Mission Control: Chapter 3: What's Past the Portal?

   The dance ended well, with both of us yawning and grinning and periodically kissing for no reason at all. It seemed like the incident in the janitor's closet had slipped her mind. Of course, I knew she hadn't forgotten, but it seemed like a good sign that she didn't want to dwell on it.

   A few times that night, I had an itching feeling that I was going to regret putting my phone on silent. But honestly, I was tired of being at James' beck and call. I could only take so many calls before 'oh, it's my teacher, um, no, he doesn't want to talk to you,' stopped seeming like a good excuse. 

   Amanda drove me home in her dad's red car, and we kissed one more time before I hopped out. Just afterward she opened her mouth like she was going to say something hard, then bit her lip and said only,
    "Bye, Matt."
     I pretended I hadn't noticed her slip.
    "Bye, Amanda. Love 'ya."

    Just outside my door, I stopped and checked my phone. Twelve voice messages glared up at me.
    I frowned as my thumb hovered over my screen. Should I play back the messages, or just call him? How much time did I have? My mom had said she'd wait up for me, but she hadn't heard up pull up, or else she would've answered the door.
    I checked the times on the messages. The most recent was two minutes ago.
    I turned my back to my house and, for the first time I could remember, I called him.
    As I waited for him to pick up and stared emptily across the street, my mind wandered to a common worry of mine; how was I going to help James' team when Summer came? I'd been taking their calls for years now, but until recently he only needed help every two or three months. Now, it was almost every week, sometimes twice a week. He'd never said why, but I could guess.
    Every mission was essentially the same: get to the location, fight the monsters, and get through the portal. I could find locations from coordinates in my sleep, and I knew everything there was to know about every monster we'd ever found. But I had no idea what happened after that. I'd gotten them into a hundred portals, but I knew nothing about what happened inside. All I knew was that somehow, they stopped the flow of monsters and got the coordinates for the next portal.
    At first, I bluntly asked James several times what was past the portal. It was a sort of game we'd play, back when the whole thing seemed like a game. 'The next portal is in Texas, middle of nowhere. Speaking of which, what's past the portal?'  'Texas, huh? Always wanted to go there.' That sort of thing.
    But now the speed of their missions had multiplied, and it obviously had something to do with what was in the portal. I resolved that I had to ask, one more time, what was in there.
   He picked up.
   "Matt? What the hell, man?"
   I pulled up short. I had been so busy working up courage, I'd forgotten to feel guilty.
   "Sorry, dude, I just-"
   "You just what?" He demanded. I'd never heard him so worked up before. "What could you possibly be doing in your stupid life that is more important than Dale?"
   I was silent for a long time.
   "You had better be there. If you hung up- again- I will fly over there and wring your fat neck."
   "I'm here," I said, rubbing my forehead.
   I don't know why I said what I did next. I knew it would lead to problems. But I felt that it had to be mentioned.
   "You don't even know where I live."
   "What do you mean?" he asked, still angry, but now baffled as well. "I lived there for, like, most my life. I'm not an idiot, Matt. No matter what you think."
    "I don't think you're an idiot," I lied. "And we moved."
    Silence. No, not silence. Heavy breathing, static, and outside the phone, footsteps from inside the house.
    Without thinking much, I walked around the corner of the house, leaning on the siding where my mom couldn't see me if she opened the door. It was a lot darker over here.
    As the almost-silence stretched out, I felt the distance between us as I'd never felt it before. Not only was he on the other side of the country, but in many ways, our lives were alien to each other. He didn't know where I was, but I had a GPS tracker on him. There was something profound there, but I didn't care to think what it could be.
    James broke my contemplation.
    "You moved? When- wait, no, this is stupid. Did you listen to my messages, at least?"
    "Not yet," I admitted.
    "Well... We lost Dale."
    I pressed my lips together. Guilt washed over me. If I hadn't been so selfish, if I had done better... Now Dale might be dead.
     But I had trouble imagining myself simply brushing off Amanda, turning her away. That would make her curious, and if she found out... Well, I wasn't sure what the consequences were, but every time in the past when I'd suggested they go to the police, James had insisted their powers be kept a secret. 

    "Did you hear me?"
    "Yeah, I heard you. I'm just thinking."
    "Think faster."
    I saw a light fall across the sidewalk that indicated the door was being opened.
    "Matt, honey? That you?"
    Crap. Not again.
    I lowered my head and crept towards the backyard. I knew that latch on the gate was too high, so I could reach over and let myself in. Our backyard stretched into a huge, unkempt field. I could get away that way.
    I tried to think of a good question to ask James, to show I was still listening. 

    "Have the monsters stopped yet?" I whispered.
    "Yeah, but what's left of them are still milling around in the cave. I've gone down there a few times, alone."
    "Where's Mal? Where are you staying?"
    "A coffee shop. That's where we're at right now. Mal's at the counter buying food with the last of our money."
    The implications were serious. Most missions were in-and-out. James would fly Mal in, while Dale followed in bird form. They would deal with the portal, then move on to the next location. They'd eat McDonalds and sleep wherever they could. I knew it was hard, and that was just another reason I felt bad for still being jealous.
    As for money... James and Mal graduated last year, and Dale dropped out just before the missions got a lot more frequent. As far as I know, all three of them had money saved up for after school, but James had a football scholarship, Mal's parents were going to help with college, and Dale was planning on joining the army, or some such vague plan.
    Bottom line being, none of them had a lot of money saved up to take with them. But... what was different this time? Why were they at a coffee shop, and not some more run-down, cheap establishment?
    When I asked such, his voice dripped with venom.
    "We needed the wi-fi to look up rescue techniques."
    That stung. Usually, they'd call me for any information they needed. If I didn't know, I'd look it up for them. I'd left, and so they'd replaced me.
     But it still didn't make complete sense. After all, couldn't they sit in the coffee shop and still buy food someplace else? Maybe, I figured, they were tired of living on the run, just like I was tired of having my life constantly interrupted by their calls.
     "Okay. So, is there anything I can do to help now?"
     "Well... what the heck was that green thing?"
    I'd almost forgotten about that. What was it? I could go get the laptop out and examine it tomorrow. Finally, a problem that was easy to fix.
    "I'll get back to you on that."
    I was silent for a moment. I realized my mom had gone back inside.
    "And, James, I'm, uh... I'm sorry."
    "It's okay."
    I felt ridiculously relieved.
    There was a small click as James hung up.

Mission Control: Chapter 1: Matt: Accepting the Call to Heroism, Again

    The dance was beautiful, I thought for a moment. No, wait, the dance sucked. I was having a good time because she was beautiful. My ears hurt from the music, and my eyes ached from the bright moving lights, but I was having trouble remembering ever being this happy.

    I'd been waiting so long for this moment, moving my body to the music next to Amanda. She looked up at me, and we both smiled. She tilted her head up, and her brown eyes shone. It had taken forever to work up the courage to ask Amanda to prom, but I'd finally done it! And now we were alone in the crowd, and-

    Over the sound of the music, my phone in my pocket beeped at a pitch and timing I recognized. It could only mean one thing.

    While I danced, my friends were in mortal danger.

    Probably from monsters, but honestly, who knew with these guys?

    Groaning inwardly, I smiled and shrugged at Amanda, keeping up the act that I was just some awkward kid, embarrassed that his phone had gone off- which in some ways, I was.

    But, sadly, I was also much more.

    I turned off the alarm, shrugged again, and shouted 'medicine' over the beat.

    Amanda frowned, but nodded. She, like everyone else I knew at school, thought that the alarm was my signal to go take my meds at the Nurse's office.

    Over my shoulder, I heard her call, "Be back soon, Matt."

    I ducked out of the busy gym, and walked as quickly as I could to my regular spot- the janitor's closet. It was hard to keep from running, and as always, I feared what would happen if I was too late. 

    With the door closed behind me, I finally accepted the call. James' urgent voice came over immediately.

    "Oh, thank God. Quick, those monsters we fought four weeks ago, with the bug legs- what was their weakness again?

    I hesitated, blinking at the shadowed cleaning supplies that occupied the closet with me. Lets see, four weeks ago...

    "Water. In the mouth," I finally remembered.

    Meanwhile, as I tried to think, I was standing on a bucket to reach a loose ceiling tile. With practiced hands I pushed the tile aside to pull out my laptop. It was easier to keep it here than to have it with me at all times.

    I turned it on, and while I waited, I asked James to clarify on his situation.

    "We're retreating from the portal location- the monsters are just streaming out. Even worse than last time."

    I sighed very quietly to myself, pulling the phone away from my mouth. Why did he always complain about how much worse they were? Couldn't he see that they got worse every time?

    Into the receiver, I said, "Right, right. What are you guys doing?"

    "I'm getting an areal view on it, Mal is spewing fireballs at the things, which isn't doing any good, and Dale is as small as he can get- a cockroach, I think? And he's trying to wriggle his way in past the monsters."

    "Got it," I said, nodding to myself. "So, do you see or hear any water, where you are?"

    My laptop was on. With one click, I opened up a window with two video streams- one from a camera on James' shoulder, and one on Mal. When we first set up the system, I'd tried to find a camera that would work for Dale, but every time he shape-shifted, it would fall off, so I was content with two eyes.

    Just as he'd said, James was hovering about two stories off the ground. Looking at that image, I felt an all-too-familiar twinge of jealously at his abilities.

    Abilities that won't do him much good if you let them get killed, I reminded myself. 

    Shaking my head to clear it, I focused on the monsters.  

    The monsters were similar to others we'd seen, but seemed to be moving faster. The best way I can think to describe them is 'centipedes with bat heads and wings'. Strangely, despite their promanate, leathery wings, they never flew into the air. They just ran from the portal, letting out shrill calls, something like a anxious cricket. They made little effort to attack my friends, but would try to defend themselves when they approached. 

    I held the phone against my ear with my shoulder, tilting my laptop at the same time so I could still see the battlefield. It was hard to see too much, because the only light came from Mal's fireballs, and the blue glint of the portal the monsters were coming through. 

    James finally answered my question about the water. I could tell from his camera that he'd probably just finished turning around in mid-air, where he hovered above the battlefield. 

    "Uh, we're in a cave, and yeah, I think I can hear some water past this wall."

    I rolled my eyes because he'd felt the need to let me know they were 'in a cave'. Even if I didn't have two cameras pointed at the location, I had been the one to figure out the coordinates in the first place.

    "Go check it out," I said, thought I didn't really think that was necessary. 

    "Yes sir, Mission Control," James replied. 

    "Don't call me that," I complained. 

    James thought it was funny to call me 'Mission Control'. I thought it was inaccurate. For one thing, if I was a part of mission control, I'd probably get paid a lot more than the nothing I was currently earning.  

    Despite his jibe, he was already examining the wall, and he started to call out for Dale. If they were going to smash through the wall, they were going to need something big. Dale couldn't get as big as an elephant, but we'd seen him do a mule before- that might work.

    Dale didn't come. I realized the problem before James did. 

    "Dude. He's a bug. He can't hear you."

    There was silence, and then James started to turn away from the wall, probably to go find Dale, and get his attention. 

    "Wait. What's that?" I asked suddenly, and he stopped turning in mid-flight. 

   "What is it?"

    I ignored James' inquiry, frowning deeply at what I was seeing.

    I zoomed in on the image, and I thought I saw something glinting green off the cave walls. Were those scales? Or eyes?

    "Are you seeing that green thing? Kinda to the left?"

   There was a pause, and then he said, "Yeah, I'm seeing it."  

   The camera started to move towards the green thing instead. 

    And then the green spot moved, flashing across our field of vision faster than either of us could track. I vowed to examine the freeze-frame of that later, but for now there was a more pressing issue. 

    Someone was knocking on the janitor's door.

Inanimate

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=11Y6Tqw17BM

Looks just like that guy^^


   Blade had never taken 'inanimate' as an insult, not really. He knew that was how people meant the word, when they spit it at him as he crossed the road or whispered it as they pulled their children away. But Blade had always figured that lots of good things were inanimate- blankets, for example, or toys. It was just that his kind of inanimate was... different.

   Blade's dad had been a great swordsmith. This much was evident in Blade himself- or at least, half of him. 

   You see, Blade was a Twain Soul; one living soul tied to one inanimate one. This process wasn't well understood, because it was 'corrupt magic', and thus feared. 

    When Blade was just a baby, and called Jacob instead, his father had been commissioned to make a sword for the king. The king had been warned of grave trouble by his spies and oracles, and his exact words to Blade's father were as follows:

     "Make me a sword that can cut through breastplates like butter. Make me a sword that will save my life. I don't care what magic you use, or what laws you break. Just build. That. Weapon."

    And then, almost as a afterthought, 

    "If I die using your sword, those still loyal to me will kill you, and your family."

  Terrified, Blade's father remembered a technique he had theorized about in his early career, but had deemed too dangerous. 

   He cast his mind back to Twain Souls, recalling that adding a human consciousness to an already-effective inanimate tool would strengthen the tool a thousand times over. 

   As he thought this, his eyes fell on his newborn son. 

   Blade had no memory or knowledge of any of this. All he knew was that sometimes he was human, and sometimes- specifically, when his hand touched the hand of someone he trusted- he was a sword. 

   Unfortunately, it wasn't quite that simple. Bits and pieces of human leaked into his sword, and the other way around. The sword's blade had an intricate human body etched onto it, which resembled Blade turned away. 

   The sword-to-human spillover was more annoying. His teeth and fingernails were as sharp as steel, and the same color. Anyone who knew what they were looking for could recognize him immediately as an Twain Soul. More often, though, people simply called him inanimate.

 
  Blade was about sixteen, by his count, and it had been years since he'd been a sword. Something deep inside him itched to take that form again, like an artist who had been away from his brushes. He'd even woken up like that a few times, as his sleeping mind tried to compensate for what he purposefully squashed. It scared him. People had only seen him in sword-form twice, and neither time had ended well. A few people knew he could be a sword, but knowing he could and seeing him do it were two different things.
   Blade had only been used in one fight- the assassination of the king. He had been young, very young, but he remembered the feeling of blood running over him like sugar in the mouth. He wanted to spill blood again. Some days, he felt that he needed to spill blood again. When mobs drove him out of town, when drunk men attacked him, as if fighting a Twain Soul was a thing to brag about, he wished he could wield himself. But there was no one in the world who would.
    Until he went to the freak show.
    Blade was driven to the traveling show for the same reasons anyone would- curiosity, boredom, the need for a laugh in a dreary world. Blade had been picking apples for a month or two, and had saved some money. He didn't know what the money was for, but spending some of it on a ticket to a freak show seemed as good a reason as any.
   Blade wore work gloves and a tight-liped smile to the show, both in place to hide his steely aspects.
   Blade gawked along with everyone else at the unicorn, cripples, bearded women, dwarfs, and other curiosities. Determined to get his money's worth, he lingered a long time at every exhibit. Perhaps his favorite was a skeletorn with a eerie mix of animal and human bones.
   Almost at the end of the row, one of the presenters explained the creature in the cage labeled 'The meaningless oracle of Vice City'.
   Blade didn't pay much attention to the presenter, but caught that the oracle had been cursed to speak only in prophesy, and all of it meaningless.
   At the end of his shpeal, the guide asked if anyone was willing to pay to have the oracle predict their future. Two men stepped forward with coins, and the presenter picked up a pole to knudge the oracle in the back.
   Until this point, she had huddled at the back of the cage, hidden in shadow. Now she turned around, standing hunched over and frightened. Everything about her was weak and dirty, from her whisp of hair left on her head to her bare, calloused feet and hands.
    Her eyes met Blade's at once, and he shivered. He felt like she was seeing straight through him.
    He turned to leave. This was creepy.
    "Grand tool of heroes!"
    Blade froze. He somehow knew she was talking to him.
    "Not him!" Snapped the man with the pole, jabbing at her again. "He never paid!"
    The girl ignored the pokes in her side and continued to stare penetratingly at Blade.
    "Tool of heroes," she repeated, "At home on the cot, at home in the sheath."
    The girl took on a regal position in her raggy clothes, and her eyes burned with passion. The presenter stopped poking her, though out of respect or because he thought it was a good show, Blade didn't know.
    "Blood will spill. Can't you taste it, tool of heroes? Blood. Innocent, guilty, evil or good- you care not!" She hesitated, then shouted louder. "Tool of murderers! Tool of spies!"
     She pointed a finger at Blade. It shook.
     "You will kill. No one really cares who. Don't you agree?"
     Blade shook his head. Why was he even taking this crackpot seriously? But even as he said this, he realized his mouth was watering at the talk of blood.
   "All right, that's enough of this," the guide said, looking very nervous. "Let's close this up," he said, pulling a curtain across the cage.
    Undettered, she shouted through the curtain,
   "Find me tonight, grand tool. Find me, and you shall get your blood."
   Blade stared at the frayed curtain in horror. His heart pounded, and it was all he could do not to drool. Blood. His own, someone else's, whatever. He was about willing to just sink his metal teeth into his neighbor spectator's shoulder, when the guide's apology pulled him out of his trance.
   "So sorry, sir, she isn't usually like that. Usually much more- calm. I hope you feel better. No refunds."
   And then Blade found himself being shepherded out of the show, possibly to cool off, but more likely so he wouldn't cause any more disturbances.
    As he stood there panting, he knew one thing.
    He was coming back to this show tonight.

The Monster Queen, Introduction

    The Monster Queen sat in her dimly lit lair, staring into a misty pool of water in the center of the cave.
    The Monster Queen was the most dreaded creature in all the land. She was a horrifying witch, with an army of monsters at her dreadful command.
    She wore a long black dress with lace collar, and she crouched by the pool as she gazed into it's depths.
    Suddenly, her head shot up, and she stared into the cavern with a hungry gaze.
    "Cut it out," she snapped.
    The cavern was completely empty. What could be going on?
    "Stop describing me like that. So... trite. So dry. I'm no regular witch- I'm a psychic," she paused, looking around the cave, "and I can read any mind. Even that of a Narrator.
     Wait. What?
    "That's right!" She cackled, "That's a new trick, eh?"
    She leaned forward menacingly.
    "While you're here, I've got a little message for your readers, Narrator. Enjoy your heroes while you can!" She cried into the dark.
    "Because in this story, the villain wins."
    She paused to let that sink in.
    "I. Win."
   The Monster Queen wasn't an oracle. She couldn't know the future.
   "No, I can't," she admitted, "but I've got the next best thing. I'm reading the story of my enemies! I'll know their every plan! Between that, and the monsters I control, this story is bound to have a real downer of an ending!"
    She chuckled.
    The heroes of our story are very powerful.
    "Not as powerful as me."
    By brute strength, by all logic, the Queen should win.
    "Exactly!"
    But what's a story without a twist?
    Silence fell throughout the cave as her face twisted in anger.
    And that's as good a way to end as any.

    The dance was beautiful. She was beautiful. I'd been waiting so long for this moment, moving my body to the music next to Amanda. She looked up at me, and we both smiled. She tilted her head up, and her eyes shone. It had taken forever to work up the courage to ask Amanda to prom, but I'd finally done it! And now-
    Over the sound of the music, my phone in my pocket beeped at a pitch and timing I recognized. It could only mean one thing.
    My friends were in mortal danger.
    I smiled sheepishly, keeping up the act that I was just some awkward kid, embarrassed that his phone had gone off- which in some ways, I was.
    But, sadly, I was also much more.
    I turned off the alarm, shrugged apologetically, and shouted 'medicine' over the beat.
    Amanda frowned, but nodded. She, like everyone else I knew at school, thought that the alarm was my signal to go take my meds at the Nurse's office.
    I ducked out of the busy gym, and walked as quickly as I could to my regular spot- the janitor's closet.
    I finally accepted the call. James' urgent voice came over immediately.
    "Matt? Is that you?"
    "Yeah, it's me," I said.
    Meanwhile, I was standing on a bucket to reach a loose ceiling tile. With practiced hands I pushed the tile aside to pull out my laptop. It was easier to keep it here than to have it with me at all times.
    I turned it on, and while I waited, I asked James to tell me the situation.
    "We're retreating from the portal location- the monsters are just streaming out. Even worse than last time. I'm getting an areal view on it, Mal is spewing fireballs at the things, and Dale is as small as he can get- a cockroach, I think? And he's trying to wriggle his way in past the monsters."
    "Got it," I said, nodding to myself.
    My laptop was on. With one click, I opened up a window with two video streams- one from a camera on James' shoulder, and one on Mal. When we first set up the system, I'd tried to find a camera that would work for Dale, but every time he shape-shifted, it would fall off, so I was content with two eyes.
    Just as he'd said, James was hovering about two stories off the ground. As soon as I saw that the monsters weren't too dangerously close to Mal, I focused on James' visual.
    The monsters were similar to others we'd seen, but seemed to be moving faster. The best way I can think to describe them is 'centipedes with fly heads and wings'. Strangely, despite their promanate, transparent wings, they never flew into the air. They just ran from the portal, letting out shrill calls, something like a anxious cricket. They made little effort to attack my friends, but would try to defend themselves when they approached.
    I held the phone against my ear with my shoulder, tilting my laptop at the same time so I could still see the battlefield.
    It seemed like Mal was holding them back pretty well, but every time she hit one with a fireball, it left behind a charred shell. That did some good work to help trip up the rest of them, but our goal here wasn't to kill the monsters. We had to get through the portal.
    "James," I said into the phone, "Turn around. I need to see where you are."
    "K," he replied, and his camera started a panorama.
    I had already know the next portal was in a cave- after all, I was always the one to figure out the coordinates. There wasn't much to see, and it seemed like the only light was from Mal's fireballs, which came in regular bursts.
    "Wait. What's that?" I asked, and he stopped turning in mid-flight.
    I zoomed in on the image, and I thought I saw something glinting green off the walls.
    "Are you seeing that green thing? Kinda to the left?"
   There was a pause, and then he said, "Yeah, I'm seeing it."
   The camera started to move towards the green thing.
    And then the green spot moved, flashing across our field of vision faster than either of us could track. I vowed to examine the freeze-frame of that later, but for now there was a more pressing issue.
    There was a knock on the janitor's door.

My fight or flight responses kick in when I see you,

What do I like better- your abs or that IQ?

Around this star, I've seen many revolutions,

But for the first time, my problems have solutions.

I've never met a guy that I couldn't whip in chess,
But you got me in a stalemate, you're making me guess.
Please, be my King piece, I'll be your Queen,
We'll be the best masters this world has ever seen.

Is the Universe real? And I was shedding tears,
My mind was weighted down with existential fears,
But then I met you; quit the panic attacks,
'Cuz all I want to know is if you like me back...

We met up in the Library, we hid among the books,
By the encyclopedias, where no one would look.
We talked in whispers, and before first bell,
You gave me a kiss, then you said farewell...

Chorus:

Perfect 4.0,
Just let that go,
Baby, don't say no,
Tonight.

We'll skip school,
To pretend we're cool,
We'll break every rule,
Tonight.

 OR

Take me by the hand, boy, look me in the eye,

Make me think, then make me sigh.

The secrets of the Universe, I wanna unwind,

But for now, just let me understand your mind.

Perfect Prey

V1:

I'm alive- for real this time- I'll never let you go. 

Take my hand, you're beautiful, forget all that you know. 

I know my scars, terrify you, I know my hands, they burn,

But everyone needs a chance at love, just let me have my turn.

Chorus:
Don't run away,
You're my perfect prey,
Set your soul on fire.
They say you're weak,
But even as they speak,
I'm telling you they're liars.
Bare your teeth,
Show me teeth.

V2:

You look at me, you see a wolf, but there's no sheep in you!

If you're frightened, well, don't be! I'll show you what to do.

You say that I'm a wild beast; I'd howl at the Moon,

If that meant that I could get you in my arms so soon.

Chorus

V3:
Take my hand and a deep breath, let me lead you through the dark,
Trust me on this my bite lives up to every ounce of bark.
Others see my scars and they, don't trust me like you do,
I made a promise, and for once, I know I'll follow through.

Chorus

The Computer's Tool

    I shift the papers through my hands, staring at them, seeing nothing. Bright blinking lights dazzle my eyes if I look up, and glinting steel walls greet my eyes in every other direction. The entire room is barely a few meters around. Straight up, the closest thing to a possible escape is wildly out of reach. There is no way for anything to get in or out, air included. I won't need to eat or drink anything. If the computers get their way, I won't be conscious for that long. And the computers always get their way.

    I nervously shift my weight in this plastic chair, fiddle with the keyboard keys bolted into the small desk, and stall before I must process this last story, tell this last lie.

    I want to think of anything, anything, rather than what I must do. And so, my mind drifts to the place that has been my home for so long, my containment chamber. This time around, I'd hung there in suspended animation for... how long? How many months, years, decades, had I spent in that cruel device? I tried to remember how many times the computer had taken me out of animation, them put me back in when I'd finished my job. Nine, I thought, then I remember the one with the fire. And the one with the UFO, and don't forget the one that happened at a dance... Let's be honest. I don't know how many times I've come out.

    I don't know how many years old I am.

    My thin, cracked lips press together at the thought.

    I don't know if my kids, or grand-kids, or descendants are still alive.

    When it comes down to it... I don't know anything.

    An unexpected tear rolls down my face. It falls on the papers, leaving a smudge.

    There is a small electrocution device installed in the sole of my shoe. It zaps me now, a reminder to get back to work, to stop being human and return to being the computer's tool.

    The pain doesn't affect me anymore.

    I sit there, motionless, daring them to zap me again.

    An automated voice echos through my cage.

    “Remember, when you finish, you may die. Hurry. Begin.”

    A small smile struggles onto my face. I revel in those words. You may die. Oh, yes, please. Kill me soon.

In a corner of my mind, the part that remembers freedom, I think how odd it is that the thing I once feared, death, is now all I want.

    As I always do, I bury that part deep down, where I pray I'll never find it again.

    But it always digs it's self out to torment me again.

    I look at the papers again. All I have to do is read them, edit them slightly, and type what I see into the machine, and then I can finally die.

    It sounds so simple when I put it that way.

    And it is simple. At first. Until I realize why they want me to translate it, who I will hurt or kill with this information. And then it becomes a struggle to slip something in to change the message, to give these people a sliver of hope. I've never been able to do it before, but every time I think, maybe this time. I've never done it this way before. I have to try. I have to...

    I shake myself . I don't have to do anything but read this story. This assignment is all there is, all there ever was, and all there will be. Because if I don't believe that, I'll never die.

    I feel the papers again, slipping my fingers across the thin grain. It occurs to me, as it has before, that I could rip these papers in half. I could finish this here and now. Except, it wouldn't be finished. They wouldn't kill me. They would send me back to the chamber, and maybe this time, they wouldn't put me to sleep. Maybe I would stay awake like I did the first time, unable to move, unable to breath. Nothing but waiting, trying to cry but unable. And the next time they needed me, they wouldn't give me paper, with it's glorious scent and texture. They would give me a computer screen with it's plain, emotionless image.        And in my life, if you can call it that, I need every small happiness I can get.

    And so I don't tear the pages. I don't change a word. I look at the messy handwriting, the only code that few computers are comfortable with, and I start to tell this final story.

Creepy Limerick... Don't Look

Don't look- there is someone behind you,
Pretend you do not have any clue,
Don't turn around,
Don't make a sound,
And don't smile, whatever you do.

Crow's Nest

I'm climbing up the crow's nest so I can clearly see,

And going up the ladder is getting hard for me.

"Enemy ahead" I shout, but my words only echo,

There's not an ear to hear my voice, with me nor down below.

I'm the only one aboard this ship; I'm running out of food. 

I think I'll have to eat my friends, but that seems a little crude. 

So I watch myself get thinner, (I wasn't plump before,)

And just for fun I play pretend that we're back in the war. 

And as I lift the telescope to occupy my mind, 

I try to avoid the thoughts of those I've left behind. 

I'm trying hard to reach you, love, but I can't navigate, 

By the stars or by the moon, and this has sealed my fate. 

I'm talking to myself right now so I don't go insane. 

Not the best of plans, I know, but it helps to dull the pain. 

As I've apparently misplaced my wits, (I had them at the time,)

The thoughts and fears inside my head have all begun to rhyme... 

Pet Peeves List

1. The myth that we only use 10% of our brains. No. Just... No.

2. The letter 'c'. (It either makes the 'k' sound or the 's' sound, but we already have the letters k and s. It's redundant.)

3.When people on Facebook say 'pet peeve #347' or something, when it is very unlikely that their list is actually 347 entries long.

4.When a time machine in science fiction remains stationary, because the only real theory for time travel requires the vehicle to move past the speed of light. Sadly, few sci-fi writers seem to know this, so time machines stay firmly rooted.

5. Also in sci-fi, when a superhero gains powers from radioactive material. The only change would be to that person's offspring, and even then it would almost definitely be harmful to the child's health.

6. When all our spoons are dirty and the dishwasher is still running and I can't find the plastic spoons and while I'm looking my cereal, which I already put milk in, of course, is getting soggy just because I need a stupid utensil.

7. When people say 'I volunteer as tribute!' when the situation has nothing to do with the Hunger Games.

8.When a note or sign uses the wrong kind of 'your'. One time I got a note that said 'Your Beautiful'. Pretty much ruined the compliment. (-:

9. People who have pi memorized for more than ten places. No matter what profession you go into, there is absolutely no reason to memorize pi more than six or seven places. In fact, you only need 42 didgets to calculate the circumference of the ENTIRE UNIVERSE. Also, I was never able to get past seven, so...

10. When people confuse 'writing a song' with 'griping about my life to music'.

11. When advertisements 'put' quotation 'marks' around where they 'shouldn't' be.

12. When you and another person are drinking at adjacent drinking fountains, then the other person leaves, turning off his fountain, but you're still drinking, so the change of water pressure splashes in your face.

13. When the voice-over on a commercial doesn't match the words on the screen. Like, the voice says, 'Horse Riding' and the screen reads, 'Equestrian Programs'.

14. When, out of nowhere, two characters in a book, who had no romantic connections before, start making out. At least give us a warning, like, 'This was the day I met the love of my life', or something. Don't just spring it on us. Jeez.

15. Eating pig meat, since pigs are about the second or third most intelligent animal on the planet. If only the little geniuses didn't taste so dang good...

16. I read that dandelion petals are sweet. I read this in multiple places on the internet, as well as a few books. I tried it. They lied.

17. When you go to the store and the one thing you want, the one thing they ALWAYS have, is out of stock.

18. When you have 16 items and the sign says '15 items or less'. Even if you get away with it, there's this tiny little guilty feeling...

19. When your neighbor's radio plays the same song... over and over... for two hours straight.

20. That last entry reminds me... I hate the word 'neighbors'. I can never spell it right.

21. When someone says 'could care less' when they mean 'couldn't care less'. It's okay if it's aloud, since you could have just left off the 't', but in writing, it makes no sense.

22. Incorrect use of the word 'literally'. Whenever someone says, 'I literally died,' I think, oh no. They're still walking around. Zombie Apocalypse.

23. Saying something stupid, then being asked to explain and having to back out.

24. People who use the word 'like' a lot. Like, it's like, totally a substitute for 'um', but like, it just makes you sound like, even dumber.

25. Using the '@' sign when you just as easily could have typed 'at'. It's a two-letter word, people. No need to abbreviate. You have to hit two keys to make the @ sign, anyway. (shift+2).

26. When the hand dryer doesn't work in a bathroom with no towels. Also,

27. Any bathroom with only a hand dryer, since Mythbusters proved that paper towels are more effective in every way than dryers.

28. People who don't pick up after their dogs. Especially if I was walking barefoot in the grass shortly after said person passed by.

29. Earbuds that tie themselves in knots the moment you look away. Electronic manufacturers have clearly bewitched all earbuds.

30. The 'helpful' rhyme 'I before E except after C or ending in eh as in neighbor or weigh.' I'm no English major, but I suspect that this is wrong more often than it is right.

31. When I think of something I really need to Google, like 'Why is the sky blue?' but I'm at the store or something, so I can't find out, and I just KNOW that I'll forget it by the time I sit down at a computer.

32. The fact that every number can be found on the keyboard twice, once along the top and once to the right. I'm not a big fan of redundancy. See number 2.

33.  Forgetting the name of someone who's really good with names. They walk up to you all like, "Hi, (insert name here)!" and you stare at them like, "Hey... You."

34. High school. For so, so many reasons.

35. Red velvet cake. It's chocolate cake. With less chocolate. And red food coloring. Why does this deserve to be a thing?

37. Knocking a drink over when you're trying to pick it up.

38.Pantyhose. Pantyhose should NEVER be washed. The result is a wad of cloth that can not be distinguished as a wearable item.

39. When someone writes an ellipses with four or five dots..... so annoying.

40. Chairs that are too high when I sit in them. The ride down is fun, but not fun enough.

41. Looking for things in the dark, and then finding all the most painful things in your room in place of the light switch.

42. Being made to sleep in the same bed as your siblings on vacations. And then they take up half the bed despite being smaller than you, and you tell your subconscious, 'Okay, get this through our head. We are older than her. We should take up most of the bed when we sleep, not the other way around! Got it? Good.'
 But does it listen? No! And you're back to square one, curled up on the very edge!

43. Subconsciouses in general. They never listen.

44. When I join a new website and suddenly everyone is using text shortcuts I don't recognize. They're all saying,
 "TTYL & LOT ^^ :-$"
 And I sit there looking at my computer screen all... What? Something slightly closer to English, please?

45. People who get in the middle of distant space while I'm busy staring into it. And then they think I'm staring at them! No. Didn't you see the invisible warning signs? They look like this:




46. Chairs that are too low when I sit on them, though that happens more rarely than number 40.

47. People who know me from some obscure place and/or were in my class for half a year in elementary school, but still recognize me. For all I know, they could be alien impersonators, trying to earn my trust by claiming to know me from a time I don't remember.

48. Realizing that you have a strange sense of humor as you try to share a joke that cracked you up, only to receive blank stares.

49. When vending machines won't take your dollar. IT'S A PERFECTLY GOOD PIECE OF PAPER/CLOTH! TAKE IT! TAKE MY MONEY!

50. Not being able to think of any more pet peeves.

51. When dispensers which are supposed to work with paper cups require more force than paper cups can withstand.

52. When I can't remember what I was going to write, because I thought, 'I could never forget that!'

53.

Feel My Pain

My lunch table is empty. The cafeteria is full. Here's something I've learned recently: finishing other people's sentences before they're begun is outcast material. Answering their silent questions tends to freak people out. Never mind my eyes that seem to peer into your very soul- mainly because they do- all told, it's no surprise I sit alone.

When you hear every thought, something as simple as walking to class is a nightmare:
There he is, they think with a shudder every time my eyes make contact with theirs. Freak. 

If my hand ever touches their skin, even for a second, I have to flinch away from the barrage of hostile thoughts they unknowingly send my way:
I always see him alone... total know-it-all... look at those eyes... what a loser. 

It wasn't always this way. Before I got my 'ability', if you can call it that, I had a few friends. Not popular by any means, but friends.

They left me one by one. "Oh, I'm just going to sit with those guys for the week," they'd say, all the while thinking, Thank God for this excuse, I'd die if I had one more conversation with him. 

"Oh, I don't think I can go with you to that party. My parents won't let me," but I'm going anyway.

By far, though, the broken friendship that hurt the most was Ashley. She was psychic, too. When I was near her, it was like looking into a mirror facing a lake. A feeling of peace went over both of us every time we touched, every time we looked at each other. Neither of us knew where our powers came from, or why it chose us. And really, when we were together, it didn't matter.

 But then something happened. She decided my power was taking over my life.

You never ask questions anymore, she thought towards me, avoiding my gaze after a test in the one class period we shared. You never even speak... it's like you're trying to freak me- freak people out.  I had no reply. She was sitting in front of me, and noticed that I was staring at the back of her head. She turned around to look at me, and for the first time, she flinched just like the rest of them.

That was about when my life plunged into a steep downwards spiral. My parents started to consider counseling more seriously than ever. Meaningful glances conveyed thoughts that were entirely too clear to me:

He was never like this before. What could he be so stressed about? What did we do wrong? Will he outgrow this?

My grades fell, along with my spirit. When it came to people at school, I was feared at best, hated at worst.

To illustrate: a year ago, one of the (many) out-of-my-league girls asked me to a dance. I'd known before she opened her mouth that she had lost a bet, and that she was desperately hoping I'd say no.

I granted her wish.

"Really?" She'd asked, trying to sound disappointed.

"Yeah. Really," I'd muttered, turning away.

After that, every mental insult seemed to intensify. The casual judgments, once as easy to ignore as feathers, now piled on me and became unbearable stones.

The anger starts small. I clench and unclench my fists, then I take deep breaths like you're supposed to. I repeat my mantra to myself:

 Freaking out would make you a freak. Freak out and they'll know you're a freak.  

I close my eyes and grit my teeth. So many years of trying to be normal... I can't let it slip away now.

What the heck is he doing? 

What a retard. 

My mind snaps. About time, too.

I'd envisioned this moment, even as I hoped it would never come. I know what to do.

I spin, grabbing the wrist of the nearest person. He tries to twist away, opening his mouth to swear. 

As luck would have it- or maybe I chose this subconsciously- this guy is one of the worst offenders. I can't count the times he's tried to fight me, forcing me to avoid him for weeks on end. I'd always thought I couldn't take him, but that was only because I was afraid to use my only advantage. Well, no longer.

Everyone's watching. Speaking low but loud, I say the first painfully true thing that comes to me;

 "Stacy knows you cheated on her."

He fakes a laugh, but I'm not the only one who sees his discomfort.

 I smile sarcastically, letting go of his wrist. I turn to face the crowd. For the first time in as long as I can remember, I don't look at the ground or at my hands. I meet the eyes of everyone who stands in the circle square-on, and they flinch away. For once, they're all looking at the ground while I look up.The first guy tries a punch to the back of my head while I'm turned away, but I knew he'd do that. I duck, and as he loses his balance, I grab his hand without looking and pull him down in front of me.

 Everyone takes a few steps back. Someone leaves to report this to a school guard.

 "I wouldn't do that if I were you, Megan," I say, glancing at her as she walks away.

 She hesitates. Ew. How does he know my name? 

 I move on. I make random eye contact again, and I barely pay attention to who it is. I'm interested in only one thing- their biggest secret or fear.

 "Everyone thinks you're an idiot."

 I turn again and again, noting with satisfaction the damage I cause each time.
 Right in the middle, I come to Ashley. I'm in the groove, and I don't hesitate.

 "You're just as freaky as I am."

Tears come to her eyes, more for myself than for her, and for a moment, I regret my words. But only a moment.

 As I continue my tirade, no one else is dumb enough to try and touch me.  Finally, they feel my pain. 

 But I'm not done yet.

I walk to the locker of one of the richer kids and open it with a few flicks of my wrist. Behind me, I hear,

"Did you give him your combo?"

"No! Of course not!"

Smiling crazily, I lift a pair of car keys out of a purse pocket.

Walking through the crowd, I avoid a few more punches. I start to giggle when they make a path for me. By the time I leave the school building, my laughs echo. 

Forget Ashley. For once, it's good to be psychic. 

Narrator

 I take a deep breath. Then, I say grandly to the empty room,

 "Introduction."

 I grin, sweeping my arm out in front of me. Saying it like that just feels... right, somehow. 

 Then I drop my arm with a sigh. I'm going insane. That old man is driving me crazy. 

 I sit down on my bed, bouncing absent-mindedly. I slowly look around my room. My drawings paste the walls, and a few sit up on the ceiling. As I do my best to ignore what I should be doing, I notice the corner of one of my pictures is falling off. 

 I drag my chair away from my paper-laden desk to rest under the picture. I stand and press the corner back up.

 Then I return to the bed. I can't delay it anymore. 

 I've waited until I was home alone, I remind myself. No one will hear you. 

 Well, maybe not. I really don't know. 

 I lick my lips, then start to talk, staring at the dirty beige carpet. 

 "So, some crazy stuff has been happening. These days, I know things that I... I shouldn't be able to know. Mostly, it's reading minds. But some other stuff's been going on, too."

 I close my eyes, replaying the last month's events. 

 "Like, I know the names of people I've never met, or locations I've never been to."

 I look down at my lap. 

 Or at least, I try to. I see straight through it to the blue bed sheet. Not again... I open my mouth to scream, but I don't hear anything. Desperately, I squeeze my eyes shut, shaking my head hard.

 I look down. I'm there, as solid as ever. 

 "Oh, yeah."

 My voice shudders. 

 "I've been turning invisible, randomly, too." 

 I continue talking, trying not to dwell on it. 

 "So, this had been going on for a few weeks, when I met this man. I turned invisible the moment I saw him. I'd never done that in front of somebody. No one else was around; I was walking home from school, on a gravel road through the woods. 

 "So, anyway, there's this guy. He's thirty-five. Don't ask me how I knew that, I just did."

 I hold back a sob. This is insane this is insane thisisinsane...

 "He had on a brown suit, and glasses. He was just a head taller than me. I expected him to jump, or something, since I was invisible, but he didn't. He just kept walking. I expected him to pass through me- I don't just turn invisible, I'm insubstantial, too.  But he stopped a few feet away from me, and he said my name.

  "It's Elizabeth, by the way.

 "He said, 'You're probably very frightened right now. I'm sorry it took me so long to find you.'

  "I didn't say anything. 

  "He continued, 'I know you read and write a lot of fantasy,' (I still don't know how he knew that,) 'So you must think you're gaining some sort of superpower.' (I had, actually, considered it.)

 "'Let me tell you, you are very close.' He smiled, as if indicating he was about to deliver very good news."

 I pause in my story telling. Since when do I use words like 'indicating' when I talk? I only use words that big when I write. 

 Yeah, well, I guess I can add that to the growing list of weird occurrences. 

 "Anyway," I continue, "He said, 'You, my friend, are becoming a Narrator,' like I should know what that means. Then he said, 'I suggest you start telling your story very soon.'

 "Usually, I'm not very good at remembering things, but I'm 100% positive those were his exact words. 

 "And then the weirdest thing happened. He started to fade out of view, at the same time I began to fade into view. And at the same rate, as far as I can tell. 

 "I said, 'Wait!' because I had no idea what he was talking about. I tried to grab him, but by the time I took two steps to get to him, he was gone. 

 "That was four days ago. And I'm pretty sure I know what he meant by 'my story'. I just don't know how to tell it, exactly.

 "I thought maybe I should write it down. But I don't want anyone to see it- and besides, that would make me an author, not a narrator. I think. So I waited until I was home alone. Then I just started talking. To an empty room. By myself. To an imaginary audience. About how I can read minds and turn invisible."

 I cradle my head in my hands. Insane. Need I say more?

 But what else could I do? Maybe, if I tell my story, this can all stop. 

 Or maybe it'll get worse. 

 "So. This is what happened."

Changing colors

 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.