so wide; at least, not since I first touched a dead man, and he twitched.
He bent down and kissed me on the cheek.
"Thank you, sweetheart."
Then he turned to face his army again. Wide metal doors at one end of the room began to lift.
"Thorough the doors!" He shouted. "Into the world!"
Obediently, they began to shuffle through the now useless wooden boxes. The ash giant, by now, had to duck to get through the door big enough for an airplane.
My Dad followed them, calling over his shoulder for me to go back to my room.
"You don't need to see this next part," He told me sternly.
But I wanted to see the helicopters take off- I didn't know where they were going, but I loved the wind and sound the propellers made.
So, after waiting for my dad to disappear, I scrambled towards the doors.
I almost immediately ran into a man whose overalls were almost as bloody as my dad's coat.
He frowned. "Didn't boss tell you to go back to my room?"
"No." I hate lying; always have. "Well... Yes."
He sighed, and escorted me back to my room. We walked down white, sterilized halls, without window or decoration. Then we came to my door. It was painted pink.
When he opened it, it revealed a room holding almost everything a little girl could want. Almost.
Stuffed animals stacked on a huge, fluffy, pink bed. Dolls and a huge, multi-level doll house. Paint; crayons.
But no books, no TV, no computer. The only way I knew any of that existed was Sam. He worked for my dad, but he liked me more. He'd said so.
Sam hadn't been able to actually get me any books, but he'd gotten me a newspaper. Newspapers, he'd explained, wrote about what happened in the world. Important things, like wars and fashion and earthquakes and some place called Wall Street that had lots of numbers in it.
My Daddy told me that what we were doing, what he'd been working on, (he called it 'our little project',) was going to change the world. So maybe it'd show up in the newspaper.
Sure enough, next week came around, and Sam brought me another newspaper. The headline was in all caps. That made it important.
Before sounding out the headline, I looked at the picture below it. I smiled. It was a picture of Daddy, and his army, standing on the steps of a very large, very white building with lots of pillars and a dome on top.
I looked at the headline again. I didn't know that word. The next chance I got, I asked Sam about it.
He shivered, and then said... How did it go...
Ah, ah-pok, ah-pok-al....
Right! Apocalypse.
Tomb
Let me tell you, being the guardian of a slimy pair of some kid Pharaoh's lungs for eternity is not a fun job.
Oh, sure, there were those exiting tomb robberies, and it felt good to keep those thieves away from the important bits. Don't get me wrong, that was awesome, but the waiting was killer, excuse the pun.
Times were, I was called to guard countless folk's organs. Times were, I meant something to people. Someone would mention Hapi, and all the scribes around would nod and go, 'Oh, him, the son of Horus. The lung dude. Yeah, he's cool.' Now, you say Hapi, people think you're saying happy, and they just get all confused.
Stupid English.
I don't guard nearly as many organs as I used to. Most of them are destroyed. Not my fault, mind you- weathering, mostly, a few rats, and, okay, maybe a few tomb raiders, but I swear, there was nothing I could do. Is it my fault if one of the dancer girls entombed with the Pharaoh was a really hot virgin? No. Of course not.
I know I'm supposed to hate the tomb raiders, (all my brothers do,) but if you ask me, they're a much better alternative to archaeologists. If an organ jar gets stolen, someone's bound to steal it again soon, and it just keeps going; you get to come up with more and more ways to try and keep it safe. But once it ends up in a high-security museum, with people all around, well, you're pretty much out of a job.
And that brings us to where I am now, leaning nonchalantly against the display case that holds my charge, watching the museum visitors swirl around me. My brothers, Imsety, Duamutef, and Qebehsenuef, (I kinda lucked out in the name department,) lean against the same case, one of us on each side of the rectangle. More or less, we face our cardinal directions. I face North-ish, Imsety faces South-ish, and, well, you get the picture.
We stand inside a velvet rope barrier, which I guess is to keep fingerprints off the display glass. Because it certainly wouldn't do much good against a robber. Unless, of course, they happen to have a deadly fear of velvet ropes. In which case, they should probably spend the money they make stealing on therapy.
We're all invisible to the crowds, of course. Not only would it seem a little strange for us to stand 24/7 around a glass display case holding something not particularly interesting, but three men with the heads of a baboon, jackal, and hawk, then one normal-looking ancient Egyptian guy would definitely draw attention.
People wander by, skimming the plaque that explains our jars, and then they walk away again, presumably to look at more interesting, more golden, things.
"This is so stupid," Duamutef mutters to no one, his snout protruding into the air. He stands on my right, facing East-ish.
We all mutter agreement, but there's not many options. We can stand either here, or else someone's private collection, or one of the few tombs so far undiscovered. At least here, there are other people to watch.
"I wonder..." Duamutef continues, still to no one.
He steps over the velvet rope, into the throng of people. They pass right through him, unaware.
"Duammy, no!" Imsety yells. He is no longer facing South-ish, but is staring in astonishment at our newly adventurous brother.
(We all have nicknames for each other. We have to. Have you ever tired to pronounce 'Qebehsenuef' in a hurry? Go ahead. I'll wait.)
Duammy grins, then his face goes slack with surprise. He pivots, bends in half, and enthusiastically dry heaves. None of us have eaten in centuries.
The three of us share a worried look. We wait for Duamutef to realize his mistake and come back. We can instantly travel from one location of organ jars to another, but have never tried to wander away. We've always known we'd be punished.
But Duammy is determined. We don't know what to do. He continues to heave for several seconds, then straightens. He turns back to us.
He pauses, waiting for another attack. It never comes. He takes a few more steps back, experimentally. Nothing happens.
With a grin, he turns and runs out of the exhibit. We lose sight of him.
I act on my gut. (Get it? The guardian of an organ acts on his- never mind.) I vault the velvet rope and start running straight away. I know from Duamutef that I'll have a few seconds before the sickness starts.
I ignore the shouts behind me and sprint through the insubstantial crowd. I've always been the fastest of our group- it says that in the Book of the Dead somewhere, I think. By the time my stomach clenches, I have Duamutef in my sights.
I'm reduced to a painful hobble as the heaving starts, but I tackle Duammy and we writhe on the floor as I gag.
I'm surprised by how quickly I feel fine. I pull Duammy and myself to our feet and look him sternly in the eye.
"What were you Ohh awh thinking!"
Sometimes, when I'm upset, my baboon nature leaks through a bit more than I'd like it to. Duamutef starts to laugh. I try to give him a look that tells him to shut up, but I doubt the message gets across. He pushes me away and laughs his annoying jackal laugh.
Behind me, Imsety clears his throat loudly. I turn, and see him standing above Qebehsenuef, who is still retching.
Imsety opens his mouth to say something, but is interrupted by a blaring sound.
Alarms.
We dive towards the entrance of our exhibit and look inside, desperately hoping that it wasn't what we thought it was.
No such luck. The case that had held our jars moments ago was smashed, and all four containers were gone.
No time for blame- okay, maybe a little time for blame. I punch Duammy in the arm. Imsety smacks him upside the head. Then it's down to business. We automatically know who's in possession of our charges, and even if we didn't, the scruffy guy in a black hoodie running out the emergency exit would be a good bet.
We race after him, all shouting curses. Not the swearing kind- well, I think Duamutef lets loose a few of those. But mostly, we say the ancient Egyptian may-you-and-your-decedents-live-always-in-pain-should-you-not-release-our-jars type.
He trips on the fire escape stairs. Whether that's our work or just chance, none of us are sure, but we run to his side either way.
The jars go flying through the air.
"No!" The four of us, as well as the thief, yell more or less in unison.
They shatter on the stairs. All of them. Suddenly, old powdered organs are left laying bare in the Sun.
We stare at them. The thief gets up and jumps over them, but we ignore him.
We've never seen the things we guard this clearly before. Seeing them in a dark tomb or hastily hidden in a dumpster is so different than this.
We've spent our entire existence looking after these 'treasures', yet they look like something the cat coughed up. And whether or not cats are considered holy, that's not a good thing.
We have two options: go find another set of organs, or run.
We make eye contact. We know what to do.
As the cops arrest the thief, they naturally don't notice four invisible gods sneaking out, too.
Explain why they retch
Oh, sure, there were those exiting tomb robberies, and it felt good to keep those thieves away from the important bits. Don't get me wrong, that was awesome, but the waiting was killer, excuse the pun.
Times were, I was called to guard countless folk's organs. Times were, I meant something to people. Someone would mention Hapi, and all the scribes around would nod and go, 'Oh, him, the son of Horus. The lung dude. Yeah, he's cool.' Now, you say Hapi, people think you're saying happy, and they just get all confused.
Stupid English.
I don't guard nearly as many organs as I used to. Most of them are destroyed. Not my fault, mind you- weathering, mostly, a few rats, and, okay, maybe a few tomb raiders, but I swear, there was nothing I could do. Is it my fault if one of the dancer girls entombed with the Pharaoh was a really hot virgin? No. Of course not.
I know I'm supposed to hate the tomb raiders, (all my brothers do,) but if you ask me, they're a much better alternative to archaeologists. If an organ jar gets stolen, someone's bound to steal it again soon, and it just keeps going; you get to come up with more and more ways to try and keep it safe. But once it ends up in a high-security museum, with people all around, well, you're pretty much out of a job.
And that brings us to where I am now, leaning nonchalantly against the display case that holds my charge, watching the museum visitors swirl around me. My brothers, Imsety, Duamutef, and Qebehsenuef, (I kinda lucked out in the name department,) lean against the same case, one of us on each side of the rectangle. More or less, we face our cardinal directions. I face North-ish, Imsety faces South-ish, and, well, you get the picture.
We stand inside a velvet rope barrier, which I guess is to keep fingerprints off the display glass. Because it certainly wouldn't do much good against a robber. Unless, of course, they happen to have a deadly fear of velvet ropes. In which case, they should probably spend the money they make stealing on therapy.
We're all invisible to the crowds, of course. Not only would it seem a little strange for us to stand 24/7 around a glass display case holding something not particularly interesting, but three men with the heads of a baboon, jackal, and hawk, then one normal-looking ancient Egyptian guy would definitely draw attention.
People wander by, skimming the plaque that explains our jars, and then they walk away again, presumably to look at more interesting, more golden, things.
"This is so stupid," Duamutef mutters to no one, his snout protruding into the air. He stands on my right, facing East-ish.
We all mutter agreement, but there's not many options. We can stand either here, or else someone's private collection, or one of the few tombs so far undiscovered. At least here, there are other people to watch.
"I wonder..." Duamutef continues, still to no one.
He steps over the velvet rope, into the throng of people. They pass right through him, unaware.
"Duammy, no!" Imsety yells. He is no longer facing South-ish, but is staring in astonishment at our newly adventurous brother.
(We all have nicknames for each other. We have to. Have you ever tired to pronounce 'Qebehsenuef' in a hurry? Go ahead. I'll wait.)
Duammy grins, then his face goes slack with surprise. He pivots, bends in half, and enthusiastically dry heaves. None of us have eaten in centuries.
The three of us share a worried look. We wait for Duamutef to realize his mistake and come back. We can instantly travel from one location of organ jars to another, but have never tried to wander away. We've always known we'd be punished.
But Duammy is determined. We don't know what to do. He continues to heave for several seconds, then straightens. He turns back to us.
He pauses, waiting for another attack. It never comes. He takes a few more steps back, experimentally. Nothing happens.
With a grin, he turns and runs out of the exhibit. We lose sight of him.
I act on my gut. (Get it? The guardian of an organ acts on his- never mind.) I vault the velvet rope and start running straight away. I know from Duamutef that I'll have a few seconds before the sickness starts.
I ignore the shouts behind me and sprint through the insubstantial crowd. I've always been the fastest of our group- it says that in the Book of the Dead somewhere, I think. By the time my stomach clenches, I have Duamutef in my sights.
I'm reduced to a painful hobble as the heaving starts, but I tackle Duammy and we writhe on the floor as I gag.
I'm surprised by how quickly I feel fine. I pull Duammy and myself to our feet and look him sternly in the eye.
"What were you Ohh awh thinking!"
Sometimes, when I'm upset, my baboon nature leaks through a bit more than I'd like it to. Duamutef starts to laugh. I try to give him a look that tells him to shut up, but I doubt the message gets across. He pushes me away and laughs his annoying jackal laugh.
Behind me, Imsety clears his throat loudly. I turn, and see him standing above Qebehsenuef, who is still retching.
Imsety opens his mouth to say something, but is interrupted by a blaring sound.
Alarms.
We dive towards the entrance of our exhibit and look inside, desperately hoping that it wasn't what we thought it was.
No such luck. The case that had held our jars moments ago was smashed, and all four containers were gone.
No time for blame- okay, maybe a little time for blame. I punch Duammy in the arm. Imsety smacks him upside the head. Then it's down to business. We automatically know who's in possession of our charges, and even if we didn't, the scruffy guy in a black hoodie running out the emergency exit would be a good bet.
We race after him, all shouting curses. Not the swearing kind- well, I think Duamutef lets loose a few of those. But mostly, we say the ancient Egyptian may-you-and-your-decedents-live-always-in-pain-should-you-not-release-our-jars type.
He trips on the fire escape stairs. Whether that's our work or just chance, none of us are sure, but we run to his side either way.
The jars go flying through the air.
"No!" The four of us, as well as the thief, yell more or less in unison.
They shatter on the stairs. All of them. Suddenly, old powdered organs are left laying bare in the Sun.
We stare at them. The thief gets up and jumps over them, but we ignore him.
We've never seen the things we guard this clearly before. Seeing them in a dark tomb or hastily hidden in a dumpster is so different than this.
We've spent our entire existence looking after these 'treasures', yet they look like something the cat coughed up. And whether or not cats are considered holy, that's not a good thing.
We have two options: go find another set of organs, or run.
We make eye contact. We know what to do.
As the cops arrest the thief, they naturally don't notice four invisible gods sneaking out, too.
Explain why they retch
Columbus Killed
In 1492, Columbus sailed the ocean blue.
That rhyme you know, that verse alone,
But here's some things you've never known;
In 1493, Columbus claimed all he could see.
He shouted out, 'It's for the king!"
Everyone and everything!
In 1494, Columbus set the tone for war.
In 1495, he said he'd leave few men alive.
By 1496, and entire continent was sick.
By 1497, most Indians had left for heaven.
In 1498, the king proclaimed, 'This man is great!"
I think it says a thing or two,
About the things we like to do,
That when we see a murderer this way,
We give him a national holiday.
That rhyme you know, that verse alone,
But here's some things you've never known;
In 1493, Columbus claimed all he could see.
He shouted out, 'It's for the king!"
Everyone and everything!
In 1494, Columbus set the tone for war.
In 1495, he said he'd leave few men alive.
By 1496, and entire continent was sick.
By 1497, most Indians had left for heaven.
In 1498, the king proclaimed, 'This man is great!"
I think it says a thing or two,
About the things we like to do,
That when we see a murderer this way,
We give him a national holiday.
Ocean View
Standing by the ocean side,
A word of waves and wind and tide,
Where tiny creatures live and hide,
And wonders of the Earth reside.
I wish that with a single leap,
I could reach the bottom deep,
To see where whales and monsters sleep,
And treasure chests, their gold to reap.
I long to see far past the haze,
That hides the oceans from my gaze,
For the horizon, with it’s simple ways,
And the sunshine with it’s blinding rays;
They hide the things I’d like to see;
An expanse of water, wild and free,
That hides an awesome mystery,
That baffles the whole world with me.
For so little we know, so little we’ve found,
About what lies on the ocean’s ground,
About those fish that dart around
Or the whales that make their mourning sounds.
I fancy that I could build a boat,
Out of the wood that bobs and floats,
I could tie them together with string from my coat,
Then ride the sea like a small, bottled note.
Then my mother calls me to come to the car,
And leave my dreams of worlds afar,
For the sun soon gives way to the Moon and the star,
So I run ‘cross the pavement, feet sticking like tar.
And I feel that wonder slip away,
And though I wish that it could stay,
As the sunset lights the end of today,
My mind starts to work, it ceases to play
.
Goodbye to the daydreams, at least for now,
Goodbye to the why, the what, and the how,
Through the trials of life, I sort and plow,
The world now insists, so at last, I allow.
The Dangers of Being Psychic
Karen grumbled to herself as she walked down the hall, rubbing her eyes as if trying to pop them out of their sore sockets. Her attire of wrinkled sweatpants, a stained tank top and slippers revealed that she had been rudely awakened, probably by the sirens that wailed adamantly throughout the building, accompanied by flashing red lights. It was an over-dramatic show, if you asked her. This was, what, the third time this had happened this month?
Karen deliberately took her time in reaching the off button for the alarm. If it woke me up, might as well let it annoy everyone else, she thought moodily. It's always in the middle of the night, too. What's up with that? Finally, she pressed her thumb to the scanner, giving the order to turn off the siren and lights. Once the barrage on her senses had ceased, she briefly considered going back to bed. It would serve him right, living in a decayed body until he healed. Surly, it could wait a few more hours? But then again, she didn't much fancy the idea of kitchen duty for a year, or any of the other punishments they might inflict. Longing for sleep, she shuffled her way to the locked, heavy iron, reinforced monster of a door that was the entrance to Jack's room.
There was no need for fingerprints here. A small, doorbell like button opened it from the outside. The security was not to keep visitors out; it was to keep Jack in.
As she entered, not opening the door wider than she needed to, she wondered how he had done it this time.
As soon as she was in the room, she saw. It was hard to miss anything in the sparse room with heavily padded walls. It wasn't exactly cluttered. Everything there was white, to 'soothe' him. Even his clothes, a small pile of which lay in a corner, were made of soft, white cotton.
The only piece of furniture in the room was a low cot, the blankets of which he had tied together to make a rope.
"Bed-sheet hanging," Karen nodded, as she watched Jack's body spin limply as it dangled from a light fixture. "An oldie but a goodie. Surprised he never tried it before today, to be honest."
Her eyes drifted around the room until she spotted it. Hovering in the corner, shaded a light blue, was his soul. It was unable to escape, due to the heavy traces of the element Tansium in the cushions. Tansium was the only known substance to hold back souls once freed from their bodies. It did for souls what iron did for fairies- contained them.
Karen jogged the few steps to the soul, then hopped to grab it. She managed to grab the edge of it on her first try.
I'm getting better at this, was her first thought. Her second thought was, Well, I should be good at it! He must have done this a hundred times by now.
Once his soul was in her grasp, she turned her attention to the body. She dragged his bed over to where he hung, then stood on it to reach the rope. She gave it several hard tugs until finally, the rope, and the body attached to it, fell to the ground. Karen hopped off the bed and removed the rope from Jack's neck. All business, she rolled him onto his back and opened his mouth. She dripped the soul in her fists, compressing it, forcing it tightly together. Then she took the soul and shoved it roughly down his throat, into his body. She held his mouth closed and squeezed his nose shut with one hand, while rubbing it down his throat with the other. She took no pleasure in remembering the fact that she was the only person on Earth who could do this. At the moment, the only thing that meant to her was that she had to be called down every single time he died, because no one else could help.
Once the soul was shoved down his gullet, she sat back and waited. Just a few seconds later, his eyes blinked open and he took a shuddering breath. He sat up, moaning. He rubbed a hand through his dark brown hair, delaying the moment when he would have to look Karen in the face. No matter how many times he did this, he always seemed embarrassed. When he spoke, his first question was,
"How long was I out?"
Karen knew he would ask this, so she had the answer prepared.
"About twenty minutes. No record breaker, but you've done worse."
He nodded, staring at the middle of the floor in front of him. His expression was totally unreadable. Then, after an awkward silence, he looked at Karen out of the corner of his eye.
"You want to know why I do this so often." This was not a question. It was a statement.
"Well, yeah. Everyone does," she admitted.
"I know they do," Jack said, letting out a slow sigh. "I know everything they think." He abruptly changed topics, repeating something he said often. "You don't know what that's like."
An angry fire grew in his eyes. Karen started to consider moving out of striking range.
Jack chuckled. "Like, right now, I know you're scared of me. You think I might hit you. Even though I've never seriously hurt anyone besides myself, you'll all scared of me."
"That's not true," Karen offered weakly.
Jack snorted and stood up. Though he was only fourteen, he looked so old as he walked slowly to the cot and sat down gently on it.
"You should know by now, you can't lie to me."
He paused for a moment, as if trying to rediscover his train of thought.
"No one knows what it's like for me. No one else in the world has this... this 'power'."
After creating the air quotes with his fingers, he dropped his hands to his sides. Karen moved up onto the bed with him, hoping to offer some comfort.
"Explain it to me, then, if no one understands."
He bit his lip, then decided to talk.
"What I mean is, everyone knows, in an abstract sense, that some people are hiding the fact that they don't like them. They know that at least some people are giving them fake compliments. But imagine, hearing every single thing anyone thinks of you, good or bad. Imagine hearing the insults they would never dare to say aloud. And when I sleep..." He shudders, "Have I ever told you this? I dream of other people's nightmares. Never their dreams. Always the nightmares. Beats me why. You'd think it would be easier, to dream someone else's fears, to be more removed. But it's not, because on top of whatever emotion the nightmare creates, you have the confusion of not being sure what's going on, and the strong, persuasive feeling that you just don't belong there.
He shook his head slowly, and Karen realized he was talking more to himself than to her.
"Some of the thoughts were good, in the beginning. They thought I really was a Chosen, that I would protect them from evil, or whatever. And why? Why did they think I could do it? Because of this?"
Angrily, he held up his left hand, showing the oval-shaped gem embedded in his palm. It was the lightest of blues, just like his soul. It was so clear, you could see through it, to the veins and muscle in his hand. It was surrounded by dark, cryptic marks that looked a bit like a picture frame. The marks appeared to be tattooed there, but it was actually a birthmark, just the the gem itself. Karen watched in fascination as his pulse was displayed. Her own gem was a dark purple, too dark to see through. She pushed the strap of her tank top off her shoulder, revealing her own gem, also surrounded with a dark frame. Sometimes, she felt this mark was the only thing the two of them had in common.
Jack lowered the hand to rest on the cot, hiding the mark.
"Well," said Karen, "It's hard to argue with a prophecy."
Jack rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I know. I mean, I've seen the vision-"
"You can see visions?" Karen was shocked. Why hadn't he told her this?
"No, no," Jack quickly corrected. "I've read the minds of prophets while they're having the vision, is what I mean. It's fairly specific, more specific than most, and it's exactly the same no matter who's having it. I'm not trying to argue with the prophecy, just..."
He moaned, folding his hands around his face. Unbidden, a line from the prophecy popped into his mind.
An evil comes, unseen, unheard,
Four Chosen ones will save our world.
Though their powers are given at birth,
It will take time to prove their worth.
"I'm just tired of life," he said, defeated.
"So, you try to end it," Karen concluded.
"No," Jack said again, surprising her. He leaned back on his elbows and continued to talk, staring up at the ceiling his body had hung from just a few minutes ago.
"I mean, the first time it happened, when I was ten... that time, I was really trying to end it. But once I realized that you would always bring me back to my body, I've never done it with the intent to really end anything."
He looked over at Karen, responding to her thoughts.
"And no, it's not just for the attention. Almost everyone thinks that- anyone who doesn't assume it's for attention just thinks I'm insane."
"Why do you do it, then?"
Jack turned to look Karen in the eye. He spoke slowly and earnestly.
"When I'm dead, for however long it takes you to get to me, I can't read minds. Not at all. And after that, I can keep thoughts out for a while."
A far away, happy look drifts into his eyes.
"I can't see or hear, either, but I can think my own thoughts, without being surrounded by..."
He couldn't think of how to quite end the sentence, so he just shook his head slowly.
He stopped talking and tried to clear his head, which was a mistake. When there was nothing else to distract him, the thoughts he had been trying not to hear burst into his mind. He visibly winced as the thoughts quickly returned, as if eager to restart what had been so rudely interrupted twenty-five minuets ago. Thoughts made themselves known, clamoring to be payed attention to.
A guard down the hall was wondering what was taking Karen so long. He wondered if the boy had actually died this time. He sure hoped so- that kid was bad for the media.
One twenty year-old woman cried angrily in her room at the news that her boyfriend had been cheating.
Miles away, a boy was lost in a strip mall. He had just watched his mother drive off.
A man in the surveillance room glanced at the screens that showed Jack's cell. He praised himself for hiding the cameras so well, even the psychic guy didn't know where they were. At least, he never looked straight at 'em.
Grief, annoyance, anger, boredom, hate, and worry all sent his brain into an overload. There were other things, too; happiness, pride, contentment, but they were easily overtaken by the darker emotions.
It took longer than usual for Jack to regain control of his own head. When he did, he was laying on the floor, with his hands desperately clutching at his scull, as if trying to pry it open and dig the other thoughts out. When he pulled his hands away, clumps of hair came with them. Karen was gone; the door was locked. He was alone. Again. There was no clock in the room, so he had no idea how long it had taken. He moaned, slowly sitting up, staring sadly at the door. Other people's thoughts buzzed in the back of his mind.
A few minutes later, he began to wonder how long it would take food left in a mattress to turn poisonous.
Karen deliberately took her time in reaching the off button for the alarm. If it woke me up, might as well let it annoy everyone else, she thought moodily. It's always in the middle of the night, too. What's up with that? Finally, she pressed her thumb to the scanner, giving the order to turn off the siren and lights. Once the barrage on her senses had ceased, she briefly considered going back to bed. It would serve him right, living in a decayed body until he healed. Surly, it could wait a few more hours? But then again, she didn't much fancy the idea of kitchen duty for a year, or any of the other punishments they might inflict. Longing for sleep, she shuffled her way to the locked, heavy iron, reinforced monster of a door that was the entrance to Jack's room.
There was no need for fingerprints here. A small, doorbell like button opened it from the outside. The security was not to keep visitors out; it was to keep Jack in.
As she entered, not opening the door wider than she needed to, she wondered how he had done it this time.
As soon as she was in the room, she saw. It was hard to miss anything in the sparse room with heavily padded walls. It wasn't exactly cluttered. Everything there was white, to 'soothe' him. Even his clothes, a small pile of which lay in a corner, were made of soft, white cotton.
The only piece of furniture in the room was a low cot, the blankets of which he had tied together to make a rope.
"Bed-sheet hanging," Karen nodded, as she watched Jack's body spin limply as it dangled from a light fixture. "An oldie but a goodie. Surprised he never tried it before today, to be honest."
Her eyes drifted around the room until she spotted it. Hovering in the corner, shaded a light blue, was his soul. It was unable to escape, due to the heavy traces of the element Tansium in the cushions. Tansium was the only known substance to hold back souls once freed from their bodies. It did for souls what iron did for fairies- contained them.
Karen jogged the few steps to the soul, then hopped to grab it. She managed to grab the edge of it on her first try.
I'm getting better at this, was her first thought. Her second thought was, Well, I should be good at it! He must have done this a hundred times by now.
Once his soul was in her grasp, she turned her attention to the body. She dragged his bed over to where he hung, then stood on it to reach the rope. She gave it several hard tugs until finally, the rope, and the body attached to it, fell to the ground. Karen hopped off the bed and removed the rope from Jack's neck. All business, she rolled him onto his back and opened his mouth. She dripped the soul in her fists, compressing it, forcing it tightly together. Then she took the soul and shoved it roughly down his throat, into his body. She held his mouth closed and squeezed his nose shut with one hand, while rubbing it down his throat with the other. She took no pleasure in remembering the fact that she was the only person on Earth who could do this. At the moment, the only thing that meant to her was that she had to be called down every single time he died, because no one else could help.
Once the soul was shoved down his gullet, she sat back and waited. Just a few seconds later, his eyes blinked open and he took a shuddering breath. He sat up, moaning. He rubbed a hand through his dark brown hair, delaying the moment when he would have to look Karen in the face. No matter how many times he did this, he always seemed embarrassed. When he spoke, his first question was,
"How long was I out?"
Karen knew he would ask this, so she had the answer prepared.
"About twenty minutes. No record breaker, but you've done worse."
He nodded, staring at the middle of the floor in front of him. His expression was totally unreadable. Then, after an awkward silence, he looked at Karen out of the corner of his eye.
"You want to know why I do this so often." This was not a question. It was a statement.
"Well, yeah. Everyone does," she admitted.
"I know they do," Jack said, letting out a slow sigh. "I know everything they think." He abruptly changed topics, repeating something he said often. "You don't know what that's like."
An angry fire grew in his eyes. Karen started to consider moving out of striking range.
Jack chuckled. "Like, right now, I know you're scared of me. You think I might hit you. Even though I've never seriously hurt anyone besides myself, you'll all scared of me."
"That's not true," Karen offered weakly.
Jack snorted and stood up. Though he was only fourteen, he looked so old as he walked slowly to the cot and sat down gently on it.
"You should know by now, you can't lie to me."
He paused for a moment, as if trying to rediscover his train of thought.
"No one knows what it's like for me. No one else in the world has this... this 'power'."
After creating the air quotes with his fingers, he dropped his hands to his sides. Karen moved up onto the bed with him, hoping to offer some comfort.
"Explain it to me, then, if no one understands."
He bit his lip, then decided to talk.
"What I mean is, everyone knows, in an abstract sense, that some people are hiding the fact that they don't like them. They know that at least some people are giving them fake compliments. But imagine, hearing every single thing anyone thinks of you, good or bad. Imagine hearing the insults they would never dare to say aloud. And when I sleep..." He shudders, "Have I ever told you this? I dream of other people's nightmares. Never their dreams. Always the nightmares. Beats me why. You'd think it would be easier, to dream someone else's fears, to be more removed. But it's not, because on top of whatever emotion the nightmare creates, you have the confusion of not being sure what's going on, and the strong, persuasive feeling that you just don't belong there.
He shook his head slowly, and Karen realized he was talking more to himself than to her.
"Some of the thoughts were good, in the beginning. They thought I really was a Chosen, that I would protect them from evil, or whatever. And why? Why did they think I could do it? Because of this?"
Angrily, he held up his left hand, showing the oval-shaped gem embedded in his palm. It was the lightest of blues, just like his soul. It was so clear, you could see through it, to the veins and muscle in his hand. It was surrounded by dark, cryptic marks that looked a bit like a picture frame. The marks appeared to be tattooed there, but it was actually a birthmark, just the the gem itself. Karen watched in fascination as his pulse was displayed. Her own gem was a dark purple, too dark to see through. She pushed the strap of her tank top off her shoulder, revealing her own gem, also surrounded with a dark frame. Sometimes, she felt this mark was the only thing the two of them had in common.
Jack lowered the hand to rest on the cot, hiding the mark.
"Well," said Karen, "It's hard to argue with a prophecy."
Jack rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I know. I mean, I've seen the vision-"
"You can see visions?" Karen was shocked. Why hadn't he told her this?
"No, no," Jack quickly corrected. "I've read the minds of prophets while they're having the vision, is what I mean. It's fairly specific, more specific than most, and it's exactly the same no matter who's having it. I'm not trying to argue with the prophecy, just..."
He moaned, folding his hands around his face. Unbidden, a line from the prophecy popped into his mind.
An evil comes, unseen, unheard,
Four Chosen ones will save our world.
Though their powers are given at birth,
It will take time to prove their worth.
"I'm just tired of life," he said, defeated.
"So, you try to end it," Karen concluded.
"No," Jack said again, surprising her. He leaned back on his elbows and continued to talk, staring up at the ceiling his body had hung from just a few minutes ago.
"I mean, the first time it happened, when I was ten... that time, I was really trying to end it. But once I realized that you would always bring me back to my body, I've never done it with the intent to really end anything."
He looked over at Karen, responding to her thoughts.
"And no, it's not just for the attention. Almost everyone thinks that- anyone who doesn't assume it's for attention just thinks I'm insane."
"Why do you do it, then?"
Jack turned to look Karen in the eye. He spoke slowly and earnestly.
"When I'm dead, for however long it takes you to get to me, I can't read minds. Not at all. And after that, I can keep thoughts out for a while."
A far away, happy look drifts into his eyes.
"I can't see or hear, either, but I can think my own thoughts, without being surrounded by..."
He couldn't think of how to quite end the sentence, so he just shook his head slowly.
He stopped talking and tried to clear his head, which was a mistake. When there was nothing else to distract him, the thoughts he had been trying not to hear burst into his mind. He visibly winced as the thoughts quickly returned, as if eager to restart what had been so rudely interrupted twenty-five minuets ago. Thoughts made themselves known, clamoring to be payed attention to.
A guard down the hall was wondering what was taking Karen so long. He wondered if the boy had actually died this time. He sure hoped so- that kid was bad for the media.
One twenty year-old woman cried angrily in her room at the news that her boyfriend had been cheating.
Miles away, a boy was lost in a strip mall. He had just watched his mother drive off.
A man in the surveillance room glanced at the screens that showed Jack's cell. He praised himself for hiding the cameras so well, even the psychic guy didn't know where they were. At least, he never looked straight at 'em.
Grief, annoyance, anger, boredom, hate, and worry all sent his brain into an overload. There were other things, too; happiness, pride, contentment, but they were easily overtaken by the darker emotions.
It took longer than usual for Jack to regain control of his own head. When he did, he was laying on the floor, with his hands desperately clutching at his scull, as if trying to pry it open and dig the other thoughts out. When he pulled his hands away, clumps of hair came with them. Karen was gone; the door was locked. He was alone. Again. There was no clock in the room, so he had no idea how long it had taken. He moaned, slowly sitting up, staring sadly at the door. Other people's thoughts buzzed in the back of his mind.
A few minutes later, he began to wonder how long it would take food left in a mattress to turn poisonous.
What Doesn't Kill You Makes a Monster
(to the tune of 'what doesn't kill you makes you stronger')
Under the bed is horror,
Lurking here, alone.
And while you dream in color,
Your flesh is what I want.
You think you've got best of me,
But I'll have the last laugh,
Once you realize that all of your limbs are gone!
'Think that I'm now dead and done,
Think I won't come lurking back!
Child, you don't know me 'cuz you're dead wrong!
What doesn't kill you makes a monster!
Slink a little lower!
Doesn't mean it's finished, cuz I'm gone!
What doesn't kill you makes you bolder,
Sharp teeth even sharper!
Doesn't mean you're safe now, all alone!
You heard that I was starting over with a victim, new...
You heard their scream in the night and was glad it wasn't you.
You didn't think that I'd come back-
I'd come back prowling.
You tried to lose me but you see;
What doesn't kill you makes a monster,
Slink a little lower.
Doesn't mean it's finished, cuz I'm gone!
What doesn't kill you makes you bolder,
Sharp teeth even sharper!
Doesn't mean you're safe now, all alone.
Doesn't mean it's finished, cuz I'm gone!
What doesn't kill you makes you bolder,
Sharp teeth even sharper!
Doesn't mean you're safe now, all alone.
I've got the taste of flesh!
What doesn't kill you makes you bolder,
Sharp teeth even sharper,
Doesn't mean it's finished, cuz I'm gone...
Because I'm gone...
She-Who-Soon-Shall-Be-Named (finished)
This one's for you, Madalyn!
I raise a concerned eyebrow as I see the story play out in front of my on the mirror. It's quite the impressive scene, really. Both men, (it's hard for me to think of either of them as men; the one is too young for these things, and my older brother is barely alive, to begin with,) fight bravely, holding their wands in front of them like swords. Their lips move in some spells- I have no doubt they're powerful, legendary, coveted, ho-hum, tell me something I don't see every day. Streams of fire shoot from both wand tips and I lean forward a little in my seat. I already know how this will play out, of course, but it's still exiting. I never thought that boy was really dead, not for a minute. My friends gasped when he began to move again, but I just rolled my eyes. If my dim-witted brother can cheat death, it only seems logical that the star student of Hogwarts could pull it off, too.
I recall the dramatic words they exchanged before this duel started. They talked about love, life, death, and such. I cracked a smile then. My brother always had a tendency toward flair, and the boy shared that trait. I swear, neither of them has taken anything lightly in their life.
Light flashed back and forth between them- I don't know the technicalities, someone will explain them later- and then my brother falls. He quickly becomes nothing but a pile of ash. My throat grows tight. When there is no trace of him left, the mirror goes dark.
"So, that's it then?"
When I hear how weak my voice sounds, I quickly clear my throat and try to sound more official.
"Are we sure he's really gone? This isn't another ploy?"
I knew it wasn't a ploy. They wouldn't have made such a big deal of it if it was. But I needed that conformation.
One of the wizards stands up.
"Yes, we're quite sure." He dips his head. "I'm sorry."
I take a shuddering breath.
"Don't be. He had a good run; most powerful dark wizard ever, and all that."
Sad smiles abound.
My hands are sweating, so I slowly wipe them on my skirt. A few of the wizards and witches around the table look pointedly at my empty hands. I know what they're thinking. It's a thought that they must think often.
They look at my hands because I hold no wand; I haven't touched a wand in years. Decades, now that I think of it.
The reason why I have no wand is simple, really. My brother, Tom, had unimaginable power. But I... I guess you could say I take after my father.
I'm a squib. I have no magical power, but that doesn't mean I'm defenseless.
While my brother was out in the world of wizardry, chasing after impossible spells, I was doing something good with my life.
I am the head of an organization we call the Conjoining. I currently sit at a long, battered oak table. I haven't mentioned them yet, but muggles sit here with me. There are equal amounts of wizards/witches and muggles on our team, and only one squib. Me.
Our goal is lofty; to combine the worlds of the wizards and the muggles into one, practically Utopian society. Both sides have so much to offer one another. Imagine muggle engineers being able to create microchips powered by spells? Or on the other hand, imagine how much more accurate information could be taken from the stars if you replaced wizards hand-drawn star charts with images from the Hubble?
The wizard world has gone to great lengths to ensure that muggles never find them, but we believe it is time to join the worlds together.
Of course, there are some connections. The Ministry of Magic informs the Prime Minister of their existence. But that isn't enough. Not even close.
Our plan has many stages, but the first one is simple.
The muggles simply won't accept us if we announce ourselves loudly. So we need to start small.
I turn to one of the woman muggles on our team. Joanne. Oh, how I love her. She plans on using the pen name J. K. Rowling.
"Are you still working on the manuscript?" I ask her.
She nods, and I can't hold back a grin, even in light of recent news.
We're ready for a revolution.
Look out worlds, here we come.
I raise a concerned eyebrow as I see the story play out in front of my on the mirror. It's quite the impressive scene, really. Both men, (it's hard for me to think of either of them as men; the one is too young for these things, and my older brother is barely alive, to begin with,) fight bravely, holding their wands in front of them like swords. Their lips move in some spells- I have no doubt they're powerful, legendary, coveted, ho-hum, tell me something I don't see every day. Streams of fire shoot from both wand tips and I lean forward a little in my seat. I already know how this will play out, of course, but it's still exiting. I never thought that boy was really dead, not for a minute. My friends gasped when he began to move again, but I just rolled my eyes. If my dim-witted brother can cheat death, it only seems logical that the star student of Hogwarts could pull it off, too.
I recall the dramatic words they exchanged before this duel started. They talked about love, life, death, and such. I cracked a smile then. My brother always had a tendency toward flair, and the boy shared that trait. I swear, neither of them has taken anything lightly in their life.
Light flashed back and forth between them- I don't know the technicalities, someone will explain them later- and then my brother falls. He quickly becomes nothing but a pile of ash. My throat grows tight. When there is no trace of him left, the mirror goes dark.
"So, that's it then?"
When I hear how weak my voice sounds, I quickly clear my throat and try to sound more official.
"Are we sure he's really gone? This isn't another ploy?"
I knew it wasn't a ploy. They wouldn't have made such a big deal of it if it was. But I needed that conformation.
One of the wizards stands up.
"Yes, we're quite sure." He dips his head. "I'm sorry."
I take a shuddering breath.
"Don't be. He had a good run; most powerful dark wizard ever, and all that."
Sad smiles abound.
My hands are sweating, so I slowly wipe them on my skirt. A few of the wizards and witches around the table look pointedly at my empty hands. I know what they're thinking. It's a thought that they must think often.
They look at my hands because I hold no wand; I haven't touched a wand in years. Decades, now that I think of it.
The reason why I have no wand is simple, really. My brother, Tom, had unimaginable power. But I... I guess you could say I take after my father.
I'm a squib. I have no magical power, but that doesn't mean I'm defenseless.
While my brother was out in the world of wizardry, chasing after impossible spells, I was doing something good with my life.
I am the head of an organization we call the Conjoining. I currently sit at a long, battered oak table. I haven't mentioned them yet, but muggles sit here with me. There are equal amounts of wizards/witches and muggles on our team, and only one squib. Me.
Our goal is lofty; to combine the worlds of the wizards and the muggles into one, practically Utopian society. Both sides have so much to offer one another. Imagine muggle engineers being able to create microchips powered by spells? Or on the other hand, imagine how much more accurate information could be taken from the stars if you replaced wizards hand-drawn star charts with images from the Hubble?
The wizard world has gone to great lengths to ensure that muggles never find them, but we believe it is time to join the worlds together.
Of course, there are some connections. The Ministry of Magic informs the Prime Minister of their existence. But that isn't enough. Not even close.
Our plan has many stages, but the first one is simple.
The muggles simply won't accept us if we announce ourselves loudly. So we need to start small.
I turn to one of the woman muggles on our team. Joanne. Oh, how I love her. She plans on using the pen name J. K. Rowling.
"Are you still working on the manuscript?" I ask her.
She nods, and I can't hold back a grin, even in light of recent news.
We're ready for a revolution.
Look out worlds, here we come.
This I Believe Essay
This
I believe: exclusion is real, it hurts, and if you aren't looking,
you don't see it.
For
instance, there's this girl. I've seen her sitting silently at her
lunch table, alone, for ages. I've watched her sit there, with her
head down, picking at her food, reading a book, and simply staring
into space. The
day I finally met her, I was scanning the lunch room, looking for my
friends, and something caught my eye. Our lunch room is a sea of
happy laughter, noise, color, and contented people. In a way, that
joy is what made this scene so devastating.
Because
one table didn't have
people swarming over it, trading dumb secrets. One
table wasn't filled
with laughter and shouts.
At
one table, a small girl sat alone.
I
went to that table and slowly sat in a chair by the girl. She looked
up, surprised. I opened my lunch box, feeling awkward. Finally, I
worked up the nerve to speak.
"Hi.
What's your name?"
Her
lips barely moved as she answered, "Madison."
Despite
my best efforts, we exchanged only a few words that lunch period. I
don't know why she's quiet, but I have a hunch: looks. Her hair is
straight and black, not blonde and curled. Her gut curves out, not
in, and her face is plain and splotchy, not caked in make-up. For
this, she sits alone.
Our
school is full of people like that. People who were silently and
unanimously deemed somehow,‘ugly’, or ‘annoying’, or ‘dumb.’
There's
a saying: 'You never feel lonelier than when in a crowd'. I can
tell you that's true. It's one thing to be alone in a place
where everyone around you is also uncomfortable. But it's another
thing entirely to be alone in a crowd, surrounded by laughs, shouts,
and songs. You walk alone, with “best friends” all around you,
and feel a little guilty, thinking, 'What am I doing wrong? Where are
my
friends?'
To
anyone who has ever thought that way, I say this: you are doing
nothing wrong. You are perfect just the way you are. A friend who
understands will come. I promise.
To
the un-lonely, remember: Everyone wants
to be included, to be a part of something bigger than themselves. It
is a basic part of human nature to want to be with others who think
and feel like you do. When you walk past the boy in the corner, or
skip your eyes over the girl on the edge of the group, you are
keeping people from that joy.
There's
no excuse for ignoring people who need you. The number one way to get
out of your own problems is to help someone else with theirs. Look
for those excluded people. They are everywhere; they need you.
I
believe that if people, in middle school and everywhere, would look
for the excluded people and include
them, the world would be a better place.
This
I believe.
Dead- Talker (draft)
I used to be the daughter of a popular computer designer. (Well, I guess I'm still technically his daughter, but I don't feel like I am.) We were rich. Very rich. Our house was huge, and I could afford any toy I wanted. I knew lots of people at school, most of whom pretended to be my friend. I was happy.
As I was growing up, my parents saw strange things right away. At a young age, I developed the strange habit of always dipping my long, pale blond hair in water. Any water. I would sit at lunch, soaking my locks in my drinking glass, or suddenly fall down on the sidewalk to dip it in a puddle. I spent hours in the bathroom, leaning over the sink. Whenever someone tried to pull me away from a water source, I cried.
On a few occasions, my parents went to get my hair cut. It was all snipped off, until only an inch or two long. But my hair grows quickly, and it was only a matter of time before I could do it again. My parents tried everything to get me to stop, but I always found a way.
That wasn't the strangest part, though. Whenever my hair was wet, I talked, seemingly to myself. I always looked up, as if talking to someone that no one else could see. I babbled about anything and everything- the weather, my other friends, and later, books I had read.
By far the oddest part, though, was the way I talked. All the kids my age used text-speak like LOL, OMG, and BFF. If there wasn't a common acronym for what they were trying to say, they used short words like like 'cuz, sure, no. But when I talked to my 'imaginary' friend, I used old words like 'because', 'friendly', and 'predict'. I sounded like a grandmother.
Of course, I used normal words when talking to everyone else. But when I talked to my friend, I talked old-fashioned.
(His name is Richard, by the way.)
When I turned eleven and was still doing this, perhaps even more than ever, my parents decided something was seriously wrong. They took my to a witch-seer, which is sorta like a psychic, only more for children. Her name was Dr. Sydney, and she was a professional Wizard, one of the best in town.
She met with me for and hour at a time every Thursday for several weeks. Finally, she found the awful truth.
I wasn't there when she told my parents, but I can imagine it. She would go into the waiting room with that fake-nice expression she always wore, holding that plain, wooden clip-board. She would take a soft breath, then let the news fly.
"Your daughter is a Dead-Talker."
My parents would sit there, dumbfounded. Then my father would try to debate, try to reason why it couldn't be so, while my mother simply cried.
Dead-Talkers are dangerous. Everyone knows that. They are murderers, they start wars. At least, that's what the president says. So there was only one thing to do.
They put me in a tower.
All I have so far...
As I was growing up, my parents saw strange things right away. At a young age, I developed the strange habit of always dipping my long, pale blond hair in water. Any water. I would sit at lunch, soaking my locks in my drinking glass, or suddenly fall down on the sidewalk to dip it in a puddle. I spent hours in the bathroom, leaning over the sink. Whenever someone tried to pull me away from a water source, I cried.
On a few occasions, my parents went to get my hair cut. It was all snipped off, until only an inch or two long. But my hair grows quickly, and it was only a matter of time before I could do it again. My parents tried everything to get me to stop, but I always found a way.
That wasn't the strangest part, though. Whenever my hair was wet, I talked, seemingly to myself. I always looked up, as if talking to someone that no one else could see. I babbled about anything and everything- the weather, my other friends, and later, books I had read.
By far the oddest part, though, was the way I talked. All the kids my age used text-speak like LOL, OMG, and BFF. If there wasn't a common acronym for what they were trying to say, they used short words like like 'cuz, sure, no. But when I talked to my 'imaginary' friend, I used old words like 'because', 'friendly', and 'predict'. I sounded like a grandmother.
Of course, I used normal words when talking to everyone else. But when I talked to my friend, I talked old-fashioned.
(His name is Richard, by the way.)
When I turned eleven and was still doing this, perhaps even more than ever, my parents decided something was seriously wrong. They took my to a witch-seer, which is sorta like a psychic, only more for children. Her name was Dr. Sydney, and she was a professional Wizard, one of the best in town.
She met with me for and hour at a time every Thursday for several weeks. Finally, she found the awful truth.
I wasn't there when she told my parents, but I can imagine it. She would go into the waiting room with that fake-nice expression she always wore, holding that plain, wooden clip-board. She would take a soft breath, then let the news fly.
"Your daughter is a Dead-Talker."
My parents would sit there, dumbfounded. Then my father would try to debate, try to reason why it couldn't be so, while my mother simply cried.
Dead-Talkers are dangerous. Everyone knows that. They are murderers, they start wars. At least, that's what the president says. So there was only one thing to do.
They put me in a tower.
All I have so far...
Alien Audience (draft)
As I stand in the dark room, ready to meet my audience, my palms begin to sweat. I wonder how the creatures outside the steel door will interpret this body function.
I stand in the holding chamber almost completely naked. None of the aliens here wear clothing, so they thought it would be distracting for me to wear it. I was totally freaked out at first, but after five days of interacting with them, no one's said anything or even looked at my body that much, so I've kinda gotten used to it.
The only thing I am wearing is a name tag, hanging from a string just like the ones at home. In big letters, printed on electronic sheets that automatically translate to whatever language the alien looking at it speaks, it says 'The Pleader From Earth'. Below that, it says my name. Emma White.
The people (for a while I wouldn't call them people, but now I think that's the best word to use,) who live on this space station are fair. They sent multiple, easy-to-decode messages simply stating that they had conducted a survey of our nations and decided that we would better serve our galaxy as food sources than intelligent beings. They declared that one representative from our species could be sent to persuade them otherwise. We had five years to find our speaker. Nearly every government on Earth got this message. Some chose to share it with their citizens, but most hid it. Those who made the information public fell into chaos almost overnight.
China had a pretty good take on the matter, I think. They sent out several tests; I.Q. tests, public speaking tests, and mental well-being tests. Every citizen had to take them. No one had a clue what it was for. The winner was some rocket scientist, I think.
Soon, America followed China's example and used similar tests. Of all the hundreds of millions, I got the highest score. Me. A high-school girl. True, I take AP everything and have straight A's, but still, I couldn't believe that I turned out smarter than even the workers at NASA, or collage professors.
Seven months after the tests were graded, me, the Chinese scientist, and eight other candidates met via a video chat. We were each stationed in the capitol of our home country. We each took a new round of harder tests, and went head-to-head in games like chess, and debates.
It was the hardest thing I've ever done, but I won. I turned out to be the smartest person in the world.
Now, there was four years and five months left before the aliens would take me away. I spent that time flying around the world, seeing everything from the Great Wall to the Hubble space craft to the Mona Lisa. No expense was spared on my education. Everyone knew that the future of Earth depended on me knowing our best points.
And then the time came. The aliens sent a message saying they refused to land on Earth, so I flew to the moon. They said no one could see their ship from the outside. It was hard, but we complied. I was asleep when they came.
I woke up on a big, comfy bed. To my surprise, my room had thick carpet, painted walls, and a plain, wooden door. Nothing futuristic about it at all. I shouldn't have been surprised- I knew they were watching us.
I met a lot of aliens over the next few days. Some were humanoid. Some weren't. Some were microscopic yet still incredibly intelligent. Others were made of electricity or gravity instead of cells.
The whole time, I was careful never to say anything was impossible, or that I didn't believe it. I wanted to seem as open-minded as possible. That was hard when I saw some things, like a species that had more than five genders needed to make an offspring, or a computer that could read minds, but I used to read a lot of fantasy and sci-fy. Nothing was impossible to me.
I took constant mental notes, thinking of what I would say when it was my time to speak in front of so many important aliens. I tried not to think too hard about it, though. I was afraid I would totally freak out.
And now it's time. I take a shuddering breath as I realize that more responsibility is on my shoulders now that has ever been on the shoulders of any human in history. Billions of lives are in my hands.
The doors slide open and I walk out onto a circular stage. Sitting, hovering, or placed all around me are the representatives of all the known intelligent species. Some of them have traveled hundreds of light-years to listen to me.
I have no time limit. I could talk for days if I had enough words. I smile and begin to talk.
"Creatures of the Council. I am deeply grateful for the chance you've given me to speak in front of you today. I have seen things I have never dreamed possible. Thank you so much for bringing me here."
Okay. Time to get down to business.
"I have learned that, a few Center-Years," (the Center is the barren planet almost exactly in the middle of the planets with life. It is used as a universal time-piece.) "Ago you gathered and decided that humans are too war-prone, dumb, and sense-less to contribute to the Council. I am here to tell you this simply isn't true. "
I look around, wondering if any of this is getting through.
"Recently, I have learned much about what your culture has accomplished. I have realized a few facts that I think speak in Earth's favor."
"For one thing, life on Earth has only been evolving for 2 billion years. Many forms of life represented here have been in the works for more that four times that. It simply isn't fair to expect us to be at the same stages as you."
One alien, a wrinkly old thing, only a few feet tall, with no face that I can see, stands up. It begins to speak. All the aliens here seem to speak English. Whether they all learned the language for my visit, or if they installed a translator while I slept, I'm not sure. Both seem possible.
The short alien seems to be laughing.
"Do you think we are unaware of this? We simply do not have the resources to wait billions of year for your kind to catch up. Unless you have something better to say, perhaps we should make you the first human to die."
I do my best to keep calm. I do, in fact, have a much better point. I think it's time I jump to it.
"I have spent a large amount of my time here reading your literature. There is a huge amount of scientific writing. There are even some religious texts. I have noticed one large difference between your writings and ours."
"Never, in your endless catalog of texts, did I see someone thinking more than three decades in advance. Your authors speak of the next day, or the next year, but never so far ahead. Any progress you have made has been prompted by events at that time, or has been entirely for the present. You have done a great deal of watching us on Earth in our daily lifes, but I don't think you have taken the time to read much of our books."
"There is a huge theme in our literature of looking forward, especially in recent years. Whether in politics, religion, or science, we are almost always looking hundreds of years in the future. Like I have said, I have seen many wonders in my time here. But I have seen nothing that hasn't already been imagined by our authors. Not the science, not the life forms, not the computers. I cannot argue that we are as advanced as you. But I can say, with conviction, that we are ready to be as advanced as you. Our minds have been prepared to witness these things."
"Even now, your people have few plans for the future. You know that some day, the stars will run out of hydrogen, and that the Universe will go cold, but you have few ideas on how to prevent or survive this. If you bring humans into your society, then we can help you discover solutions."
The same short alien stands again. I'm starting to think he's in charge here.
"How can you suggest such a thing? Your kind's technology is miles behind ours."
That's all I've got at the moment...
I stand in the holding chamber almost completely naked. None of the aliens here wear clothing, so they thought it would be distracting for me to wear it. I was totally freaked out at first, but after five days of interacting with them, no one's said anything or even looked at my body that much, so I've kinda gotten used to it.
The only thing I am wearing is a name tag, hanging from a string just like the ones at home. In big letters, printed on electronic sheets that automatically translate to whatever language the alien looking at it speaks, it says 'The Pleader From Earth'. Below that, it says my name. Emma White.
The people (for a while I wouldn't call them people, but now I think that's the best word to use,) who live on this space station are fair. They sent multiple, easy-to-decode messages simply stating that they had conducted a survey of our nations and decided that we would better serve our galaxy as food sources than intelligent beings. They declared that one representative from our species could be sent to persuade them otherwise. We had five years to find our speaker. Nearly every government on Earth got this message. Some chose to share it with their citizens, but most hid it. Those who made the information public fell into chaos almost overnight.
China had a pretty good take on the matter, I think. They sent out several tests; I.Q. tests, public speaking tests, and mental well-being tests. Every citizen had to take them. No one had a clue what it was for. The winner was some rocket scientist, I think.
Soon, America followed China's example and used similar tests. Of all the hundreds of millions, I got the highest score. Me. A high-school girl. True, I take AP everything and have straight A's, but still, I couldn't believe that I turned out smarter than even the workers at NASA, or collage professors.
Seven months after the tests were graded, me, the Chinese scientist, and eight other candidates met via a video chat. We were each stationed in the capitol of our home country. We each took a new round of harder tests, and went head-to-head in games like chess, and debates.
It was the hardest thing I've ever done, but I won. I turned out to be the smartest person in the world.
Now, there was four years and five months left before the aliens would take me away. I spent that time flying around the world, seeing everything from the Great Wall to the Hubble space craft to the Mona Lisa. No expense was spared on my education. Everyone knew that the future of Earth depended on me knowing our best points.
And then the time came. The aliens sent a message saying they refused to land on Earth, so I flew to the moon. They said no one could see their ship from the outside. It was hard, but we complied. I was asleep when they came.
I woke up on a big, comfy bed. To my surprise, my room had thick carpet, painted walls, and a plain, wooden door. Nothing futuristic about it at all. I shouldn't have been surprised- I knew they were watching us.
I met a lot of aliens over the next few days. Some were humanoid. Some weren't. Some were microscopic yet still incredibly intelligent. Others were made of electricity or gravity instead of cells.
The whole time, I was careful never to say anything was impossible, or that I didn't believe it. I wanted to seem as open-minded as possible. That was hard when I saw some things, like a species that had more than five genders needed to make an offspring, or a computer that could read minds, but I used to read a lot of fantasy and sci-fy. Nothing was impossible to me.
I took constant mental notes, thinking of what I would say when it was my time to speak in front of so many important aliens. I tried not to think too hard about it, though. I was afraid I would totally freak out.
And now it's time. I take a shuddering breath as I realize that more responsibility is on my shoulders now that has ever been on the shoulders of any human in history. Billions of lives are in my hands.
The doors slide open and I walk out onto a circular stage. Sitting, hovering, or placed all around me are the representatives of all the known intelligent species. Some of them have traveled hundreds of light-years to listen to me.
I have no time limit. I could talk for days if I had enough words. I smile and begin to talk.
"Creatures of the Council. I am deeply grateful for the chance you've given me to speak in front of you today. I have seen things I have never dreamed possible. Thank you so much for bringing me here."
Okay. Time to get down to business.
"I have learned that, a few Center-Years," (the Center is the barren planet almost exactly in the middle of the planets with life. It is used as a universal time-piece.) "Ago you gathered and decided that humans are too war-prone, dumb, and sense-less to contribute to the Council. I am here to tell you this simply isn't true. "
I look around, wondering if any of this is getting through.
"Recently, I have learned much about what your culture has accomplished. I have realized a few facts that I think speak in Earth's favor."
"For one thing, life on Earth has only been evolving for 2 billion years. Many forms of life represented here have been in the works for more that four times that. It simply isn't fair to expect us to be at the same stages as you."
One alien, a wrinkly old thing, only a few feet tall, with no face that I can see, stands up. It begins to speak. All the aliens here seem to speak English. Whether they all learned the language for my visit, or if they installed a translator while I slept, I'm not sure. Both seem possible.
The short alien seems to be laughing.
"Do you think we are unaware of this? We simply do not have the resources to wait billions of year for your kind to catch up. Unless you have something better to say, perhaps we should make you the first human to die."
I do my best to keep calm. I do, in fact, have a much better point. I think it's time I jump to it.
"I have spent a large amount of my time here reading your literature. There is a huge amount of scientific writing. There are even some religious texts. I have noticed one large difference between your writings and ours."
"Never, in your endless catalog of texts, did I see someone thinking more than three decades in advance. Your authors speak of the next day, or the next year, but never so far ahead. Any progress you have made has been prompted by events at that time, or has been entirely for the present. You have done a great deal of watching us on Earth in our daily lifes, but I don't think you have taken the time to read much of our books."
"There is a huge theme in our literature of looking forward, especially in recent years. Whether in politics, religion, or science, we are almost always looking hundreds of years in the future. Like I have said, I have seen many wonders in my time here. But I have seen nothing that hasn't already been imagined by our authors. Not the science, not the life forms, not the computers. I cannot argue that we are as advanced as you. But I can say, with conviction, that we are ready to be as advanced as you. Our minds have been prepared to witness these things."
"Even now, your people have few plans for the future. You know that some day, the stars will run out of hydrogen, and that the Universe will go cold, but you have few ideas on how to prevent or survive this. If you bring humans into your society, then we can help you discover solutions."
The same short alien stands again. I'm starting to think he's in charge here.
"How can you suggest such a thing? Your kind's technology is miles behind ours."
That's all I've got at the moment...
Too Healthy (Draft)
I was eleven years old. My only crime was being too healthy.
I remember that day clearly. I was out in the light of the heat lamps, getting dirty and playing an old game called soccer. We played it on an empty, abandoned, dirty lot. It used to be used for planting food, but because the city has been growing so fast, it got too polluted to use. We kids adopted the muddy ground as our play yard. The huge crowds that persisted throught the city left almost no ground unused, but the adults never stepped onto our field while we were playing. They wanted us to have something, even if it was only a few square yards of dirt.
That day, I was playing harder than normal. I think it may have been because I was mad. My care mother had been degraded in her work position that last night, so our living conditions would be getting even worse.
For whatever reason, I was dribbling circles around the other kids. Of course, it helped that I'm lucky enough to have two legs about the same length. Many of the kids on that 'field' walked with a waddle, because that was their defect. Don't get me wrong, I've got my own defects. For example, I can't smell or taste at all. Although, based on how my family reacts to our rations, that might be a blessing.
My biggest defect by far is my right arm. It's shrunk, just barely a joint and a hand. Needless to say, I'm left-handed.
That evening, I was so intent on winning goal after goal, so glad from feeling that, for once in my life, I was detached from my problems, that I didn't even notice that Seekers were watching our game, standing in the shade with arms crossed.
Seekers are strange, scary things. No one knows where they come from, but it's clear they weren't made around here. For one thing, as far as anyone can tell, every single one of them can move easily, talk, see, hear, taste, and smell. More than that, their left arm is always the same length as their right arm; same with their legs. And they have so much hair, it would take much, much more than a half hour to count them. They're perfect. It's unnatural. We're pretty sure they're human, since they eat and can be hurt, but not in the normal sense. Rumors float around that they aren't even made in test tubes, but that's ridiculous. How else would they be created?
One Seeker walked up to me and looked me up and down. I froze from fear, letting the ball roll away. They other kids continued the game, ignoring me. I couldn't hear what he said, because he stood on the side of my body that doesn't have an ear. But I have no doubt that it was horrible, and probably had something to do with meeting his quota for the month.
His hand shot out on an unnaturally straight arm, with crazy clean fingernails. He reached for my neck, wanting to snatch me. His fingers brushed my shirt, the one that everyone told me was the color brown. I only see black and white and grey, so I just take their word for it. As he touched my back, the lessons from my elders, heard since the day I was created, suddenly kicked in. I bolted. I slipped out of his grip, turned, and ran. The thick crowd of slow-moving people that began at the edge of the playing field moved to let me through, a sign that they were silently rooting for me. I got several blocks before the Seeker caught me. That's farther than most people get. Like I said, I've always been a lot faster than most. As I ran, I saw several of the surrounding crowd watching me. They stayed silent for fear that they would be taken as well, but I knew, on the inside, they were cheering. They hoped that the impossible would happen, and that I would get away.
In this block, on the first five levels, someone gets caught about once every week. It's a part of life, always has been, but no one likes it. The Seekers constantly pace the streets, supposedly searching for someone not following a Rule. We all know the real reason, though. It's so they can put us to use in their shows and games, whatever they are.
As I ran, these thoughts flew through my head, along with many others. Like, how could I be so stupid? Sure, Seekers rarely patrol this lane, but what does care Father always say? 'Keep one eye on yourself and the other on the Seekers. When they come, run.' Well, I had kept both eyes on myself, I had run too late, and now I would have to pay.
Before long, I felt a iron-cold grip wrap itself around my bigger arm. My feet kept going, and I crashed to the ground. The Seeker yanked me backwards, and dragged me along the halls for what seemed like forever. I screwed my eyes shut, not wanting to see the people turning their backs on me, moving on and telling themselves that they shouldn't care. I could still hear them, though, pushing and shoving for a little breathing room. Finally, the Seeker brought me to the tubes. The tubes are several metal openings in the wall and floor, each one about a foot away from the other. There are several tube stations around, about one every five blocks. (A block is about seven yards, by the way.) At each station there are five tubes: one for food, one for water, one for waste, and one for medicine. These tubes are always being used by someone, with long lines of people waiting, but when they saw the Seeker coming, with me in hand, they quickly moved aside so we could use the final, most rarely-used tube. The knock-out gas. He put my mouth over the tube, all business. Then he pulled a handle. For a split second, I heard a hissing sound, and then the world went dark.
I woke slowly. I think my eyes were open for a long time before I finally realized where I was. I was in a cell.
I pushed myself up with my left arm and looked around in dismay. Once I got over the fact that I was in captivity, I quickly saw that two sides of my long, rectangular room were solid, plain cement. Another one had a tube station, (despite the situation, I felt a little thrill at having a station all to myself). The last one was glass, or something like it, looking out on a white hallway. Well, at least it looked white to me. It may have been any light color. On the other side was a blank, uninteresting wall.
Slowly, I stood up to take better inventory of myself and the size of my room. As far as I could tell, I wasn't additionally injured. I wore what looked like a dark grey jumpsuit, (based on stories I've heard about these places, it was the color of blood,) and it had a number on it. I recognized it at once- 7843-9b. It was my identification number, the closest I've ever had to a name.
The room was just tall enough that I could stand at my full four feet. Another inch lower and I would've had to slouch. I began to pace, and found that the room was two steps by four steps, with the shorter sides being the window and the tubes. I looked closer at the tubes and saw that there were no buttons to activate them. When food and water came, it would be on it's own schedule.
Finally, there was nothing left to do, so I sat down again. I began to wait.
A few minutes later, food ran out of one of the pipes. I scooped it up off the floor where it fell and carefully sucked it up. The mush was a little thicker than the food we got at home. I idly wondered if it tasted better or worse.
Just when I was done with the food, I heard voices. I scrambled to the back of my small room, away from the glass. I was scared. Even so, I turned my one ear so that I could hear.
It was two voices, belonging to girls. I tilted my head in curiosity. I didn't know there were female Seekers.
As they came closer down the light-colored hall, I made out their conversation.
"...Dollars says I can make one go suicidal before you can."
"Make it fifty."
"You're on!"
They passed in front of my window, and I got a brief look at them. It's hard to tell with Seekers, but I think they were just a bit older than me. They didn't even glance in my direction, just looked right at each other, making large hand movements as they walked. They were just as perfect and strange as all the Seekers I had seen before, with even more hair that usual. It reached past their shoulders! They wore the same basic design of jumpsuit that I had, only on the front of theirs there were letters instead of numbers. They walked too fast for me to see if they made real words. Their conversation continued as they walked away.
"Speaking of suicidal, did you watch that one tutorial?"
"The one that went viral where the master trainer made one
of 'em kill itself in five minutes? Yeah! Wasn't it awesome? My favorite part was when he used pictures from it's childhood..."
They must have turned a corner, because they suddenly became too quiet for me to hear.
As I sat there with my back against the wall, my fear of Seekers began to grow. They were tossing suicide around like it was no big deal! I imagined one of them saying to the other,
"So, I killed like, five people yesterday. Pass the drinking water?"
I wondered what they had forced to death, and felt a pit in my stomach when I realized.
People like me. It was their favorite game to kill people just like me.
I think I spent about two days in that small room. I learned that the food came out about twice a day, and I began to expect it. The water tube beeped before the water came out, so I had a chance to get my mouth under it before the water flowed out and seeped into the hard floor. How thoughtful.
Seekers passed my window several times a day. They were usually kids, around my age. I saw girls and boys. Usually they didn't even look my way, and were talking about things that were either unimportant or I didn't understand. But there were a few exceptions.
The first unusual visit came on the second day. A lone boy walked down the hall. He walked slowly- I could tell from his footsteps- and when he came to my window, he stopped and faced me square on. I couldn't decide whether to look him in the eye or stare at my feet. My gaze finally came to a rest on his neck, which I think was a pretty good compromise. He had short hair and was tall and thin. He looked me up and down, a little like someone sizing up their opponent, only where such a person would have a look of respect, he only had dislike.
He began to talk, as if to himself.
"Yes, it looks strong enough. I'll see if it works. Stand."
This last word was directed at me, as an order. I didn't want to stand. I wanted to say there, in my corner, where I had been for so long. Where I felt safe. But I suddenly knew there was no option. With every fiber of my body wanting to sit, I stood. I blinked in confusion. He nodded, liking what he saw.
"Turn."
My feet shuffled around, turning me, without any signal from my brain. It was like they were possessed and working on their own.
He continued to nod, then simply turned and walked away. As soon as he stopped looking at me, I stopped turning. Carefully, I took a step forward. Yes, I was back in control of my legs. But I was still pretty freaked out.
On the third day, just when I began to think I would be there for a long, long, long time, a woman in a tight skirt wearing high-heels came to my door. She carried a thin rectangle of plastic. She waved it around in the air over my door, and the window slid into the wall. I slowly stood up. Was she letting me go?
Nothing could be farther from the truth. She turned and started walking down the hall.
"Follow me," She said coolly Just like my encounter with the thin boy, I found myself unable to disobey She walked away without looking back, and I was right on her heels.
I took the time to take a look at the hall that had been out of my view. It looked like my cell wasn't the only one around. We passed lots of rooms, all identical to mine, as far as I could tell. They were so close together, I wondered how I hadn't heard anything through a wall so thin.
Most of them were unoccupied but some had people in them. The one right next to mine had a little girl, no older than three. My heart went out to her. She must be terrified.
After seeing two more sad-looking people, I turned my head away. The other side of the hall was all blank, not a detail to be seen, so I turned forward and studied my captor.
She had long straight hair, down all the way past her waist. Her high heels put her several heads above me. Did I mention? All the Seekers are really tall, too.
Sound up ahead told me we were entering a bigger room. I leaned to look through the crook of her arm, and gasped when I saw it.
I'd never seen anything like it. It was a huge space. I looked up and didn't see a roof. It disappeared behind a huge network of rope and wire and chain.
Huge bleachers circled the walls, and they looked fully capable of fitting more people than a block and ten levels contained. Thousands of people. In the center of the bleachers was a circle-shaped mat that looked about four blocks long.
Still following the woman, I walked out onto the soft, squishy surface. It held my weight and bounced me back up. I decided that I liked this room.
Right now, there were only six people in this huge room: me, the woman I had followed, a young, nervous-looking man polishing his camera, (he was on the other side, I doubted he could hear us,) and a tall man in a dark suit, who looked very official and carried himself like a king. Behind him were the other two people. They weren't seekers, which surprised me. One was a tiny girl, so small it must have been her defect. She was standing firm on her own two feet, and that alone was proof she was stronger than most girls her size. Her wide eyes shifted about, taking in every detail. Every limb looked thin but intact. She was practically bald. Despite this, her huge, intelligent eyes made her pretty, in a way.
The sixth and final occupant of the room was the polar opposite of the little girl. He towered like a mountain over the rest of us. His muscles were like rocks, and his stance was wide. The only defect that I could see was a lack of a left arm. One leg may have been a little shorter than the other, but I couldn't tell. In contrast to the girls smart eyes, his stared ahead like two beads set in stone.
I turned my attention to the man in the suit and the woman I had followed. They were having a heated talk.
When I tuned in, the man was talking.
"This could be the opportunity of a lifetime for you! Think about it: a newly captured Scum, coming out of the blue, goes in a head-to-head against one of the greatest Scum fighters of all time."
Here, he gestured to the two 'Scum' behind him. I noted that he called normal people Scum and wondered if that was a common term.
He continued. "I, before the game, will order my Scum to throw the fight, but make it look good. They are perfectly capable of this. You'll be rich! You'll be famous! All I ask..."
His voice became too low for me to hear, even just a few feet away. I let my eyes wander the room, and then saw something that made my stomach turn.
In the center of the squishy mat, there was a dark stain. I thought nothing of it at first, but then, as my eyes continued to wander the room, it hit me.
It was blood.
The woman began speaking again.
"You make a tempting deal. But how can I know the judges won't tell it's a thrown fight?"
The man smiled madly.
"You trust me, don't you?"
She was silent for a long moment, staring into his eyes. Then she took a deep, shuddering breath, then whispered, "Yes. It's a deal."
The man grinned. "Perfect. So, see you and your Scum at the death fights tomorrow?"
She nodded mutely. She turned abruptly and nodded at me. She didn't look me in the eye, or even look at me at all. She just said, 'follow me,' and started walking.
"Seventyseven, you can't be serious about this," Eightythree said, in one last attempt to make me call off my experiment.
"Of course I'm serious. I've been serious for months now. You think a measly drop of twenty stories is going to stop me?"
I laughed, but Eightythree knows me too well.
Eightythree and I grew up together. He has one eye, and no lips, but his body is very strong. At first, I only befriended him for his muscles, which I needed for my many plans. And I believe he only wanted something to do. But lately, we've become friends, laughing and talking about more than my experiments.
This was the first idea in a long time that Eightythree hadn't been enthusiastic to carry out. He thought it was too dangerous for a little girl like me.
"You don't have to do this. No one even knows you've been preparing. Just come down."
I didn't respond. Instead, I walked across the roof until I reached the air vent. I reached into the pocket I'd sewn on the front of my shirt and pulled out a key card, snapped in half, that I'd found in a garbage pile. A Seeker must have discarded it after he broke it. It was amazingly wasteful of them, but I wasn't complaining; the edge of the key card made a near-perfect screw driver.
I lifted the cover off the vent, and sighed with relief when I saw that my invention was still there.
I called to Eightythree to come help me lift it out. It was awkward to get it out, even in three pieces.
I laid out each piece on the cement roof before lashing them together. There were two wings and a harness. The wings were made from double layered sheets. Months ago, I'd reported that my sheets had been stolen, and they'd replaced them four months later. Eightythree did the same. Then we'd had four sheets. We'd decided to use three for the glider and sleep under one together.
The many ropes, which lashed together the wings and made the harness, came from
I remember that day clearly. I was out in the light of the heat lamps, getting dirty and playing an old game called soccer. We played it on an empty, abandoned, dirty lot. It used to be used for planting food, but because the city has been growing so fast, it got too polluted to use. We kids adopted the muddy ground as our play yard. The huge crowds that persisted throught the city left almost no ground unused, but the adults never stepped onto our field while we were playing. They wanted us to have something, even if it was only a few square yards of dirt.
That day, I was playing harder than normal. I think it may have been because I was mad. My care mother had been degraded in her work position that last night, so our living conditions would be getting even worse.
For whatever reason, I was dribbling circles around the other kids. Of course, it helped that I'm lucky enough to have two legs about the same length. Many of the kids on that 'field' walked with a waddle, because that was their defect. Don't get me wrong, I've got my own defects. For example, I can't smell or taste at all. Although, based on how my family reacts to our rations, that might be a blessing.
My biggest defect by far is my right arm. It's shrunk, just barely a joint and a hand. Needless to say, I'm left-handed.
That evening, I was so intent on winning goal after goal, so glad from feeling that, for once in my life, I was detached from my problems, that I didn't even notice that Seekers were watching our game, standing in the shade with arms crossed.
Seekers are strange, scary things. No one knows where they come from, but it's clear they weren't made around here. For one thing, as far as anyone can tell, every single one of them can move easily, talk, see, hear, taste, and smell. More than that, their left arm is always the same length as their right arm; same with their legs. And they have so much hair, it would take much, much more than a half hour to count them. They're perfect. It's unnatural. We're pretty sure they're human, since they eat and can be hurt, but not in the normal sense. Rumors float around that they aren't even made in test tubes, but that's ridiculous. How else would they be created?
One Seeker walked up to me and looked me up and down. I froze from fear, letting the ball roll away. They other kids continued the game, ignoring me. I couldn't hear what he said, because he stood on the side of my body that doesn't have an ear. But I have no doubt that it was horrible, and probably had something to do with meeting his quota for the month.
His hand shot out on an unnaturally straight arm, with crazy clean fingernails. He reached for my neck, wanting to snatch me. His fingers brushed my shirt, the one that everyone told me was the color brown. I only see black and white and grey, so I just take their word for it. As he touched my back, the lessons from my elders, heard since the day I was created, suddenly kicked in. I bolted. I slipped out of his grip, turned, and ran. The thick crowd of slow-moving people that began at the edge of the playing field moved to let me through, a sign that they were silently rooting for me. I got several blocks before the Seeker caught me. That's farther than most people get. Like I said, I've always been a lot faster than most. As I ran, I saw several of the surrounding crowd watching me. They stayed silent for fear that they would be taken as well, but I knew, on the inside, they were cheering. They hoped that the impossible would happen, and that I would get away.
In this block, on the first five levels, someone gets caught about once every week. It's a part of life, always has been, but no one likes it. The Seekers constantly pace the streets, supposedly searching for someone not following a Rule. We all know the real reason, though. It's so they can put us to use in their shows and games, whatever they are.
As I ran, these thoughts flew through my head, along with many others. Like, how could I be so stupid? Sure, Seekers rarely patrol this lane, but what does care Father always say? 'Keep one eye on yourself and the other on the Seekers. When they come, run.' Well, I had kept both eyes on myself, I had run too late, and now I would have to pay.
Before long, I felt a iron-cold grip wrap itself around my bigger arm. My feet kept going, and I crashed to the ground. The Seeker yanked me backwards, and dragged me along the halls for what seemed like forever. I screwed my eyes shut, not wanting to see the people turning their backs on me, moving on and telling themselves that they shouldn't care. I could still hear them, though, pushing and shoving for a little breathing room. Finally, the Seeker brought me to the tubes. The tubes are several metal openings in the wall and floor, each one about a foot away from the other. There are several tube stations around, about one every five blocks. (A block is about seven yards, by the way.) At each station there are five tubes: one for food, one for water, one for waste, and one for medicine. These tubes are always being used by someone, with long lines of people waiting, but when they saw the Seeker coming, with me in hand, they quickly moved aside so we could use the final, most rarely-used tube. The knock-out gas. He put my mouth over the tube, all business. Then he pulled a handle. For a split second, I heard a hissing sound, and then the world went dark.
I woke slowly. I think my eyes were open for a long time before I finally realized where I was. I was in a cell.
I pushed myself up with my left arm and looked around in dismay. Once I got over the fact that I was in captivity, I quickly saw that two sides of my long, rectangular room were solid, plain cement. Another one had a tube station, (despite the situation, I felt a little thrill at having a station all to myself). The last one was glass, or something like it, looking out on a white hallway. Well, at least it looked white to me. It may have been any light color. On the other side was a blank, uninteresting wall.
Slowly, I stood up to take better inventory of myself and the size of my room. As far as I could tell, I wasn't additionally injured. I wore what looked like a dark grey jumpsuit, (based on stories I've heard about these places, it was the color of blood,) and it had a number on it. I recognized it at once- 7843-9b. It was my identification number, the closest I've ever had to a name.
The room was just tall enough that I could stand at my full four feet. Another inch lower and I would've had to slouch. I began to pace, and found that the room was two steps by four steps, with the shorter sides being the window and the tubes. I looked closer at the tubes and saw that there were no buttons to activate them. When food and water came, it would be on it's own schedule.
Finally, there was nothing left to do, so I sat down again. I began to wait.
A few minutes later, food ran out of one of the pipes. I scooped it up off the floor where it fell and carefully sucked it up. The mush was a little thicker than the food we got at home. I idly wondered if it tasted better or worse.
Just when I was done with the food, I heard voices. I scrambled to the back of my small room, away from the glass. I was scared. Even so, I turned my one ear so that I could hear.
It was two voices, belonging to girls. I tilted my head in curiosity. I didn't know there were female Seekers.
As they came closer down the light-colored hall, I made out their conversation.
"...Dollars says I can make one go suicidal before you can."
"Make it fifty."
"You're on!"
They passed in front of my window, and I got a brief look at them. It's hard to tell with Seekers, but I think they were just a bit older than me. They didn't even glance in my direction, just looked right at each other, making large hand movements as they walked. They were just as perfect and strange as all the Seekers I had seen before, with even more hair that usual. It reached past their shoulders! They wore the same basic design of jumpsuit that I had, only on the front of theirs there were letters instead of numbers. They walked too fast for me to see if they made real words. Their conversation continued as they walked away.
"Speaking of suicidal, did you watch that one tutorial?"
"The one that went viral where the master trainer made one
of 'em kill itself in five minutes? Yeah! Wasn't it awesome? My favorite part was when he used pictures from it's childhood..."
They must have turned a corner, because they suddenly became too quiet for me to hear.
As I sat there with my back against the wall, my fear of Seekers began to grow. They were tossing suicide around like it was no big deal! I imagined one of them saying to the other,
"So, I killed like, five people yesterday. Pass the drinking water?"
I wondered what they had forced to death, and felt a pit in my stomach when I realized.
People like me. It was their favorite game to kill people just like me.
I think I spent about two days in that small room. I learned that the food came out about twice a day, and I began to expect it. The water tube beeped before the water came out, so I had a chance to get my mouth under it before the water flowed out and seeped into the hard floor. How thoughtful.
Seekers passed my window several times a day. They were usually kids, around my age. I saw girls and boys. Usually they didn't even look my way, and were talking about things that were either unimportant or I didn't understand. But there were a few exceptions.
The first unusual visit came on the second day. A lone boy walked down the hall. He walked slowly- I could tell from his footsteps- and when he came to my window, he stopped and faced me square on. I couldn't decide whether to look him in the eye or stare at my feet. My gaze finally came to a rest on his neck, which I think was a pretty good compromise. He had short hair and was tall and thin. He looked me up and down, a little like someone sizing up their opponent, only where such a person would have a look of respect, he only had dislike.
He began to talk, as if to himself.
"Yes, it looks strong enough. I'll see if it works. Stand."
This last word was directed at me, as an order. I didn't want to stand. I wanted to say there, in my corner, where I had been for so long. Where I felt safe. But I suddenly knew there was no option. With every fiber of my body wanting to sit, I stood. I blinked in confusion. He nodded, liking what he saw.
"Turn."
My feet shuffled around, turning me, without any signal from my brain. It was like they were possessed and working on their own.
He continued to nod, then simply turned and walked away. As soon as he stopped looking at me, I stopped turning. Carefully, I took a step forward. Yes, I was back in control of my legs. But I was still pretty freaked out.
On the third day, just when I began to think I would be there for a long, long, long time, a woman in a tight skirt wearing high-heels came to my door. She carried a thin rectangle of plastic. She waved it around in the air over my door, and the window slid into the wall. I slowly stood up. Was she letting me go?
Nothing could be farther from the truth. She turned and started walking down the hall.
"Follow me," She said coolly Just like my encounter with the thin boy, I found myself unable to disobey She walked away without looking back, and I was right on her heels.
I took the time to take a look at the hall that had been out of my view. It looked like my cell wasn't the only one around. We passed lots of rooms, all identical to mine, as far as I could tell. They were so close together, I wondered how I hadn't heard anything through a wall so thin.
Most of them were unoccupied but some had people in them. The one right next to mine had a little girl, no older than three. My heart went out to her. She must be terrified.
After seeing two more sad-looking people, I turned my head away. The other side of the hall was all blank, not a detail to be seen, so I turned forward and studied my captor.
She had long straight hair, down all the way past her waist. Her high heels put her several heads above me. Did I mention? All the Seekers are really tall, too.
Sound up ahead told me we were entering a bigger room. I leaned to look through the crook of her arm, and gasped when I saw it.
I'd never seen anything like it. It was a huge space. I looked up and didn't see a roof. It disappeared behind a huge network of rope and wire and chain.
Huge bleachers circled the walls, and they looked fully capable of fitting more people than a block and ten levels contained. Thousands of people. In the center of the bleachers was a circle-shaped mat that looked about four blocks long.
Still following the woman, I walked out onto the soft, squishy surface. It held my weight and bounced me back up. I decided that I liked this room.
Right now, there were only six people in this huge room: me, the woman I had followed, a young, nervous-looking man polishing his camera, (he was on the other side, I doubted he could hear us,) and a tall man in a dark suit, who looked very official and carried himself like a king. Behind him were the other two people. They weren't seekers, which surprised me. One was a tiny girl, so small it must have been her defect. She was standing firm on her own two feet, and that alone was proof she was stronger than most girls her size. Her wide eyes shifted about, taking in every detail. Every limb looked thin but intact. She was practically bald. Despite this, her huge, intelligent eyes made her pretty, in a way.
The sixth and final occupant of the room was the polar opposite of the little girl. He towered like a mountain over the rest of us. His muscles were like rocks, and his stance was wide. The only defect that I could see was a lack of a left arm. One leg may have been a little shorter than the other, but I couldn't tell. In contrast to the girls smart eyes, his stared ahead like two beads set in stone.
I turned my attention to the man in the suit and the woman I had followed. They were having a heated talk.
When I tuned in, the man was talking.
"This could be the opportunity of a lifetime for you! Think about it: a newly captured Scum, coming out of the blue, goes in a head-to-head against one of the greatest Scum fighters of all time."
Here, he gestured to the two 'Scum' behind him. I noted that he called normal people Scum and wondered if that was a common term.
He continued. "I, before the game, will order my Scum to throw the fight, but make it look good. They are perfectly capable of this. You'll be rich! You'll be famous! All I ask..."
His voice became too low for me to hear, even just a few feet away. I let my eyes wander the room, and then saw something that made my stomach turn.
In the center of the squishy mat, there was a dark stain. I thought nothing of it at first, but then, as my eyes continued to wander the room, it hit me.
It was blood.
The woman began speaking again.
"You make a tempting deal. But how can I know the judges won't tell it's a thrown fight?"
The man smiled madly.
"You trust me, don't you?"
She was silent for a long moment, staring into his eyes. Then she took a deep, shuddering breath, then whispered, "Yes. It's a deal."
The man grinned. "Perfect. So, see you and your Scum at the death fights tomorrow?"
She nodded mutely. She turned abruptly and nodded at me. She didn't look me in the eye, or even look at me at all. She just said, 'follow me,' and started walking.
"Seventyseven, you can't be serious about this," Eightythree said, in one last attempt to make me call off my experiment.
"Of course I'm serious. I've been serious for months now. You think a measly drop of twenty stories is going to stop me?"
I laughed, but Eightythree knows me too well.
Eightythree and I grew up together. He has one eye, and no lips, but his body is very strong. At first, I only befriended him for his muscles, which I needed for my many plans. And I believe he only wanted something to do. But lately, we've become friends, laughing and talking about more than my experiments.
This was the first idea in a long time that Eightythree hadn't been enthusiastic to carry out. He thought it was too dangerous for a little girl like me.
"You don't have to do this. No one even knows you've been preparing. Just come down."
I didn't respond. Instead, I walked across the roof until I reached the air vent. I reached into the pocket I'd sewn on the front of my shirt and pulled out a key card, snapped in half, that I'd found in a garbage pile. A Seeker must have discarded it after he broke it. It was amazingly wasteful of them, but I wasn't complaining; the edge of the key card made a near-perfect screw driver.
I lifted the cover off the vent, and sighed with relief when I saw that my invention was still there.
I called to Eightythree to come help me lift it out. It was awkward to get it out, even in three pieces.
I laid out each piece on the cement roof before lashing them together. There were two wings and a harness. The wings were made from double layered sheets. Months ago, I'd reported that my sheets had been stolen, and they'd replaced them four months later. Eightythree did the same. Then we'd had four sheets. We'd decided to use three for the glider and sleep under one together.
The many ropes, which lashed together the wings and made the harness, came from
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