Illegals

Sci-fi story! Yeah, I wrote this for class. I don't feel like formatting it right now. Sorry. .__.

2027: The world’s population has nearly tripled. Scrambling for a solution, politicians look to China in the year 1970 and think it didn’t look quite so bad. So the one child policy was set around the world. Couples are allowed but one baby and any children after that are killed via a lethal injection. Though the plan seemed to be working as the population slowly steadied over the years, safe houses all over the world are set up to house illegal children.

Who knew it would come to this? Strapped to a chair and waiting to die. Of course, most illegals would expect this at some point. I guess maybe I thought that because I’d met Heidi, things would be okay. She wasn’t like me, so maybe she could change things. But she couldn’t. Nobody could change things for us.

It began with a jar of peanut butter. Living with a house of picky kids like the others and I did, it was essential that we always had it. I was the only one not doing anything at the time, so I was sent out to get it. Being as old as I was, I usually helped out anyway, so it wasn’t a big deal. I also really liked getting out of the house, even if it did mean wrappin’ up the ol’ chest and dressin’ like a boy.
Yeah… that probably needs an explanation.
Thanks to the whole “one child policy,” girls are pretty few and far between. I mean, they’re still all over the place, but there are just more boys. Once couples could only have the one kid, a lot of people decided that they’d rather have a boy. This, of course, made blending in as a girl a lot harder, so most of us illegal girls dressed like guys. I was one of the luckier ones because I actually kind of looked like a boy with my short messy do.
The grocery store wasn’t too far away from the shack where we lived, but I had to walk a long ways and then circle back to make it look like I lived further away. It was part of my cover story as the son of an elderly couple. I even had an alias: Kyle, as opposed to my actual name Katelyn. (None of us are very creative.) It sort of explained why I showed up only once in awhile and people accepted it. Town was pretty much the same as the adults described the forty years ago; 2 story buildings, sliding doors. It didn’t seem all that fantastic to me, yet the people on the wrist TVs I saw in town kept ranting about how far we’d come.
I’d gotten the peanut butter and was checking out when I ran into Heidi. She was deep in the thought and wandered into line ahead of me. Normally, I guess a person might just tap her on the shoulder and ask her to move to the back, but… I wasn’t exactly the best at containing my temper.
“Hey!” I yelled at her. “What do you think you’re doing?”
She jumped. It made me more upset, despite already knowing she wasn’t paying attention. I had a lot of anger and it needed some redirection; I couldn’t take it out the kids or the adults, so this girl had to pay the price. Her features were instantly painted with regret and apologies.
“Sorry, sorry!” she squealed, backpedaling. “I was just so lost in thought, and… and… I’m sorry!” Her demeanor was that of a kid back home that I really liked. He was really spacey and would end up apologizing profusely if he wasn’t paying attention to what you were saying or ran into you. My attitude toward this chubby girl softened and my face must have followed suit because then she relaxed. She smiled at me sheepishly.
“I really am sorry,” she told me, her face a little pink. “Can I get you lunch to make it up to you?”
The gesture surprised me, but I’d been taught to never decline free food.
“Uh, sure, just lemme get this,” I said, holding up the peanut butter. She grinned and stepped out of my way. While I was checking out, she ran back to the shelves and was putting all of her items back. It weirded me out even more, but whatever—she was buying me food!
We introduced ourselves as we walked. The two of us ended up at a little street café with the menus in the tables. You simply typed in what you wanted and the order was sent to the kitchen. I’d seen them while walking around, but never actually used one before. Heidi seemed to pick up on this because she kept giggling when I got excited over typing out a couple different orders before I finally sent one back.
“Never been to one of these, huh?” she asked.
“Uh… no,” I replied. “My parents and I don’t eat out much. They’d rather just stay home.”
“You live with your parents?”
“Yeah. They’re old and have issues doing stuff, so… I help.”
It kind of was the truth—the adults were like my parents. And most of them were pretty old by now. Some could even remember when cell phones first came out. I’d never had one of my own, but it was still mindboggling that they could be so old.
“Aw, that’s so sweet!” she said, fiddling with the hem of her sleeve. She seemed really nervous and I wasn’t sure why. Maybe she wasn’t around people much, just talking—I knew that was why I was so nervous. I was always busy and never had time to talk just for the sake of talking. But here was an opportunity! And I couldn’t think of what to say. I wanted to blab about everything I’d gone through, but if I did, she might tell or someone else might hear. And then I’d send a bunch of kids to their death.
I shuddered at the thought. Heidi noticed.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, concern written all over her face.
“Uuuuuuuuuuh,” I drawled, unsure if I should tell the truth. I should’ve just spit out another lie, but I didn’t want to. That was what I was supposed to do, and suddenly, I didn’t want to. I looked around, trying to find some answer. A park was across the street. Completely abandoned, I felt bad for it. And I wanted to take Heidi over there.
Just as I thought this, the food appeared. I looked down at it, then up at Heidi. She’d bought me food and I just wanted to leave. I picked at the sandwich I’d ordered and Heidi dug into her pizza. She got sauce all over her face but didn’t seem to care. It was then that I really looked at her and noticed the strange black spots. I mean, I’d seen them before but I thought they were just freckles. But they were blotchier and much darker than a blonde like Heidi should have had. So I asked her about them.
“Oh, these?” she asked, pointing to her face. “They’re tattoos. See, everybody used to call me ‘Dalmatian’—y’know, like the dog?—because I had all these freckles and so, a little while ago, I decided to get actual spots!” Her happy explanation became a pout. “I wanna get ears and a tail, too, but my parents are making me pay for it. So I’ve only got the spots for now.”
My eyes were wide. “Ears? Tail? Like… like a dog?”
She nodded, treating it like it was totally normal. “Yup. Plastic surgery isn’t as expensive as it used to be, but it isn’t just a nose tweak that I want, so it’s way more.”
She talked and I just sat and looked at her. I was lost in disbelief. Heidi spoke of it like it was no big deal. Was it? How could looking like a dog really be no big deal? She looked at me funny, like I was the weird one. Maybe I was.
“So, uh…” Heidi seemed lost for words now. Her anxiety was obviously back and she fidgeted.
I set the sandwich back down and looked over at the park again. I wanted to go there.
“Wanna go to the park?” I asked, not looking at her. I was suddenly as nervous about all this as she was. I wasn’t sure why she was, but I was definitely nervous about confiding all my secrets in one person. Or, really, confiding in anyone at all.
There was a sound of something else being sent to the table. I looked over and saw two little boxes made of some really degradable material that I wasn’t sure of. Heidi held one out to me.
“We could finish lunch over there,” she suggested, shrugging. I took the box and smiled.
“Cool.”

Once we were over there, I wasn’t sure that I could do it. We were sitting there contently, munching on our food. Why spoil it with nasty news like being an illegal kid? She didn’t need to know about that. And I certainly didn’t need to tell her.
Yet… I did. I wasn’t sure why, but I felt like I’d explode if I didn’t tell her.
“Heidi, I gotta tell you something,” I started, setting the remnants of my sandwich in the box on my lap. “I know we just met, but… I just gotta.”
She perked up and looked sort of excited for a moment before she seemed to catch herself. I didn’t understand why, but then, I didn’t really understand much at all about her.
“Y’see…well…” I lowered my voice, carefully watching for nosy listeners. “I’m… I’m an illegal.”
The words were out. And Heidi said nothing. She looked surprised---apparently she’d been expecting something completely different. I didn’t know what, but I didn’t blame her. Who would expect someone they’d just met to tell them that they were never meant to be born?
“I don’t know why I’m telling you this,” I explained, “I just had to tell somebody. I guess. It’s been too long.” I set the box aside and leaned over, resting my head in my hands. She probably didn’t understand what I meant by that. I mean, I hardly understood what I meant.
Surprisingly, though, she reached over and hugged me. It was kind of awkward, considering she was so much shorter than me and I was all hunched over, but still nice. I looked over at her and saw her face was all red.
“I’m… I’m glad you told me, Kyle,” she said. “And I’m glad you were born.”
With that, everything clicked. Her nervousness, the buying me lunch. I should’ve set her straight, but I was tired. It wasn’t like I’d ever see her again, anyway.

Someone enters my room. (Or, I guess, the room I’m borrowing for the time being.) It opens and I see a nice looking lady standing there. She seems so out of place here. I wonder if she’s got her own kids—kid, I correct myself—at home. Maybe she feels guilty about what she does because of them. I hope so. Because, then, I won’t die in vain.
The woman comes over and checks my vitals with a small device in her hand. She holds it over my bullet wound and smiles.
“All okay,” she tells me.
“Great,” I reply, my voice cracking. “Then I’ll die healthy.”
Her smile disappears and she quickly leaves the room.

Of course, I met with Heidi again. It was inevitable—more peanut butter, or maybe powdered milk. (A lack of electricity leads to a lack of refrigeration, which means no real milk.) But whatever the reason, we met in the park again, same bench as before. The tension was just as great as I remembered—her wanting to be close to me for reasons that I needed to set straight. But I still didn’t want to. What if her crush was all that kept her from telling? If that were true, than my telling her the truth would ruin everything. I could pretend to be Kyle with her. I’d pretended to be him with everyone else.
“So, what’s it like?” she asked, straightening her floral dress. Even though she never seemed nearly as girly as any girl I’d ever met, she still insisted on always wearing dresses. “Being an illegal, I mean.”
I shrugged. “I dunno. It’s just… life, I guess. You hide, you steal sometimes. Usually only if you need to.” I cringe a little. “It’s really, really loud, though, if you’ve just gotten a lot of babies.”
She laughed at this and I wasn’t entirely sure that was the response I wanted. But what should I care? Someone was listening and I didn’t think she was going to turn me in. I ignored the mean feelings that rose up in me and half-heartedly laughed with her. She didn’t notice, though, which was both a good and bad quality with Heidi.
“I wish my life was so exciting,” she replied, her eyes glazed over as she probably daydreamed. She was romanticizing the whole thing, I just knew it. “I just have to go to stupid cooking class.”
As if on a cue, her tiny little phone started to buzz in her pocket. She took it out and groaned; I knew what that meant. She’d go, I’d get my gross dry milk and we’d leave each other until the next time the shack ran low on something.
But, instead of leaving, Heidi hit ignore and sat where she was. I didn’t say anything and neither did she.
“I don’t like to cook at all,” she told me after a long while. “I just do it because my parents tell me I’m supposed to. Girls used to be able to be smart, y’know, be engineers and stuff. But now? Now we’re just supposed to cook and clean and be good little mommies to our one kid.” She stared off into space and I just looked at her. Maybe life wasn’t so great for Heidi after all.
“What do you like to do, then?” I asked. “What makes Heidi smile?”
Me, apparently, because she broke into a little grin.
“Computer stuff, mostly,” she replied. “I’m pretty good at hacking into stuff. I haven’t tried anything too big yet, but I’ve changed my grade in cooking class more than once.”
We both laughed at that. Things were easy, much easier than before. Maybe because both of us realized that we might not be so different after all.

We didn’t meet up again for another couple of weeks. I couldn’t find an excuse to get out of the house because one of our really, really old people had died. That meant I had to pick up the slack and go bury her because everyone else either couldn’t handle it or they were too old.
The body I was burying was that of Sara Goode. She hadn’t been quite as old as I thought, I guess, but her silver hair had told me wrong. She looked peaceful now, which was certainly different than she’d ever been alive. Sara was always stressed looking and yelled a lot. She was also the one that had started this all. She was the one that had taken me in when I was a baby. I thought maybe she was where I got my temper and determination from.
I dug the hole quietly and quickly. Carefully, I placed Sara’s body, wrapped tightly in a blanket, into the hole. I refilled the hole and stood there afterwards, just looking at the pile.
“Bye, Sara,” I said, picking up the shovel and heading home.

A few days later I finally got out to see her. Heidi was waiting on the bench, looking nervous and excited. I wondered if she had something “romantic” planned. I really hoped not. There was enough bad feelings in me right now; I just wanted to relax with her, not worry about sending the wrong message.
“Kyle!” she cried as I got closer. “C’mere! I made something!”
I sat beside her and she held out a little green bud. I thought it was a big seed or something at first, but when Heidi handed it to me, I realized it was metal. A tiny little metal seed.
“I want you to have it,” she told me.
I turned it over in my fingers, examining the surface.
“Uh…what is it?” I asked, trying my best to be nice. I knew kids got really upset if you asked what their drawings were supposed to be—were sixteen year olds like that, too?
“It’s a recording device,” she said. “Just put it in your ear and it’ll record anything. I tested it a billion times at home.”
“It records from my ear?” I asked, looking at her. “Why not from my mouth or something? Wouldn’t that be better?”
She shook her head. “It connects with the brain. See, that way you can record without anyone knowing.”
I was so confused. How could something so small do that? Was it even possible? I never had gone to school (for obvious reasons) so I only learned from what I heard in town or from the adults. How could Heidi even make something like this? I asked her.
“It’s all really, really complicated. Just lemme show you.”
She pulled a small laptop out of her purse and opened it on her lap. While it booted up, she took the little green device and touched a few spots. It lit up a little, then went dark again. She handed it back to me.
“Put it in your ear and think ‘connect.’ Think it until I tell you to stop.”
I nodded, doing as she told me. I thought the word over and over again, waiting for her to tell me to stop.
“There!” she cried. “Stop. It’s connected. Now, just think. Think about stuff. Anything.
I froze, unsure of what to think about. What did I want Heidi to see? I started to think about Sara, though, without even trying. How she took me in. Named me and took care of me for twenty-odd years. And how she was gone. Just… gone.
I thought about Sara for about ten minutes before Heidi stopped me. I looked at her, surprised.
“What?” I asked. “Isn’t it working?”
“It’s working fine,” Heidi told me, not looking at me, “it’s working just fine, Katelyn.”
I jumped. She’d used my real name! Was that in there? I’d accidentally spilled the beans. I tried to relax, but couldn’t help but chew on my bottom lip. Was she upset? It seemed like she was. She wasn’t talking and wouldn’t look at me. I sat quietly, waiting it out. It usually worked with angry kids at home and had worked with me in the past.
“I’m not mad,” she said eventually. “Not really. I just wish you would’ve told me you were a girl.”
I shrugged. “Sorry… it’s just safer to be a boy. They’re all over the place, aren’t they?”
“I guess they are,” she agreed. Heidi turned the laptop off. “If you ever want to connect and write something, just think ‘connect.’ My laptop will automatically boot up and record it all. It doesn’t even have to be in complete sentences.”
She was quiet again.
“I’m sorry about Sara,” she told me.
“Me, too,” I replied.

The raid was unexpected. I didn’t even know I’d spilled the beans for everybody until the gunshots started. That sound threw everyone into action—kids started running every which way. We’d all been taught since we’d gotten here where to run if we had to leave. It was the first thing a kid learned, even before they were reading. Survival was always more important to us than reading.
I didn’t get as far as I thought I would. Just a few feet from the shack they shot me down; it was a shot to the leg. Not deadly, but it hurt a whole lot. The kids that were further away weren’t so lucky: Most that were shot didn’t get back up. Others went down and moaned. I knew they wouldn’t be picked up, though. They’d be left as a warning.
A man dressed in black with his face covered came up to me and put something over my nose and mouth. It smelled sweet. A moment later, I was out.

Which brings us to the end. I sit now in a room with white walls, my arms and legs strapped down tight. The room is empty besides me and my chair, a little security camera in the corner, and a clock that ticks down the hours. I’ve been here at least two, I think. I think it’s odd that they use an analog clock (or at least that’s what I think they were called). Maybe it’s because they stretch the hours out so much more appropriately than a digital clock. I think it’s kind of nice and makes me feel more okay about the whole thing. It reminds me of home.
We had an analog clock when I was younger; somebody had saved it, I guess. I used to sit and watch the second hand. I found them so much more interesting than the angry red digital clocks. Eventually, though, it broke and we couldn’t get it fixed. Not only did no one even do that anymore, who else would have an analog but a bunch of illegals?
The lady comes back, a shot in her hand.
I watch the security camera. I hope I’m starting right into the eyes of the fat slob watching me. Do you feel guilty yet? I ask them. Do you wish you could change this?
This is it. Heidi, I hope you have this. I hope the little green metal seed actually works and that your laptop’s gotten this all.
The security camera wiggles slowly, side to side. Then, it goes faster. It wags. Wags like a dog’s tail. Like… like a dalmatian.
I break into a wide grin and the woman jumps. The people she deals with probably don’t smile much, so I’m not surprised. But I’m happy. So happy. She puts the needle into my arm and instantly I feel myself drifting. Wow, we were making advances. In a few minutes—maybe even thirty seconds!—I’ll be dead. So efficient.
I don’t know if the camera has audio or not, but I know Heidi’s little device will get it anyway.
“Bye, Heidi,” I say to the camera.
And then… dead.

Heidi Burton had hacked into the video system of the Executionary and fed the video from Katelyn’s room to every wrist television and phone and computer she could find. Millions upon millions of people saw and heard Katelyn’s goodbye. Heidi also published Katelyn’s story all over the internet. Every time it was taken up, it sprung up in a new place. Soon, others started to spread her story, too. There was nothing the governmennts of the world could do to stop the wildfire.
Due to public uproar, the one child policy is now under review.

POEMS.

These are bits from the Penpen story turned into poems because I couldn't think of a character to observe or a new scene. :C

------

Penny

New red hair and matching lips

Charcoal eyes that watch

She sits alone, stands alone

Without her best friend

Watching all that pass

Pen's a new person now

Bold outside, but less within

Still as a statue, she watches

And wonders.

Matt ~ Aftermath

(or, alternatively, Aftermatt. Nyaaa~)

They burn in her eyes

But she won't let them go

Won't embarrass him that way

Already their stares are felt

Their whispers heard

Then, an awkward pat

So familiar, yet different, better

Friendly, reassuring, she looks up

He smiles, trying to hide concern

Being the best happy sunshine he can

She's relieved; tears fall

Just as she does into him

-----

YAY POETRY?!

Penpen. Because I have no better title.

“Nooo, you can’t leave!” Penny wailed, latching herself onto her nearest and dearest friend, Nathan. Her hands locked together, creating a tight hold that he didn’t think he could get out of.

“Pen, look, I’m sorry,” he said, doing his best to console her with his arms pinned at his sides. “But I’ve got to. My dad’s got this new job and, well… there’s no helping it. I’ve got to move.”

Penny sniffled. Life would be so different without Nathan. Stupid Nathan’s dad! Why wasn’t the job he had now good enough? Without Nathan, she’d have to make new friends. A feeling eerily similar to a newly divorced woman being forced to date again overtook her.

Nathan fidgeted under her grip, looking around them. If Penny was so self-conscious, why wasn’t she being timid now? Everybody was staring at them. They knew the news, so no major rumors would start about this (hopefully), but Nathan still wished the eyes would stop looking.

“Get off,” he said gruffly, attempting to free his arms so he could pry her hands apart. “We’ve got band practice, Penny.”

She sniffled again, threatening to restart her sobs, but relented. He awkwardly patted her on the back; suddenly years of friendship seemed to disappear. He’d seen Penny upset before, but this was new. Was it really so terrible that he was leaving?

As they left school, Penny took Nathan’s hand in hers. He gave a heaving mental groan—great, like that would help keep the attention off of them.

X

“Come, yeah, come a little closer, darlin’,” Nathan sang, leaning into the mic stand. “We’ve got a secret here, yeah, a little secret here.”

Practice was going as usual. Penny had calmed down after a visit with Mr. Pooki. Pooki was the dog of Matt, the guitarist and resident of the house they practiced in. Currently Matt was wailing on guitar, his chords screaming in unison with Nathan’s vocals. Presently, Penny off to the side and kept the bass line steady. Even with her little episode, she was doing her best with the music. She was always the best in their group at that.

The song abruptly ended at the slamming of a door somewhere upstairs. The group of teenagers stopped dead, knowing what it meant: Shut up, my stories are on. A collective sigh was released.

“Well, at least we got a little practice in,” Matt said, taking off his guitar and turning off his amp. Penny silently did the same and began to put everything away. Nathan, Matt and the drummer, Chris, watched her quietly. Although Chris and Matt had missed the majority of Penny’s breakdown, they still knew something was up.

Matt, a big time talker, grew increasingly uncomfortable with the silence. He had to talk.

“So, uh, I think I found someone we could use as a singer,” he said without much thought. “He sounds a lot like you, Nate, so it should be an easy transi—”

Penny interrupted him with a sudden choking noise. She shook uncontrollably, her back turned to them.

The boys stood frozen for a moment, wondering what to do.

Nathan was the first to recover:

“I’ll go get Mr. Pooki.”

He jogged up the stairs, giving his defiantly sagging pants a harsh tug upward.

While he was gone, Matt carefully walked over to Chris, who had stayed put at his drum set.

“Dude,” Matt whispered his eyes widened a bit, “what was that?”

Chris shrugged. “No idea, man. No idea.”

X

Penny tossed her pencil on the floor. Stupid homework! All those number and crap made no sense! And why was she in the AP class, anyway? She wasn’t going to get any of it. And they’d given her summer homework, for Chrissakes. Whose bright idea was that?

She sighed feebly. Nathan’s. He’d been the one that’d gotten her into all of those smarty-pants classes she’d be taking in the coming fall. He’d gotten her there without actually being able to help. That jerk. What a jerk! Picking up her math book, she gave it a good chuck at the floor. It thudded heavily and even bounced. Penny would have been intrigued normally, but her grief consumed her thoughts.

Why’s he gone?! She mentally raged, tears stinging her eyes. I need him!

Her eyes wandered to her desk where an open notebook and pen sat untouched. She’d meant to write him the first day, but she couldn’t. While she missed him, part of her wanted Nathan to think she was okay. Maybe because she didn’t want him to worry—maybe because she thought it would help her actually be okay. Whichever it was, she hoped it was working.

X

Dear Nathan,

Hi bud! I miss you so, so much! I would’ve written sooner, but I’ve been busy with that dumb AP work. How’s stuff in the big city? Met anybody cool yet? I haven’t really ventured outside much. It’s been waaay too hot. I’ve barely been able to move and my mom still hasn’t given in and gotten any AC. I would be happy with one of those in-the-wall things right now. (Even though I’d probably have nightmares about it blowing itself up like in The Brave Little Toaster.)

Oh, dear… I don’t really have much to write about! Well, I hope you’re doing good and it’s cooler (literally and figuratively) where you are. Oh! And I haven’t had a chance to get to practice yet, but I hear that the new singer is pretty sweet. I’m sure Matt and Chris still miss you a lot, though.

Love,
Penny

X

No word. None. It’d been a week. Was the U.S. Postal Service so slow? It was called snail mail for a reason. Did Nathan really live so far away now?

Or… maybe he just wasn’t writing?

Penny sighed, plucking few strings on her bass. That was probably it. He was busy with his new life in the big city. He probably had a whole gaggle of new friends that were much cooler than her. Nathan was too busy having fun to write back to boring old Penny. He’d moved on.

A sudden anger filled her. How dare he! How dare he move on so quickly.

“Screw him, then,” she spat, tightening her grip on the beck of the bass guitar in her lap. “I’ll get a new life, too.”

She set her bass on its stand and went to the mirror in the bathroom. How could she change?

X

Matt heaved a great and frustrated sigh. The new guy, Jim, was all ready to go and so was Chris. But where was Penny? They’d understood for the first week or so because she had AP work to do (Matt and Chris, underachievers the both of them, assumed it was tough stuff that kept her busy), but now it was just weird. She’d said she was ready to come in. So where was she?

The incessant yapping of Mr. Pooki and opening of the basement door announced her arrival just as he was getting ready to send Jim and Chris home.

“Finally, Pen,” Matt complained, “where have you been?”

As she descended the stairs, Matt and Chris felt the need to double-take. Where she’d once had a long and messy blonde ponytail, Penny now had a stylish dark red bob that framed her face. They’d never seen her in make up, either, and yet her eyes were lined in black and her lips dyed red.

“What?” she asked, her tone annoyed. “Never seen a pretty girl before?”

She went to her normal spot and set up like normal, attaching herself to the amp and tuning. When she was set, she stood up and looked over at Jim.

“Hey,” she said, beaming confidently. “I’m Penny. Sorry we couldn’t meet sooner.” She offered a hand for him to shake.

Jim crossed the room to her and took it.

“Jim,” he replied, trying to find the Penny he’d heard about in this girl. “No problem. ‘S long as you’re here.”

Penny nodded, happy with this new singer so far.

"Now, how’s ‘bout we stop standing around and make some music?”

X

“What’s up, Penny?” Matt asked as he sat by her at lunch. “You’ve been weird all summer.”

“And you just got the guts to ask me now?” she asked, raising a snarky eyebrow.

He scrunched up his forehead. All summer he’d seen her and still he hadn’t grown used to this new Penny. It wasn’t unnerving or bad… just different and new. Confident and yet so off.

Penny looked at him a moment, trying to decide something. Then she sighed, putting her elbows on the table and her head in her hands.

“He hasn’t written once, Matt.”

It took him a moment to realize who she was talking about.

“Nate?”

She barked a laugh without humor. “No, the freaking president. Yes, Nate.”

Matt frowned a little bit. Why hadn’t Nathan written? He was Penny’s best friend. Sure, he’d moved pretty far away, but… that couldn’t have changed with a little distance, could it?

Penny seemed to read his mind.

“Maybe it’s all changed,” she said, staring at the table. She was quiet then, listening to the conversations around them. They were better than listening to herself right then. But Matt wasn’t saying anything, either. He was the chatterbox. Where were his words?

She turned to look at him and found him zoned out, staring at his shoes. She’d silenced Matt, of all people.

Amazing, she thought. Her gaze returned to the table. Might as well get the rest off my chest.

“And this new look… well, at first, it was me trying to move on. Change. Get a new life. It sort of worked: I like it, and so does my mom. She thinks I’m finally being girly. And maybe that’s true. I hated to seem girly around Nathan. He was always afraid we’d look like a couple or something.” She made a sudden choking noise. “Maybe this is the first time I’ve been me in a long time.”

This idea sunk in. Her best friend might have been changing her. Changing her a lot. Yet…

If this is the real me, though… why do I still feel so bad?”

Tears burned in her eyes for the umpteenth time in months. Sure, she’d been sensitive before, but this was just ridiculous. What was wrong with her? Her eyes bore into the table as she held the tears back. No need to cause a scene. Matt probably wouldn’t like that.

Then, a slow awkward pat on her back. It reminded her of the last time she’d been in school with Nate. Except this was nicer, friendlier. Like it was actually trying to help.

Penny looked up and saw Matt’s uncertain but concerned face. He gave a somewhat sheepish yet reassuring smile and Penny returned it in a slightly shakier, more near-tears form.

She leaned into him and let the waterworks begin.

OH HEY IT'S AN EXCERPT.

So, if you know me personally you'll probably know that I participated in NaNoWriMo back in November and while I didn't reach the goal of 50,000 words, I did write my longest work ever at around 30,000 words. Basically the book is about a girl who has always, always written stories and suddenly finds herself writing this big bad thing she calls Chuck back into existence to take over the world and cause bad things to happen. And now I'm looking over the entire thing for the first time since I guess probably February and I've looked over this nightmare scene quite a bit because I want it to sort of be...y'know, good. and I'm unsure of how to know if it's really good or not. So I thought HEY LET'S ASK THE PEOPLE. And by people I mean the people that may or may not read Authorly sometimes if I post it on Facebook.

AND SO HERE'S MY EXCERPT.

(By the by, Becky's the ghost girl that gave herself to the baddy to save a friend, blah blah, Henry is Sierra's ((the main character)) first friend in foheva. And by foheva I mean middle school.)

---

I was in my room, but it was stretched to the size of a football field. Piles of papers and books were stacked left and right, towering high above me. I was running through the maze of poorly built skyscrapers, trying to find a way out. All around me there was fire burning everything in sight. What’s going on? I thought in a panic.

I found my parents and cried out. They were screaming and I could see their skin just melting off their bodies in the most grotesque way possible. Becky ran through, her clothes aflame. Behind her was the faerie version of Chuck, its claw-like hands were on fire. It reached out for her menacingly as it flew after her, a crazy smile on its usually inspecting face.

I ran screaming from them, trying to escape both Chuck and the sight of my parents dying. Tripping over burning books and papers, I ran and ran until in one corner I found Henry. He was curled up in a tight ball, rocking back and forth rapidly with his back to me. I went over to him, tears streaming down my cheeks. I didn’t want him to be on fire. I mean, I cared about the others, too, but I really didn’t want him to be hurt. He was most important. As terrible as it might have sounded, he was more important than my parents. He was my best friend. The first friend I’d had in ages. I couldn’t lose him. Not now!

I reached out to him, my hand shaking. I was scared he was going to be hurt and I would just make it worse. Please be okay, I thought, crying a little harder, just please, be okay. I touched his shoulder and he turned his head to look at me. I leapt back and raised my hands to my mouth, letting loose a blood curdling scream. His eyes were just balls of great orange fire, leaping out of his head to bite at my hand.

“Help me, Sierra,” Henry said pitifully. “Help me.”

I recoiled from him, the tears coming in even greater streams now. What was I supposed to do? How could I stop this? Henry moaned at my feet, reaching out for the help he sought.

Why would you stop it? A sly voice purred in my head. You started it, Sierra. This is all your doing.

I jerked back a few more steps. What was that voice? And what did it mean; I was the cause of this? I looked down at my hands and screamed. They were on fire like everything else, but I didn’t feel the burn of the flames on my fingers like Becky and my parents and Henry did. I screamed and screamed and screamed myself hoarse until the fiery skeletons of my parents, Becky, and Henry were surrounding me. I tried to scream more, but my throat was torn to ribbons. I couldn’t scream anymore. I couldn’t! Before I could do anything to try and stop them, the skeletons had engulfed me and I was burning for real now, the flames licking my body with a full intent of killing me. I sobbed silently as I burned and burned…

NO TITLE BECAUSE I CAN'T THINK.

Feel free to suggest one, though.

-------

Tiffany Pierce. Tiff.

That was her name. Wasn't it? She couldn't remember anymore. Where was she, anyway? She couldn't tell. Wherever it was, it was moving. She slowly opened her eyes to take in her surroundings. She was in the back of a car. Glass separated her from the driver.

A taxi, Tiff thought, trying to sit up. She found her body was unresponsive, though, so she sat. She thought maybe she should be worried, but she was so tired and strangely happy that it didn't bother her. Why was she so happy again...?

Oh, she'd been on a date last night! Tiff smiled, slowly closing her eyes again. Yes, she'd been on a date with David. She remembered going out in her little blue dress, excited to be out. It'd been so long since she'd been out because of the accident.

Tiff shook her head violently. No! She didn't want to think about that. It'd ruin the happy.

Happy...

David's face, his white smile gleaming, swam into her foggy thoughts again. He as so nice. He always opened door for her and asked how she was. Always paid for the meal like a gentleman. He hadn't had a lot of money lately, so they hadn't been out in awhile. And the accident. But she wasn't thinking about that. She was thinking about David!

She slipped in and out of consciousness, unsure of how much time was passing. She didn't care about it, hough, she only cared about David.

Where was David, anyhow? he had his own car...a nice black one with leather seats. He'd never let her eat or drink in the car because of those seat. But he had one...so why wasn't she with him?

She opened her eyes and tried to sit up again. Her body hurt so much, though, that she couldn't. A soft groan slipped from her lips as she relaxed her body again. Tiff noticed there was a fur coat laid out on her. It was warm and pretty, but she didn't recognise it. David must have gotten it for her! How could she forget such a beautiful gift? She struggled to move her hand and feel the soft inside of the coat. It was wet; it must have started to rain.

Suddenly the taxi took a hard left and Tiff had to grip the seat to keep herself form falling out of the seat. The driver muttered a panicked apology and accelerated. Tiff muttered curses under her breath in annoyance, but soon she was back to her foggy state of glee.

Where was David, though? She was scared now. She wanted her David. Again, she slipped unto unconsciousness, but she couldn't help but worry about David.

She dreamed a little; there was so much darkness behind her eyes. Tiff could see nothing but felt the blows hit her body. They came in every direction, but no matter how she swung her fists out, she couldn't reach her attacker. She started to cry, wondering where David was. She wanted David back! Where was David?

The taxi driver slammed on the brakes and Tiff tumbled out of her seat. She cried out and tried to raise herself up but couldn't.

"Oh, shit!" the driver cursed, pulling off to the side of the road. The car stopped and he jumped out to help her back into the seat. His eyes were really wide. "I'm real sorry, lady." She didn't know why he was so freaked out. She was too tired to yell at him and too sore to hit him. "Are you okay?"

She grunted in response and he seemed to take that as a yes. Once she was back in the seat and wrapped tightly in the coat, the driver rushed back to the wheel and took off again. He was more careful about his stops and turns now, though, so Tiff didn't fly out of her seat again.

Now that she was pleasantly settled, she tried to remember her dream. It had been dark; that was all her tired mind could come up with. She deemed the dream unimportant and went back to thinking about David.

Their date was at a nice Italian restaurant. Though David hated Italian, he'd taken her there because it was Tiff's favorite place. He was so thoughtful that way.

A jolt of pain shot through her skull as the cabbie turned right. It brought the dream back, the pounding blows from a hidden untouchable assailant...and the accident, oh, the accident...

he'd said he didn't mean it. That's what made it an accident. She had been hurt so bad, but it was just an accident. Her face had swollen black and blue all over, she hadn't been able to go out for weeks without feeling eyes on her, but it'd all been an accident...

"David..." she whimpered. Then, louder: "David! Where's David?" Panic laced her voice until it completely took over and she was screaming hysterically for her David. The cabbie tried to calm her down from up front, but she wouldn't have it. So he pulled over again and when to the back seat.

"Shh, lady, just calm down," he told her, "screamin' ain't gonna help nothin'. Who's David?"

Tiff sucked in a quick breath of air before choking out: "My boyfriend!"

The cabbie looked surprised for a moment, then almost guilty. He looked like a bearer of bad news to Tiff.

"What happened?" she pleaded, tears running down her face. "Where's my David?"

"Uh, look lady--"

"Tiff! Stop calling me lady, my name is Tiff!" she screeched, her throat aching.

"Okay, okay, Tiff," the cabbie said. He paused, hesitating. Would he want to know? Yes, probably. "Look, Tiff, I dunno how to tell you think, but... I think your boyfriend did this."

He carefully pulled the coat off of her, revealing a bloodied dress underneath. Her pretty blue dress. Another gush of tears ran down her cheeks.

"I found you way far out from the city," the cabbie explained, "and I thought the coat might help the bleeding. Some lady left it behind last night. Thank God for drunks, eh?" He paused again. "Are you gonna be okay? I need to drive...we're almost to the hospital."

Tiff thought for a moment--or at least as close as she could get to thinking in her foggy, distraught state. Was she going to be okay? David had hurt her. He'd hurt her so bad she'd bled. Could she be okay?

Then again, he'd done it before.

"Yeah, she told the cabbie, "I'll be okay."

Plain Jane

Sarah Jane didn’t ever like boys. That is, she never admitted it. She didn’t really know any boys, so how could she like them? It was an impossibility in her mind. Completely impossible.

And then she met Victor.

He was something new. He liked reading and spoke intelligently. Sarah Jane had been around so few boys that could do that that she’d begun to think they weren’t capable of it. But Victor could. And he wrote. Oh, he wrote. His stories flew off the page and into her mind, showing her worlds that she could have never imagined herself. Sarah Jane was a plain girl, a plain Jane, and she never thought about what might be out there. She was happy with her life in her little town and her little life. It was normal and quiet and she liked it. Any change? That would be terrifying. No, Sarah Jane was pleased with how things were going for her, if you ignored the small detail of Victor.

She wanted to talk to him--she really did!--but she knew not what she would say. How could she talk to a boy? She'd had so little practice in normal conversations, let alone trying to love them (and was this even love?). How could she figure that out? It must have been different because of the love. Normalcy and adoration couldn't be the same.

She sat in class, feeling him sitting in the desk behind her. He did every day, so it shouldn't have been as thrilling as she felt it was. But it was, it was! And she just couldn't stop that. It was something that would not let itself be stopped. There was a tiny part of her, even that would be sad if the thrill left. It had become such a huge part of her life in the passing months. How could she just wish it away? It'd grown on her.

The teacher was talking at the front of the room. She wasn't listening to him, though. Sarah Jane listened to the scribbling, scratching, erasing that was being done behind her. Victor was writing. He was putting his ideas onto paper, analyzing them, rewriting them. She wondered what he was writing. A new story? A poem? Character ideas? All were possible. Victor was always spouting new ideas.

She started doodling on her paper a little, wondering what he was doing. She'd become a little Victor-centric, honestly, but it was understandable. She'd never admitted to herself that she liked a boy. It was all new to her, so it was the normal thing to totally immerse herself in it. Wasn't it?

The doodles on the paper started in one corner and started to spread. She liked to draw a little bit, but she wasn't any good. Most of these were just little blob people that would cry out things she was thinking, whether it was "WHAT ARE YOU THINKING ABOUT?" or "WHY WON'T THIS CLASS ENDDD?!" The class was beginning to drag on. It usually wasn't like that. But Sarah Jane could feel her heart beat harder against her chest for no apparent reason. Was it because she was thinking about Victor behind her? Was it because she wanted to kiss him? Because she very much felt like it might be that. Her eyes flew to the clock. How long until class was over? Fifteen minutes? No, it had to end sooner than that. She needed to not be near Victor, she needed to just be away from him and think these thoughts while she wasn't close enough to maybe, possibly, act on them. Blood rushed into her face and she felt herself burn, turning a pleasant shade of tomato red. She chewed on her lip fiercely, drawing a little blood.

Good, she thought, maybe some of this blush will leak out through my lip.

She tried to focus on the teacher, on the lesson, but suddenly she couldn't even remember what class it was. Were they learning geometry or world history? Was that French on the board or was her brain misinterpreting in its anxious state?

Her lip really hurt. She couldn't chew on it anymore. So she began chewing on the inside of her cheek, wondering how much time had passed. She glanced at the clock. A whole two minutes. There was still so much time before she got to leave, disappear, hope to never see Victor again...or at least not until she could get her hormones to shut up. Breathing in slowly, she let out a deep sigh. She wondered if Victor noticed her distress. Could he hear her heart beating? Did he notice her deep breathes as she tried to calm herself? Listening, she still heard the scratching of pen against paper. Her shoulders drooped. He hadn't. He wasn't even now. Whatever fantasy he world he had created had stolen him away, keeping his mind too occupied to notice the plain Jane in front of him. She supposed that was better, in a way; he could write more stories for her to enjoy if he didn't know she existed. Still...a part of her wanted him to notice her like she noticed him. But who could notice a girl like her?

Sarah Jane slumped onto her desk, exhausted from her worry. There was so much on her mind that she thought she might explode. Victor wouldn't notice, of course. He didn't notice anything about her.

She started to resent him in that moment. Why wouldn't he notice her? Was she not good enough? She got good grades. She was a nice person. And though she was plain, she wasn't completely hideous. Why not notice a girl like her? She stared ahead, burning a hole into the whiteboard. In her mind, though, the board was Victor's face. And oh, how she despised him in that moment. Why wouldn't he notice her? WHY WOULDN'T HE NOTICE HER? It was absurd, wasn't it? She was just like everybody else, just as smart and nice and...and...

...and she didn't stand out. So of course he didn't see her. Sarah Jane's anger fizzled out and she let her head drop onto the desk top with a low thunk. It wasn't Victor's fault at all. It was just her fault over and over. He couldn't notice her because she hid from him. She only got to read his stories because he posted them online. She never commented, anonymously or not. She always worried what he would say, how she would be rejected...how his face would change. Would he look sad, like he didn't want to hurt her? Would he laugh? What about a contortion of his features, something of horror? No, that was ridiculous. But was it, really? She didn't know how he would react. But she had to see. What if he felt like she did? What if it worked out? She had to know.

How she would go about this would be difficult. Sarah Jane couldn't see her doing any of the things she thought of when she thought of him. Declaring affection, hugging, those sorts of things. What would she do?

A glance at the clock. Terror struck through her. If she wanted to do anything today, she'd have to act fast; there were but three minutes left in class and Victor always took off right away after school. But what would she do? What would she do?!

She thought about writing a note. Maybe folding it up adorably and then handing it to him right as the bell rang before timidly scooting away. That could work. She hunched over her desk, scribbling down a note. At first she wanted to make it look nice, like she really took care of it, but she kept changing her mind and scribbling things out, starting again, trying and trying to think of what to say, how to say it...she wasn't sure it would work. What if he saw it as something stupid? What if he lost the note? Or, worse, he couldn't read her handwriting? It was kind of bad and run-together-y. Sarah Jane gripped her pen anxiously. How could she ensure he got what she wanted to tell him? How could he perfectly understand it?

The bell rang. She jumped, giving a small cry of distress. No! Class couldn't be over! She finally, finally was set on doing this. If she waited until tomorrow, she would give up and she'd never do it! She heard Victor stand and start to collect his things behind her. Her body went rigid. Then, without much thought, she leaped to her feet and threw her arms around him. Her face was in his and their lips met. Her eyes were shut tight, terrified of what she might see. Under her touch, Victor was stiff, unmoving. She wondered if she'd done wrong. But it was amazing, even like this. She...she was kissing a boy! Sarah Jane couldn't be prouder of herself. Of course, she was doing it in the middle of class, though a good chunk of people had run out once the bell rang. She could hear the silence around them. Then, slowly, his body relaxed, but she got no other response, so she pulled away. Obviously she'd done something wrong. He hadn't yanked him off of her, but he hadn't kissed back, either. She stared at the floor, waiting for him to yell at her. For anyone to yell at her. She had done a stupid, stupid thing. She was chewing on her lip again, cutting into it and not caring. Tears welled up in her eyes and she felt her face burn as everyone stared at her.

"S...sorry," she choked out, grabbing her paper and bag and running out of the room.

She couldn't believe she'd done that. What a stupid thing to do! Her lip was bleeding a lot now and she stopped to put a tissue on it. Looking around, she saw she'd run straight out of the building and down the street without realizing it. At least she'd been going in the direction of her bus; the sooner she got on it and home, the better. She gave a little cry of relief as she realized that tomorrow was Saturday. She wouldn't have to deal with any of it for two days. She could go home and forget it even happened until Monday. It was a beautiful thing. She had started walking again when she heard shoes slapping the pavement behind her. Figuring it was a member of the track team or something, she moved over to one side. But they slowed as they approached her until the owner of those slapping shoes was walking beside her. It was Victor.

"Uh, hey," he said, breathing a little heavily. He looked at her for a moment, then quickly looked at the ground. "You, um, okay?"

Sarah Jane sat in a stunned silence, just looking at him. He'd run after her. Why? She'd just embarassed the crap out of him more than likely. You'd think that he didn't want anything to do with her. But he was here. Why?

Because he's nice, she told herself. Victor is a great guy. Of course he'd make sure you were okay.

"Y-yeah," she said, still a little dazed. "Are you?"

He continued to stare at the ground for a little while then nodded. "Yeah."

She looked at him a moment longer, wondering what to say. Then she looked ahead and they walked to the bus stop together.

---------

I might never get any further with this, so I tells you what I picture happening, as the author: Sarah Jane and Victor start to hang out more, mostly because SJ freaked the frick out and Victor started to comfort her. They were friends and have to deal with the crap that comes with randomly kissing a classmate you never talked to in class. Then...Victor returns her feelings, saying she's his muse. She does the things that no one outside of a book would do and he writes them. C: (There is probably a more poetic way to say that, but I'm a story writer, not a poet, despite any delusion I may have. >>) Ta-dah!

Sweet Thing

A laugh, a smile
I love to see it there
I wonder how my life would be
If I'd changed my mind
Without you, what would I be?
Alone
So terribly alone
Or, worse, with him
Thank you, little angel
For saving me from myself

--------------

Total fiction btw. I can has no babeh. :p

Run Run Run

There's a girl. And she's running, running. She can't remember why, doesn't know what she's running from, only what stopping means.

Death.

Her body is weary but she knows she can't stop. An eerie murmuring of voices is behind her, their tone not menacing but coaxing. She wants to give in. Her limbs are ready to give out. But she knows she can't. Not now, when she's so close to salvation. She's almost there, right? Isn't she? Though her memory is scarce, she's sure she must be. Some magical paradise must lay just around the corner.

As she rounds a dark corner, though, she's met only by some strange and horrifying creature; half bovine, half man, all monster. Its voice comes out in haunting bellows.

"Come here, little girl," it says, reaching for her with hoofed hands. "I only want to eat you."

She cries out and pushes her straining muscles even harder. She can't let that monster catch her. No, she can't!

But why? her tired mind cries, racking itself for an answer. Why must I run?!

She cannot think of an answer and instead pushes herself harder. Everything melts away for awhile. The murmuring, now being underlined by a low sound that is close to a moo, is still there. But the girl ignores it. All that is important is putting one foot in front of the other...and not...ever....stopping.

Her mind wanders, though, and how can it not? She needs to know why she is running, even if it ends up killing her. Curiosity tugs at her too harshly.

She remembers a woman. The woman was... caring for her, perhaps? Yes, she as. The girl is sure of that. But then she'd set out to do something horrible... the girl can't remember what the woman wanted to do. The woman's husband chased the girl, too, she knows that. But why did they? the girl wonders.

She can't be sure. She is sure she'd do nothing now, but what was she like before her memory loss? She does not know.

More time passes, though the girl isn't sure how much. Her muscle continue to ache, though she manages to find a way to ignore it. The darkness that has surrounded her form the beginning refuses to let up, and she begins to feel scared. As if she predicted it, another terrible creature appears before her. This one bears the head of a boar and has sharp white tusks that protrude fiercely from its face. Its cloven hands reach for her as she dashes by, its voice a greedy squeal.

"Come back, little one!" it squeals. "I only want to eat you!"

Like the minotaur, this creature is also left in the gloom. It does not take long for piggy shrieks to join the murmuring behind her.

Tears dribble down her face. She isn't sure why, but she can't believe that they are. Isn't it normal for scared people to cry? Perhaps she was braver before. Perhaps that is why she feels that it is unspeakable that she cry now.

More time passes. It feels longer than before, but how can she be sure? She can't, and it bothers her. All she knows is she must keep running, that she must keep herself going at all costs. But the burning her legs is nearly unbearable. The girl knows she must find salvation soon.

There is a small burst of light and she thinks her prayers have been answered. A shrill whinny tells her she hasn't, though, and a scream escapes her own lips.

Before here now is a being more grotesque than the previous, if that is even possible. Half human and half horse, you might picture a centaur. But no. This creature is almost that, a human torso glued upon a horse body, but its legs are still human and its head still equine. Human hands reach for her as the whinny repeats the same line, "Come here, child, I only want to eat you."

Only want to eat me?! she wants to scream, but she has no spare energy. Somehow she outruns the four legs and its shrillness joins the haunting murmurs.

She's crying freely now and she feels no shame. There is no need for it, is there? She's all alone anyhow. Those things behind her care not for how she appears--they jsut want to eat her. That's all. It's not that unreasonable, is it? Of course not. She could just stop running now and she could be done. It would be nice, wouldn't it? No more running...

She snaps out of her imaginings when she hears running water. And a lot of it. Slowly, she can see the rushing, gushing water. No! If she can't go on, she's certain to be eaten! She has to find a way around it... but she sees no bridge, no boat, no means of crossing it.

She hears a motor, though, and her heart leaps for joy. The boat appears, and she sees a normal-looking boy on baord with a mop of red hair.

"Help!" she cries out to him. "I'm being chased!"

The boat nears shore and the boy looks genuinely concerned. For some reason, he seems trustworthy and not at the same time. The girl chokes her doubts up to the adrenaline rushing through her veins and does not hesitate to hump onto the boat when the boy offers it.

Just as they pull away from the shore, the mob reaches it. The woman, her husband, and all three animal-human hybrids reach for her, cooing that if she comes back, they'll make it quick. The husband yells at the boy for stealing their sweets. The girl is disturbed that the man and woman want to eat her, too.

"Thank you," she tells the boy, "I don't know what I would've done without you."

"Been eaten, probably," he replies, keeping his eyes on the controls. "What's up with them?"

"Not a clue," the girl says. They don't talk for a moment, the girl probably wouldn't have, but the boy doesn't approach the opposite shore like she thought he would. "You can drop me off on the otherside." She says this even though the boat has been a wonderful rest for her. "I'll be okay."

But the boy shakes his head. "Too dangerous."

The girl is perplexed, but says so no more.

The putter along the river awhile longer before the girl notices any change in him. Has he always had those pointed ears? Was that white-tipped tail there when she boarded his boat? Of course, they weren't, but it's too late when the girl realizes it.

She backs up to the side of the baot as the vulpine creature advances on her.

"Oh, please, don't," she pleads.

"Oh, but why, little girl?" its sly voice asks, black paws reaching for her. "I only want to eat you..."

She barely has time to scream before the fox has swallowed her whole.

The Wolf

Because I am just so darned creative that I have to name a story about a werewolf "The Wolf."

*sigh*

(no parts this time because I wouldn't know where to cut it off...)

-------------------

A deep, primal yell burst forth from his lips and into the cool night air. The sound echoed in the dark forest around him. Despite having experienced this since his early adolescence, Haydn had never grown accustomed to that yell. Each time it terrified him, this inhuman bellow that was a result of the agonizing change that tore through his body. His bones ached as they twisted and ground against each other; his skin itched and itched as coarse, dark hair sprouted all over his body. The bellow rose in pitch and slowly became less of a painful “aaaaaAAAAAAAAAgggggggggh!” and more of the familiar “aaaaaoooooOOOOOOOOO!” that haunted his dreams and his very being.
Above him, taunting him, hung the huge white moon, stark against the black, starless sky.


He awoke hours later. This, too, was not new. Every time that full, white moon hung in the sky, Haydn stole away to the deepest part of the woods and hoped he wouldn’t hurt anyone. If he were to hurt someone...he shook his head and that thought fluttered away. He didn’t want to think about that. He wanted to think about keeping his dinner—whatever poor creature it had been—in his stomach. He didn’t want to see it again, no, then he might start thinking about what it might have been, and then...what if it had been a rabbit? Or a deer? Images of Bambi and his pet rabbit appeared in his head. He may have been a grown man, but he still didn’t like to think of Bambi or Oreo the bunny being his supper. The very thought almost made him vomit.
Slowly he stood, stark in his nakedness. It was a logical thought that a wolf would not be able to wear clothes, but Haydn still wished that he could. No matter how many times he might have walked nude through the trees, he wished and wished he could have something to wear on his trek home. There were rarely any people in these parts of the woods, but he was so timid that the thought made him terrified. Or perhaps it was because Haydn had so rarely seen people since he had began living on his own in the woods. Fourteen was a hard age to start being alone all the time, but...Haydn knew he had to. A shudder ran through him as he remembered. Yes, he had to.
He paused, seeing his shack of a home. It was well-hidden, but a trained eye could pick out the shape easily. A clump of trees stood close together and in the middle was his little house. The outside was the color of the trees and it almost look like it was part of all the trees, some unique trunk that held them all together. Haydn raised a hand and placed it on the nearest tree. All of this forest was his home now, though he might still, sometimes, just a little bit, miss his old home. Miss his father and his mother. Miss his little sister and her smile. That was how it was and he would deal with it.
Haydn continued on to his home, no longer wincing at the stick and rocks that hurt his feet. That was one thing he had gotten used to, luckily. Once inside his shabby but still comfortable home, Haydn began to dress. His clothes were old and torn, much like you’d expect a castaway’s to be. His clothes were not this way because of a disaster, though, but because he had to wear them so often. Though it shamed him, he was forced to steal clothes every now and then. He wore the clothes as much as he could, though, to ensure that he wouldn’t have to do it so often. Otherwise he might have gone insane in that little shack and no one wanted that.
Haydn chewed on his lip at the thought of being insane. What if it were to happen while he was a wolf? That would make things very hard to hide, now wouldn’t it? But, then again, maybe he already was insane as the wolf. That would make sense. If wolves were insane, then he could blame the things he did as one on that. But Haydn didn’t think it was that easy. Things were never that easy.
After he was dressed, he wandered outside again to walk. It was all he really did to pass the days because it was the only thing he felt was safe; safe for him, from him, for those other people. He always, always worried about them. What if some child wondered into his part of the forest one moonlit night? Stories of creatures in the forest had all but died out nowadays. No one was afraid of Nature or her fantastically monstrous children. No one thought that a man could ever possibly become a wolf. And yet it happened. It just showed how little man really knew until it happened to him.
A strange yet familiar sound caught Haydn’s attention. It took him a moment to understand what it was, but when he did a bolt of terror struck him like lightning. He froze and listened again for it. And there it was. A tinkling sound, something young and innocent and probably the last sound he’d ever want to here: A child’s laugh.
He wanted to run. He knew he had to run. But he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t move. His feet had become tree roots that glued him to the spot. For some reason this seemed the most logical explanation and he checked his feet to see if they were, indeed, roots that snaked into the ground, but they weren’t, because that was illogical. But so was a man becoming a wolf and a boy a having to leave his home at only fourteen and living the rest of his life in the woods alone, but this was more so, it couldn’t happen, but the others could, so why not? Why not become a tree and stay there, finally a beautiful part of nature that could hear a child’s laugh without being scared?
Haydn shook his head. He had to gain control. Looking around him, he tried to find the child. If he could find the little bundle of joy, he could get as far away as possible. And then the child would be safe. He might need to find a new home, maybe even a whole new forest, but it would be okay. Anything would be better than finding the little girl or boy, finding them and being unable to control himself…
Now, any sort of supernatural logic would make one think that he should have been fine then. If he was only a wolf during the full moon, then why shouldn’t he be human right that second, shouldn’t he be human every second that the full moon was gone? It made sense, or as much sense as anything that was a part of Nature’s darker and hidden side. But Haydn always felt that a little of him was always that creature. Part of him was always wild and barbaric, wishing to tear something apart. He was so scared of that part of him that he wouldn’t dare let himself near people. If it were to take over, just for a moment, then what would happen? Who could die? He knew television and books showed werewolves—for that was what he was, wasn’t it?—being a part of society. They were just like everyone else, weren’t they? They were just normal people that turned into wolves every once in awhile. But Haydn never felt like that. He always felt that little bit of wolf tearing at him, wanting to get out. In the middle of nowhere? That was alright. He could make sure no one was hurt here because there was no one here. In any populated area, any at all…he could find someone. And hurt them. Or maybe…even…
No, he wouldn’t think like that! He would make sure he was away from that child, make sure that they were safe, that he was safe, that the wolf was well tucked away in him, never to hurt anything more than a deer or a rabbit.
His stomach lurched. He shouldn’t have thought about what the wolf had eaten. But it was too late. He fell to his knees and retched, spewing hunks of some meat. He sat for what seemed hours, hunched over and breathing heavily. He had gotten used to the effects of the wolf’s diet on his stomach a long time ago. Or, rather, his body had. Haydn’s mind still saw the blood and the raw meat and…he his stomach protested once more, sending him into dry heaves. Soon these stopped and Haydn listened. No more laughter. But then, maybe the little girl was close enough to see him and was frozen as he had been. Why was he picturing a little girl? There had been no indicator…but then, his memory…oh, that terrible memory…
Haydn forced himself to stand and took off into the trees, despite feeling woozy and lightheaded. He ran like that memory was behind him, like if he got far enough away he would forget. But he wouldn’t. He couldn’t, could he? You couldn’t run away from your past, but Haydn had to try. His conscience wouldn’t let him not try. So he ran and ran and ran and ran and ran and ran and ran until he felt his legs would give out from under him. When they did, he collapsed to the ground in a wheezing pile of human and tried to catch his breath. He had not succeeded in outrunning the memory. It was still the first and foremost thought in his brain, still throbbing painfully like an infected wound.
Just stop, he thought, gritting his teeth. Don’t think about it anymore. It’s your brain; think what you want to, not about this…
But he couldn’t stop his mind from focusing upon that which he wanted to avoid most. It wouldn’t let him. The little girl’s laugh—who said it was a little girl! he thought fiercely—had been the trigger, he knew it. And now he couldn’t stop thinking and thinking and thinking and thinking…
He laid there for what really were hours, hours and hours. He caught his breath but still did not move. The thought of the girl, the girl, that girl kept him there, glued to the spot. He could not move. He would not move. He had to sort out his brain before he could go on, he knew it. If he could not keep himself sane, keep that animal at bay, then he would be even worse off than he was now, lying on the forest floor with a throat torn by bile and an aching body. He would have to sort his mind out before he could move. Yes. That was the only way.
His mind wandered. A lot. He thought sometimes that he would be able to get up and move, but no. It would assert itself to the front again, That Memory. That Memory would not go away, would not stay quiet. He saw the torn clothes, heard the high-pitched scream that would echo through his head for days, weeks afterwards…he let loose his own scream, one of anguish and terror, frustration and anger. Anger that rose up in him like a hot flame, tearing at his conscience and his humanity. He ground his teeth, feeling the change come on. It astounded him. The full moon had been done, had it not? So why was he changing? He couldn’t be. It defied all logic. All logic! He should not have been feeling his skeleton twist and break, reforming the bones of something that walked on four legs instead of his two, should not have felt new hair growing like grass pumped with Miracle-Gro, should not have felt a howl building up in him, leaving his lips and echoing through the forest. That had been done. It shouldn’t have been happening again.
But it was. And Haydn knew why, though he still wished it impossible. It was happening and he could not stop it.
His bones ceased their movement and the fur was grown. The wolf stood and shook itself off, glancing around. It saw no problem with the little girl that wandered over to it. It did not like the taste of human and knew it could find better food nearby. The little girl and the wolf looked at each other, both interested and disinterested in each other. Then the wolf went on its way and so did the girl.

-------------

So. That was for English and is supposed to be a "romantic" story (as in Poe and other awesome writers' romance, not lovey-dovey stuff). Dunno if it worked or not, though... >> Any ideas on a moral? I've sort of got one, but hey. Maybe you found something else.

Hi. (finale!)

This probably doesn't need to be said because I'm sure no one will either read or want to steal this, but if you do want it...IT'S MINE. I SPENT FIVE DAYS WRITING THIS AND BY GOLLY, IF YOU TRY TO TAKE IT I WILL BEAT YOU.

Have a nice day. :)

(Also, if you're new, start here, please. It might make more sense then.)

--------------

I was able to avoid her for two days before she caught up with me. Sandra was sneaky that way, oh yes she was. We walked side by side down the hall, which was actually the one I’d first led her down what seemed like ages ago. I ignored her for about a minute before stopping and facing her. I still wouldn’t look at her, though.
Neither of us would talk. It was not like our first silence at all—no, it was so much tenser than that. I stared at the floor, refusing to look at her, yet I could still feel her eyes boring into me. I towered over her, yet I felt only a few inches tall.
Sandra took a great, shaky breath in and said one word.
“Hi.”
My eyes jerked up to her, surprised. Why would she say something so simple? She deserved to ask me questions, lots and lots of demanding questions. Maybe she’d even apologize for freaking me out or making me angry (I wasn’t even sure which I was anymore), but a hi? Why just a hi?
Then I realized she needed no other words. Her voice, her questioning, sad eyes that wanted her friend back said it all. She just needed to get my attention to get me to see it.
I tried to swallow, but my mouth was dry.
“Hi,” I croaked back.
We were silent once more, though much less tense than we had been. But still, it wasn’t our nice, we-don’t-need-to-talk silence. I wanted that silence back.
“Why’d you say that?” I finally asked, clenching my hands into fists. I wasn’t angry—not at all—but being the one to talk was hard. I was never that person. Never.
She knit her eyebrows together. “Say what?”
I bit my lip hard. I needed to say to. I needed to, or I’d probably never talk to Sandra again. Never be around her, never hear her laugh. Never, ever again.
“Love,” I finally replied, “love. ‘By someone that loves you.’ Why?”
Her eyes widened and her jaw slackened with a bewildered shock. She stayed like that much longer than I would have liked. Absentmindedly, almost for comfort, I ran my finger over my left thumbnail, over the heart I’d left there.
“That’s it?” she asked. “That’s it?”
I nodded slowly, uncertain of what sort of response this was.
Sandra stared at me a moment longer, then threw her head back and laughed. She laughed and laughed and laughed. And I just stared at her. The people walking by us stared at her as they passed. Slowly the laughter subsided and she sobered up. Later she’d tell me the laughter was relief—I just thought she’d gone crazy.
“It was true,” she told me, wiping away a tear that had leaked out during her giggle fit. “It was true and still is.”
I shook my head, unable to articulate in that moment. She understood, and despite obviously wanting an explanation for my denial, she waited for me.
I stared at the floor next to my sneaker. No, that couldn’t be right. We were best friends. This wasn’t some movie…we were not some overdone cliché! If my parents knew about her…oh, well, then I’d get some attention, yes, I would. To say she was my girlfriend, my lover…no, they’d have a hard enough time accepting her as my friend! It could do no good.
…and yet, I couldn’t help but feel a surge of joy rise up from my stomach.
“No, Sandra,” I finally said, relocating my speech and my words, “it’s not. It can’t be. We haven’t known each other long enough. It’s…it’s…no. It can’t be.”
Sandra frowned.
“Well, I feel something,” she said stubbornly, “so what is it?”
I paused, thinking.
“Like,” I replied simply.
The corners of her mouth quirked a little. “Like?”
“Yeah,” I told her, “like. Like…I like you, Sandra.”
Again, the word itself meant nothing. My eyes, my voice, my reaching out to her spoke more than I could. Or, at least, I hoped it did. Still, it felt terribly juvenile. But Sandra just smiled. Ignoring my reach and wrapping her arms around my waist, she stood on the very tips of her toes and kissed my nose.
“Why, then, I like you, miss Charlotte.”

-----------

And there you go. It's done. Man, this stuff all seemed a lot longer when I was actually writing it down...but whatever.
I feel like some people might be like "WTF, YOU ENDED IT WITH HER AS A LESBIAN? DIDN'T YOU JUST MAKE A COMMENT ABOUT THEM, LIKE, YESTERDAY? ARE YOU A LESBIAN??!"
Hahhahahahaha no. Well, I don't think so. I don't feel like I am, anyway. But maybe? If so, I'm not aware of it. But as for the the story, I don't know. I just started writing it and thought of how to end it, which was with that line. And once you come up with a way to end a story, especially when it's that exact, isn't it a little hard to change it? I don't think I could be satisfied with the story if I had changed it.
And the comment I made about lesbians on my Facebook the other day? Yeah, you'll notice it was someone else that brought it up, not me. I was just saying how stupid the comment was.
So there.

Hi. (part three)

This probably doesn't need to be said because I'm sure no one will either read or want to steal this, but if you do want it...IT'S MINE. I SPENT FIVE DAYS WRITING THIS AND BY GOLLY, IF YOU TRY TO TAKE IT I WILL BEAT YOU.

Have a nice day. :)

--------------


The next month we were inseparable.
Not in a we’re-together way. No, we were best friends, Sandra and I. We wandered the mall together and scavenged used book stores together…and I learned more and more about her every day.
Her mother had taken off when she was three and left Sandra’s dad almost penniless. He stuck by her, though, and raised her like a loving father should. He had to work a lot, but he also spent all of his free time playing with her. They did logic puzzles and brain teasers and read together. I envied her childhood—I’d had both my parents, but they ignored me in favor of the baby or the oldest. I had to struggle to find the brain pleasers that were so few in my household of TV and garbage music growing up. At first, I didn’t tell her about it because I thought it made me sound ungrateful for my full family unit. But she eventually pulled it out of me and, by golly, she understood. That was by far the best thing about Sandra; she always understood.

Things progressed more as we slowly approached the second semester. One day we were sitting in her room, just lounging about. She was doing something to my left hand but wouldn’t let me see. Every time I tried to sneak a peek, she’d throw a fit like a toddler. So I gave up and stared at the ceiling as she worked. Ten minutes later, she proudly proclaimed: “Okay, you can look now!” Again, she reminded me of a little kid.
I lifted my hand to my face and looked at the back of it. At first I didn’t see anything, but then my attention was drawn to a red something on my thumb. Upon closer inspection, I saw it was a red heart painted in nail polish. My face flushed.
“Sandra!” I whined. “Why’d you do that? People’ll think I’m weird. What am I supposed to tell them?”
She looked at me, bottle of red nail polish still in her hand. She looked hurt. I started to apologize, but she stopped me with her hand. I was tired of that hand, but it still stopped me. Slowly, she drew my hand close to her and kissed the heart.
“Tell them it was put there by someone who loves you,” she murmured, looking down at the heart fondly.
I sat up rigidly, stunned. Then I left quite promptly.

Hi. (part two and a half)

This probably doesn't need to be said because I'm sure no one will either read or want to steal this, but if you do want it...IT'S MINE. I SPENT FIVE DAYS WRITING THIS AND BY GOLLY, IF YOU TRY TO TAKE IT I WILL BEAT YOU.

Have a nice day. :)

----------------

The next time I saw her was a few days later, at the local coffee shop I worked at. She didn’t order anything, but she still wasn’t kicked out like loiterers would be usually. She made her way around the room, talking to everyone. At first, everyone was put off by her. No one really strikes up with conversations with strangers anymore, right? But then they’d be charmed by her voice, her attitude, her stars. She’d smile and talk with her hands, drawing them in. It was magic. They loved to talk with her and were sad to see her go talk to someone else. Her ability to try a conversation alone stunned me and I think I almost got fired that day because I’d spent so much time watching her.
After I got back to my room, I proceeded to ignore my stupid roommate and think about her. What she looked like, those stars, and what she’d asked me. What had she meant? I had to figure it out. Collapsing back unto my bed, I closed my eyes and drifted to sleep, those stars the last thing I thought of.

The answer came to me while I was walking to work an afternoon about two weeks later. It really hadn’t been a secrety-secret of an answer, but it had still eluded me well. I bit my lip and checked the time on my phone. I didn’t have time to go find her now—it was way too close to the start of my shift—but I still wanted to see her. The good worker in me won out, though, and I put finding her off for another day.

I saw her the next day at lunch and about bowled her over. She was walking over to an empty table in the corner, something a little more antisocial than I would have thought for her. She recognized me straight away, which saved an awkward explanation from me.
“Hey!” she said. “You’re the one that helped me the other day. Thanks!”
I smiled at her a little weirdly. “It was actually a couple of weeks ago, but yeah.”
“Was it?” she asked, tilting her head to one side. “Oh, yeah, it was, wasn’t it? Silly me; I’m terrible at keeping time.” She shrugged and smiled, sitting down at the table. I sat next to her, wondering if I should have asked first.
“So, um, uh,” I started, stuttering more than I would have liked, “you asked me a question then. Remember?” She nodded and raised an expectant eyebrow as she bit into her sandwich. “Well, uh…I…I think I understand it now.”
She swallowed and grinned widely, showing all her little white teeth.
“Really? Great! Then what’re you doing here?”
Her eagerness made me pause. What if I had it wrong again? Would she patiently tell me no and correct me? Would she leave me to try again? Or would she get frustrated with me and yell? The latter seemed unlikely, but what did I know? Not her name, that’s what.
It’s right, I told myself. It is.
“I’m here to learn,” I said, “I’m here to get a degree so I can get a good job…” …she looked at me, waiting for more… “…um, and to have fun…” …she waved her hand a little, go on, her eyes said… “…and…and…” …I felt my face grow warm… “…I’m here to find love.”
Her hands came together in a loud, exuberant “ah HA!” of a clap.
“Yes! There you go!” she exclaimed, drawing the attention of nearby tables. “That’s the kind of answer I was looking for!” She calmed almost instantly, planting her elbows firmly on the table and resting her head in her hands. Looking at me with a dreamy smile, she sighed and softly said: “Ah, love.”
The way she said it, you’d think she was an old woman talking to an adolescent. She had to be younger than me, though, so that didn’t make sense. Then again, few things made sense with her.
Then a simple question I should have asked her ages ago popped into my head.
“Hey, uh…what’s your name?”
She lifted her head, looking bewildered, like she’d forgotten about that common exchange, too. Then she smiled and said: “I’m Sandra. And you are?”

Hi. (part un...and a half.)

This probably doesn't need to be said because I'm sure no one will either read or want to steal this, but if you do want it...IT'S MINE. I SPENT FIVE DAYS WRITING THIS AND BY GOLLY, IF YOU TRY TO TAKE IT I WILL BEAT YOU.

Have a nice day. :)

---------------

Hi.
It's a simple word. Probably the simplest in the whole wide world. It's even simpler than yes or no. You just say it to anyone, don't you? If you pass someone on the street, you might say it. It's how people greet friends, too, which makes it universal as well. You can use it for anything.
The most important time I used it was when I met this one girl...and she ended up giving it back to me, too.

"Hi."
"Hi!" she replied, lighting up. I wasn't sure why, but it made me smile, too. That's another simple thing, isn't it? If someone smiles at you, you're apt to start smiling back.
She was petite and energetic, dark hair framing her face rather perfectly. I had to say I was a little jealous. She managed to stand out among the crowd of people in the hall, although the only strange thing about her were the stars that covered the upper left corner of her face (my left, that is--so her right). They were bright blue and I didn't know if they were real tattoos or not. Later she'd tell me they were. I would look at her strangely and she would laugh. Then I would laugh, too, because I loved her laugh.
"I'm looking for the library," she said, tucking some hair behind her ear, "could you tell me where it is?"
I nodded slowly. It was...odd. I wasn't sure why. Probably some combination of the stars on her face and her asking were the library was. She was new, had to be a freshman--freshman rarely asked where the library was , whether it be because they were too shy or they were too busy partying. The latter was pretty common at Madison University. Yeah, we were kind of a party school, but that's what made it fun, right? Right.
"Uh, yeah, it's just down this hallway, actually, and to the--" I began, giving her the simplest way I knew, before she interrupted me with a hand in my face.
"I'm sorry," she said, looking up sheepishly at me. "Did I say tell? Slip of the tongue. I meant show. It's just that I'm terrible with directions, so..." She shrugged her shoulders in a what-can-ya-do fashion.
"Oh, yeah, sure," I said, still stunned by this girl.
I walked down the hall I'd told her to wander down a moment ago, then went left. SHe followed behing me, her strut more "oh boy! ice cream!" than "augh, studying." I wondered what her major was. It might have been a normal question to ask, but I wasn't good at conversations. They really were not my forte, which was why I was going into research. Books were my thing and I just fround it weird that someone at Madison found them as interesting as I did--or at least she seemed to. That was another bad habit of mine; creating people based on my impression of them. It often left to a lot of broken images on my part, usually because I'd made them out to be perfect. As much as I might hate to admit...it also led to a lot of broken hearts.
But if it's all the same to you, I'd rather focus on the amazing girl I was meeting then than all my failed relationships. (There were a lot of them...but then, I digress.)
While we walked and I led, there was absolutely no talking. A lot of the time this felt awkward to me--I should be saying something!--though I never tried actually speaking. That was too much for my introverted self. But walking in silence with her was alright. In fact, it was really, really good. It felt good in the silence, like it fit. THat was another weird thing about her, but it was definitely a good weird.
Before I could decide to say something--because I was, I wanted to, instead of feeling like I needed to--she spoke up.
:So, what're you doing here?" she said. Her voice was oddly musical. I hadn't noticed it before, but it was there. She almost sounded like a fairy in a kid's movie. It weirded me out, more in the normal way. What person actually sounded like that?
"Uh, I'm majoring in--" I started, but she interrupted me again with the hand and an additional shake of her head.
"No, no, not what I meeant," she said, tutting me with an expectant, knowing smile. I thought she must have gotten that answer a lot, both from that look and because it was the logical answer for most people. "I meant what are you doing here? Why are you here?"
I knit my eyebrows together, confused. How was my major not the right answer to that question?
She nodded knowingly. She told me it was okay. Most people were confused by it.
We didn't talk for the rest of the walk, which was short, and she thanked me when it was over and went her way...but that stuck with me. Why? I have no idea. Maybe because I wanted ot get it. I like puzzles. I'm the kind of person that will sit and try to figure out a logic game for fun. I liked math in school because you could get a right answer in a way that always made sense...until you hit something new. Then you were baffled. Some people might give up then. But me? I wanted to find that logic. Why did this work? How'd it get there? She was like that. I didn't even know her name, yet I still wanted to solve the mystery that was her. I probably should have sen this as a sign of infatuation, butI simply saw her as a new problem to solve.