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Nine NaĂŻver Narratives Table of Contents
p.3
Morocco
Mia Enriquez
p.13
Indigo
Natalie Nardino
p.15
Gate C20
Nicole Ortuno
p. 19 Two True Arrows
Nathan Rabinovitch
p. 27 The Criminals
Andrew Carr
p.29
Ben McDannell
The Most Stupidest Story Ever
p. 31 Mysterious Paragraph
Ben O’Brien
p.33
Nathan Eberhart
Relic Quest
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Morocco by: Mia Enriquez Not long ago, in the state of Idaho, there was a wolf pack. It was a small pack, but a harmonious one, and the members of the pack lived together, hunted together, played together, and howled together as one joyous family. The pack was called the ___ pack, named after the place that it claimed as its territory. The pack’s territory was not large, but it sustained the wolves plentifully in all of their years there. There were no other wolf packs to compete with; most wolves in the U.S had been wiped out *, along with most national parks and sanctuaries. The ___ pack was special, though. They were part of a research project -conservationists’ last, desperate attempt to save the species. Their territory was the last small patch of protected land in Idaho and the surrounding states, and the wolves’ presence was not But the wolves of the ___ pack didn’t know this. They lived blissfully ignorant in their little oasis, with everything they ever needed. Until one cold, dark, night…
PART TWO Chapter 1 -- Morocco’s Journey Ends, and Another One Begins Seven days.
It had been seven days since the night of that horrible accident, that most unfortunate result of one fateful decision: the ___ pack’s decision to leave their protected territory. That decision was the last decision that the ___ pack ever made. Morocco, the last wolf in Idaho, had been stumbling blindly through the woods for those seven days. It had been two days since Morocco’s last drink of water, seven days since Morocco last rest, and ten days since Morocco’s last (rather measly) bite of food. Fear was what drove Morocco onward. Fear and horror. So despite his wounded leg, despite his hunger, thirst, and exhaustion, despite his violent fever, Morocco stumbled on. It was reasonable, then, that throughout those seven days, Morocco was plagued with apparitions and hallucinations, distracted by phantom sounds and mysterious smells that would not let him rest. Occasionally, when his fever got the best of him, Morocco was not running from the tragedy behind him but chasing memories in front of him. Sometimes, Morocco was sure that he could see his packmates just ahead of him, their blurry forms swimming in and out of existence just on the edge of Morocco’s wavering vision. When this happened, Morocco, in his confused, fevered state, would call to them as best as he could; he would yelp, whimper,
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and whine; he would limp faster, as fast as he could; the ghost wolves always stayed just out of reach, and sick, desperate Morocco would miserably wonder why his family was running from him. Then the ghost wolves would disappear, and Morocco’s mind would temporarily return to its (slightly) more stable state. It was on the seventh night of the seventh day that a change came in Morocco’s weary trek. It was raining that night. Hard. The sky was sweltering and dark, tinged with a peculiar gray-green. At frequent intervals it would flash with a bright fury and thunder would roll along the tree tops and sweep swiftly and angrily along the ground, shaking Morocco almost off of his feet. At the same time, the wind whistled and raged and battered Morocco to and fro, flinging leaves and sticks into his face, ripping branches off of trees that threatened to sweep him away, and driving the fierce and furious raindrops into his face. And the whole time the eerily darkened forest seemed like a different planet, a different world. The water was not warm and the night was not warm, but Morocco’s fever was burning stronger than ever, and he panted heavily. The rain was up Morocco’s nose and down his ears, but still he pushed through the wind -- head bowed, ears back, forcing his way through the turbulent gale. He was weak and shaky from fear, exhaustion, hunger, thirst, and illness (plus an injured leg), his waterlogged coat threatened to drag him to the ground, but persistent Morocco forged on. And of course, the whole time the ghost wolves and awful noises tormented Morocco. Sometimes the ghost wolves were darting through the trees around him and in front of him. Other times, over the din of the storm, Morocco thought he could hear those loud BANGs punctuating the storm. Once in a while, Morocco would feel the ground beneath him fall suddenly away, and feel himself plummet a few feet into darkness. Morocco could occasionally catch that unique scent, hear the loud movements through the trees and cryptic calls, feel that prickly presence just around him, and see those shapeless shadow slipping through the trees with the ghost wolves. Perhaps worst of all, Morocco could sometimes hear a deafening whirring roar behind him, smell that awful smell, and feel the glaring heat on his back; the big bird would be just behind him, and he could not run. These visions, nightmares, and memories frightened Morocco, but he pressed his ears farther back on his head and staggered on through the dark and stormy night. Morocco had been staggering through the storm in this way for quite a while when he heard an odd cracking sound coming from somewhere above him. He halted, confused. This cracking sound was not part of his cast of delusions, he knew that, but what was it? Or did he know that? Maybe it was just a delusion that he had not yet experienced? Morocco shivered. He peered through the driving rain to see where the sound came from, but in the clearing that he had wandered into, the unobstructed rain and wind blinded him, and the ghost wolves danced through the trees on the edges of his vision so that he was afraid to look around for too long. Morocco had just decided that it was nothing at all, that the cracking sound was only in his head, when he heard a tremendous POP come definitively from above him and to his left. Morocco glanced upward to see what had made the sound -- though he was still relatively sure that it was all in his head -- and saw a massive branch hurtling toward him, spinning end over end through the clearing like a strange, out-of-control bird. The wolf gave a yelp and attempted to jump out of the way, but it was too late. The branch caught him across the body (and it hurt a lot, too) and sent him hurtling backward. Morocco felt himself flying through the air and deliriously remembered ____’s fall before he slammed hard into the middle of a tree trunk, slid down it, and lay limp and unconscious on the tree’s knobby roots.
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Chapter 2 -- Memories It was a chilly winter evening in Idaho. The wolves had been trailing a herd of elk since the beginning of the day, and they were just nearing the edge of their explored territory. Eight-month-old Morocco was bouncing with excited energy. This was it. Tonight was his night. Morocco had been accompanying his elders on hunts for just over two months now. He had observed the process carefully analyzed each wolf’s equally important role in bringing down their prey, and now he was finally going to participate in a real hunt. Morocco and the other wolves were hidden under some trees on the edge of a rather large meadow in which the rather small herd of elk was grazing. The elk were anxious and on edge -- they knew something wasn’t right -- and the wolves had to be especially careful. Morocco looked over at his brother Ceremony and smiled with his eyes. Ceremony smiled back. Ceremony seemed just as excited to join the hunt as Morocco was. Morocco’s sister, Shadow, was lurking in the shadows alone , as usual. She seemed nervous; she would pace back and forth for a while, then settle down and stare hard at the elk, then go back to pacing. Morocco watched her for a while, hoping for some sort of acknowledgement, but Shadow avoided his stare. Morocco turned his attention back to ____*alpha male* , ____ *alpha female*, and ____*beta wolf*. They stood together at the very edge of the treeline, making soft sounds at each other as they studied the elk. They had already picked out a young female elk that seemed sickly (as long as the wolves had been stalking the herd, this particular individual had been lagging behind, head low, and stumbling often); she was the perfect target. Now ____, ____ , and ____were conferring on the best and least dangerous way to approach the elk.The deep crusty snow that covered the ground that evening was the perfect consistency for an ambush; the meadow was just the right size and shape; and the elk’s small and pointy hooves would sink far into the snow, while the wolves’ large paws would carry them effortlessly over the surface, giving them an incredible advantage. It was perfect. There was no time to waste. The wolves could not afford to miss this opportunity. There was no doubt that ____, ____, and ____ were feeling the pressure; their dispute was rather heated. The rest of the wolves stood or lain on the snow, waiting for the signal. After observing so many hunts, Morocco knew all about weather conditions, choosing a target and the right time to strike. He also knew who did what in the hunt -- __ _________, ___ _________, ___ ________, __ ________… *need more names* Morocco, Ceremony, and Shadow’s jobs had also been established: bulky, brawny Ceremony would help bring down the elk; fast, determined Morocco would run alongside the animal for a while, then jump out in front of it to cut it off at the right time; and quick, agile Shadow would help the others on the sides corral the elk and drive it forward. The wolves were all eager to start the hunt; it had been almost a week-and-a-half since their last meal and each wolf could feel his or her stomach grumbling. This would be their only
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chance at a meal -- less and less elk were passing through the ___ pack’s territory (due, unbeknownst to the wolves, to humans hunting) -- and if they boggled the ambush, the elk would run and escape, and the wolves would have to go without food for an indefinite number of days. All of a sudden, ____ and ____ froze and went silent, their ears pricked up. The other wolves froze and pricked up their ears too, and the ones that had been lying on the ground stood up, ready for action. Morocco shivered -- he could feel excitement in the air. The elk had started to move. The sickly young female was lagging behind the rest of the herd. This was it. Morocco knew it. And then ____*alpha male* gave a howl and leapt out of the trees, and the hunt was begun. The dream changed. Morocco was positioned as if in a tree, looking down on a circle of wolves surrounding a pit dug deep into the ground. Inside the pit there was another wolf. Morocco’s blood ran cold. He was looking down on his own pack. He could see himself standing on the edge of the pit. He heard the wolf in the bottom of the pit crying, crying for his packmates to save him, to do anything, and he heard himself and the rest of his packmates crying back to the wolf in he pit, telling him that they could not save her. Morocco remembered that awful feeling of helplessness. There was nothing the wolves could do. Nothing they could have done. The dream changed again. Morocco was inside some sort of void. At first, there was nothing but darkness around him. It was eerily quiet. All of a sudden two BANGs ring out loud behind him, punctuated by a yelp that he thought he recognized. Dreading what he would see, Morocco turned around… Ceremony lay on his side in the black void. His legs churned desperately and white foam dripped from his mouth. Blood wet the white fur of his chest. Ceremony was dying. Again. His dark, amber-gold eyes met Morocco’s, wide with pain and schock, and Morocco’s heart stopped. He never thought that he would see those eyes again… Morocco wanted to run to Ceremony’s side, to lay with him, to comfort him, to die with him. Then another bang rang out, and for a moment, Ceremony froze. Then his jaw fell open, his eyes squeezed shut, and his body convulsed, once, twice, three times as blood gushed from a dark hole in his stomach. Then Ceremony went limp.
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Chapter 3 -- Morocco Meets Raven Morocco cried out and his eyes shot open. He was laying on his side, and he could feel hard, lumpy things poking into his back. He could feel his injured leg throbbing and the soreness in his body from days of walking. He could feel his head pounding. He could feel his heart racing from his nightmare. He could feel the nagging emptiness in his stomach, and he could feel the burning, scratching pain in his mouth and throat. Despite this, Morocco found that he could form coherent thoughts for the first time in over a week. He felt lighter, yet more grounded. He felt refreshed, and more energized than he had felt for a long time. He didn’t know why, but he thought that he quite liked this feeling. It was not surprising that Morocco felt so much better: his fever was gone. Morocco had been so sick for that miserable week that he had barely noticed his fever; he had barely noticed that he was burning up, and that his swimming, pounding head had been the result of it. Being a wolf, Morocco did not even know what a fever was, but he had come very close to dying from one. Now though, miraculously, he had slept it off. Encouraged by this development in his health, Morocco rolled onto his stomach, and froze. A large raven stared at him curiously. The bright morning sun that shone speckled through the foliage made her appear a shiny purple-blue. The feathers on her head were slightly rumpled. The wolf and the raven regarded each other for some time. Morocco had seen ravens before; indeed, after every meal, ravens would come and devour the wolves’ leftovers. There was one particular group of ravens that lived in the general area that the ___ pack had inhabited, and the wolves had gotten to know them quite well. The ravens were mischievous and would often tease and toy with the young naive pups, and sometimes even play tricks on the adults. Other times the birds were more good natured, and would participate in all the favorite games with good spirit. Morocco himself had known a raven with whom he had enjoyed many long games of “keep away”. This particular raven (we will call her Raven) had seen wolves, too, once in a different place when she was younger and searching for a nesting place with her mate. She had noticed this wolf, Morocco, when he passed into her and her mates’ territory a day prior, and had been following him quite closely when the storm hit. The storm had been merciless. Poor Raven was tossed to and fro in the air for almost an hour before she was able to safely get anywhere near the trees. She had taken shelter in the tree beneath which Morocco lay unconscious, snuggled up closely to the wet wolf for warmth. When the storm was over, she had gone to find her mate only to make a horrible discovery. Her mate was dead. Raven was not sure when or how this had happened, but she had returned to their nesting site and had found him lying on his back on the forest floor, in a puddle of rainwater. Raven had stayed with her mate for two days and one weary night, resting nearby or poking her mate with her beak, always hopeful that he would wake up and hop around, preen his feathers vainly, or strut around like he owned the place like he always did. But Raven was deceiving herself, she knew, and finally she gave up.
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She had returned to the unconscious wolf and stayed on the ground studying him for a long time. She had just decided that the wolf was dead too, and was considering flying away (where to, she didn’t know; she supposed that she would try to join a migrant band) when the wolf had yelped and sat up. Now the bird had an idea of what to do. After all, she needed some sort of entertainment to take her mind off of her dead mate and regrettable situation. So Raven did a little hop on one foot, a little jump on the other, cocked her head to one side, cocked it to the other, gave a mocking croak, and, curious eyes sparkling, danced off into the forest. Morocco, caught off guard by this move, found that the raven’s presence had provided a pleasant interruption in his long isolation, and realized that he did not want to be alone again. Panicked, Morocco cried out desperately for the raven to wait, and half push, half pulled himself to his feet. As he stood, and unpleasant rush swept through his body and he felt himself swaying and spreading his legs out wide in an attempt to stay on his feet. A moment passed like this, and, when he felt properly recovered (though still a little light-headed and woozy), Morocco limped off in pursuit of the bird. Morocco caught up to Raven quickly, in a small space where thorn bushes grew between four trees. When the wolf came into view from behind a tree, Raven hurriedly tried to appear as if she had not been waiting for him, and continued her hopping dance through the trees. In this way, with Raven leading and Morocco hobbling just behind, the duo forged their way through the wilderness.
Chapter 4 -- How Raven Helped Morocco The bird and the wolf traveled for a short while, Raven sure to stay just on the edge of Morocco’s vision. But not long after they had left the clearing, Morocco began to tire. Though his fever was gone, he was still dangerously dehydrated, as well as being weak from hunger. His back leg was still in a bad condition, and his body was still sore from his long travels. Plus, he could not keep his mind off of his dream, and his family. Raven heard the wolf’s breathing turn hard and laboured behind her and knew that he could not go much farther. So she took a detour and swerved to her right into the woods. After a minute more of travel, the going was really getting tough for Morocco. His breathing had become hoarse and raspy and came ragged from his lungs. His throat and mouth burned, and his leg throbbed. His head spun and his ears buzzed, but he thought he could hear a certain sound in the distance, a sound that made his ears perk up and his step liven. It was a decisive trickling sound, that of a small stream. The pair reached the stream quickly. When Raven arrived at the near bank she waited for Morocco to catch up, which he did quite quickly. Then he crouched down and began to lap
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gratefully at the cold, clear water, which soothed the burning in his mouth and throat and invigorated him. Once he had drunk his fill, Morocco turned toward the raven, meaning to offer her his thanks. But when he turned toward the place where the ebird had been, he discovered that Raven was gone. For a moment Morocco gaped at the place where Raven had stood. How had he not heard her leave? If she had continued to traverse the forest on foot, Morocco knew that she could not be far. If she had decided to fly, however, she could be almost anywhere. But for some reason, Morocco had a feeling that she was not far away at all. He narrowed his eyes, lifted his nose in the air, and sniffed for a long time. Mostly it smelled like rain. In one direction, Morocco could smell the trail that he and Raven had made. No other animals seemed to have come into the clearing. Morocco sniffed some more. Now he thought he could smell, just barely, Raven’s scent where she had stood and watched him drink. He lowered his nose to the spot and sniffed. He was definitely getting it now. And also‌ in one direction‌. Yes, he had it. There was a faint, Raven-smelling trail that led up to the base of a nearby oak and disappeared. Morocco pranced up to the tree and peered up into its branches. He did not see anything unusual. The scent led up to the tree, though, Morocco was certain, and Morocco had faith in his nose. So he gathered himself up, sucked in as much air as he could, and let out the deepest, loudest bark he could muster. For a moment, there was silence. Then Raven shot out of the leaves, down the tree trunk, and straight past Morocco. And Morocco, briefly forgetting his injured leg, took off after her.
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Chapter 5 -- Raven’s Stash Morocco probably shouldn’t have been running. Considering his condition, he did a good job. And, ignoring the pain in his leg, Morocco remembered the joy of running, the joy of the chase, the joy of the hunt. A sort of spark that had been missing came back into his eyes. Morocco could feel Ceremony running next to him. He could feel his whole pack running next to him. His paws went pom pom pom pom, pounding the ground in perfect time, creating the base, the backbeat, the rhythm waiting for a song… That feeling was building up inside of him, that feeling that he had missed, building up inside of his lungs, inside of his chest, coursing through his legs, welling up up up inside of him from the depths of his soul till… The howl surged straight from Morocco’s heart and through his throat; it burst out of his mouth noble and true; it flew under the canopy of the trees, racing Morocco’s pounding heart, and it soared across the sky. Every animal stopped its idle activity and shivered, filled with a feeling of aliveness that wakened within them a memory of a time long past -- a time when wolves -- the noble beasts -roamed the whole continent of America. A time when wolves worked with people and hunted with people, instead of being hunted by them. A time when each and every creature lived its life truly wild, truly free. For a moment, just one wolf, just Morocco, changed a tiny world. But it was only a tiny world. It was only for a moment. And it was only Morocco, most average of wolves, who, for the first time, had howled alone. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Raven stopped at a small, rocky, wall-like structure that was the beginning of a steep sandstone hill. Without checking behind her to see if the wolf was behind her, she crawled into her nest: a little nook under a small outcropping lined with leaves, twigs, fur, feathers, string, paper, and other assorted scraps of junk. Morocco came panting up to the hill not long after Raven. But he was not looking at the hill or at Raven, whose dark, glimmering eyes sparkled from the darkness of her nest. Morocco’s eyes were glued to the carcass of a large, dark bird. Morocco’s stomach got the best of him. Without pausing to think about what he was doing, he had fallen onto the bird and literally wolfed it down, picking his way around the small delicate bones. Raven watched on, a little sadly, as Morocco devoured her mate, but she did not protest. When Morocco finished eating, he glanced at Raven with a look of guilty embarrassment. He had never thought that he would eat a raven any more than he would eat another wolf, but then he had never been so hungry before in all his life. The bird was a small morsel for an adult wolf, but, besides being rather disturbed by his own actions, Morocco found himself feeling stronger, smarter, and a lot hungrier. Having been given a taste of food, Morocco’s stomach protested mightily at not being given more and grumbled audibly. Raven climbed out of her nest and stood on the rock. She gave Morocco a funny look, then flapped to the ground and strutted to the base of a large, dead, hollow tree. Ducking through a knothole near the tree’s roots, she disappeared inside.
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Morocco trotted to the tree and peered inside the knothole. When he realized what was inside the tree, his eyes widened. For inside the tree was Raven’s stash. Raven was nowhere to be seen, but he could see crumpled up paper balls, strips of old meat, french fries, bits of moldy bread, lots of red berries, pieces of string, chewed up hunks of gum, and all sorts of other potentially useful or edible junk. Morocco’s stomach grumbled again. He whined softly and pressed his head up against the tree’s trunk. For a long time nothing happened. Then, slowly, out of the knothole in the base of the tree rolled three things: a half eaten chicken drumstick, a hamburger bun, and a big chunk of venison. Morocco inhaled the scavenged scraps. Then he waited to see if any more food magically appear. He waited for one minute. Then two. Disappointed, Morocco sighed. He supposed that Raven was gone, scared away for good by his savage consumption of the dead bird. He felt exceedingly lonely. The sky was darkening above him again. The day had gone by too fast. Morocco had never been scared of the dark, but now for some reason, the lengthening shadows seemed hostile and dangerous. He lowered his head and pinned back his ears, warding off the darkness. He found that he no longer wanted to leave. He did not want to roam the forest in the night, with no company but his ghosts. Even though Raven was gone, Morocco decided to stay by her nest. In the morning, in the light of day, he could decide where on earth he would go. Sighing, he limped over to to the rocky hill and curled up at its base. He was tireder than he had realized. In a moment, he was asleep.
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Chapter 6 -- The Messengers Morocco opened his eyes. He could feel something watching him. What was it? He was still laying at the base of the rocky hill, and it was nighttime, dark and chilly. Morocco got to his feet. He looked to his right. There was nothing. He looked to his left, and gasped. There was his pack! His family had found him. There were ____ and ____ (* the pups*) at the front, followed by ____ and ____. Morocco could see Shadow and Ceremony just behind them. The rest of the wolves’ faces were obscured, but he knew their scents. They were all there. They were walking toward him, out of the forest. Morocco no longer knew why he had thought that they had all died. They were obviously alive, fur, flesh, and blood right in front of him, coming for him, finally. Morocco thought that his heart might burst with joy. He leaped forward and broke out into a run, sprinting as fast as he could toward the wolves in the bushes. He expected a welcome. He expected yips and barks, he expected to be nuzzled and licked, he expected the most joyful greeting he had ever received. Instead, the ___ pack turned and ran, fast, away from Morocco and deeper into the forest. Morocco (assuming it was all a game), dashed after them. The wolves in front of him were surprisingly fast, Morocco thought. For some reason, his leg had stopped hurting, but it was all he could do to keep the group in his sight. He ran as fast as he could. He pushed himself to run faster. His family disappeared into the depths of the forest. Morocco ran harder. They came back into view. They disappeared again. Morocco ran faster. The pack ran faster. Morocco ran faster. Morocco ran faster and faster and harder and harder until the forest around him.
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Indigo By Natalie Nardino
Chapter 1 “Indigo where are you?” My sister shouts weaving through our siblings. She taps Tara on the shoulder, Tara is the oldest and acts as a mother to the young ones. “Tara, have you seen Indi?” Jane askes. “I think she is eating breakfast over there. Just look for a person with indigo eyes.” Let me explain why my sister can't find me, it starts with my father, or Sr. Whitewood as he likes us to call him, is both my builder and my worst enemy. Actually, it starts the beginning of my life, day one. My dad is an inventor and a genius, but somewhere along the line, the oldest of us say when his first wife died, he went crazy. When I was born my heart was weak, I was too small, and my bones couldn't support me, and the doctors said that I wouldn't live past that day. That was eleven years ago. My father, being the inventor and the genius that he was, built a robot that could grow as a normal human would. He replaced my body parts piece by piece until I mostly a robot, the only human bit of me that’s left is my brain. There were some side effects to that. I am able to change my appearance at will. I never met my mother, and this is the reason that my father is my worst enemy if my dad’s current wife fails to give him a child that is perfect, he kills her. The problem with these requirements, even though he married the most beautiful women in the world, is that he’s crippled, and all of us inherit the gene that makes us crippled. To him, I don't have a name, I have a number, 25 because I was his twenty-fifth child, that’s the only thing that he ever called us by, our numbers. It’s also the only way that he acknowledges us. It’s my brothers and sisters that give us names, mine is Indigo for my eye color, the only thing that I can't change when I change my appearance. We all take care of each other and help the little ones learn to eat because he only keeps the mothers until the baby can eat mashed up food, but even then the mother is only allowed to see the child when it is hungry, we have to do the rest. Instead of having maids, we act as his servants, maids, cookies, entertainment, and children, when he has an important person over and wants to give the impression that he is a good father. Even though our father ignores us, we are always there for each other. All of my 47 brothers and sisters look out for each other. The older ones help the little ones learn about our jobs, and the little ones provide us older ones with some entertainment. Jane runs up to get breakfast and to look for me, Jane and I are the only two, out of all the siblings, that are related not on our father’s side. When I was old enough to eat food and drink formula, father gassed mom, like he does with all of his wives, and feed her family a fake story about how she got cancer or fell off of a bridge, or something like that. He has a few stories that he rotates between. But he made a mistake. Normally after the child is born, but before he gasses his wife, he starts looking for another person who he considers the “Most beautiful in the world”. We ever get to see any of his wives, he doesn't want them to think he’s a psychopath so may kids. After he killed my mother, he decided to marry a middle, one that was considered perfect. The problem was, that model was my mother's sister, so he did
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not hold the normal funeral that he does. He waited until my aunt was away on a job, he held the funeral. Because my aunt never saw him, she had also missed the wedding. She had no idea that she married her sister’s husband. But to make sure that my grandparents never found out, he told her that it was his religion to not see the parents of his wife until her first child was born. My grandparents never find out that their youngest daughter married there oldest daughter's husband. My father sent them an email, making it look like it was from my aunt’s employers, saying that she had died of an unexpected heart attack. “Indigo?” Jane shoots across the room. I stand up and wave my arms. Jane waves and her sleeve slips revealing her arm, the one without a hand. Our father likes us to cover whatever part of us is crippled, so Jae is resorted to wearing long sleeves for the rest of her life. He also refuses to make us prosthetic limbs for those of us who are missing them. Jane sits down. “Jane,” I say, “you know how I was talking to you about leaving father.” “Yeah,” she says. “Well, Tara and the others said that they won't come with us, but they will cover for us. At least for a few days.” “You mean that were actually leaving here!” “Yes, we should be gone by the beginning of next week. Remember, though, you can't tell anyone about our plans.” “Ok.” “I’ll tell you the plan when we’re getting closer to leaving.” “Do you want me to pack?” If I let Jane pack, we would probably end up bringing the whole house with us. Last time that dad went on a business trip, he had Jane pack for him. Let me tell you that Jae is only five, and at the time he had her pack, she was only three. Her instructions were to pack “What I need for a week trip to Germany.” She had never packed for him before, and she was sick the day Jack, one of our brothers, showed the little ones how to pack for trips. Because our father is “so aware of everything we're doing” he had absolutely no idea that Jane didn’t know how to pack. She ended up cramming his large suitcase full of about twenty suits, fifteen pairs of shorts, twenty t-shirts, twenty pairs of socks, and five pillows. At that point, dad walked into the room, took one look at his stuffed suitcase, and fired her from packing. “No. It’s ok, I can pack. You have so many other things to do.” “Jane!” one of our sisters, probably Imogen, calls. Jane and Imogen were born right after each other, and are best friends. She had a crippled hand. She and Jane became friends because they both have something wrong with a hand. “Bye,” Jane says, “I have to go do chores with Imogen.” She skips off, her arms swinging at her side. I wonder if it’s registered to her that her best friend is not coming with us.
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Gate C20 By: Nicole Ortuno It was about half an hour since I arrived in Toronto. As I was walking into my new apartment, I asked, “May I please have my keys to room 344,” to the apartment manager. “Under what name?” he asked. “Ava Mono,” I responded. I was only planning to rent the apartment in Toronto for about two months because the next place I’m heading off to is San Diego. I work in the the Communication Field of the military. I have worked in this field for about seven years now; it was my first job and still my only. I really enjoy it because I get to meet a ton of new people in different countries, which means I am constantly moving. I have lived in twelve different states and five different countries. I work with my sister, Melissa. She is also in the Communications department but I have a higher position. We usually are sent to the same places, but, unfortunately, she won’t be coming to Toronto. We are meeting up here so that the two of us can go to San Diego. So far I like it here, everyone seems really nice and calm. “You are on the fourth floor,” answered the manager. “Thank you.” The apartment was unusually small. A have a lot planned for tomorrow. I have a meeting with a Military General and the Military Operation Staff. As I walked out of the elevator, I noticed some trash laying in the hallway and it was silent. I dragged and struggled to carry my luggage to my room. After fishing out my key from my pocket, I dramatically dropped all my luggage right in front of the doorway. I then noticed it was a dumb idea, so I pushed everything along the walls to have a walkway. About after an hour I was settled into my room and about to make myself dinner. The week had past by really quick. I am guessing cause of all the work and all of the time I have taken to settle into my new apartment, I was distracted how fast the time went by. As the weeks went by, I got to know Toronto more and more. I went to a couple hockey and basketball games. I really enjoyed the environment in Toronto, but I was looking forward to San Diego and to see my sister. It was my final night in Toronto that something sketchy occured. I wasn’t quite finished packing, but I was off to meet Melissa at the airport for 8:00pm.
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When I got to the airport it took about thirty minutes for Mellissa to come out of the plane and get all her luggage. We were overjoyed to see each other. I helped her carry out her luggage and we began to walk to a pizza place near the airport. It was a beautiful night. The breeze was soft and the moon was bright. When we were walking under the bridge, it was dark and quiet. When someone would speak their voice would echo. My body started to tremble as we walked in. As I was walking, I noticed a man slowly wandering on the other side of the bridge. It was dark inside the bridge because one of the lights were burnt out and the other seemed to be cracked, either by a glass bottle of some sort or hit by someone who was very upset. His face was somewhat visible. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see him observe Melissa and I as we walked with fear. “Hey,” he yelled after complete silence had been in the air. The two of us were startled. We looked over with a sign of fear on our faces and our hearts pumping faster then ever before. Then from underneath the broken light bulb walked in a group of men. They didn’t seem to like the guy that was originally in the bridge. Melissa and I didn’t know what was going to go down so we walked as quick as possible, away from the group of people. When we were on the main street, we called an Taxi and went straight home. We skipped pizza and just went to the apartment. “That was frightening,” I told Melissa when we were in my apartment. “Yeah, I know. I could feel my body trembling out of fear,” she said. We had decided to just order food and finish packing everything. Our flight the next morning left to San Diego at 6 in the morning so everything had to be packed when we woke up to go. When we arrived at the airport, we had to make multiple lines that were tremendously long.
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As I finally got through the luggage check in, I went straight to the chairs where my sister, Melissa, was waiting and to rest my legs. Although the airport chairs aren’t the most comfortable pieces of furniture, I really just needed to sit down because legs were tired of waiting in that tremendous line. “Now we just have to wait thirty minutes for our flight to San Diego,” said Melissa. “I know,” I replied, “ the line to enter the plane will probably also take some time because there are tons of people boarding to San Diego.” “Ava do you mind watching my bags while I go and buy myself some snacks for the fight?” asked my sister. “Sure,” I answered. As my sister was walking to one of the store I notice a man strangely dressed in all black with sunglasses just observing everyone walking by, including Melissa. There was another man that looked casually dressed doing the same thing. I just looked away and didn’t mind them. “Gate C20,” announced the speaker after thirty minutes had past. Melissa and I quickly arose from our seats to avoid having to wait in the enormous line. As we were trying to find Gate C20 the environment was hectic. There were multiple groups of families that would take up the walkway and it made it so much harder to read the signs above. Melissa would be knocking into so many people walking by while I was trying to get a hold of all my items and struggling to find the gate. “I think C20 is to our right,” stated Melissa as we were already passing it, so we had to make a sharp turn. As I was trying to turn into the gate, which was against the traffic, I bumped into a man. “ Sorry,” I said as I quickly got into the line to board the plane. Once we were in line the two of us settled down to get a control of our bags. I was struggling to find my passport. The line seemed like it would never move forward. While I was waiting in line I overheard a conversation between one of the flight attendant and a man who seemed really stressed. “ I need more than one seat,” complained the man, “I have two kids.” “ Sir, the only solution is to-” “ The only thing I want to hear is that there is room for my family on the plane,” said the man as he rudely interrupted. “The only option is for you to board on another plane,” calmly responded the flight attendant. “Fine,” answered the man.
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Two minutes after that conversation ended another flight attendant announced on the microphone, “ There has just been a boarding dropout. We currently have an open seat on the plane for anyone who will take it and-” “ I will have it,” shouted the man that was strangely staring at Melissa earlier that day. I was a little nervous having to board the same plane as him because he seemed a little sketchy but there was nothing I could do. “Oh, perfect,” the flight attendant responded. We were finally boarding onto the plane and lucky for me I got to sit right next to my sister. The flight seemed pretty calm and I just ate my snacks after the plane was in the air. I watched a couple shows with Melissa and I was comfortable, until I felt a thud in the planes movement. I was shook, scared, and confused all at once. The plane seemed to be going down and I could see people starting to get the life vest from underneath the seats like we were explained to at the beginning of the flight. I was freaking out in my head and i didn’t know what to do because I wasn’t cautious at the moment. Thought of death ran through my head and there was no hope of survival. I heard screams of fear from babies and parents. “I don’t want to die this way,” I thought to myself, “I have no control over this situation.” These thoughts were all going through my head in the short time span of forty-five seconds, while the plane was crash landing. I quickly grabbed my sister’s hand right before the plane started to skid across random land. With the first land on the ground there was a ton of destruction on the plane that was done and you could just see people flying everywhere unconsciously. Right before the plane started to slide and skip across the ground even more, I knocked out, but at the time I thought my death had come. One last thought ran through my head as I could feel Melissa’s hand unleashing from mine due to the impact of the plane. “I lived a good life,” was my last thought before everything went completely dark.
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Two True Arrows By Nathan R
There has been a long war between the two most powerful countries for the last century. The kings of the nations were King Frederick and King Carruth. They were both feared in battle, yet they were helpful and kind to their people. Nevertheless, the horrors of battle have continued, although neither of the countries wanted the war to continue, it continued. Then one day, an arrow, shining with the light of the sun, made of diamond, singlehandedly froze the battle, causing all the soldiers to look straight at it. It plants itself directly into one of the king’s heart (King Frederick), killing him instantly. The people near the king immediately look towards where the arrow came from. But all they saw was a disappearing cyan cloak, darting in the wind. When the king’s most loyal subjects recover from their shock, they pulled the arrow out of his body. It was dripping with blood but no one could deny it was made of pure diamond. Later in the day, they find out the other king had the exact same thing happen to him, at the exact same time. The only difference is the other king (King Carruth) didn’t die immediately. Right before he died he gasped, “find Brugshead, he is the --” then he died. Both of the crown princes, now kings, agreed to stop the war. They decided to obey the dying king and sent out soldiers far and wide to search for this “Brugshead”. Half a year has passed. There is still no news. Each set of soldiers find nothing. The families of the dead kings continue to grieve. One day it was so bad one of the ascended kings snapped at the most recent set of twenty-five soldiers, who had found nothing. He yelled, “Go find that barbarian and kill him. Or better yet bring him back so I can deal with him. Or else you will never be able to return without him or proof of his death.” The soldiers, not knowing him well enough, immediately packed up and left within the hour together. Later that day, the king regretted his words. He tried to send a message to the soldiers that he regretted his words, but the soldiers had already left and had not left any clues to where they went. The king tried anything he would reasonably do to no avail. The soldiers work endlessly, with many losses, but they finally find evidence. Two and a half years have passed. The king that sent those soldiers, King Andreas, has nearly forgotten about those soldiers he had snapped at. The other king, King Geoffrey, has not heard of anything either. Suddenly, one morning, a group of seven exhausted looking soldiers panted their way up the stairs to King Andreas’s palace.
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A fine-looking citizen asked them, “Excuse my intervention, but why are you wearing the soldier’s garb from two years ago?” One of the soldiers, named Mornon looked up. “It is because we have not been here for over two and a half years.” The gentleman replied, “Ah, I daresay that makes sense. May I ask what your mission was?” A different soldier, named John, retorted, “Why does it matter to you?” The gentleman responded, “Ah, just curious.” A third soldier, named Macar, replied, “Well, it is classified.” Then they left him. A fourth soldier, named Marz, asked Macar, “It’s classified?” Macar replied with a snort, “No, I just wanted to get rid of him. People like him are so annoying.” A fifth soldier, named Derek, responded, “Let’s just get to the entrance undistracted. Don’t let anyone else distract you unless it is important.” The others nodded. Over the past years they had been together, they had figured out that Derek was the best at leading so they accepted his leadership. A lot of the time they ended voting, however. A couple of the other pedestrians on the steps looked at them oddly, but none of them said anything. When they finally reached the top of the steps, they looked nervously at each other. They all still remembered the emotions the great King Andreas had expressed the last time they were there. They wouldn’t be there unless they had big evidence, and they did. After a few more seconds, they entered the castle. They headed over to the throne room. When they enter, they see that King Andreas was already there. Derek asks timidly, “Are you free?” King Andreas replied, “Yes.” Derek asks another question: “Do you remember us?” King Andreas replies after thinking for half a minute, “No, sorry, I do not remember your group. Who are you?” Mornon said, “Well, we are the seven remaining soldiers from the twenty-five you sent out to find Brugshead when you . . . told us to.”
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King Andreas replied, “Oh right! I remember! I’m sorry that I told you that. I was just a bit angry after all of the failures from the other soldiers.” All of the soldiers were stunned. None of them reply. Eventually, Mornon says, “We still have information.” King Andreas is intrigued. When it is clear King Andreas was not going to say anything, Derek continued, “We got this information: We know where Brugshead is, and we can confirm he was the one who was responsible for the deaths of Kings Carruth and Frederick. We had been wandering around for two years until they had heard two people talking about Brugshead negatively on the road. We were overjoyed. We followed them. Eventually, we ended up at Brugshead’s castle. Additionally, they heard this: ‘Brugshead finally found a way to defeat us.’ then the other one asked, ‘I know you’re not allowed to tell me, but what happened?’ then the first one replied, ‘they shot the two kings with the diamond arrows.’ That is what they said. That is how we can confirm Brugshead was the one behind the assassinations.” King Andres slowly nodded. Mornon said, “We lost the other 18 soldiers who were with us to different causes.” King Andreas is sad. He understands loss now that he has lost his father. “How did they die?” Macar responded, “Eight of them were shot by archers when we tried to investigate Brugshead’s castle, and nine of them died when we were surprise-attacked near the castle.” King Andreas frowns. “What about the last soldier?” Derek responded, “He was captured while we were investigating Brugshead’s castle.” King Andreas is suspicious. “Why didn’t you say that when I asked you how they died?” Derek replied, “Pardon, but you just asked for how they died. He may not have died.” King Andreas clears his throat. “Well, is there anything else you would wish to say?” Nobody said anything. King Andreas said, “Well then, all of you are dismissed. If your claims are proven by the soldiers I will send to the site, then all of you will be rewarded grandly.” All of the soldiers bowed. Then they all filed out of the throne room and returned to their homes.
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Back at the throne room, King Andreas orders his lead general to send a thousand and five-hundred experienced soldiers, a twentieth of the entire army, to go the site the seven soldiers said was the place of Brugshead’s castle. He tells him the soldiers may kill on sight. Three months later, the soldiers return. Approximately third of them had died, but there was still about a thousand left. When they were questioned, they all said that the site was Brugshead’s castle. One of the soldiers who was sent out there was a talented artist. King Andreas orders him to come to the throne room. When he came, looking slightly nervous, he asked, “What do you want me to do?” King Andreas responded, “No need to look nervous, I do not want to do you any harm. It would help if you could sketch what Brugshead looked like so that all the soldiers can memorize his features. It would convenient for all the soldiers to already know who Brugshead is.” The soldier responded, “Okay, I will try to finish it by tomorrow morning.” King Andreas replied, “That should work. You will get a tenth of a gram of gold when it is completed for an award.” King Andreas then dismissed the soldier to work on the sketch. He orders the seven soldiers to be brought to him so he could reward them. Half an hour later, when the seven soldiers arrive, they all look like they were containing excitement over the award for finding Brugshead. When they all arrive, King Andreas tells them: “Because all of you have done a great deed to us, you shall be rewarded grandly.” The room is silent with anticipation. King Andras continues, “Each of you will receive 4 grams of gold. As well as that, all of your families now have the rank of ‘lord’.” Mornon was flustered. “Thank you sir!” King Andreas smiled. “No problem. Just rewarding loyal soldiers.” All of the seven soldiers left. The next morning, at 7:56 AM, the painter came back to the palace. When he entered the throne room, King Andreas looked up. “Are you available?” asked the painter.
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King Andreas replied, “Yes, is that the sketch I had requested to be made?” The painter replied, “Yes, it is.” The painter walked up towards the throne. He bowed and handed it to King Andreas. King Andreas looked at the sketch. It was very well done, and it was clear this was an actual person. King Andreas took a tenth of a gram of gold out of his pocket. He always made sure to have what he needed on him. He handed it to the painter. The painter bowed again and left. When he was out of the throne room, King Andreas looked back towards to sketch of his enemy. He looked for features that would be easy to recognize. There wasn’t much. He did notice that Brugshead had a cyan cloak, just like the two archers. King Andreas thought a bit about the logistics of what would be the war between him and Brugshead. He decided he needed help. He sent a message to King Geoffrey asking for help in attacking Brugshead. He assured himself that King Geoffrey would help for the same reason as he does. Revenge. A week later, a messenger rode in. It was a message from King Geoffrey that said, “I am sending 5,000 soldiers to help fight. They should arrive a day after this messenger.” King Andreas prepared 5,000 of his soldiers to go with them. A day later, King Geoffrey’s 5,000 soldiers (overall he had 30,000) brought arrived. King Andreas re-supplied them, had all of them memorize the sketch of Brugshead, and sent the 5,000 soldiers he had prepared with them to the location of Brugshead’s castle. 6 months later, there was still no news. The son of one of the soldiers, named John, came to the throne room one day. He was nervously walking in when King Andreas asked him, “Do you need something?” John replied, “I just wanted to ask if you have heard any news on the soldiers.” King Andreas gently responded, “I have not heard anything, but they are likely just still fighting Brugshead’s forces. Battles can take a while.” John waited a bit before responding: “Could you send a couple more soldiers to make sure everything is fine?” King Andreas thought for a moment. “Okay, I’ll send out 5 soldiers to evaluate the situation there then return.” Later, 6 months later, none of the 5 soldiers had returned and none of the 10,000 soldiers had returned. Both Kings Andreas and Geoffrey were both getting uneasy. Then, one day, a bedraggled soldier arrives at King Andreas’s castle. When the soldier comes into the throne room, King Andreas asked, “Who are you?”
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The soldier responde, “My name is Darius.” King Andreas asked, “Why are you here?” Darius replied, “I was one of the 10,000 soldiers you and King Geoffrey sent out to Brugshead’s castle. I come from King Geoffrey’s land.” King Andreas asked, “Why did you not go back to King Geoffrey then?” Darius replied, “This castle is closer than King Geoffrey’s is.” King Andreas was suspicious. “How did you escape Brugshead’s castle?” Darius replied, “I didn’t eat the meager meals they served, and eventually I became thin enough to slip through the jail bars.” He added, “About a quarter of the other soldiers who did eat the food, who weren’t accustomed to small amounts of food like me, starved. I wasn’t able to free any of the other soldiers still imprisoned there. I barely made it back myself.” King Andreas asked, “How many of the soldiers were killed?” Darius responded, “I was captured relatively early on, but I only saw about 50 of our forces get killed.” He added after a few seconds: “I should start heading to King Geoffrey’s castle.” He starts to leave. King Andreas replied, “Don’t go back now, you just starve or not have the strength left to get there. You should mend a bit here before you leave back to your kingdom.” Darius responded, “Thank you,” and then he left. After another five days, another soldier arrives. He came up to the throne room. When he got there, King Andreas asked him, “Who are you?” The soldier replies, “My name is Frederick. I from the 25 soldiers you originally sent out. I was captured.” King Andreas was taken aback. “Well, first I need to confirm that.” He turns to one of the guards beside him, “Bring Derek, from those 25 soldiers, over here.” The guard leaves the room. A minute or two after he was gone, King Andreas asked Frederick, “How did you escape?” Frederick replied, “They let me go only if I would take a message to you and King Geoffrey.” Right as he finished saying that, the guard re-entered the room with Derek. King Andreas said, “Ah, yes, you’re here.” Derek politely responded, “What would you need me to do, your majesty?”
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King Andreas responded, “Identify the soldier across the room.” Derek turned to Darius. Derek looked surprised. “How did you escape?!?” King Andreas responded before Darius, “Thank you for helping me.” Darius responded after bowing, “It was nothing, your majesty.” Then he left. King Andreas thought a bit about the logistics of what would be the war between him and Brugshead. He decided he needed help. He sent a message to King Geoffrey asking for help in attacking Brugshead. He assured himself that he would help for the same reason as him. Revenge. A week later, a messenger rode in. It was a message from King Geoffrey that said, “I am coming along with 5,000 soldiers to help fight. We should arrive a day after this messenger.” King Andreas prepared 5,000 of his soldiers as well, so he would not seem like he would be unfair. A day later, King Geoffrey and the 5,000 soldiers he brought arrived. King Andreas resupplied them, and left with the 5,000 soldiers he had prepared too.
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The Criminals Alexander Schwann Chapter 1 Anthony was just sitting down to lunch at the prison cafeteria when a guard called him over. He was asked to come into the attorneys office. They had something important to tell him. Anthony walked behind the guard trying hard to think of a reason why he could have been asked to come to the attorney. “Perhaps some other guy in the prison got pissed of at me and made up something so that I’d get in trouble. Perhaps they think I’m trying to escape or I’m getting time taken off my sentence because of good behavior.” Eventually the guard stopped at a large wooden door labeled 401. Anthony was so busy thinking that he nearly ran into him. The guard looked suspiciously at him, then opened the door and ushered him through. Inside the room, sitting at the table, was a legal attorney and a few guards and legal staff. The attorney motioned him sit down. “Mr. Godwin, I am afraid I have some grave news. Your mother is very sick and we think she might die. Because of your short sentence, your model behavior and the serious situation, you are to be given some time off to see your mother.” Anthony looked down at his feet. His mother? Sick? Dying? He was suddenly more sorry for his actions than any amount of jail-time could have made him. If he had never stolen he would have never gone to jail and if he had never gone to jail he would have had more time with his mom before the end. “... three to six weeks. Mr. Godwin? Are you all right?” The attorney looked at him worriedly. “Yeah, yeah. I’m all right. Just a bit … shaken. Thank you all so much for giving me this chance.” A tear collected in his left eye. He knew he didn’t deserve this. “You’re welcome. We bent the law just a little bit to let you see her again. Do you know why?” he said forcefully. Anthony looked up, a tear rolling down one cheek and shook his head.
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“It’s because I believe that you’re not a bad person Anthony. I don’t believe that at all.” He motioned Anthony to leave. “You are free to go. You have my deepest condolences.”
Chapter 2 Anthony was ushered out by the guard and walked down the hall to a prison bus waiting just outside the building. He went in and the bus driver commented “I don’t get many people leaving nowadays, just coming in.”. Anthony barely noticed. The trip seemed like a daze. Two hours later, they arrived at the local hospital. Anthony walked in to the front desk and said, “I’m just a visitor coming to see my mother. ”He hardly remembered the rest of the ride. Eventually, the bus arrived at the hospital. No guards came with him into the hospital. He arrived at the front desk and asked the person there. “Do you know where Mrs. Maria Godwin is? I am her son, just here for a visit.” The nurse looked up from a small pile of papers. She looked rather frazzled. “4th floor, intensive care, room 147.” Anthony thanked her and walked over to the elevator and pushed the up button. He stood there, just thinking until the elevator arrived. One man stood inside the elevator.
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The Most Stupidest Story Ever
By Ben McDannell Chapter One: The Journey Begins
This is a story of the four most stupid people of all timJERAMYBEQUIETIAMTRYINGTOWRITEASTORYNOIDONTWANTASCOOBYSNACK e. It all started in the land of Stanmanland, possibly the most stupid place in existanYESJERAMYSTANMANLANDISNOTACTUALLYAPLACEPLEASEBEQUIETce, where our heroes *COUGH* were having a wonderful barbeque JERAMYIMABOUTTOWRITEWHOTHEHEROSAREDONTWORRY. Who are these heroes? Well, the first hero is JOHN CENA BUMBADABUM,BUMBADABUM!!1!1!! Actually, our heroes are BillyBob Joe, Potato Seed Sally, Squidilee Samuel, and Jim Criminaile THISISMYSTORYJERAMYICANNAMEMYCHARACTERSWHATEVERIWANT. At the moment, BillyBob Joe was grilling Spamburgers™, Squidilee Samuel was hogging all of the Fakebuns™, Jim Criminaile was trying to shove crab meat up Potato Seed Sally’s nose (because he was really bad at being a good criminaile), and Potato Seed Sally was resisting the crab meat while simultaneously trying to sell Jim her potato seeds. “Spamburgers™ are ready!” shouted BillyBob. “NOBODY CARES!!!” sad Squidilee. “Come on guys, we don’t need Spamburgers™, just buy and plant some of my patented potato seeds! In a few months we will have a bountiful feast, plus, I can’t eat Spamburgers™, it’s against my religion.” “And what religion is that?” asked Jim. “Potatobite.” Sally responded. “Greeeaaattt…. Im just going to pretend I didn’t hear that.” concluded Jim. Suddenly, with a thundering crash and a great flash of light, a human appearIKNOWYOULIKEHUMANSJERAMYYOUUAREAHUMANIFYOUDONTSTOPINTERUPTIN GMEIWILLSLITYOURTHROAT-ed. “SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!” exclaimed Squidilee, “What is that???” “I think it’s… I think it’s a person!” said BillyBob.
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“You are right” said Sally, “do you think he wants to buy some of my potato seeds?” “Probably not,” answered Squidilee. “What should we do?” asked Jim. “Well, the only logical thing we can do at this point is to go to the fabled Mountain of Pepe and ask Pepe the Seer,” responded BillyBob, “HEY! Don’t go rooting through their pockets Jim!” “What? Come on, just a little peek? They might have something good,” responded Jim. “Absolutely not,” said BillyBob. “Okay,” Sighed Jim, who got up. Just then, his wallet fell out of his pocket and into the pocket of the person without anyone noticing. “Well, off we go then, Spamburgers™ will have to wait,” said BillyBob. So off they went, until they reached their first roadblock, The Forest of Peppa, at nightfall. “Hey, I hungry!” complained Squidilee. “Whoops, looks like we forgot all of our provisions, too bad!” said BillyBob. “Too bad… TOO BAD???” said Squidilee, “I’m going to starve if we don’t get food soon!” “Don’t worry,” said Sally, “I always carry my sometimes-convenient guide on how to find the right potatoes and other nutritious plants that are safe for consumption!” “Ewww, I’m not eating paper, that’s gross!” said Squidilee. “Well it’s all that we’ve got, so dig in,” said Sally, producing four guides from somewhere in her hair. They all had a delicious meal that they thoroughly enjoyed, then they went to sleep.
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Mysterious Paragraph (Ben O’Brien) Chapter 1 This was dumb. It was a weird thing to think about. It made my mind generate some weird fantasies and a lot of questions. I just couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that a girl around my age will be staying in the room across from mine. What is she like? Is she nice? What if she’s mean to me? Is she a shy person? Will she be shy when she meets us? What does she look like? Is she pretty? Will she be annoying? Does she like the same things as me? Whatever happened, I didn’t want her first impression of me to be bad, so I took a quick and thorough shower, combed my hair, and put on clothes that weren’t necessarily fancy, but were better than the tank top and mesh shorts I was wearing before. Then, I waited. I played a video game in my room to pass the time. Writer’s note: I suppose that was a pretty vague preview, revealing almost nothing about the story, not even it’s title or the name of it’s main character. That’s because I myself never got around to deciding what happens next. Well, I suppose I have a pretty good idea of what the first couple of chapters will be like, but after that I have no idea what to do with the story. I thought of good characters and a good setting, but then I hit writer’s block. I don’t know how I can incorporate my characters into a good plot, or what that plot might be. I have been searching for inspiration for a while, but I still haven’t gotten any. So as you can see, this story will be left alone indefinitely, and I won’t get back to it for a while. In the meantime, I encourage you to think of what happens next! Anyway, I should probably wrap up this note, because it’s getting longer than the actual piece of writing, making the writing seem even more vague. Thanks for your understanding! -Ben O’Brien, author of this mysterious paragraph.
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Relic Quest Nathan E
Chapter One Brakin Location: Planet Kroan Adam flinched as his eyes adjusted to the bright red rays of the suns on Kroan. Dark brown dust clung to his coat, almost blending in with the maroon tone of the leather jacket. He slid blue tinted goggles over his eyes and a white cloth with blue stains over his mouth before the toxic air of the atmosphere could reach his skin and eyes. He pushed the rectangular door of the Duster closed. Sam walked up to Adam’s side and asked “So what’s the plan?” “We’re meeting up with an informant under the name ‘Brakin’.” “What’s his deal?” “One of my informants from Bormalia said that this guy knows where the Gorvian Sanctuary is and that he could get him to lead us there.” “Where’re we meeting him?” “He’s going to be selling handmade wooden figurines and decorative pieces at a small shop near the back of the market.” Adam reached into the Duster and grabbed a bronze plated hammershot revolver from the front seat, and placed it in a holster hidden by the right side of his jacket. He grabbed his bag from the foot of the seat and pulled out a black dagger and lantern before giving the dagger to Sam and placing the lantern back into his bag. Sam slipped the dagger into a pocket hidden up his sleeve and adjusted his sleeve to make it appear natural. Adam slung the bag over his shoulder and started to head to the tattered brown cloth entrance of the flea market. Kroan’s flea market was a hidden gem of the planet. It was a heavily guarded area with tall sandstone walls and five tall looming lookout points at each corner of the structure.
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Guards walked lonesomely upon the metal industrial catwalks above the sandstone walls. A rusty metal roof covered the market and created a large and scarcely lit room under it. An arcway stood as the entrance to the dark market. Sam marched ahead of Adam and lifted the cloth out of his way like he was royalty. Adam stepped through and before he had even walked two feet the sounds that were barely distinguishable outside, now thundered in his ears. The ground in the market was padded down, small booths and carts were scattered everywhere. Many of the figures running the booths were strange in appearance. Some were missing limbs like arms and legs, others had extra arms and scaly skin. Some had tails. Others, eyes on their chests. Adam and Sam continued to walk along the shops searching for a shop with wooden figurines and decorations. A large room stood out from the rest of the shops, most of the shops at the market were mobile carts and booths whereas this one appeared to be some kind of permanent structure. Little figurines lined the windows and wooden chairs and tables could be seen near the back of the store. Adam and Sam walked through the open door and stepped into the store. It was humid and quiet, both of them could hear the quiet murmuring below them. Muddy boots stood drying near the front entrance. Three tall windows formed a shop window at the front of the store. Tall figures and decorations stood on display, layers of sand and dust protected their beauty. The room had glossy wooden floorboards caked in dried mud and dust. A tall podium type structure stood as a cashier desk near the right wall of the room. It was made from a rusty metal material. Sand and dust floated a few inches in the air before settling on the floor of the store as the door shut, releasing air from outside into the stuffy room. “Are you sure this is the right place?” asked Sam. “Positive, only an informant would need to fake being an owner of a shop on Kroan.” said Adam as he walked over to a small desk in the corner of the room and lifted a picture of the owner and his dog on it. The picture showed a man with jet black hair that was combed back holding a golden furred dog. “How do you know he’s pretending to be the owner?” “Because of this.” Adam said as he opened a closet door and the unconscious body of the man in the photo fell to the ground. Sam gasped, “Good god!” “That’s the business we’re in.” Adam said.
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“Is he still breathing.” “Yeah, he’s fine, just unconscious or something.” “How did you know he was there?” “Just a hunch.” Adam walked to the back of the room and rubbed his hand on the rough surface of a wooden banister. Broken wooden steps lead to a doorway into a dingy basement. The steps quietly creaked under his feet. As he slowly crept down the steps he began hearing a quiet conversation between what seemed to be two men. One seemed to be speaking in a foreign language while the other was speaking in English. Adam motioned for Sam to stay where he was. A metal mesh wall was all that seperated the stairway from the musty basement. Adam perched on one of the top stairs and watched as the two men talked to each other. Sam stood at the top of the stairs and loaded his dark black combat shotgun. One of them was sitting in a black chair behind a wooden round desk, the other was standing in front of him. The one standing had green scaly skin with blue tattoos covering his body. He was wearing a silver chestplate and brown cargo pants. His almost triangular ears were perked up and his black nose twitched as he spoke, his words slurring together. The other one sitting down had folds of skin and wrinkles all over his body. His skin had an orange tint to it that looked almost faded. He had a dark green shirt on that had the sleeves ripped off, and Adam could barely see the black pants and boots he wore. The green one that was standing said something intelligible to which the orange colored one responded “Urkala, tell him that since he can’t give me 100,000 credits in advance, I want double by tomorrow when the job’s done.” Urkala responded in more of his foreign tongue stopping multiple times, seeming to take back or regret what he said. The orange one slammed his fists shaking the desk and everything on it and yelled with all the anger he could surmise “I don’t care if he doesn’t think I can get the job done! I want AT LEAST 200,000 credits at my door when I get back tomorrow.” Urkala seemed to nod in agreement then said some more things before the orange one interrupted him again. “Fine, if he wants me to deliver it first I’ll leave them in a bag inside of a wooden Kragulan figure in the shop window. As for them and their other belongings, leave that to me.” The orange one sighed and leaned back in his chair. “If I’m going to do this I’m going to need more supplies then what I have with me.” Urkala nodded and pulled out a small six inch black rod, a wrist attachment of some sort, and the one that confused Adam most of all was a
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blue egg shaped orb encased in what seemed to be vines intertwining around it. Adam recognized the objects appearance immediately, but couldn’t remember what it was, exactly. “Now we’re talking,” is all the orange one could say as he grabbed the objects and placed them in a drawer in the desk he was sitting at desk. The orange figure cleared his throat and walked up to Urkala and whispered something in his ear. Urkala nodded in agreement. The orange figure pulled out a gun from a holster at his side and pushed the end of the barrel against the side of Urkala’s stomach. “Okay, now leave, and remember to tell him my name and that I want 200,000 credits by tomorrow, or both you and him are dead men.” Urkala nodded and stepped away his nose twitching more frequently now. He got to the stairway and stopped at the step Adam was perched on, looked him the eye, looked at Sam, then back Adam and smiled then sneered. His tongue barely sticking out between his yellow and orange pointy teeth. Adam turned back to watch as the orange man sighed sat down in his seat, put the fakest grin across his face; and closed the drawer with the objects that Urkala had given him. Adam and Sam precariously climbed down the creaky steps and stepped into the open room of the basement. Mud stone walls lined the room and metal shelves were lined up in the wall opposite of the stairwell. Condensed water dripped on the cool ground below their feet. Sam stumbled down behind Adam and stepped into the dim light of the basement. A couple more pictures of the man with jet black hair were scattered across the wall behind the shelves with some showed him standing in front of the shop and others showed him making figurines and such. The orange man stood up at the sight of Adam and Sam and adjusted his shirt. “Aah, Adam and Sam I presume, I’ve been...uhh, expecting you two.” “Who was that guy you were meeting with?” asked Sam. “Just a guy who was interested in buying a trinket of mine.” “No need to fool us, we found the body upstairs.” Adam said. “Excuse me?” responded the orange man. “We found the unconscious body in the storage closet, so I assume that you’re the ‘guide’ that my informant told me about, Brakin.” “Yes, I had to do that, but I am Brakin and your informant is a good friend of mine.” “How much do you want then, to take us to the sanctuary of course?”
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“I was thinking somewhere along the lines of 1,000 credits.” “1,000 FRICKIN’ CREDITS!” screamed Sam “That’s absurd!” “Finding the sanctuary was not a task for the light hearted and it required much of my time, for me to give you the information that I spent years discovering I want a reasonable price.” responded Brakin “Besides the trek is hard and will take up much of the precious daylight we are wasting right now discussing the price, 1,000 is a reasonable price and I will not take any less, only more.” “Fine, 1,000 credits, I can give them to you after we get to the sanctuary.” Adam stated coolly. “No can do, I need them in advance.” “Well no can do either, because I don’t have 1,000 credits on me right now.” Adam responded. “Well then, it seems we have ourselves a predicament, don’t we.” Sam decided right then to end the discussion and make an offer he couldn’t refuse. He lifted his shotgun the metal glinting in the dim light of the basement and said, “You have two options right now and three seconds to choose, take us to the sanctuary now, and we’ll pay you later, or I shoot you now, and you never get the money.” “Three” Sam said out loud. “Whoa there buddy” Brakin said. “Two.” “Sam, put the gun down!” his brother yelled. “One.” “Put the gun down!” Sam’s finger began to push against the trigger almost testing when it would give. “Okay, okay, okay! Calm down there buddy, I’ll take you to the sanctuary now, and you’ll pay me later.” Brakin said his whole body shaking from the pressure of the situation. “Thank you for making the right decision.” Adam grinned at his brother, it had worked again.
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Ever since they had gotten into the business, Adam had been the good cop, and Sam the bad cop. But Adam could not recall a time that the setup had worked so well. Brakin had fallen for it immediately. Sam grinned back. Brakin clapped his hands, “Are you guys ready, it’s a long journey. If we want to make it before dark, we should head out now.” “Sam, let’s go” Adam said, still amazed at how quickly they had manipulated him into taking them to the sanctuary. Well not entirely “manipulate.” per se more like threaten and persuade him. Adam and Sam began climbing up the rickety stairs with Brakin close behind them. Adam turned around and saw Brakin stuff something in his pocket and in a satchel hanging off his neck, the bag dangling near his hip. Adam’s suspicions rose. Adam and Sam reached the upper level and Adam turned around and waited. Brakin slowly stumbled up the stairs, his ears shifting from Sam stepped out into the loud atmosphere of the market with Brakin and Adan in close pursuit. Brakin began leading through a locked back entrance of the market. Rusting winding stairs led to a green wood door at the top of the sandstone wall. The metal stairs shifted around under their feet as they walked on them. The whole staircase seeming to creak and groan under their weight. They stepped through the seemingly open door into the quiet landscape of the planet. They were standing on a ridge at least a fifty meters off the ground. The ridge was an orangebrown color and it seemed to be slowly eroding away. The ridge winded around a tall brown mountain that seemed to be at least 2,000 meters high. There was a platform of some kind that Adam could barely see as he looked up to the top of the mountain, sun shining in his eyes. The heat of being in the open so late in the day burned his skin turning it a dark shade of tan. Brakin’s skin seemed to lighten up to a more peach color than orange and seemed to become less wrinkly, almost an opposite reaction to Adam’s. Brakin turned to Adam and Sam who was standing behind him and said “The Sanctuary is hidden at the top of this mountain” pointing at the platform “The ridge is all man made so it has been slowly deteriorating for the few months or so.” "How long ago did they make this ridge?” Sam asked. “Probably a couple months before I found it, which would have been about a year ago, maybe less.” “So this thing was pretty crappily made, huh” responded Adam.
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“Yeah, I guess so.” Brakin began leading the group up the winding ridge line and placed a tan turban on his head, wrapping it around his eyes. He then placed red tinted goggles over his eyes and began fastening his pace along the ridge. Adam and Sam followed behind, coughing up the dust that Brakin kicked behind him, his green bag swinging at his hip nearly slamming against Adam’s stomach. Adam turned around behind him and thought he saw a faint object behind the bend of the ridge line, but wind whipped Sam’s jacket around, blocking his view before he had the chance to distinguish anything. Adam’s boots sunk into the soft ground leaving a perfect trail of footprints behind him, the footprints quickly blew away in the wind, the dust wisping up into the air. As they climbed higher up the ridge line strange alcoves began appearing in the side of the mountain, seemingly useless but actually appeared to be shrines of some kind. Some of the alcoves had small shelves and strange statues of weird figures on them. Colored with fading paint of strange colors. Others had plants, books, pictures, memorials, and even weird patterns and things written in the surprisingly cold and clammy walls of the alcoves.
TO BE CONTINUED...
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