Not a creature was stirring, not even Mouse.

I may have to use the headline in a new story (or possibly novel) I'm writing, as the main character (or at least a very important one) is nicknamed Mouse.

Why am I telling you this? Because I want to give advice again! Mouse was actually inspired by an advert (yes, Mouse is inspired by Alexi Wasser, but changed to my liking of course). You may ask why that's important, but it's really not. So why am I including it? To say that characters can come from anywhere. It's kind of like trying to find the perfect actor for a role in a movie, is it not? I mean, all you need is a very basic description and flesh them out as you go (or start out with a fully fleshed out character in your mind and describe them little by little to the reader). All you need is a good source (even just your brain, but I've found -at least with my writing- that charaters I generate with no inspiration are kind of pathetic, shallow, and boring).

Pick traits you like, but make sure the character has a few flaws. I think I've said this before, actually, and got argument from people because I used the word humanize and someone talked about a whiny cthulhu being a horrible character, though I NEVER said you had to make them human. I meant humans have flaws, so make your character, no matter what they are, have at least one flaw (preferably a personality flaw, though physical flaws are okay to an extent, but it would have to be significant enough to be used as a plot device).

Also, make sure your characters have names that tie in with your story. You don't want one named Brawn Thundereagle, another named Staxonailienude, and another named James. That's just ridiculous, see? The only time I can see that being okay is in a time-compressed world with extreme sci-fi and fantasy, but I could only see it work as a comedy. Feel free to prove me wrong. I'd love to read it if it's good enough.

Anne Rice's Advice to New Writers

"ADVICE TO A NEW WRITER: There are no rules in this profession. Do what is good for you. Read books and watch films that stimulate your writing. In your writing, go where the pain is; go where the pleasure is; go where the excitement is. Believe in your own original approach, voice, characters, story. Ignore critics. HAVE NERVE. BE STUBBORN.

"'Write about what you know' is tricky advice. If I'd followed it, I would never have written 11 books about European vampires, or books about a bewitched family of psychic people. I say 'Write what you want to write. Write the book you want to read. Write what delights you.'

"No, you don't need any formal education to be a writer. And remember nobody can stop you from being a writer. Just do it. And yes, ignore critics. You have to. Many great writers got scathing reviews from peers and critics. Forge ahead."

-Anne Rice, Facebook.com, 07 Dec 2009

I didn't get to do the interview, but apparently, I wouldn't be the only one asking...understandably so; she's definitely one of the five best writers of the 20th and 21st centuries, if not all time. (If you didn't pick it up for some strange reason, or if you just like to read my overkill explanations, I take no credit for interviewing her. This was something she did in response to all the other people asking for her advice).

Stan Rice - Some Lamb (1975)

I said I'd feature art from other artists, so it's time for a poem from Anne Rice's late husband, Stan. This poem is written about their daughter's death and it's very emotional...obviously. I don't think my rambling has any chance of improving this, so I'll stop and give you a link to the full poem on StanRice.com.

Stan Rice - Some Lamb (1975)

I definitely suggest reading this, but whether you do or not, I suggest reading Anne's books, too. They're all good. I still have to get around to reading Angel Time, which is sitting between my sketchbook (one of them) and Neverwhere, all of which is located on my SNES, so I can't miss it.

Horrible Attempt

This proves how horrible I am at drawing people that I don't want to mess up. If you ask me, she looks more like Katie Couric than herself.



One of the main things I should have fixed before posting this would have been her mouth. It's too low in the picture. I think the left eye (right on paper) also should have been closer to the center. This picture looks very little like her because of those two details.

Miss You

This is a piece of art technically meant for someone that I won't be able to see for a while (after the new year IF I'M LUCKY) and I hope she sees this. It was also a test of my new tablet and Photoshop's image creation abilities. I've found I'm better at editing than creation in Photoshop (due to its lack of the ability to undo multiple steps). Anyway, no more on that. Click for the full size image.



And before you ask; No. No, that text in the middle doesn't say anything.

Compare and Save

Here's a tiny snippet from both the first- and third-person perspective versions of Synesthesia. I'd greatly appreciate it if someone would tell me which version sounds better.

First Person

Grilled cheese sandwiches are great on a day like today. Hell, they're great any day. My fiancée, Erin, is in the shower, so I set the table, deliberately putting the placemats on upside down. She hates that.
As I put the sandwiches on our plates I notice something on the counter; a letter. It's addressed to Erin, but it's open. Nothing usually comes for her. I don't remember getting this out of the mailbox, either.
I leave the letter alone. I can just ask her when she gets out of the shower. She usually doesn't go out in public without being clean and pretty. Then again, she's pretty whether she's clean or not.
A few minutes later, she's out of the shower. She sits next to me with her hair still in the towel, though it dries faster than mine; hers being shorter and all. She flips the placemats immediately after sitting, but doesn't react with her normal play-fight. She looks at me, her eyes still happy, but vacant.

"It has to be horrible not reacting with the world." Erin says, staring out the windshield at the handicapped sign in front of our car. I turn the key and look over at her. She's clearly bothered by something more than just her mother being in this asylum, but she won't tell me until I guess it. I have no leads, so I don't ask. I drive to the bank, taking every side road I can think of. I can hear all the big machines running on the major roads. Damn construction season.

I see flashes of red, coming as fast as the ones on a lighthouse, and each one illuminates something...nearly formless. I'm not sure what it is. I think it's human. Yes, it's shaped like a face, but...those details are off. All I can see are eyes and a mouth. The rest looks so...strange and...curved.

Third Person

Grilled cheese sandwiches, Jack thinks, are perfect on a day like today. He has already set the table and his fiancée is in the shower. Hell, they’re perfect any day. He makes sure that at least one placemat is upside-down so the wrong color is showing because he knows how much his fiancée hates it.
As he puts the sandwiches on the plates, he notices something on the counter; a letter. It’s addressed to Erin, his fiancée, and it’s already been opened. Nothing usually comes for her. I don’t think I took this out of the mailbox, either. He leaves the letter on the counter and makes a mental note to ask her about it.
A few minutes later, she comes out of the shower with a towel wrapped around her hair. She flips the placemats over instinctively upon sitting down, but doesn’t react with her usual play-fight. She looks at him with vacant but happy eyes.

"It has to be horrible not reacting with the world." Erin says, staring out the windshield at the handicapped sign in front of the car. Jack turns the key and looks over at her. She's clearly bothered by something more than just her mother being in this asylum, but she’s hiding whatever it is. He has no leads, so he doesn't ask. He drives to the bank, taking every side road he can think of. They can both hear all the big machines running on the major roads. Damn construction season.

He can see flashes of red, coming as fast as the ones on a lighthouse, and each one illuminates something...nearly formless. I think…it's human. Yes, it's shaped like a face, but...those details are off. All I can see are eyes and a mouth. The rest looks so...strange and...curved.



And yes, I know these are bad examples, but I haven't really accomplished much in my rewrite. Also, they are randomly selected, so stuff happens between them ^_^

Great News!

I'll be getting a new tablet soon, so YIPPEE! More art will be on here...and possibly even more writing (I prefer tablet-writing, to typing, even though it takes longer). So, that's my great news for the day.

Stress

I've been too stressed to write lately. What I need is a day, alone or with a certain other person, but that rarely happens, and when it does, I have withdrawal symptoms, which is strange, but ends up making me even worse. So, as soon as I can be alone, I'll probably start writing again.

Progress

I've added to Synesthesia, though progress has halted until I finish rewriting it in third person. So far, my test reader prefers it in third person. I, personally, think it sounds weird and sappy, but then again, my test reader likes Twilight...(though she does have good taste in other books).

Just thought I'd announce that. If anyone wants me to, I'll post a section of the "reformatted" version of the novel. I may even post a paragraph or two from part that I haven't shared with my fans yet. Just remember; it won't get posted if you don't ask.

Frustration

This post won't be very long. I just want to say I'm frustrated with my old computer now. It fried the fan I was using ($20 that I doubt I'll get back soon) AND my tablet ($80-something that is even less likely to show up in my bank). So...yeah. Expect less art from me and more writing...though I haven't done much of that in a while. I'm watching Mirrormask again, so I'll have that spark of creativity again. That movie always has that effect for me. I definitely recommend it to everyone, anyway, as it's a really good movie. Oh, and IMDb kind of simplifies its plot. It's partially written by the same author as Coraline (which I have yet to see and want to very badly) and was brought to life by Jim Henson Studios.

So, in other words, I'm watching a movie so I can write stuff that's nothing like the movie because the movie gives me a huge amount of inspiration. Yeah. I shouldn't write right after I wake up.

New Computer

So, I've decided I needed a new computer. I know, I know, I just got this one. Also, I know that this is my LITERARY blog. So why am I putting something personal? Well, that's an easy question that will be answered in a roundabout way.

The new computer will be an Acer Aspire One netbook. Why am I getting a new one? Because this one hates all forms of input (CDs, DVDs, USB, MS/Pro, SD/MMC), even though it HAS all of those drives. And why does that warrant getting a new computer? Because that means I can't use my design tablet, my fan, my flash drives, my cameras, my MP3 players, or my games. Did you catch that first one? MY DESIGN TABLET. That's why I want this new one. That's also why I'm only getting a netbook. This one is going to be for my art and writing.

Are you ready for the answer to why I'm posting this? Probably not, but here I go! All of my art, music, and writing will be transferred to that computer (also, without fear of ever losing it, as it has a solid-state drive, meaning no moving parts to break over time). Why does that concern you? Well, it doesn't, honestly. What does concern you is that means that this blog will be for ALL forms of art. This blog will have links to music IN THE PUBLIC DOMAIN (LEGAL and FREE), links to artists' websites, my art, my writing, and maybe the occasional other stuff, like links to writers' websites.

So, THAT is how it will affect you, my reader...s? I think there's more than one of you...Let's see...Dudel, possibly Imouto, I THINK Sumomo...Toshio, too?

Also, I'll PRIMARILY try to only include my own works as I can provide a true comment on them, as I am not the other writers or artists and cannot speak for them. If possible, I will also try to get interviews with other writers (as I am on Anne Rice's personal friends account's friends list (on Facebook)...as strangely worded as that was (she has one for personal friends and one for fans. I'm on the former). It's not likely, as she's busy and *gasp* responds to her fans! But I will at least attempt to try it. In other words, there's about a .001% (if that) chance you'll see an interview with Anne Rice on this site in the near future. (It will be an interview over the internet, since I'm nowhere close to Anne Rice and am homebound).

Another Thing

I wasn't entirely finished with that list I made. I shall add the final point I have now:

4) Sympathetic Characters

Now, don't mean the characters are sympathetic; I mean the reader has to connect to them. Your goal is SUPPOSED to be to ENTERTAIN the reader, so you want them to have some kind of connection to the characters; why should they care if your protagonist is shot in the stomach? Why should they celebrate when your character makes a full recovery? Shouldn't they believe that your character believes they're part of their world (unless they don't, in which case the reader should believe whatever the character believes). In other words, why not humanize your character? Make them react to a bad day. Make them unsuccessful somehow. In the words of Joachim Valentine, "Nobody likes a perfect superhero."

What makes a good story?

I know I've heard people ask this (to better authors than myself, as I don't generally think my stuff is any good), so I'll try to cover a few points:

1) Originality*
2) A plot that fits the genre (or non-genre, for literary fiction)
3) A conflict

Yeah. That's all it takes. I'll cover these points one by one.

1) I marked this with an asterisk because there's no such thing as a new idea. The key to having an original story is to use a tried and tested idea and tweak it so it APPEARS original. I don't mean read a book and reword every sentence. I mean pick a general topic and change it. For example, let's say you wanted to write a story about vampires. What makes your vampires different then all the classic vampires (Nosferatu, Dracula, Lestat...not necessarily in that order) and the..."Pop"/"Fad" vampires (Edward Cullen)? Here's an idea! Make them created through scientific means (i.e., a medicinal cocktail). Now it's time for research. I know, the dreaded 'R' word! But to make a story believable, you NEED research. I spent an hour researching Walther PPKs for a part that didn't even stay in Iron Cross. I also spent weeks researching combinations of medicines that could create a vampire (bloodlust, anti-resistance to sunlight, pale skin, super-strength, and super-speed) without causing INSTANT DEATH. My way would make the injection EXCRUCIATINGLY PAINFUL, even worse than a Rebif injection (Multiple Sclerosis meds that kill your immune system so it doesn't eat your nerves and brain...you're injecting acid just below your skin...yeah). Anyway, back on topic. You need to come up with an idea and research a way to do it that hasn't been done before, but is believable.

2) Okay, this part is TECHNICALLY not that important. Lots of craptastic novels make New York Times' Best-Seller List. Look at Twilight (I know I'll be brutally murdered for insulting this "great work of fiction"), for example. Basically, all you need to do is look at the genre's formula (Romance novels, the current most written novels at about 90% of fiction if I remember correctly, follow a formula that's fairly easy to pick up: Two people fall in love and have sex. Or at least that's what I gather, never having read a TRUE romance novel. I prefer macabre fiction). I can't tell you all the formulas for every genre. The best way to figure it out is to read a book or two. The more the better.

3) There MUST be a conflict. Without a conflict, your story has no plot. No one reads a story with no plot (even Catch-22 had a plot and it's known for not having one). Conflicts can come in many varieties. There are two MAIN kinds, however: Protagonist vs. AntagonisT and Protagonist vs. AntagonisM. The first is what is generally used in JRPGs: Good Guy(s) vs. Bad guy(s)/Evil Empire. This CAN still work in novels, though...it's a little on the "This should be a game, not a story!" side. Books of this type include: Ring (Reporter vs. Virus), Spiral (Doctor vs. Virus), Loop (Kid vs. Virus), Moby Dick (Man vs. Whale), and the Lord of the Rings Trilogy (Frodo vs. All those evil dudes and that f'ing ring...though the book is mainly about walking). Protagonist vs. Antagonism, on the other hand, is what is much easier to write and generally has a deeper meaning.
"WHAT?! Easier to write AND has a deeper meaning?!"
Yes, you read that correctly. Pick a topic. Research it. Write it. See? Tip 1 is still paying off here. Now, that seems a little simplistic, doesn't it? I'll give some examples of books you can read that will explain it better than I can. Famous works that are Protagonist vs. Antagonism: George Orwell's 1984 (Man vs. Society), Anthony Burgess' A Clockwork Orange (Man vs. his own past), Vladimir Nabokov's Lolita (My favorite book, Man vs. his own mind, though he's losing the fight...the book was written as evidence for a court case (fictionally)), and Fyodor Dostoevsky's Notes from Underground (Man vs. Loneliness, though the book is mostly just a long rant, but it's f'ing hilarious if you understand Russian humor...if not it's depressing as hell). I only recommend these because they're often more memorable. I'd also recommend all of Stephen King's books as Richard Bachman. They often make you question what's right and wrong (Specifically The Running Man, which is the name of a game show in the book, where a man goes into the Games Corp. to register to be on the show because his family needs money...badly. The game show he gets on is The Running Man, where he has to run from a man who is trained in hunting people. It's powerful, but it's...Society vs. Itself).

And on a sidenote: AVOID fan-fiction. That's just plagiarism lawsuits waiting to happen...and those stories automatically suck because you are not the original author and everyone has his or her own voice. You're ruining what could have been a perfectly good story...or a fad book. Either way, people rip that stuff off all the time. If you're going to take the time to write, take the time to come up with your own ideas.

Writer's Block?

Well, I can't exactly help; different things work for different people. Some people gain inspiration from an art museum or forest, some from games, some from cartoons, some from other books, and still others randomly go back into "writing mode" from seemingly nothing.

I'm one of the last group, though I draw my inspiration from EVERYTHING. I'm easily amused and so long as I'm in a good mood, will generally always be writing something or thinking about something TO write.

But, strangely, the thing that gives me the most creativity is NEARLY unrelated: Math/Programming. With programming, you get to write and your writing creates something; what's better than that? It can be frustrating, but that comes with being a writer, as well.

Anyway, I've said my fill. Go out and try doing something, ANYTHING. You're bound to find SOMETHING that will get you writing again.

Addicted, Take 2

I like this version much better. It's much closer to my writing style...and isn't as drawn out; at least not at the moment. This, like all my other works, is subject to change and WILL be added onto. So, since I don't have anything to add (save for my notes, which won't go public until I get near the end, if not later). So, here it is!

Addicted

She tied the knot tightly. Her victim struggled to get out of the chair, but failed.
“So, how are you?” Yana asked. She pulled a small bottle and a syringe from a case on her hip and started filling the needle.
“I’m fine. Peachy.”
“Peachy? Well, maybe you don’t need the injection, then.” She looked up from the syringe and hesitated filling the rest of it until he answered.
The man gritted his teeth together in pain and kicked his legs in their ropes, not even successfully moving an inch. Her orange blossom scent was something she knew would set him off. It always did this to her patients.
“Well, I won’t finish until you tell the truth. I’m not afraid of making mistakes. I can’t make this any better for you until you take it and your death would still help me improve the drug.”
“You’ll never get it past the FDA.” The words were distorted through his teeth, which now had a mix of blood and saliva coating them. “You’re all going to hell. All of you!”
“And? I’d have to believe in it to go there, now wouldn’t I?” Yana said, then giggled.
The man jerked, turning the chair thirty or so degrees. “I don’t believe in whatever hole you crawled out of.”
“I’m sure that would be fun to explain to my mother. Want to see a picture of her? I have one in my office.” She filled the syringe a little more, then stopped. Just a little more and she’d be able to keep him alive for another week. “Besides, you have no reason to provoke me; I keep you alive for a week and give you plenty to feed on.”
The man said nothing, blood from his quickly receding gums filling his mouth.
“Good. Let’s get this over with.” Yana filled the syringe to 40cc. She pushed his head down to his left shoulder and held it firmly as she injected the drug into his jugular.
The man screamed in pain. His veins were on fire. His eyes were red.
Yana kissed his cheek. “You were a good boy. Want your treat?”
He forced his arm over about an inch in the rope. The pain from it was almost a relief from the drug. Anything was better than that. He turned his head to face Yana, but she was out of his field of vision. She came back and sat on her feet, holding a blood pack in her left hand.
“How much do you love me?”
“This is wrong!”
“How. Much. Do. You. Love. Me?” She repeated, much more slowly.
“No matter how much you make me say it, you know I don’t mean it.”
“Fine, don’t eat. Like I said, you’d only help me by dying.”
The man lunged forward, one arm coming loose. He clawed at Yana’s face, but she moved far enough back to only allow his hand to brush her cheek. She got to her feet and walked away, taking the blood pack with her. She opened the door, but hesitated.
“Do you really hate us so much you’re willing to die to prove a point? That’s not bravery; it’s just stupid. We’re doing whatever we can to make this drug better, so you won’t have to go through the pain anymore.”
The man stayed silent and untied himself. Yana hurried out of the room, locking the heavy, steel door behind her.
The man needed that blood. He clawed at all the knots in the ropes holding him in place until he was finally loose. He stumbled and swayed from the drug in his veins and from his deep hunger. He pressed the button on the intercom.
“Come back, doctor. Please…” He whined, knowing she wouldn’t come back until at least tomorrow, assuming she would ever come back.
He went back to the chair and sat; collapsing with his head on the back and arms limp over the sides. He groaned and tensed from the pain, but the drug was slowly losing the burn.
Suddenly he heard a voice on the speakers on the ceiling.
“Will you be good and stay in the chair?”
He nodded, knowing there were hidden cameras everywhere in this cell.
“You won’t attack me again?”
He nodded again. He didn’t get anything else from the speakers. The locks on the door squealed open and Yana came in again, holding the blood pack. She was followed in by armed guards that were reminiscent of riot police. She got back on her knees in front of him again.
“Now tell me how much you love me.”
He slumped forward and rested his head on her neck. He hugged her with excessive passion, causing the guards to prepare to fire. Yana held her hand up to lower their weapons. She gently pushed on him to get him off of her and he fell back in the chair.
“That’s going to get you killed, 14. Next time, just tell me. Here.” She held out the blood pack and dropped it in his lap. She stood up. “They’ll be coming in here with me from now on. You’re starting to experience some of the same side effects as the other patients. You were doing so well…”

Kaishi

When you read this, you'll probably think, Damn, is he obsessed with snow and ice? (or something along those lines). The answer is...a little, but not for the same reason as other people my age; not "oh, fire & ice, sexeh, i think ima get me some-a that". No, it's 'cause that's what I grew up in. Yay, Minnesota. And no, that's not where I am now. I can't say I hate everyone here anymore...my fiancée and both little sisters were born and/or raised here, after all.
Anyway, onto this story teaser (which is in a fictional place similar to northwestern Russia in the near future):

Kaishi

"It's not that; I just wanted to say-"
"No! Never!"
"Why not?!"
"You're MY sister, not THEIRS! I shouldn't need to explain myself."
"But-" Natalie starts, but is interrupted by Adara.
"No."
"Listen to me for once! You're always doing this!"
"I'm listening. Say it."
"Okay, it's not a permanent thing. Two months. Tops. I'll be back before you get to Kaishi. Everything'll be better after that. I promise."
"That's it? That's all you wanted to say, Natalka?" Adara crossed her arms.
"Yes. That's it."
Adara harumphed and turned away from her sister long enough to realize that Natalie was the one who was destroying HER chance of survival. There's no way they'd let her in THERE when they knew her sister was off killing others of their kind. "You're letting me die until then. Thanks so VERY much!"
Natalie stepped back. "I'm not going to let you die. As soon as I get back, I'll get the best doctors I can find to fix you."
"I'm not as broken as you." Adara continued walking away, arms still crossed over her chest. She coughed, blood sticking to her hand. "If I die before you get back, it'll be my dying wish to make you come with me. You know these people won't object to killing us."
Natalie dropped her head. She walked outside and climbed into her car, which had already been buried under the snow. She turned on the external heat and sat with her head back, waiting for the snow to get below windshield-level. She switched off the heat and drove away.

Addicted

This story is an attempt at a non-cliché vampire story, but so far it sucks. It's okay. Go ahead and tell me (after you read it) if you agree and I'm willing to accept any suggestions for it, though don't expect to ever see it anything like this if/when I ever get it published...but I don't suggest waiting for that.

Addicted

“This’ll be my last fix. I swear.”
“You say that every time, Dorian, but we both know what happens if you stop. It‘s not like you have much of a choice.” The doctor says, inserting the needle into the patient’s arm.
“You got me addicted to it.”
“I'm just doing my job. It was Dr. St. James that got you addicted; she is the head of the department.” The doctor removes the empty syringe.
“Are you like the other doctors?” said Dorian, looking down at the skin of his inner elbow, which had long ago turned black.
“No. I really think she’s onto something with this stuff.” Dr. Arvizu capped the syringe and put it in his pocket.
“The FDA will never approve it.” Dorian said through tightly clenched teeth.
“That’s why she has to pay for the research out of her own pocket.”
“Did she have to experiment on Caitlin, too? She started on this shit younger than I was.” He slid off the edge of his bed, even though he had nowhere to go; he wasn’t authorized to leave the hospital today. He took his cane and walked to the back corner of the room.
“Your other sister was too old.” The doctor said apathetically.
“She was only a year older than me! Caitlin hadn’t even hit puberty yet!”
“Don’t talk to me about it. I’ve already told you everything I know. Ask Dr. St. James if you want to know more about it. But going by what I know is in it, if you were any older the shock to your heart would kill you. I’m surprised you haven’t died yet.” The doctor starts to open the door. “I’d think you would have tried to get out before this. It wouldn’t be hard to kill me with all that adrenaline in your veins from this.”
“If I wanted to take you out, I could. But I’m not stupid. I kill you I’ll have to deal with Feitosa more. I can’t stand that guy.”
“Be happy you don’t have to see him until Friday, then. You get to look forward to time outside tomorrow. Are you going to waste that chance again by staying here and watching Nurse Aryavan? Don't think your guards do'‘t tell me things.”
“I think I’ll go and be social for once.” Dorian waves his cane to tell the doctor to leave.
“‘Be Social.’ Right.” The doctor smiles and leaves. Dorian can hear all the locks on his door move into place.
Alone until tomorrow. Pump me full of adrenaline and lock me in a tiny bedroom.
Dorian lies down on his bed again, staring at the ceiling, where he’d redrawn a map of the hospital with a pen one afternoon. He fully labeled it and listed all doctors, as well. They gave him a rainbow array of Sharpies to play with today, so he went over each section, color coding every department.
Naturally, his department was red; the Vamp Department. This is where they did all transfusions and also where they turned him and his sister into “vampires”.
Epinephrine, Insulin, Metaprolol…I wonder what else they’re poisoning us with. I can’t stand all these windows. I’ve seen enough bald heads go by for the rest of my life. I hope I never get what they have; I couldn’t handle knowing I only have a few months to live. Couldn’t they put us farther from the children and cancer patients? Aren’t we suffering enough? Aren’t they? At least they get fresh visitors. They have someone to cry on. We don’t even have each other…three hours a week isn’t enough time away from this suffering.
I wonder what that nurse’s name is…I can’t just call her Nurse Aryavan for the rest of my life. It’s not like I’m a danger to those people; why won’t they let me talk to her?
Dorian hears a knock on the door. Firm, but gentle…it’s already noon? As Dorian predicted, the man who cleaned the rooms, affectionately called Mr. Janitor by Dorian and his sisters, unlocks the door and walks in with his cart. As usual, a posse of armed guards stands outside the door so Dorian can’t escape or hurt Mr. Janitor. They should know by now I’m not going to try. Ten years is plenty of time to learn when someone’s not going to move.
“I hear they’re not very happy with you.” Mr. Janitor says while sweeping, not that there‘s much to clean; the room was barren, save for the bed and a desk.
“Have they ever? They’re injecting me with something that’ll kill me some day. I don’t think they really care.”
“You’re sounding like your sister now. She’s at least at the right age for that attitude.”
“You think they’ll ever realize I’m human and an adult?”
“Probably not. The doctor’s been trying to outdo her grandpa since she got her degree. I think she’s going for the Nobel Prize with you two.”
Dorian bursts out laughing. “It probably has to be legal to win it.”
“She can argue that it is. First it was testing children’s meds for the kids down the hall. Then you got addicted to it. You’re her responsibility now. She has to find some way to get you off of it before she can release you into the wild.”
“What makes you an expert on this all of a sudden?”
“I can go anywhere in this building; I hear things.”
I wonder what else he’s heard. Maybe…
“How’s Caitlin?”
“Well, you’ll see her tomorrow, but she’s not as hyper as usual. It might just be because they gave her the shot late. I don’t know.”
“It better be. If they’re giving her something else, I’ll personally kill them all.”
“That’s probably not the best thing to say. Don’t you think you have enough guards following you around?”
“Well, I don’t want them hurting her. She’s only 17; they won’t let her make medical decisions. Damn loopholes.”
“I’d like to tell you she’s doing the best she can to take care of you, and I’m sure all of them want me to, too, but I can’t…they’re probably going to fire me for saying that. All clean. I’ve got to go, sorry. Oh, and I shouldn‘t be telling you this, but the doctor is coming in here today. I don‘t know the details, but I was cleaning her office when she said something about you three.” Mr. Janitor opens the door and leaves. All the locks slide into place and Dorian’s left alone in the room.
At least now I have fair warning. What’d we do this time? Maybe she’ll take some time to listen to us for once.

Stalker Story Beginning

This isn't a whole story, sorry. I just wanted to post a new story on here, so you at least get to see something I might finish eventually.

Untitled Stalker Story

I want to eat you. I can't, but I want to. I want to chop you up and cook you over an open flame. I would, but I can't get close to you. You and your friends...I can't get near you. Any of you.
You no doubt want to know the reason for my feelings. I will explain that to you, but I won't tell you why; I'll tell you what I've observed. Nothing more. You can draw your conclusions when I've finished.

It started when I first met you, seven years ago. You have no doubt forgotten that day. You came to the party with your older sister. I hosted it. You were too young to get in on your own, but your sister convinced me to let you in.
You were so timid. You didn't drink, even though you could have gotten away with it. I found you adorable. I would have done anything to be alone with you.
I had gone to my room. I needed solace. I left the light off and lied in my bed; not sleeping, just thinking.
Outside my door, I heard one of the females who boarded in my house talking to you.
"Hang on, I'll get something for you to change into."
You came into my room. You didn't see me. It amazed me that you came into my room instead of that girl's, but I later came to the conclusion it had been claimed for an orgy.
You didn't wait for her to come back. You had your shirt most of the way over your head almost as soon as you walked through my door. You had a beautiful silhouette; a gently curving waist and soft skin.
I should have told you I was there, but I couldn't. It wasn't that I never had women there. I think it was because I never had you there.
You turned to look at yourself in my mirror. I could see all the muscles in your back with what little light came through my door.
She made you wait for a long time. You must have been cold; my windows were open. The cold breeze even hit me through my duvet. You walked to the window and closed it, mumbling something I couldn't hear over the music. That window was next to my bed; it's a wonder you didn't see me.
That girl finally came back with a neatly-folded shirt for you. You had it on, thanked her, and had left the room within a few seconds. I wanted you back in there. I wanted more.

Synesthesia

This is the ORIGINAL SHORT STORY that my novel of the same title is based on. This does not, of course, contain ALL of the content the novel will (as it doesn't include a lot of his hallucinations that I have planned). It seems a bit much to happen in a short story and the ending may change in the novel. Who knows? I'm not even halfway through it and have LOTS to add. The ending may not be as good with a novel, after all. Oh well, read it and enjoy; this is my favorite of every story I've written.

Synesthesia

“I need to withdraw some money.” Boring places, banks. I tap the counter while the teller looks at the withdrawal slip.
“I know it’s not my business or anything, but what are you taking out this much money for?”
“No need for me to keep it a secret. My fiancée, over there, and I are getting married and I want to make sure she gets the best wedding I can give her.”
“That’ll be a nice wedding,” she says, “or at least I’d hope it is for that much. Where’d you two meet?”
Before I can answer, my lovely fiancée comes over from the waiting chairs by the door and punches me playfully in the arm.
“You weren’t supposed to tell anyone unless you were gonna invite them!”
“Well, then, you’re invi-” I feel cold metal on my back through my shirt and I immediately stop talking.
“Get on the floor! No, not you.” He says, indicating the teller, “You go back to the vault and get me as much as you can. For every minute you‘re back there, we‘ll kill one of them.”
“I can’t do that. I don’t have the keys. Let me get my boss.” She reaches for the phone and I feel a stinging near my kidney. Blood sprays onto the counter. I hear sirens, then more gunshots. The weight of a body falls on me. It’s too heavy to be my lovey. That’s good. I don’t have to worry about fighting too hard to stay alive.
“They‘ll have you to the hospital in no time…” Was that her or the teller? I…I’ll be fine. I black out.

When I come back, all the blood’s been cleaned up and it looks like business as usual. Everyone’s talking, laughing, smiling. Nothing happened? I do have a strange imagination, but I don’t think it’s strange enough to imagine that.
Short blonde hair flashes by the window and before anyone knows what’s happening, eight people are dead. Another eight die immediately after seeing those highly-reflective green eyes. Fourteen more fall after clutching their chests. I feel something covering my mouth and a small hand pushing me somewhere. It’s hard to tell with my eyes burning like this. Why does everything seem so bright?
I feel a breeze and some warmth as if I’ve been taken outside and am shoved forward onto some kind of seat. The covering over my face is quickly replaced with a mask. I can breathe again! She slams a door behind her. I can finally see the seats. This car looks like it’d cost a fortune.
“I’m Erin Baranov. We’re taking you somewhere where you‘ll be safe.” She withdraws a phone from a pocket hanging from her belt. She dials and says, “He’s out.”
“What happened?! What’s in the air?” I say. I’m panicking more than I should be; I should be thanking her for saving me.
“That’s classified information. I’d tell you if I could.”
“Did you do that?”
“I didn’t, no.” She says. Nothing like an apathetic little savior. She flips a switch and I hear the whirring of fans as I watch the air clear. “You are Jack McElliot, right?” She mumbles profanity, then says, aside, “Of course he’ll say it now that I asked. Do you have any ID?”
“Ye--” I very much dislike being interrupted.
“Of course you do! I took you from a bank!” She giggles nervously and takes my wallet, which I’ve just taken out of my pocket. She flips it open, which throws my ID to the window, then to her lap. She looks at it. “Good. You are him.” She gives it back like a guilty child.
I angrily shove my wallet back into my pocket. There’s a brief silence between us. The driver lowers the glass separating us from him.
“We’re at the first checkpoint, Miss Baranov.”
There’s a knock at the window a few seconds later and heavily armed soldiers greet us. Erin holds out her arm, palm up, to them. One lifts a scanner hanging from his belt and passes it over her wrist. He pushes a button and holds it up to her eye. It beeps and he asks her to say her full name, which she does. It pings again and the soldier nods and waves the car through.
“What was all that about?”
“Security’s tightened with all the attacks this month. If you ask me, it’s a huge waste of money.” She looks confused. “You should have known that. Did they give me the wrong Jack McElliot? There has to be more than one in this city. I think you‘re the right one. If you’re not, the right one’s dead by now.” She sighs, shrugs and looks out the window.

I’m outside, camping near a lake. I run into the tent and see shadows of long fingers reaching out to get me. The monster calls, “WHOOOOOOO.” I wet myself by the time my parents come to check on me. I have to change pants, but their’s not enough room in the kiddies’ tent with my mum in there, so I change outside. A car drives by our clearing. The car is painted in bright colors, like an army of clowns had gotten to it. A girl my age wearing a cat mask looks out the back window and I get embarrassed. My dad nearly falls over from laughter.
“Get some pants on, boy. You’ll never get yourself a girl like that. Gotta show some respect!” He says through fits.
I don’t remember what happened to him, but that’s the last thing I ever heard him say.

Suddenly, a few seconds later, she jumps across me, throws open the door and pushes me out. I hit the ground hard on my back and feel the pressure on my chest, accompanied by an electric feeling around my heart. By the time I can stand, I see her a few yards away. She brushes herself off as she walks over to me.
Erin stays low and signals for me to stay quiet. She looks around, then points to an old barn. I start walking that way, but she pulls me back violently. She shakes her head and points to a wheat field nearby, making a hook in the air with her hand. Staying low, I follow closely as she runs to the barn. We run in, then out the other side to the field. She shoves me down, then drops to her stomach and starts army-crawling through it. She stops and motions for me to get ahead of her. Why is the world so bright from this field? It’s too close to dinnertime to be this bright!
When we reach the other side of the field, she prairie-dogs over the wheat and looks back. Since she doesn’t drop down again, I stand up, too. Erin again motions for me to stay quiet, her eyes harsh, as she leads me around a patch of trees at the edge of the wheat. We walk slowly past another house. When we’re over a mile away from where we jumped from the car, she turns to me.
“You move too loudly. I thought we’d get caught in that field!” She said, walking backward past nearby trees.
“I’m not used to sneaking around, sorry. What happened back there, anyway?”
“I didn’t know the driver.” She smiles and explains a little more clearly. “He wasn’t my usual driver. It didn’t surprise me that they didn’t check you, but they always check the driver. That wasn’t the real entrance to the base, either.”
“So, where are we going?” I say.
“Same place we were going before. Follow me and stop asking questions.”

A circus has come to town. I find tickets in my pocket and go to redeem them. The attendant looks at me with an expression of surprise.
“Are you sure you’re old enough to be here without your mum?” Her painted face doesn’t match the serious tone of her voice.
“Mommy and daddy are gone, but I’ll see them again someday. Do you want to be my mommy?” I’d seen it work in movies, so I had to try.
“Jack! Where are you?” Oh great, my mother. Way to ruin my fun. Good job. I see a flash of light again, accompanied by a loud noise. Was that thunder? I couldn’t tell over the sound of the music. It happens again and I’m suddenly right outside a funhouse.
I go in. I walk right past the wavy mirrors. Those are so childish. Fall a few times in the spinning tube, but I make it to the other side, which is where I wanted to go in the first place: The Hall of Mirrors. When I’ve been in it a few minutes, I hear creaking metal and a popping sound. As I walk through it, I pass people who are running the other way and screaming. It doesn’t take long to see why. Flames reflect in the mirrors. I have no idea why the world is burning around me, nor do I know how to escape.

“We’ll have to operate.” Who are these people? I see circular lights, but feel a mask on my face and I black out again.

My legs start to give out from exhaustion. Erin stops a few steps later, turns around, and grabs my collar to pull me with her. “Do you want to die?”
“Just let me rest for a minute or two.”
“I don’t think they’re even that far away.” She pulls harder, until some of the seams start to rip. I stand up and follow, putting up a little less resistance than I want to.
“Where is this ‘secret location’?”
“If I knew you’d whine this much, I wouldn‘t have come. It’s not too far to the real entrance from here. It’s probably not safe.” She sighs. “We’ll have to go through, anyway. Unfortunately, I don‘t know how far in they are.”
We walk for about another fifteen minutes and come to an electrified chain link fence with barbed wire coils on top. We follow it until we get close to a gate. It was obviously attacked. A singed car blocks part of the gate, which is curled away from the car. Dead soldiers, almost naked, litter the ground like the maggots that crawl on them. She motions for me to be silent again. I listen, but I don’t see the point; if we can see through the fence, so can they. She leads me past the gate, running to the trees on the other side.
I expect cameramen to jump out of the bushes to get a closer view, but of course none do. I should have expected guns, not cameras, to shoot us. I hear a shot and dive behind a tree. Why am I getting shot at? What did I do?
I see Erin pull two guns out from seemingly nowhere and shoot from around another tree. Why don’t I hear it? What the hell?! Is that blood?!

“He may never come out of this. You’ll have to make the decision within the next week.” It’s one of the same voices as before. I hear a woman crying.
I feel something wet on my face, but can’t seem to brush it off. I black out again.

Another year, another circus. This time, nothing burns down. All I remember of this whole trip is this girl. She’s on a trapeze bar wearing a strange mask. I can only describe the mask as being half cat, half bird, the cat side twisting to cover her chin, but not her mouth. That was only a minor concern at the time. She danced, standing on the bar, then jumped, flipped, and hung onto the bar with hooks on her legs.
She swung back and forth, eventually gaining the momentum to unhook herself, flip again, and land is some man’s arms. Judging by her age, I’d say it’s her dad, but when this happened, I hated the man. I thought of him as a rival, taking my little dancer away from me.

After what seems like hours, I feel genuine warmth again. I see a wooden ceiling, so I’m obviously indoors. I see Erin standing over me. I can’t move my head; something’s holding it in place. I can’t move anything else, either. I still can’t hear -- unless you count the ringing.
“You’re awake!” Erin’s eyes are much brighter, almost glowy, than they appeared when I first saw them through the mask. My vision fades in and out and my eyes lose focus.
“This is what happens when you jump into a bullet.” She turns to look at something and says, “We have to get there tonight or…” She returns to hovering over me. “You want to get out of here?” She smiles and puts her finger on my nose in an accusatory fashion. “You had better be ready to go in…” She looks at an imaginary watch on her pointing arm. “Half an hour. Any longer and the boogieman’ll get you.” I force a smile.
My hands are numb, I realize. I lift the boney jelly my arms have become and try to sit up, but my hands slide off the table and my head crashes into the bowl that supported my head. It shatters from the force and embeds itself in me. I can’t win. Ever.
Everything is black again.

Everything fades, then I’m in the circus again. I’m outside the tent. I’ve run away from my parents and they don’t know where I am. It’s raining and I’m cold. Eventually, I see her go in her trailer. I follow, but the door is closed when I get there. Wow, I was a stalker. I knock on the door and hear her voice. It sounded so “adult” at the time, but I realize now that she just sounded like every other preteen girl.
“If it’s important, come in. If it’s not, go away.”
“I-it is. It is important.” I stutter. “You don’t know me, but-”
She pushes the door open hard enough to throw me on the ground into some mud. I don’t remember what she said after that. I can’t hear it over the storm. All I remember is her dad picking me up by one arm and looking me in the eyes. My feet were a hundred feet off the ground; naturally, I was terrified. What’s more, he had a mask on, too. His was like his daughter’s, only much more grotesque and unlike any animal I’d ever seen.
“Is this him? Little peeping-tom, I see. Good thing I taught her what to do for bratty little kids like him.”
She must have told him otherwise later on. He let us go out together for what little time they were in town the next year. We wrote letters to each other, but I know she never got mine. It’s hard to write to someone who never stays in one place. I was a stupid kid, never asking where their permanent address was. I know my mum just threw them all away, thinking I was a pervert and she was some freak.
I found that out later on, when my girlfriend told me our parents never talked. At least hers admitted it. My mum lied and said she had talked to them. She’d also lied and said that it was a different circus coming to town; that the one my girl was in closed down and we couldn’t find out where they were.
When the circus came, I snuck out of the house and ran to see whether it was the right one. My beautiful girlfriend danced with ribbons by the door. She asked for that position so she’d be the first to see me.
Not long after that, I saw the bruises on her arms, legs, and back. I also saw the black eye that was hidden under the mask.

When the feeling comes back, I sit up again. By now, my head is bandaged and the glass is removed. When I sit up, I feel a small hand on my back.
“You’ll break yourself if you fall again, Glass Boy.” Erin says. Glass Boy? Wasn’t it embarrassing enough for me to have fallen in the first place? I hope the name doesn’t stick.
She takes her hand off my back and goes to the fridge. I notice I’m not on an operating table, but a counter in a cabin. Something looks a little off about the world outside, but I can’t put my finger on it.
“Is this your cabin?”
“Food’s food. Let’s call it imminent domain and take their whole fridge.” Wait, are her words sparkling? I could understand if she was a spit-talker, but she’s not. And even then, the sparkles wouldn’t be orange. My brain’s not working. I try to talk to see what color my own sparkles are.
“How did you get me here?” No sparkles. Am I that boring?
“I got some friends to help us. We should be safe for a little while.” All of this seems so…unnatural. How did I end up in this movie world?
“Not too much longer ‘til we get there. We have to get ready to go.” Even more red. Did she inhale paint?!
I slide off the counter, my legs give out, and I land on the floor. The cracks in the floor are glowing. Did she give me some kind of drug? I look outside and see the grass is painfully bright green, beyond cartoonish. The water has kid-art waves that appear to be made of hundreds of pieces of layered cardboard.
It’s not a movie, it’s a play. That has to be it. Pretty soon, we’re going to start singing about Mr. Mistoffelees and how awesome he is.
How often does one get to say that? Not enough, I say. Bring it on, world. Bring it on. I’m in a singing mood and my vocal cords are prepared, and strangely well lubricated.

“Are you in there?” It’s that voice again. Why does it sound so familiar?!

On one of our later dates, I remember just walking around with her. It wasn’t much use winning prizes for her; she could get whatever she wanted from here. She didn’t want anything from the circus, anyway. I brought something with me, though. I gave her a pencil with her name on it in sparkly letters.
We walked off the fairgrounds and went to a nearby pond. It was secluded enough and in a patch of woods, so we wouldn’t be bothered. She helps me spread out a checkered cloth that was in my mum’s picnic basket.
“I hope you don’t mind. I kinda had to pack in a hurry.”
“This’ll be fine. Don‘t worry.”
We don’t even have a chance to start eating by the time her father and my mum get there. Her dad takes her arm and pulls her back to the circus. My mum slaps me.
“Don’t you dare sneak off again! Especially if you’re taking my basket and hanging out with those freaks.”

I return to the present, much relieved at having escaped that memory. The waves seem to be getting higher. Even in cardboard, the tide comes fast.
“What are you staring at?” Erin comes to my side unexpectedly and helps me up. I realize that I’d been staring at the lake this whole time. Then I remembered why.
“Don’t tell me you don’t see the water.”
She looks out and raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, I see it. There are these wonderful things called ‘lakes’; they’re full of the stuff!” She turns back to me, takes me by the shoulders, and shakes me.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see a papier-mâché dolphin jump out of the water and do a double-flip. A rainbow trail traces its path back to the water. Swirls of light spin off its body as it moves. This luminescence draws spirals all over its body like a Mayan wall sculpture. When it hits the water, I hear a loud thunderclap. I’m the only one that jumps from it. As awkward as I feel, nothing’s wrong. Nothing at all.

It’s strange watching a performance in the circus with one of its performers next to you in the audience. I look into her eyes and see how bored she is with the flips and tricks. She looks almost sad when I try to get her interested. I brush her hair off her shoulder and pull her closer to me. We snuggle and hold hands. At least she doesn’t have to be bored anymore.
Later on, we went for a walk. Some strange old man comes up to us.
“You two seem like a nice couple. If you come with me, I can get you two married.”
“Thank you, but no.” I say.
“Well, I’m sure you two have certain…other needs. I can get you whatever you want, but you’ll have to come with me to pick it out.”
“Didn’t you hear them? They’re not going with you.” It’s Jamal, the elephant trainer! He also does a magic show with doves while riding an elephant. He does a great job at it, too. “Get out of here. They need to do background checks before they let people into the circus. You‘re alright?”
“Yeah, thanks.” My lovey says.
“I wonder where your father is…he’s not performing right now. Let’s get you two home. Need a ride?”

We leave less than half an hour later. Outside, we climb into one of a Jeep salvaged from the entrance of the base. We somehow got past three more groups of those crazy people safely in this glowing purple vehicle while I was out. The engine roars like a little kid. Layered paper clouds pour out the tailpipe. We drive down the road with pixilated dust swirling behind us, behind which I see something. In the distance, I see the sky and ground flaming, slowly being enveloped in darkness. The flames seem to be mere reflections in the shadows. I point it out to Erin, hoping desperately I‘m not going mad.
“I don’t see anything. Wait, I see something on the road.” She whips out binoculars from a slot in the door. “They’re chasing us. How did they get past the checkpoints so fast?”
“Watch the road! Can’t you floor it so we can get there before them?”
“If I could go any faster I would; the jeep’s almost out of gas and has two flat tires!”
How are we driving over these candy-covered roads without sliding? And why is the dust not made of candy? Why am I surprised by any of this?
Their trucks follow us and get even closer as we enter a checkpoint.
“We’re being chased. Get ready to fire.” Erin tells the soldiers. One of them smiles and scans her anyway. It’s hard to know when to take someone with bright eyes seriously when they say something about a precarious situation.
I watch all the purple sparkles from the scanner stain Erin’s skin, then see the growing blackness behind us. The guard who scanned her loses his smile and orders the others to ready their guns.
“This is the last checkpoint until we get there. Let’s hope they don’t make it past here.” She pulls out and dials her phone. She whispers into it, but I don’t hear the words.
We’re still within earshot of the checkpoint when we hear erupting gunfire. The darkness and flames hesitate at the gate. I watch as the sky ahead of us turns to wet blue plaster. Hanging from it are cotton candy clouds, raining gumdrop puppies and kittens. I look back. The sky recedes and the ground burns again. The efflorescent roadsides wither and burn along with the rest of the earth.

The stress makes me remember the smell of her hair. She’s always smelled of peaches. I never knew why, and that was one of the questions I’d never gotten an answer for, but it always calmed me down when I was angry or depressed. The other question was when I’d ask her about circus life, or she’d ask me about regular life, and neither of us could ever answer in a way the other could understand. Explaining what seems obvious to oneself is almost never obvious to someone else.
One of the times we were out together, I got really sick. Pneumonia. I remember I couldn’t say bye to her when they left the city.

The Jeep runs out of gas a few minutes later while the charred land moves quickly and steadily closer. I doubt this safe house is safe from them. We walk quickly forward with my arm over Erin’s shoulder so I don’t fall. When we finally reach the house, I’ve already stopped stumbling.
“We’re here. Think you can walk yet?” She asks.
When we get there, the sky has already burned away and all I see in it is a plethora of flames from the edges of the scorched earth mirrored in infinite facets above me. The people chasing us are probably already here. What was the purpose of her calling anyone? Did she just say goodbye to everyone?

The door of the safe house opens and gunfire (one of the few sounds that isn’t changing) erupts from the door and nearby trees. The ironic thing is I’m not scared. Nothing’s less terrifying than chimps in hot pink dresses. Okay, so maybe it’s a little frightening when they have guns.
That’s when I hear the sound of fish flopping on concrete. I see the source: an elephant with a propeller on its back. More elephants join and doves fly out their trunks. I watch our simian hunters fall to the ground. I hear shouts, but don’t understand them. Some of the monkeys run away from us, behind the house.
Suddenly, the elephants fall one by one in bursts of every color of the rainbow. They crash to the ground, along with charred doves. Erin and I move back to back and look for anything we can use to take out the monkeys in drag, which is an easy task, as we’re surrounded by armed corpses. It feels a little disrespectful taking their weapons from them. A few shots are fired at us, but I can’t seem to focus on them with all the ringing in my ears.
We return to facing away from each other and spraying all of the others. I hear her gun stop and not start again. I turn to look and see Erin with a gun to her head and three each on her sides. She’s wearing an artistic, beautifully-detailed mask that was half-cat, half-dog. The cross-dressing monkeys slowly transition to strongmen in leotards. That’s slightly less embarrassing to shoot, but I can’t; not with Erin at gunpoint. I don’t want to see Erin get killed over me, too, so I let them take me. They hold their guns to my back, push me inside the house, and yell “SURPRISE!”
At least I think that’s what they yelled. It could have been anything, really. I couldn’t understand it with all the exploding elephants outside. I watch as they take Erin to a back room. I hear a gunshot. The executioner walks out of the room and I get a glimpse of his grotesque mask. He takes me by the hair and drags me onto my back and into the same room he came out of before.
As soon as the door closes, I get to my feet, kick the gun out of his hand and shoot him, launching the mask off his face. That was strangely more satisfying than it should have been. I do have a habit doing anything I can to avenge someone, but usually it results in a less happy feeling. It felt like I killed him for more than just killing her, as if it were a long-standing grudge.
I don the bloody mask and make my way back to the door. I see Erin huddled in a corner, facing the wall. Strangely, there is no blood on the wall.
I open the door slowly, so as to not look suspicious, and raise the gun. They all wear the same half-cat, half-bird masks. My stomach hurts as I shoot them. The room darkens gradually and everything slows down. I listen to the gun pulse with loud beeps. It’s not a real gun?

“It’s been almost a month. It’s not likely he’ll come out.” It’s one of the same voices as before. What are they talking about? I fade out again.

I invited her to my house once to show her a normal day in my life. It, of course, didn’t happen the way I planned it. My mother treated her with respect and didn’t order me around at all. Still, my lovey thought it was fun, paying close attention to every detail, including the smell of dinner, which was burnt.
When she left, I knew I was in trouble.
“Why’d you invite that circus freak here? Now I have to clean everything! My whole house is contaminated with that funk she brought in!”
I didn’t see my love for over a week after that. It’s not that I was grounded. It was as if she disappeared. Maybe her father was just as strict?

“Jack?” I hear a familiar female voice.
“What?”
“Can you hear me? It’s Erin.”
“Of course I can. But didn’t you die?”
“I wish I could see you smile again. I don‘t like the way they have you in here. It doesn’t look comfortable at all.”
“Are you a ghost?”
I realize that the room is burning to embers. All I have left is a circle of wood under my feet. I was wrong earlier. Something is wrong. Maybe it’s just nerves. It’s not often you meet a ghost. Especially at the end of the world.

“You have my permission, under one condition. Give her the normal life she’s wanted so much. You can have her. If you don’t promise me that, she won’t have anyone to turn to, though. She’s no longer my daughter.” That’s not exactly what I wanted to hear, but at least she’d be away from him. I knew the stuff he did to her, but none of it could be proven. Being in the circus offered plenty of excuses for the cuts, burns, and bruises, all equally as believable.
I promised I’d do that for her, then added, “Now go to Hell, where you’ll be welcomed with open arms.”
He broke the wine bottle he was holding and ran after me. I slammed the front door in his face and ran off. The coroner ruled it as a suicide and I’m still not sure whether I regret it or not.

“Will he ever come out of it?” Her voice is quieter, like she’s turned to someone else.
“Out of what?” I say.
A nearly inaudible voice makes its way to me. “I don’t think so.”
“Who is that?” I ask. I don’t know why; I don’t seem to be getting responses.
“Then…pull the plug. I don’t want him to live like a vegetable.”
I…it’s…no, that can‘t be right! I can feel my lungs deflating and my body melting. She’s giving up on me like everyone else? I’m awake!
“I didn’t want to see him die before me. We’re not even married yet.”
I don‘t hear all of what the other person says, but I realize this is it. “Time of death…”

Queen of Diamonds

DISCLAIMER: This is the shortened form of a MUCH longer story, so I had to cut it down for class requirements. This is NOT the title of the original work, nor is it anything like it. I HATE this version of it, but I'm going to post a LOT of work on here, so expect a little crap to slip through. If you like it, fine, but I don't.

Queen of Diamonds

It is night time. A theatre sat between two other stores. Inside, a local acting company is performing Macbeth. The part of Macbeth is played by a traveling, Irish actor by the name of Liam Danby.
The janitor, Pepper Eriksson, says she is an usher to people backstage. She slides up to Liam backstage and abruptly asks him to marry her.
“No. Leave me alone and go back to doing whatever it is strange girls like you do.” He walks to his dressing room. Pepper runs around the stage and to his dressing room, where she has time to sit before he arrives a few seconds later.
"I'm not moving until you agree to marry me. I've been sitting here long enough to decide on that! You were supposed to run here to meet me right before I sat down!"
"Let me explain this to you. I just finished doing my job and I want to go to my dressing room. Some random girl asks me to marry her and a few seconds later, she's in front of my dressing room door, trying to threaten me with not moving.” Liam sees no reaction from Pepper and sighs. “Do I need to say that I will get security to take you out of here?"
"I'm not going to move. There's nothing you can say to get me to move out of this spot other than 'I love you and I want you to marry me!'"
Seconds later, she is escorted out of the theatre and is told to go home by her co-workers. Liam enters his dressing room and sees a hastily scribbled letter on his desk. It reads:

Liam,
Assassins have been hired to kill you. I suggest that you find a place to stay and keep yourself off-stage for a while. -Pierre
Liam raises an eyebrow. “This isn’t the first time you’ve told this to me, Pierre,” he says to himself, “but did you ask that same schizophrenic fortuneteller this time?”
He leaves the dressing room and walks toward his agent's office, but stops when he sees a group of armed people outside the office. They start running toward him and shooting. He turns and runs around a corner and out onto Broadway. He turns left and continues running.
Pepper is still walking home. “Why didn’t he say yes? We’re perfect for each other!”
A nameless citizen bumps into her and doesn't apologize. She turns around. Liam is running toward her. She runs to him and tackle-hugs him.
"I knew you'd change your mind, sweetie! Come on, let's go to my apartment! We have lots of plans to make! We have to buy rings, pick out our wedding colors and songs..."
Liam’s face contorts. "Do you think we could hurry? There are some people chasing me that want the same thing."
"They want...Oh! There is no way I’m letting that happen! Come on! It's this way!"
They run a few blocks to her apartment. When they arrive, Pepper opens the door and pushes Liam inside. He finds his footing in the middle of her living room, which has no decoration except numerous vases of flowers and pictures of him.
"So, honey, where do you want to get married? Theoretically, we can get married wherever we want. We can get married in..."
"I still don't want to marry you. Those people weren't chasing me for the same reason you were. They were hired to kill me. I just need somewhere to hide that they wouldn't think of looking for me."
"You don't want to marry me? But you ran after me when they kicked me out! You made me take you here, to my apartment! You just wanted me for tonight?"
"When did I say that? I don't want you at all! I'm running from people who were hired to ki-" He takes her arm and tries to pull her with him, but she hesitates.
"Yeah, yeah, whatever. No one is out to get you! You're not THAT famous! Well, you are, but no one would want to kill you! You're too perfect."
"That's not what these people think. Someone had to hire them." He tries to run again, but she remains steadfast.
"Sweetie, I don't see how anyone would want to kill someone like you. Your first story made more sense. I'll let you invite whoever you want to our wedding. I think I'll invite all my friends. I hope we can get enough money...we're going to have at least four hundred guests. I wonder what they'll get us. What do you want them to get us?"
"I don't know.” He says with extreme frustration. “They can all get us blenders for all I care! I want to be alive for a wedding! If you haven't forgotten, there are assassins hired to kill me!"
"What would we do with that many blenders, silly? I'm thinking silverware, dishes, silver toothpicks, houses, matching scooters; you know, just the essentials."
Liam scoffs, but says nothing as he looks through her kitchen cupboards, which are immaculately organized.
"Oh, we'll have to meet each other's parents. Are you free tomorrow?"
"Really, I don't want to bring your parents into this like I did to you. My parents are probably being watched by the assassins, so it's not safe there."
"Let me guess, the next thing you'll say is that you can't sign the lease 'cause they'll find you. Tha-"
"You're right! I can't stay here if I have to sign my name anywhere!"
"As I was saying: That's just ridiculous. There aren't people coming to get you. That's just butterflies in that cute tummy of yours, sweetie. Come on, if they really wanted to find you, they could just threaten my boss. He's easy to scare. He'd tell them I was talking to you and they'd find out where I lived. They'd probably already be here!"
Liam jumps up from the chair he's perched himself in. "I doubt it, but they could have followed me more closely than I thought. We have to get out of here. Now. Get up!" He pulls Pepper up from her chair, "Look, I don't even know your name and already I've gotten you into a dangerous situation. I'm sorry, but I have to go now!"
"Pepper. My name is Pepper. And, sweetie, we're together now, so we do things TO-," she pulls his arm off of hers, "GETH-," she moves as close as she can to him, "ER," she takes his hands in hers, "I know a great place to hide. I haven't told anyone about it, so I know they won't look for us there. We'll have a great story to tell the kids, won't we?"
He looks at her. "Kids?”
"Yeah, I forgot to tell you. We're going to have lots and lots of little Liams and Peppers, only they won't be called Liam and Pepper, of course. They'll be Katie, James, Lily, George…" her voice trails off as she realizes Liam is only nodding because he's waiting for a moment to tell her to shut up. She looks up at him sweetly to imply she'll have to tell him all about their many, many children when they're not minutes away from people who want to kill them.
They leave through the fire escape. When they get to the bottom, Liam jumps down and starts leaving the alley.
“You can’t get there without me!” Pepper says, just loud enough for him to hear.
Liam sighs and returns to the bottom of the fire escape. Pepper slides off the edge and nearly knocks him to the ground.
“Have you gained weight since the last time I saw you?”
“I’m not fat, silly! That’s a good thing, though. You’ll have to carry me to my secret place.” Pepper holds her feet up to show that she has no shoes on.
“You can still walk.” Liam slid out from under Pepper and rose to his feet. Pepper pouts on the ground.
“Fine, if that’s what it takes. You whine too much.”
“And you’re mean. I‘d tell you where we‘re going, but the ‘assassins’ might hear us. Just start walking that way.” She points up the street. As they round the corner, they see the assassins and Liam gets a quick look at one he assumes is the leader. Is that...no, he may be a poor loser, but he'd never kill anyone.

Liam and Pepper arrive at an abandoned hardware store.
“This is it? I walk seven miles for a hardware store?”
“Yep! And we would have been found if you hadn’t switched streets so many times!”
Pepper unlocks the door with a key hanging from an silver chain around her neck. Inside is a room filled with empty shelves, a counter with a broken cash register, and dust.
“Don’t leave any marks on anything, okay? He’ll kill me if anyone finds this place.”
“Who is he?”
“You’ll see! Take me to the back of the counter.”
“Looking for money in the register? I don’t think you’ll find much in there.”
Pepper looks at him, but says nothing. She flips a switch under the counter and the floor in the back of the store drops down, forming stairs. Liam carries her down.
“He’s down here. He’ll make sure we’re completely different people. Completely illegal, but he’s done it so much, no one can tell the difference. Fake Ids, new names, new birth records, even. He does it all.”
“So I’m not the only person you’re unnaturally obsessed with?”
“Oh, no, no. He’s not my type. I want someone with a legal job.”
Liam chuckles and walks through a door at the end of the long hallway. They hear the stairs behind them rise up and return to being a floor. The first thing they both notice is the room is completely empty.
“No! He’d never leave without telling me! Something’s wrong! Let‘s go back.”
“Maybe he did. It’s still safer here than at your apartment.”
“Maybe not. If he left without telling anyone, he would have had to have been threatened pretty badly. He’s really good at getting himself out of danger, so either the cops finally found him after all these years or he was in more danger than he could sweet-talk his way out of.”
“Let’s just stay here. You’re just scaring yourself. Besides, I can’t carry you anymore.” He puts her down on the floor, which is peculiarly dusty for him having been here as recently as Pepper had implied.
“How long ago do you think he left?”
“No idea; he always covers his tracks. He could have dusted the floor and left within a few minutes.”
Liam walks to the other end of the room and looks at the one thing still on the wall; a small niche with a miniature statue of Nabu, the Babylonian god of writing and wisdom.
“I’ve seen this statue before. I doubt this one’s an original, but I saw one like it when I went to London once. Did he ever do anything with this?”
“No. There was a painting over it before. Why?”
“Well, wouldn’t you think someone as secretive as him would use it to hide a secret entrance?”
“This isn’t a story! You act like it would be easy to make something like that!”
“Well, let’s see.” He turns the statue. Nothing happens. He picks it up. It still had no effect.
“I told you so. He wouldn't do something that obvious, anyway. Put it back in and push. I If it works, I'll leave you alone forever.”
Liam smiles and frantically puts it back where it was. Nothing happens. Pepper stands up and puts her arms around him.
“You don’t need to do that.” He says, but doesn’t attempt to stop her. “Why are we wasting our time here, anyway? Let’s…er…”
“Where will we go?”
“You can’t go anywhere at all, miss.” A new arrival to the room says. “We’re all here, by the way. Don’t think you can get out.”
“Couldn’t you guys be less predictable?” Pepper said, turning around to face the man in the door. “If I were stalking him, I’d wait until he wasn’t expecting it to jump out and say boo.”
“She's telling the truth, Jim. That's what she did.”
“Shut up! Just shut up! I was considering letting the girl go.” He walks closer and holds Pepper’s chin up with the end of a pistol. She moves his arm away with her own. Liam stands in front of her defiantly.
“Ah, so you’ve picked up a girlfriend since we last met. I won‘t say you don‘t have taste, but you don‘t change, do you?”
“She’s not part of this. Let her go and live in peace.” Liam says.
“I think I should have some fun with this. This started with a gamble. Let’s end it with one. There’s only one way she’s leaving here. Hold them, Thom! Andy!” A man takes both of Pepper’s wrists, followed by another who holds Liam. “Now it looks fair. Ready? This'll be just like old times!”
“You’re still bitter over that?” Liam says.
“Oh, no. I’d almost forgotten about it before Mr. Krieg hired me.”
“Krieg? He always did have all that money and his promises.” Liam tries to fight his way out of Andy's arms, but to no avail.
“He pays better than all the games you won in the pub back home. That reminds me, it’s time for a game.” Jim reaches into his pocket. “I’m only doing this because you’re a good lad and, me being the generous man I am, I want to give you a chance to choose who lives and who dies. Before you say anything, I won‘t give you the chance to be noble and take the bullet or be a selfish coward and kill her.
“I know what you'd say if I did.” Jim takes a deck of cards out from his pocket and shuffles them. When he’s done, he fans them out, face down, in front of Liam. “If the card is red, she lives. If it’s black, you do. Simple game. To make this a little more fun…” Jim takes out all but two cards and puts them back in his pocket. “Let’s hope you get your way.”
Liam hesitates, but gets elbowed in the back by Andy. “This is cruel.”
“I was paid to kill you. Do you really think I care? I need to have some fun or I'd go crazy. Now, pick a card or I will.” Jim waits and gets no response from Liam. “My choice, then.”
Jim draws the Queen of Diamonds. He laughs like a silent movie villain before shooting Liam twice in the chest. “You're cut is thirty percent, Pep.”
“I want thirty-five, honey!” Pepper whines as they all leave the room.

Iron Cross

DISCLAIMER: This work depicts a Nazi and is excessively violent. I do not recommend it for anyone who won't tolerate that for its graphic imagery. I do not support Nazis, nor do I support violence. Also, a note about the beginning: Yes, Alicia's a little bit of an idiot. I apologize for that ahead of time. I got a lot of flak for that. I don't think of women as stupid, as I regard them to be above men in every aspect.

Iron Cross

Alicia bowed her head, frowning while texting someone from work, “Nothing big ever happens to me. Am I being too hard on myself? I know everyone says I am, but I have quite possibly the most boring life,” she chuckled nervously to herself, even though no one was paying attention to her; it was Happy Hour.
Suddenly, a man wearing a black hooded jacket appeared next to her in the pub, put his hand on her shoulder, and looked deeply into her eyes. Clearly in shock, she said nothing to him, but in her mind she was ranting and all of her thoughts became a cacophony of frustration: What a freak why is he touching me I wish he'd get his hand off of my shoulder make him go away who am I kidding that's it I've had it!
She pushed his hand off her shoulder and stood up. She hadn't realized how much height the bar stools gave her until she noticed she could barely reach his shoulder. She also hadn't realized how much she'd had to drink. She fell into him. He stroked her soft, brown hair, but with the face of a mortician preparing a corpse. He looked vaguely familiar, but she didn't know why. Alicia stood, dumbfoundedly staring at him. The back of his middle finger moved along the crease of her lips and onto her cheek. She was confused and terrified and she could tell he sensed it. She shook her head violently.
“Uh...um...excu-excuse me? Could you-- could you please stop?” she stuttered, taking one shaky step backward. She nearly fell as her foot caught a leg of the barstool. He followed her and the only move she could make was to sit in the chair, “Stop! Get away!”
He started laughing and stopped caressing Alicia's face. Then, he lowered his hood and Alicia saw his blue eyes shining brightly under his thick, blond eyebrows. He smiled, showing the brightest natural-looking teeth she'd ever seen; they were so bright you could almost see a cartoonish gleam in them. He leaned calmly against the bar.
“I was checking you out,” he said casually, “but I'm not interested in you. You look like you might have certain-” he paused in thought- “ancestry. You see, I've spent my life looking for people like y--”
“I'm not interested. Leave me alone and crawl back in your hole.”
“You don't look in mirrors a lot, do you? Look at your eyes; look at Cleopatra's! Feel the texture of your hair! You have the lips of a middle eastern queen!” He smelled the air by Alicia's left ear and told the bartender, “she even smells like royalty!”
The bartender rolled his eyes, but Alicia saw him continue to watch as he served the others. She saw him calling someone just as the man looked at him.
“You don't think she could be royalty? That's not very respectful,” he said as he shook his head in mock disgust.
This guy is scaring the hell out of me, but at least something interesting is finally happening in my life! Oh well, might as well go along with it. He can't be too dangerous, can he?
The man looked back at Alicia and said, “Hmm...would you be interested in being a model? I'm here looking for pretty girls like you for a spot in a huge fashion magazine. Bring your own clothes, though. That's a great look! Perfect for your eyes! You might even be able to pass as an actress! You know, that one...er...what's her name again?”
“Liv Tyler? Yeah, I ge'that a lot.” Maybe he's not so bad. He's just the touchy-feely type. Well, if he's a talent agent or something, I don't want to miss this chance! Alicia stood up and drunkenly waved to bartender.
Outside, the man entered his car. He unlocked her door from the inside and pushed it open. He backed out, left the parking lot, and went to the nearest highway.
“Excu-” she said inaudibly. She cleared her throat and started again, “Excuse me; where'jur shtudio, exactically? And who're you?” She saw his combat boots when she looked at him, but assumed he was just one of those eccentric fashion types.
“My name is Igby,” he said, sounding more focused on his driving than on his passenger.
She could tell by the expression on his face that he wasn't going to tell her, even if she begged. Where have I seen him before? That name is so familiar; like someone I went out with or...wanted to go out with...maybe that's it. But if that's what it was, then why didn't I recognize him earlier? And how many Igbys can there be? Why don't I even feel a connection with him? Eh, I'd have remembered if it was anything important. My head's too foggy to think that far back anyway.

Almost a full hour later, they reached a small log cabin located near the summit of a small mountain. The car groaned disapprovingly as Igby turned the key, which at some point had been welded into its slot. Alicia got out of the car before Igby and starting running toward the “studio”, but stopped halfway, since the door was probably locked.
“Get into the house!” Igby commanded her. As if this wasn't enough, he pulled a Walther PPK/S from inside his jacket. She ran to the door and pulled it open. Igby kicked her in the back and she fell to the floor after a quick stumble.
“Stand up!”
When she was on her knees, he kicked her down again. She hit her head on the hearth of the fireplace, which looked big enough to lie down in. Blood rolled down her face.
“I said 'Stand up,'” he yelled through gritted teeth.
She tried to stand again and he kicked her another time. This time, she hit her head on one of the logs. She turned to face him while she was still on the ground. He kicked her in the chest and held his foot there, pushing as hard as he could, cutting off her breathing. She now saw he wore combat boots and--
“You're--” She coughed up a little blood, unable to finish her sentence.
“Yes, I am. You didn't recognize me? You always were slow.”
Now she remembered him! Ignatius “Igby” Kunze. Highest grades, greatest shape, most popular, all he needed was fame and he'd be perfect. Fame and a friendly personality. To think I actually envied him! Everyone in the middle school knew him. How did I forget him? He hated me then, too. Just like now, he'd beat me up and get away with it because no one was there to see it.
The worst time, he'd locked me in a locker and didn't let me out the whole day. He let me out when the school bell rang and forced me into a teachers' restroom; specifically the one no teacher ever used, so the janitors rarely came to clean it.
He threw me into one of the stalls and slammed my head into the toilet. He kicked me until I blacked out. Before I was completely gone, I heard him say “If you tell on me, I'll do this again. My family will go to your house and kill you and your family, y...”
The next day, one of the janitors who'd been forced to clean that bathroom found me in a pool of my own blood. My parents had at least called the police to look for me, but I wouldn't tell them what had happened. I was an idiot! Obviously, I still am or I wouldn't be in this mess right now.

“You remember now, don't you?” his words were poison, so Alicia didn't answer. He continued, “You thought I'd get into trouble if you told them, didn't you? Hmph, you're just as worthless and pathetic as you were then. This'll be easy work for me, then. You have no one to tell and no one will know you're dead; you're just another missing person.” He laughed diabolically.
Alicia weakly attempted to move her legs, but couldn't. When he'd kicked her chest, the pressure on her chest from his foot and the edge of the hearth on her back must have damaged her spine. She knew Igby could sense it. She tried to hide it, but he could see the pain on her face. She leaned forward and bit his leg; if she was going to die anyway, she at least wanted him to feel some pain. Unfortunately, he was wearing combat boots. Why didn't I see that earlier?` He kicked her in the chin with the would-be injured leg, knocking her out cold.

She woke up some time later to immense pain. While she was out, Igby had tied up both of her legs to keep her from running and used a chair to prop her up in front of the fireplace; she could feel the edge pushing sharply into her ribs. She saw him eating something calmly next to her. He looked too calm. Why hasn't he thrown me into the fire, yet? Does he want to hear me scream? She saw him look at her and smirk.
“Would you like some chicken? I'll give you the drumsticks,” he said, chuckling sadistically at his own joke.
He held the plate out again. Alicia gagged on blood she was still coughing up. In excruciating pain, she reached over for the food he offered her. It's not like he'd kill me in a boring way, like poisoning the food. As she neared the plate, he pushed her face away forcefully, almost making her and the chair fall.
“I guess you don't,” he said, “and I wouldn't want to make you eat something you don't want. I'm not that cruel, though I have to admit I have always liked watching your kind suffer. Blame my parents for that one.” he chuckled a little and knelt in front of her. He looked in her eyes and whispered, “I lied earlier. I really hate your kind; you're all subhuman shit.” He kicked the chair out from behind her back and she hit the ground with a loud thud.
She weakly punched him in the chest and held his jacket. He slapped her hard enough to leave an instant red hand print on her face and force her to let go of his jacket.
“It's not nice to hit! If I could get up and fight you, I would! I'd win, too!”
“Hmm...not a smart thing to say.” He reached for his gun, but couldn't find it. He turned to look for it where he'd been sitting.
“Found you!” A man yelled as he burst through the door.
Before Igby could turn fully around to see who was there, Alicia heard a loud noise and saw a fresh wound open spontaneously in Igby's stomach. He stumbled backward from the force of the shotgun, tripping over the hearth into the ravenous flame. A log from the side landed on him as soon as he hit the others. He threw it toward Alicia, but overestimated its weight. It hit the other man hard in the head, knocking him unconscious, then rolled into a wall. Igby tried to get up and out of the flames, but the logs kept breaking under his weight, making them jackknife into his sides, pinning him in.
Alicia saw the other man, who she identified as the bartender, and pulled herself toward him. She used an ax on the wall and used the blade to cut the ropes around her legs, deliberately avoiding swinging it. The door was starting to ignite, which would be much more useful if she could only kick it down, but her legs were too weak to stand on still. She took the bartender's shotgun and shot the lower hinge, which had yet to be burned by the flames. She through the empty shotgun to the side and heard it stop earlier than it should have. She looked to see Igby engulfed in flame standing next to her.
“I've never lost a single person! If I die, you die!” He kicked her hard in the kidney. She grabbed the shotgun and swung it at his knees. He fell to the ground and, with every ounce of adrenaline running through her body, she stood up shakily and repetitively beat his head with the butt of gun. She leaned on the door, which fell easily. She pulled the bartender out and away from the house.
“I kind of liked that. I wonder what he meant when he said he'd never lost a single person...”
She dragged the bartender into the car and drove off. A little ways down the road, she heard him wake up. She saw him look at her and begin to speak.
“I saved you back there. I should be driving,” he said weakly.
“You got hit with a flaming log. Go back to sleep.”
“You know why I saved you, don't you?”
“Because it was the right thing to do. Thanks.”
“No. It was part of my deal with him. It was my turn to kill someone.”

Edge of the Flames

DISCLAIMER: This story contains brief references to hallucinogenic drugs. I don't support their usage, but it was important for this story. I would also like to say that this is the first story I wrote for a class, so it kinda sucks compared to my novels and such. I also have to say this for those who haven't figured it out: Blogger does not like extra space before each line, so you'll have to tolerate the formatting.


Edge of the Flames

Seiko was always a cruel-natured yet pretty young woman. On many occasions, this brought misfortune to those close to her.
It was a particularly hot morning (if you could call the beginning of a day in 180 days of night a morning); hot enough to almost melt the ever-present ice and snow. Seiko and her closest friend (close enough that most would call her Seiko’s lover), Mai, were in a local casino, not gambling, but selling “an uncontrolled substance” (LSD laced with arsenic) to anyone stupid enough to buy it, while hidden behind Confucius masks. As usual, they sold out and disappeared before cops could show up to arrest them (the doughnut shop was next door…which was some distance away). The only difference between this time and all the others is that instead of hiding in their usual alley a mile away, they went to unfamiliar territory: A children’s ice-fort. It stood high enough that there could easily be a second floor and big enough to have at least one hundred children packed into it (assuming, of course, someone could get one hundred children of average size to stand still and stand shoulder to shoulder, front to back).
They still wore their masks (instead of putting them in their back pockets, like everyone else…if everyone had Confucius masks) as they approached the fort’s entrance and were greeted by ice-spear-wielding children on ground level and children above armed with snowballs (no doubt filled with jagged ice chunks). There was only one sentence to which any child, even the violent ones, would surrender and Seiko knew exactly what it was.
“We have candy.”
The snowball-wielders backed down and disappeared, but the spearmen did not. They told them to wait for the inspector. This was common practice for Antarctic children. The least-liked child (as elected by the child-king) was to go to the gate to visually and orally inspect all candy brought by new people. Luckily for the guinea pig, attacks on children were becoming increasingly rarer. This time was no exception, so Seiko and Mai were granted access to this “grand fortress”. Once inside, they removed their masks (a definite improvement in the eyes of some of the older boys, who were also the only ones who could have recognized the faces either on or in the masks). They were escorted to the child-king, a boy of twelve (the age of resignation, unfortunately for him. Thirteen was the point of “death”), and his queen (which she preferred to be called, as she was also everyone else’s queen, so it made her sound more important), a girl of eleven. The heavy coats of the mock royalty were clearly passed down for decades and were both yellowed and full of holes. Both majesties recognized the faces of the two girls immediately, despite not having seen them for nearly five years.
After a brief conversation and a secret business agreement (which contains details that have so far eluded your author’s ears), Seiko and Mai left the throne room. They had no more candy and had a giant bag of money, so they gave in to their impulses and left the fort. They had no particular destination in mind, so they elected to enter the proverbial third door on the left. Unfortunately for them, it was a restricted building to which they didn’t have age-access. Had this merely been a month later, Seiko could have entered. Instead, they were pulled by their scarves toward the metaphorical curb by a giant of a man in blue-dyed furs; the sign of a rent-a-cop.
They were surprised it was so easy for them to be found with their scarves up to their noses and their white, furry coats covering the rest, but it wasn’t their intent to be unnoticed. The guard who was “assisting” them out of the store caught a brief glimpse of Seiko’s blue-gray eyes. Instead of throwing the two girls out, he brought them to a dark room with a dim lamp, an antique wooden desk, and four matching chairs. Despite being a dark room on a windowless outside wall, the room had to be an easy twenty degrees warmer than it was outside.
Naturally, the girls removed their scarves and coats once the rent-a-cop left (locking the door behind him).
“How are we getting out of this, Mai? Why’d you get us caught?! Aren’t you the intelligent one?” Seiko yelled, hoping anyone outside the door would interpret that as, “Why’d you get us caught for coming into this store?”
“It wasn’t just me! It was BOTH of us! And I even if I am the intelligent one, you’re the pretty one! I wish I was as pretty as you!”
“Oh, stop it, Mai. We both know you’re only saying this to get me to admit it’s my fault. We also both know it’s not my fault. I’m completely innocent!”
“Ah, you two are still here. I’m surprised you haven’t managed to escape yet, like all those times at the casino,” a man had walked in unnoticed, somehow having opened the lock silently. He wore a fitted black suit and a tie, which looked very strange in such a wintery environment, “that is, if you’ll admit to that, yet. You dropped your mask; I found it right outside the door.”
“Admit to what? Why would we be at a casino? Do we look like the gambling type? And even if we were, gambling’s not illegal! Besides, I don’t even know what kind of mask you’re talking about.”
“Let’s see; it’s a Confucius mask. I saw you wearing it at the casino. Two girls in Confucius masks walking around with a giant bag of money. I don’t know how I could possibly believe that was suspicious at all! Where did you get all that money?”
“My name is Mai Odagiri. If you’d bother to check, you’ll see that my family is very rich. I just wanted to go out and spend some of my allowance and time with my friend, Seiko Yagi. So now you know our names, our relationship, that I have a wealthy family, and that we like philosophy. Need anything else? We’re ready to go.”
“What were you doing in this store? You’re not old enough to be in here.”
“We decided to go into the third store on the left when we were walking through the ice field. I’m almost old enough! In a month, I’ll be eighteen. Isn’t that close enough! And…why exactly does this store have an interrogation room?”
“Well…it’s technically not an interrogation room. It’s…not important. You two could have waited until Mai was old enough. You two are still too young to come in here. When you saw that you weren’t old enough, you should have gone to the fourth door on the left. Now, are you going to admit to what you’ve done? We already know you did it, we just want proof. And right now, you’re digging yourself a hole so deep that you couldn’t get out of it if you had wings.”
“Fine. I’ll admit it for both of us. We, Seiko Yagi and Mai Odagiri, admit we walked into a place we’re not legally allowed entrance to yet and were caught. There, happy? Do we have to do time for that, too? I mean, accidents like this shouldn’t be a crime.”
“You know that’s not what I’m talking about. You’ve been poisoning people. I bought some of your,” he hesitated with a look of utter disgust on his clean-shaven face, “product. I had it tested. There’s arsenic in it. Admit you did it, now.”
“You bought drugs? Shouldn’t someone like you be a good role model? You should probably go to rehab instead of abducting minors to talk to about your drug use. It’s a little weird. You should let us leave so you can do that, ‘k?”
“I bought it to have testing done on it. But, sure, why not let you go,” there was a very powerful (and pungent) scent of sarcasm (or maybe it was sweat) emitted from the interrogator, “and why didn’t we just let Dahmer and Manson go decades ago? That sounds like a great idea! Well, as they say, ‘hindsight’s 20/20.’”
“Umm…we’re not crazies like them! You just happened to see us near a casino and thought you saw us do something, but it was really some other kids wearing masks just like ours. They sell those masks in a lot of stores. If you want one that badly, we’ll take you to the store where we bought them. It’s, like, not even a mile from here.”
“Fine, fine. Then it’s just a coincidence that the dealers were two females in fluffy white coats and Confucius masks carrying a bag exactly like that one, got it.”
“Good, now can we go? We want to go home. There’s no proof we did anything, since we didn’t do anything. You can’t hold innocent people! That’s not fair,” Seiko whined, a crocodile tear running down her cheek, “if we wanted to get blamed for something, we’d do it!”
“You can’t go home until you spend time in prison. I know you’re guilty. You’ve already accidentally admitted to it.”
“We didn’t do anything! We’ve been too busy! Ask the kids at the main ice-fort! We’ve been with them all morning!”
“I’ll do that. My kid plays there. He left right after you two did so I could bring him to work today. I can go outside and ask him. You two stay in here; I’ll be right back,” he said as he left, locking the door behind him.
“He’s probably just going to stand outside the door, listening for us to admit something, then he’ll make up something he thinks his son would say.”
Seiko suddenly stood up. She walked quickly but silently to the door and put her ear against it. All she heard was the loud rock music from the store.
“If he’s out there, he’s too quiet. Maybe he really is going to ask his son. But why’d he bring his son to this store?”
She heard the door unlock and jumped backward, still with both hands and feet on the floor. She barely managed to scramble into the chair before the cop turned around.
“He said you paid them off. You gave them candy to stay quiet.”
“What?! That liar! Why would he say something like that?! You need to teach him some manners. And why did you bring him in this store if we can’t even be here? You’re a horrible father, you know that?”
“He hasn’t left the car, but my parenting skills aren’t in question here! As I recall, you’re the one who commanded me to ask him. Why don’t you get your coat on and come with me to the station, Mai? He didn’t say anything specifically about you Seiko. You’re free to go.”
“Why are you letting her go?! I didn’t do anything, either! Your son’s probably not even in the car! You’re making it up! If he is out there, you probably bribed him with candy to make him say we were innocent!”
The cop took Mai’s arm and pulled her up, ignoring her insubordinate remarks and dodging her fist. He let go and ordered her to get her coat on and cooperate with him. She bowed her head in submission and started to put it on, then turned, jumped at him, and stole his gun. She quickly turned the safety off and pointed it at him.
“I’m not going to jail,” at first, Mai was deep in thought and looked confused, but she soon refocused her attention on the cop and smiled, “and I’m not guilty!”
“If you weren’t before, you are now.”
“Mai, you don’t want to do this! Come on, you’re being childish. I thought you were the intelligent one, but you’re doing something I would do,” Seiko looked concerned and backed off. Her nerves were quickly making her feel sick.
“I am not being childish! I’m serious, Seiko! I’m not going to jail and making my family look bad! I’m not ready to suffer through prison the rest of my life! Take this off my record and I’ll let you live,” Mai yelled, but she was starting to feel guilty already.
All of a sudden, as if he was watching the whole time, the rent-a-cop burst through the door carrying a standard-issue pistol and shot Mai three times in the chest. Seiko ran over to Mai and looked down at her.
“Mai! Get up! Getupgetupgetup! Don’t die! You’re not allowed to die! Listen to me! I…never told you…”
“She’s dead, Seiko.”
“She can’t be! I forbid it! I need to tell her I love her,” Seiko hesitated for a second before yelling, “I did it! I poisoned them! Let that get out in the news! Tell everyone she’s innocent! He should go to jail for shooting an innocent person!”
“That’s not how this works, young lady. You see, she was guilty. You were innocent. So is this man here. He killed a violent criminal. He did his job. You see, I control the law. I’m not going to make an innocent person guilty. It doesn’t work like that. A cop can’t be guilty for killing someone if that person was about to kill a fellow officer.”
“So the law is so corrupt that the person who admits guilt and a murderer can go free and the person who gets killed is marked as a criminal?”
“It’s not corruption. There was proof she was guilty. There’s not enough to say you are. Besides, who begs to go to jail? Just because she was guilty and died doesn’t mean you should go to jail. Go home and get some rest…maybe even some psychological help. We’ll contact your school and explain everything to them if you want. We can even call your parents and tell them. Just ask.”
Seiko removed her forehead from Mai’s and walked angrily up to the interrogator. She barely came up to the middle of his chest, but fury in her eyes was no less threatening than if she were Satan himself, “her record will be clean and she will be innocent. Just because that murderer is a cop doesn’t mean he shouldn’t be tried for killing Mai.”
“He was protecting me. Preservation of life is seen as a redeeming quality…at least in the eyes of the law. He was doing his duty as an officer,” the interrogator was starting to feel a little frightened by the girl, but didn’t thing she’d do anything to him now that her friend was dead. The rent-a-cop tightened his grip on his gun, hoping he wouldn’t have to shoot anyone again, “now, go home, Seiko. Sleep this off and you can go see a shrink afterward. I’m sorry she had to die, but there’s really no way I can convince you of that. I understand.”
“Then kill me, too. I am just as guilty as her and I could kill you before he could point his gun if I really wanted to,” She ran to Mai and pointed her gun at the interrogator, “and if you shoot me, you’ll have two deaths on your mind…not that you’ll care or anything. We’re not cops after all,” She stood up with the gun still aimed at the intended target. The other cop raised his gun instinctively. Several shots were fired and a second body fell to the floor.