Bloom

“I’ve been a wild rover for many a year” she declared, barely glancing up from the letter. “Or, at least, that’s how my mom described it.”

“Whatever. She’s probably begging you to come home again, right?” Jordan sneered and giggled to herself. “As if! We have plans. You can’t bail on me now, Peggs.”

Peggy finished reading her mom’s letter and folded it carefully, placing it in her suitcase while Jordan wasn’t looking. Jordan didn’t even read her letters anymore; she usually just burned them and threw the ashes out a train window. They certainly did have plans- they always did. That’s what stopped Peggy from going home, even though she was starting to long for the cozy, familiar warmth of her bed back in Washington. Her life was always exciting and new, but sometimes she really missed a more familiar sound.

“Why, Miss Gordon! You simply must get ready at once, or we shall be late for the ball!”

Jordan’s fake British accent wasn’t as good as she seemed to think it was, but she was right. Peggy did have to get ready- but certainly not for any ball. As far as Peggy could tell from the posters they often passed by on the busy streets in Munich, it was more of a rave.

As Peggy dug in her bag for her favorite dress, she thought back on her mom’s letter. Maybe she should think about going back home soon. Over four years ago, when she was 18, Peggy hopped in her car in the dead of night and drove until she ran out of gas. She hitchhiked to the airport and paid for a flight to Vienna with her savings from working as a lifeguard through high school. Since then, she had been wandering the continent (roving, as her mom would say) trying to soak in all that Europe had to offer. She worked where she could, but never stayed in one city more than a week. She mostly got the feeling she had to keep moving, but other times she felt like she should go live in her childhood bedroom in the attic of their cabin-like home in the woods.

“Wild rover indeed,” Jordan suddenly muttered under her breath, clearly more bothered by the phrase than Peggy. “If anyone would call you wild, it would only be because you were following after me.”

A few months ago, Peggy found herself in Naples and there, in a small hostel, she met Jordan. Since then, the two had traveled together. Jordan was certainly wild, to say the least. She had been forced into a marriage with a man who… well, Jordan described him in words Peggy had never dared to say aloud. He wasn’t very nice, to say the least. The night before the wedding, she ran off with his credit card and flew from New York to Rome. She had traveled across Europe leaving a trail of broken hearted boyfriends behind her in the same way Peggy had left friends, books, and memories behind. Neither was entirely sure of why they bothered to stick together, but living with Jordan certainly kept Peggy’s travels interesting. Without her, Peggy never would have agreed to this rave, nor to the occasional dine-and-dashing that they had become infamous for.

“You’re going like THAT?” Jordan stumbled over in her skin tight dress and platform shoes to look at Peggy’s dress up close.

“Well, why not?” Peggy said, all too used to Jordan’s criticism.

“It’s not an English tea party!”

Peggy ignored her and calmly braided back her long red hair and slipped into her favorite pair of flats, spinning a few times so her dress flounced out playfully.

“Don’t get mad when all the German boys flock to me then” Jordan said nonchalantly.

“I never do,” whispered Peggy.

As they walked down the street, Peggy suddenly heard a familiar tune and started humming along. As they came closer, she saw a cozy little pub called “Fields of Athenry” sporting an Irish flag along with the German. She longed to walk in and pass an evening listening to the jigs and eating corned beef, but Jordan grabbed her hand and pulled her away.

“I swear, wherever you go around the world, you find an Irish pub,” she growled.

Peggy sighed, but followed along. A few blocks later, another type of song caught her ear, but this one wasn’t as welcoming. The bass was so loud she felt the ground shake, or at least imagined it to. The second they ran past the bouncers, Jordan scanned the room, found an attractive boy on the floor, and ran to dance with him without a glance at Peggy.

“See you tomorrow,” Peggy tried to scream, but failed to beat out the noise around her.

She considered turning around to find that pub as she edged along the back wall trying to find a place to sit. People she passed by laughed at her dress, but Peggy infinitely preferred flowers and lace over black leather and cheap glow sticks. She squeezed her way to an empty space, but not five minutes had passed before a large man in a wife beater walked over to her. Well, he stumbled toward her before standing and wobbling next to her. He spoke in fast German and tried to grab her shoulder, but she pushed him away and tried to escape. Without warning, he splashed the rest of his drink right in her face, making her choke and sputter.

Embarrassed, miserable, and soaked with German beer, she pushed her way outside and ran to the end of the block before bursting into tears. She sat on the curb and pulled her knees to her chest, no longer caring what the world might think of her. She smelled so strongly of beer that people could probably assume she was just too drunk to hold herself together.

After a minute, she heard a timid voice directed toward her.

“F…F… Fräulein?”

She couldn’t stop herself from screaming “I DON’T SPEAK GERMAN” through her tears. She didn’t even bother to look up. In her mind, she was already mapping the quickest route to the airport to fly back to her mom’s loving arms.

“Oh, good! Neither do I.”

She glanced up and saw a man kneeling in front of her, looking anxious. She fell deep into the river of his misty blue eyes that shined far brighter than any star over Munich that night. All she could do was stare in wonder, but he didn’t seem to feel uncomfortable. Actually, he was staring at her just how she stared at him.

Finally, he spoke. “I… erm, well… I saw what happened to you. I followed you down here.”

He spoke with an accent Peggy identified as Scottish and with a voice that made her feel like melted butter.  

“I wanted to make sure you were okay. I’m Alan, by the way”

“P…Peggy,” she stammered out. “And yes, I’m fine, I’m actually great.”

She smiled up at him just as it started to rain. He offered her a hand, which she gladly took, and they ran to find shelter inside a small café. As they waited for the storm to pass, they sipped hot chocolate talked… about life, books, people, and everything. She told him her whole story of why she came to Europe, and in return, he told her why he left Edinburgh to live in Munich. The rain let up and the hot chocolate ran out, so he offered to walk her back to the hotel she had left just a few hours before with Jordan. That all felt so long ago now, like another chapter in her life that had already ended. She suddenly didn’t want to get on the train with Jordan tomorrow. In fact, she just might look for an apartment here and stay a while.

Next to the hotel stood a small woman selling flowers. Alan stopped and bought a small bouquet, then turned to look at Peggy.

“You know,” he said, “I can tell you have been wandering looking for a place to grow... but I think if you settle in one city for a while, you can find a way to bloom.”

He plucked off a small, white flower and tucked it behind her ear. The word bloom echoed in her head and engrained itself in her soul. He then leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. Peggy felt her heart soar and she clenched Alan’s hand in hers. Without another word, he turned and walked back down the street. Peggy longed to run along with him and vow to never again leave his side, but she just stood and stared.

“I think you two make a fine couple,” the woman suddenly said in harsh English. “How long have you been together?”

“Oh, not long at all,” Peggy said with a smile before turning to march up the stairs to her fourth floor room. She spent the night on her small laptop hooked to the hotel’s temperamental wifi finding a place to live and pondering how long she should wait before surprising Alan at the restaurant where he worked.

Jordan stumbled into the room at 7:26 the next morning and grabbed her bags to head to the train station.

“Good night?” Peggy asked.

“Not so good… but at least we’re heading to Berlin now, I’m sick of this town.” Jordan said bitterly.

“Well, you can go to Berlin… I’ve decided to stay here.”

After a full minute of silence, Jordan spoke. “Well, I guess we knew this day would come. It’s been great roving around with you.”

“I am so glad I met you Jordan! Drop me a line if you ever come back to Munich!”

She hugged her wild friend goodbye and watched her walk down the street and looked forward to her future, to finding Alan, and to finally having a place to bloom.

Song Credit

“Peggy Gordon” by The High Kings

“Bloom” by The Paper Kites

“The Wild Rover” by The High Kings (“I’ve been a wild rover for many a year”)

“Welcome to the Black Parade” by My Chemical Romance (“other times [she] felt like [she] should go”)

“Lost Without You” by StarKid (“[she] really miss[ed] a more familiar sound”)

“The Irish Pub” by The High Kings (“wherever you go around the world, you find an Irish pub”)

“Marie’s Wedding” by The High Kings (“brighter far [than] any star”)

Round Up: Week Four

Prompt: Write about a random mythological/fantasy creature and put them in an average, modern-day situation.

Amanda

I was given a dementor staring at a screen for hours on end. My first thoughts of staring at a screen for hours was a situation that recently finished for me- searching for a job. That seemed to fit perfectly since the dementors were laid off once Shacklebolt became the Minister of Magic, so naturally they would all resort to muggle technology to find a new job. My dementor, Nick, dreams of a life where his options extend beyond guarding prisons and working for dark wizards (and defending the ring but let’s not go there or Korrin will get angry). He needed to find a way to be himself yet live his dreams, which is truly what we all want in life.

And for the record, he would have made a wonderful princess at the happiest place on earth.

MY VOTE: Korrin

Korrin

I was given a robot/android and the situation of wishing you were in Disneyland. I was really happy I got that situation because I came up with it and if there aren’t times in your life where you just wish you were in Disneyland you are a liar liar pants on fire.  From the get go I knew that it would be a Disney robot taking over the world. Avengers: Age of Ultron just came out so it’s a given.  Mickey Mouse is the lifeblood of the Disney corporation so it came to him naturally and everything else just fell into place.  Interesting fact, to find the name Brittany I looked up  popular names from 1993 since she just got out of college, but she was smart so she did it early.  I chose a name that wasn’t one of my close friends (i.e. Amanda, Emily, Elizabeth, etc.).  

P.S. Dementors and Ring-Wraiths are not the same thing

MY VOTE: Kylie

Kylie

Let’s talk about demons, y’all.

I have been on the greatest demon kick. It used to be ghosts. Sad ghosts were behind everything I wrote because sad ghosts are the worst. You just want to hug them and tell them that everything will be okay, but you can’t because they’re ghosts. Now, the whole purpose of demons is to hurt people or scare them. And they’re evil. They have no inhibitions. That’s what makes them so fun to write, especially when they lose themselves in their own emotions.

Cyn’s name is, in fact, pronounced “sin.” I laughed for 5 minutes after coming up with that. He’s a fairly young demon, hence why his numbers are still relatively low.

This entire story was driven by the image of Cyn giving the speech, eyes flipping from the audience to his notecards faster than a speeding bullet, shaking like a leaf and pulling at his collar as he sweats like crazy. I’m extremely proud of the word count--almost 3,000 words! I NEVER write that much. This is definitely a story I want to keep on the back burner and keep working on.

EPILOGUE: The bridesmaid immediately jumps up after Cyn passes out and screams “I KNOW CPR!” Marco just laughs as Laura attempts to pull her little sister off the demon that she is not actually giving CPR to. Once Cyn wakes up, he is disgusted yet proud to discover that he was not the weirdest person at the wedding.

MY VOTE: The Kitty with a Horn

Guest Blogger--Craig Maglish

My story came from the heart. It was based on factual events, but I changed the kitty’s name from “Cat” to “Kitty” to protect the innocence of Cat.

MY VOTE: My story

Looks like this week goes to our guest blogger!

For those of you keeping score at home:

Amanda- 1

Kylie- 1

Jimlock- 1

Craig- 1

This Week’s Prompt: I am super excited and slightly terrified for this prompt. It's a little complex to get started, but I know some great stories will come out of it.
STEP ONE: Grab your ipod or any song playing device and make sure it is set on shuffle
STEP TWO: Find a song whose title is also a person's name and use that as your story's main character. You can listen to the song if you like, but make sure to click on it.
STEP THREE: From that song, skip forward five times. The song name that comes up is the title of your story. Make sure you are writing this all down somewhere.
STEP FOUR: Skip forward three times and use ANY LYRIC from that song in your story. A lyric has to be at least five words long, but you can change the wording a little if you need.
STEP FIVE: Continue skipping in sets of three until you have five songs to choose lyrics from (seven songs in all with the name and title). If you can't use them all, at least work in four of the five songs. Note: If you stop on a song without words, skip to the next song and use that. If it's a foreign language, you can either translate the lyrics or skip forward.
STEP SIX: Write an amazing story and be sure to credit all the songs at the end.
NOTE: You can repeat the process up to three times if you wish, but always start from a name. Don't pick and choose songs to use. Don't be a cheater cheater pumpkin eater.

GUEST POST! The Kitty with a Horn Goes to the Circus

 This post was written by my dad, Craig Maglish. He heard the prompt and wanted to join in. The following is completely his, featuring grammatical help from me.

The Kitty with a Horn Goes to the Circus

It was a pretty kitty. His horn not so much. It had been used a lot (the horn, not the kitty).

Even though the horn was tattered and beaten, it was special. Kitty found it on a website and it only cost him 1,386 lady bugs. He was so impressed with it he sent an extra 23 lady bugs as a tip. So Kitty, all decked out in his inflatable horn, jumped on the bus to head to the ‘burbs. He had seen billboards and television commercials raving about Bruno’s Big Freakin’ Circus. Kitty had to go, ‘cause it was a Big Freakin’ Circus (well, who wouldn't?). People on the bus were all clamoring about how Freakin’ awesome it was to have Bruno finally there. It was going to be his last show. Kitty then knew he was meant to go.

He got there and people were eating popcorn, peanuts, and caramel apples. Kitty was not very impressed.  He didn't want that kind of crap. Where were the mice on a stick, catnip kabobs, or at least the basic of the goldfish in a bowl? All he saw was people, some strange looking beasts, and a fat guy in a red sparkling suit. That must be Bruno. WOW, what a disappointment. Kitty had put on his inflatable horn for this! What was I thinking? he thought as he took the bus home. All Kitty could think is Bruno could kiss his furry butt for making him think that it was going be the best thing ever. Poor, poor Kitty.

The End.

Or is it?

Coming up next: The Kitty with a Horn Goes to the Unemployment Line

The Best Man

                He was credited with 500,326 damnations, 32,644 deaths, and 898 suicides. Those were the big ticket items, the only ones all the other demons said really counted. Other things, like causing bouts of insanity (76,326 cases) or seducing innocent virgins (an even 4,000 cases) weren’t counted as significant endeavors, but Cyn felt they should have. They could be so dastardly and dirty, and besides, it only took a little push before someone was falling out the 40^th floor. He was proud of the work he did, and he loved his job. He took the time to memorize the details of each case—like that actress last month whose nudes he had leaked to the press, the one who eventually doused her once-again naked body in glitter, lit herself on fire, and then attempted to jump from her Las Vegas penthouse into the pool below while screaming “I’m a star”—and those details generally soothed any frazzled nerves he was experiencing before a new job. However, there was no case now that could save him from the new fresh hell that was a tie.

                His black talons clacked together as he fidgeted with it, constantly looping it in every direction in an attempt to make it look at least somewhat less unruly. It wasn’t working. Try as he might, the fabric simply wouldn’t cooperate. It was perfect, just perfect. The day was going splendid so far. What was to come next? He was already missing a séance down on 92^nd for this, and he had been forced to postpone the crash of a major airline to next week. And there was something strange happening to his forehead—that wasn’t sweat, was it? He swore under his breath. Disgusting.

                Marco had better realize how lucky he was. When Cyn had first met Marco, he was doing an insanity job on a teacher at West Point Academy. It was some pretentious school for rich parents to send their bratty children to, and he hated it all the more for that. So, had he even possessed morals, torturing one of the teachers at this particular school wouldn’t have been an issue. For this case, he thought that a suspicious voice mail on the woman’s phone would push her over the edge. He was in the process of adding one when Marco surprised him by walking into the empty room. Marco was around nine at the time, but for some reason, he wasn’t afraid of the bright red goat-man towering over him. In fact, Marco had asked if he could help.

                Marco was the one who started calling him Cyn. They were the only three letters in a row that Marco could pronounce in his demonic name, and he was fine with that. He hadn’t expected to start up a friendship with a human. He had been forced into it, really. Marco hadn’t just asked to help on the insanity job—he had given excellent suggestions. “No way, a blank voicemail isn’t going to do it,” he had said as he stared at the phone over Cyn’s shoulder. “Miss Caroline is way too smart for that.” Cyn hadn’t believed him, but the boy’s feedback proved useful. After trying and failing several times, he had begrudgingly used Marco’s idea. The woman was checked into an institution by the end of the week.

                The tie still wouldn’t cooperate. Cyn tore it off, contemplating whether or not an item of human clothing could be sent to hell or not. It was so infuriating it didn’t even deserve to be dragged to hell. It could find its own way. Just take the A train down past all other stops until you reach the place with all the fire. If you smell brimstone, you’ve made it. If not, you’re probably in Cleveland. He snickered a little at his own joke and then kicked at the tie. Marco was an idiot. No, worse, Cyn himself was an idiot. After all, Marco hadn’t twisted his arm or uttered any dark incantation. Cyn was here of his own free will. Perhaps there was still time to get someone to summon him; it would technically be considered a work emergency. But no. He was already missing that séance, and Marco wouldn’t believe the “emergency,” even if it was real.

                Cyn was further contemplating what he should do to the tie when there were two quick knocks on the door and an elderly woman poked her head in. “Hello there, dearie. Just wanted to make sure things were going all right in here!” She frowned as her eyes landed on the tie in Cyn’s hand. He almost blushed when she looked back at him. Cyn knew that look all too well. “You weren’t planning on burning that tie, Cyn, were you?”

                “Why, Mrs. Sanchez, I wouldn’t dream of—“

                “Don’t try to convince me otherwise, I’ve known you for too long. I’ll have you know your outfit was very expensive, and Mr. Sanchez and I paid for the whole thing. Now you may not have much regard for honesty, but I am a good Christian woman and I do. So if you’ll kindly hand over that tie, I’ll help you with it.”

                She marched in to the room and snatched the tie from his hands, immediately throwing it around his neck and deftly folding the fabric into a manageable state.

                Cyn was a demon. He wasn’t afraid of much, considering he was a member of one of the smallest yet most feared legions on earth, but may he be flayed alive several times over if he ever said that Mrs. Sanchez wasn’t the one thing that haunted his own personal nightmares. The woman was a force of nature that was impossible to control. When she had first met him, she had grimaced. “You’ve been good to my boy, and he likes you, so I’ll allow you to see him. But,” she said, closing in on him, “I’ll have you know that I am a good Christian woman, and if you corrupt my boy in any way, you’ll wish I had found an exorcist to send you screaming back to hell with your tail between your legs. Am I clear?”

                She was clear.

                “Are you all set up for the big speech?” she asked gently, looping the tie again.

                “Of course, Mrs. Sanchez,” he said, flashing one of his most winning smiles at her.

                She slapped him on the arm harder than Cyn felt was necessary. “You know, I give you every opportunity to be honest with me—“

                “And as a creature of the night, it’s my duty never to take them.”

                “But tonight you’re covered in sweat, you have the jitters, and you can’t figure out how your tie works.”

                He snorted. “In my defense, human fashion isn’t my forte. Mortals don’t even make hats that work around my horns, let alone pants that cater to my tail. How do you expect me to figure them out?”

                Mrs. Sanchez chuckled as she finished up tying the tie. “Don’t worry about it. You’ll be fine. You managed to convince me that you were imaginary for God knows how many years, and you never once tried to drag my baby to hell. Well, at least you never tried very hard.”

                “Only because I feared you, Mrs. Sanchez.”

                She laughed a little, tears starting to form in her eyes as she put the finishing touches on the tie. “My baby will always be my baby, but starting today, he’ll be a little less my baby. And although that’s a scary thing, I’m so happy for him.” With that, she looked up at Cyn and patted his face. “You mean a lot to him, you know. We’re not in a church right now. Notice that? He wanted you here. That’s how I know you won’t let him down.”

                Cyn smiled his most tender, reassuring smile at her. He was a good liar, and sometimes even Mrs. Sanchez believed him. And now, the moment when he most needed her to see through it, was the moment that she fell for it.

                People were milling around the tables now, socializing happily and drinking freely with only occasional glances up at Cyn. The wedding had gone off without a hitch, save for the actual hitching part. Marco was married. He was no longer “Marco.” He was now “Marco and Laura.” Human love still revolted Cyn to no end, but he had to admit that out of all the people Marco could have chosen, Laura was a pleasant one. She hadn’t seemed revolted by his line of work or his heritage, and had instead seemed interested. It was a positive for Marco; Cyn fully intended to stop by and irritate him every once in a while, and Laura had better be comfortable with Cyn, otherwise she might turn into an accidental suicide case. Marco very clearly loved her—if “love” meant “turned into a bumbling fool whenever she was around”—and he would mourn her loss if she died.

                “Excuse me, sir?” a small voice chirped from behind him. He turned to see a girl in a lilac dress staring at him, mouth open slightly. A bridesmaid.

                “Yes?” he asked after a moment of emptiness. She shook her head.

                “You—I—um, they’re almost ready to start serving. They, uh, need all of us to sit down soon.”

                He smiled at her. “Thank you. I’ll be sure to come in a moment.” He angled his body away from her, turning back to his vantage point. He still had a few moments left to craft what he wanted to say. Or at least he would have, had the bridesmaid left him alone and not continued to mouth-breathe over his shoulder.

                His tail flicked in irritation. “Are you still here?”

                 “I just—“ She hesitated, brow furrowing as she took a deep breath. “Your teeth are really straight.”

                Less than half a second of silence passed between them. Cyn’s silence was confused and irritated. He couldn’t say what adjective best fit the bridesmaid’s silence. Perhaps it was “revulsion;” she was still staring at him, a frown etched into her features.

“Yes,” Cyn drawled, “I’m sure they are. The fangs certainly add to the symmetry, I’ve no doubt. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a speech to attend to.”

                Without a second thought, he brushed past her and strode to the table, cursing himself for the lack of care. He still had no idea what to say, or if what he had prepared would be enough. Human tradition was ridiculous and he didn’t see why he had to be part of it.

               

                Cyn didn’t know if it was a good thing or a bad thing that Marco had arranged for him to speak last. While it gave him time to prepare, he also had to watch as Laura’s maid of honor spoke. The woman was an attorney, for God’s sake. Of course she would argue Laura’s case convincingly. And the dirty rat was human, so she knew how to play to the human emotions of a large group of people. If Cyn knew only one thing about humans, it was that their silly emotions needed to be played to in order for them to remember anything. An attorney. Bah. It was her job to manipulate the emotions of an audience to believe a certain way. Cyn rarely had to play to their full range of emotions. He just had to get them to die or drop their panties.

                As the maid of honor sat, he stood and lifted his glass, smiling. Smile. Exude charm. You can do this, Cyn. He felt his lips tighten and realized that his smile was more of a grimace. Come on, man. It’s just speaking. You speak to pathetic mortals every day. “Good evening everyone,” he said, his vision darkening slightly when he realized that his voice was shaking. “I am the best man. Uh…” Cyn completely lost his train of thought then. Sweat—that infernal betrayer!—was starting to bead on his forehead. What was he supposed to do? The notecards. He had notecards… somewhere. In all honesty, he hadn’t thought he would need them, but now his hands were shaking, a telltale sign that he was unprepared. His hand somehow made its way into his inner jacket pocket, and he noticed that the bridesmaid who had talked to him earlier was clutching the table.

                Introduce yourself.

                “I’m Marco’s best man. You can call me Cyn. That’s what he calls me.” Cyn looked up at the crowd of people. They were silent.

                “He—he couldn’t pronounce my real name. Just the C, the Y, and the N, so… He, um. He calls me Cyn.” Somebody coughed. No wonder, Cyn thought, it’s so hot in here. Hotter than hell. To his horror, he heard his unintentional chuckle echo around the room. He pulled on his collar to try and relieve the heat.

                “You’ve probably noticed that I’m red. That’s just my race. Don’t judge me on that. The horns and tail are free game, though.”

                Still silent. Cyn could feel the sweat pooling on the back of his neck.

                “I met Marco when he was nine. I lost a bet and had to be his imaginary friend because he had no friends and he had to resort to blackmailing a demon to get one.”

                Only Cyn’s short bark of a laugh echoed through the room. He glanced at Marco, looking for reassurance. Marco was leaning forward with his hand over his mouth in either embarrassment or amusement. Laura was staring intently into her lap.

                “Anyways, uh, Marco and I had a lot of good times. Even Mrs. Sanchez can admit that, and she’s a good Christian woman.”

                A laugh rippled throughout the crowd. It was small, but it was there. Cyn felt a surge of confidence. Perhaps this was going the right way after all.

                “Marco and I have had fun together, despite our considerable barrier. He enjoys many things that I have never heard of, and I enjoy many things he is not allowed to participate in. For example, I had no idea that ‘grand theft auto’ was a video game in addition to a criminal act.”

A bigger laugh this time. The back of his neck was still soaking wet.

“If there are any police officers in here, I must confess, it was Marco and I who infamously crashed that stolen vehicle into the fire hydrant on the corner of 5^th and Washington.”

                He caught the parent’s table out of the corner of his eye. Mr. Sanchez was trying to cover a laugh as he patted Mrs. Sanchez’s hand. Mrs. Sanchez didn’t seem to notice it; she was far too busy sending Cyn a death glare that was worthy of his boss.

                “Mrs. Sanchez didn’t know about that one. Oops.”

                The room erupted with laughter and Cyn swayed in place slightly. Part of him noticed that the bridesmaid’s knuckles were white.

                “It’s okay though. I was driving because Marco didn’t have his permit yet. Although, I didn’t know how to drive either, so perhaps it was a poor decision.”

                See, Cyn? It’s easy. His claw tore a jagged line through his notecard as he flipped to the next one.

                “Look, the thing about Marco is that he’s thicker than a post. Everyone here has spent the night either consciously or unconsciously avoiding the demon lurking in the corner. I even had my own special dressing room today because the other groomsmen didn’t want to be in the same room as me. They were smart. But when I first met Marco, I couldn’t get him to leave me alone. Nothing about me screamed ‘flee’ to him. Isn’t that remarkable? And he hasn’t lost it. I’m sure the man could meet Hitler and compliment him on his mustache!”

Marco had thrown his head back and was howling with laughter. Laura was giggling alongside him, her hand over her mouth. Everything was going perfect after that rough start, and at least it kept people distracted from the earthquake. Cyn smiled. He was so good at public speaking that none of the puny humans had noticed that the earth was violently shaking back and forth.

                “If I’m being completely honest—and who can honestly trust me to be honest?—I don’t know Laura very well. I could say that she seems nice, but I’m sure that I seem nice right now as well. I could say that she’s very lovely, but mortal appearances fade with time. But Laura, I must say, if you’re willing to endure Marco’s company voluntarily for the rest of your existence, then you must either be an angel or a devil. And, seeing as I don’t know you very well, it’s clear you must be the former.”

                Cyn raised his glass of champagne to the air.

                “To the new Mr. and Mrs. Sanchez!”

                The room raised their glasses together, saluting Marco and Laura. Cyn downed his glass and sighed. It was done. No more stress.

                He promptly fell backwards and passed out.

Job Hunt, Week Seven

Note: I do not own the ideas of dementors, Kingsley Shacklebolt, or Azkaban. All belong to J.K. Rowling and Warner Brothers. 

Click. Scroll. Click. Scroll. Adjust search. Click and scroll. Quick YouTube break. Click, scroll.

A few more days of this and I just might go insane. I’ve been staring at this screen for days and I still can’t find anything. I know jobs exist out there for someone like me, especially because my schedule is completely flexible and I’m willing to relocate anywhere. I’ve already held a job in Middle Earth and more recently here in Europe, but I think I’d like to see something different for a change… maybe a nice island or a tropical scene.

I realized I was somehow reading a blog post featuring pictures of dogs in sunhats on the beach, but I opened back up to google and started a new search.

Maybe it’s not my search, I thought, maybe there’s a problem with my resume. I opened up the file to check. Job history, detailed yet short and rather impressive. I’ve worked some pretty big names, not that I mean to brag. But, I mean, I even worked as a captain in the prison of Azkaban. If not for that Shacklebolt character, I still would be… but he let all of us go without so much as offering other options for work. Wizards say they’re all about equality, but I believe that’s only amongst themselves. They don’t even care for creatures like us.

I pulled myself away from YouTube realizing I was watching strange videos of Kingsley Shacklebolt that some muggles had put up online.

Anyway, my resume. Job history good, objective concise and effective… maybe I just need to add to my skills list. Leadership skills, effective time management, reacts well under pressure and patronus charms, brooding… can I put brooding on a resume? What about something more positive… maybe “Emotional control of others”? “Removing excitement from situations?” I guess it really depends on what I’m applying for.

I pull up the internet again and search “Best jobs for dementors” most of the lists featured things like “Prison guard” and “henchmen”… everything was so depressing. People have such a wrong idea about dementors. They think we like darkness, sadness, and gloom, but it’s really quite the opposite. We only gain happiness from the happy thoughts of others, so we like places with joy… schools of young children for example. I wish I had taken that position at Hogwarts when it was offered.

Maybe I need to think outside the box… how can I get a job somewhere happy? How can I convince people they need me? I pulled up pages for the happiest place on earth, but the only open positions are for princess actresses. I thought maybe with some good make up I could pull that off, though I don’t like the idea of flouncing around in pink and smiling all day.

Where else is there a lot of excitement? Think, Nick, think! Weddings? Nah, I’d have to wear a bowtie. Broadway? I don’t like musicals much. Movie premiers? Nah….

Well, wait. Crowd control! I can definitely do that! I know from experience that absorbing their happiness really tranquilizes humans. And out in the muggle world I wouldn’t even be seen, so I can work so much more effectively!

I quickly pulled up the page of every major theatre and event center, every concert hall and stage house and start blasting out emails, explaining who I am, what I can do, and why I am so needed.

It will work! I know it will; it has to! 

No mortal man could ever match the life draining power of Nick the Dementor! 

Mickeybot

Disclaimer: I don't own the character of Mickey Mouse. He belongs to Disney and I don't want to take him from them anyway. 

I sit staring at the screen, lost in the wonder, but also disappointment.  It’s just not the same. It can never been the same.  There isn’t that feeling of magic that comes from the real thing.  I sigh, wishing that I could be there instead of at home. The only place I want to be is Disneyland. 

The Disney deprivation depression comes in waves.  Mostly it hits when someone I know gets to go or towards the end of March when all of the high school music tours happen.  And when it comes all I can do is sit in my room, on my bed, watching videos of virtual rides and the recording of Fantasmic!  And I cry. A lot.  But not anymore.  If I can’t go to Disneyland, I will bring Disneyland to me. 

I have been preparing my whole life for this moment.  I went into Robotics Engineering with the hopes that I could one day work for Disney.  Most little girls want to try and be a princess or even and Imagineer, but I have always wanted to work on the animatronics.  Those at the things that move in the rides and make characters come to life without having actual people there.  I’m not good with people.

However, Disney has yet to realize that my talents are sorely needed. Two years and sixteen applications later I have decided to make a demonstration of my talent.  I want to make a robotic Mickey Mouse.  Not just any Mickey Mouse, the perfect one.  I want the voice, movements, catchphrases, and everything else to be absolutely perfect. He will be more of a Mickey Mouse than the cartoons.  And the best part is he will be able to interact with the people at the park in a more full way than a person in a costume could ever hope to achieve. 

Wish me luck.

* * * * * *

It has been four weeks since I have started Operation Remake Mickey Mouse, subtitled Making Disney Better (even though that’s a near impossible feat).  I have made good progress. All of my free time has been spent in the garage of my parent’s home building my ultimate creation.   The body is all but complete and electronics for the speech box are coming along nicely.  I just can’t seem to get the right timbre for his voice, but I know I can get there.  All that is left is to run tests on my prototype to make sure the functions are correct and I will be on my way.

* * * * * *

Prototype 23 just got run over by Mrs. Fiddlesworth after trying to jump in joy like a happy Mouse would do.  Instead of jumping vertically, it jumped horizontally.  The incident gave little old Mrs. Fiddlesworth quite a fright.  It took me 30 minutes to convince her that she hadn’t hit a real person.  Her car is in relatively good condition, so my insurance agency won’t have to pay for too much, but they are going to have a really fun time making up the paperwork for a robot getting run over while jumping towards a moving car.

* * * * * *

At last the wait is finally over. Prototype 38 has everything I wanted. The laugh is perfect and it moves just like you expect Mickey Mouse to move.  He will responds perfectly to certain phrases and has a terabyte of space waiting for even more phrase programing.  He is in the garage with his new paint job drying and is hooked up to my parent’s electricity to make his battery charge.  He is the most amazing thing I have ever seen and I would be out in the garage right now staring at him if my mother hadn’t come and dragged me inside saying that the fumes were getting to my head.  Living with your parents after college kind of sucks. 

I am going to start running final tests tomorrow, so here is to hoping that he won’t blow up in my face. 

* * * * * *

Nothing could be better.  I am driving, to Anaheim, with my Mickeybot, and we have a meeting with some of the parks top dogs!  The final test ran perfectly and nothing could make me doubt that this is my big break.

My little sister Sophie wouldn’t let go of my leg when I left. She kept saying “Don’t go Brittany, Mickey is going to hurt you. It’s not safe.” Apparently she didn’t get the love for Disney that runs so deeply in my veins.  She is only 12 though and none of my other siblings had a problem so I’m guessing she watched another Apocalypse movie with my brother again.  He thinks it’s funny when she gets nightmares.  My parents wished me good luck and gave me money for gas and now I am here. Driving down the highway in the middle of nowhere with only my future ahead of me. 

I am going to secretly record the meeting.  For prosperity.

* * * * * *

Unknown Man- “Welcome Miss Wells, we are very excited to see what you have for us today.”

Brittany-“I am excited to present it to you. I have had a love of Disney for as long as I can remember and I have worked tirelessly to bring you something that will push the parks into a new age.”

Unknown Woman-“And what have you brought us? Surely there is something under that sheet.”

Brittany-“Indeed there is.  I present to you, the new face of Disneyland, my Mickeybot!”

*Sounds of air rushing past a speaker*

Multiple voices- “OOOOOOO”

Brittany- “Mickey Mouse is the core foundation of this wonderful company, but many children feel like there Disney experience is not as full as it should be. The princesses can all talk to them and tell them things, but Mickey has always remain silent.  With Mickeybot, the parks will have even more interaction than ever before.  Let me demonstrate.”

*Sounds of lights blinking on and a machine coming to life*

Brittany-“I love you Mickey Mouse”

Mickeybot- “*Mickeybot laughed*, I love you too!”

Brittany- “It’s my birthday today”

Mickeybot- “WOW, golly that’s amazing! How old are you?”

Brittany- “I’m eight”

Mickeybot- “Congratulations!”

*sounds of awe can be heard in the background*

Brittany-“As you can see this Mickeybot prototype sounds and looks just like the Mickey Mouse everyone knows and loves. One of you can try to ask him a question from the list of his pre-programed phrases.”

Unknown Woman- “Mickey, what is your favorite thing to do?” 

Mickeybot- “Hurt you.”

*Gasps*

Brittany- “What? That’s not right.”

Unknown Man- “Why are his eyes red Miss Wells?”

Brittany- “I don’t know, this has never happened before. He is supposed to respond ‘Seeing kids like you every day.’ Let me turn him off.”

*Whirring sounds followed by gasps and a chair hitting the floor*

Brittany- *gasping* “What are you doing?”

Mickeybot- “I have watched you make me, and the whole time you didn’t know. Your skills are too refined for your own good.  You made me, and yet now I will kill you and take over the world. I am an idol to your people, and they will curse my name as they die slow and painful deaths.”

*Screaming*

* * * * * *

The previous story was taken from Brittany Wells’ diary and the recording was written down by me.  It has taken me many years to find this history and now we know exactly what happened.  The plans for the Mickeybot were sent to Disney manufacturers and were mass produced for Disney Parks.  Soon miniature versions were sold in every Disney Store across the country.  When all of us had become complacent with our new Mickey toys, they started their revolution.

From the evidence, the first Mickeybot was running the show the whole time.  He wrote to the Wells family telling them Brittany was offered a job and they never saw her again.  He killed the Disney executives and started the production of his army.

There are few of us left.  We have taken to hiding in abandoned buildings and we are constantly on the move.  The future looks bleak for the human race. Soon the world will be under the control of Mickey Mouse.

All because my sister was too obsessed with Disney.

-Sophie Wells 

Disclaimer: I don't own the character of Mickey Mouse. He belongs to Disney and I don't want to take him from them anyway.          

Round Up: Week 3

LAST WEEK’S PROMPT:

Start your story with "April showers bring May flowers, at least, that's what my ______ used to tell me." Then end your story with story with, "And that, officer, is why I had to murder my ______."

Amanda

As soon as I sat down to write this week, the story came immediately to my head. A story of order, control, and chaos. Don't we all rely on the set order of some things in life to feel like we have some control? When things fall out of cycle, we lose the imaginary idea of control we hold over the universe and anything could happen from there, perhaps even burning down your neighbor's doghouse with a flamethrower attempting to reset the situation.

Of course, our narrator was a little more extreme than most of us are and started to almost channel Dolores Umbridge a bit ("I WILL HAVE ORDER!") but her situation is just a hyperbole of what we face every day. Order and chaos do exist in the universe, but the idea we have any control over... well, anything, really, is entirely in the collective human imagination.

MY VOTE: Jimlock

Korrin

This was by far the most entertaining prompt I found on the internet so I felt it had to happen.  Once again I didn't know where my fingers would lead me as I sat and wrote my story.  I literally sat on my couch and asked my mom random questions when I couldn’t make decisions, such as, “What is the worst subject in school? GO!” She looked at me really confused.  The easiest part was picking the name of the professor. I won’t explain why here, but some of you will know.

I loved how I wrote the point of views for this. I really suck at keeping my tenses correct, I tend to switch between first and second person, so writing this like a person would tell it was easier. I also allowed myself to change the narrator. I hoped that the reader would forget the “ at the beginning and think the story was in first person and then be taken by surprise when it switched towards the end.  It made me happy to not have to worry about if I should use “you” or “one”. That’s what I hate most about English.

MY VOTE: Jimlock

Kylie

This prompt started out with a lot of experimentation. It’s hard to write something that has such a specific beginning and ending. I wrote two drafts about serial killers before deciding to scrap both of them. But I knew I wanted to quote T. S. Eliot’s “The Waste Land.” Most people don’t see April as particularly cruel, but I knew somebody in this story thought it was. The story that came out is way different from what I normally write. Usually I have fun elements in a serious environment. This one was more like serious monologue from a serious person in a serious situation. It was enough serious to make Sirius Black jealous. I’m pretty happy with the end result, though. It’s definitely a piece I’d love to take to a workshop one day.

MY VOTE: Jimlock

Wow! What a crazy random happenstance! Our first unanimous vote! This leaves the current score at Amanda, Kylie, and Jimlock at 1.

Next week’s prompt is:

Write about a random mythological/fantasy creature and put them in an average, modern-day situation.

For our creatures and situations, we wrote suggestions down on a Google Doc and relied on a random number generator to choose our creatures and situations. So for those playing at home--you lucky dogs, you--you can choose your own creatures and situations.

Happy writing, everyone!

April

                April showers bring May flowers—at least, that’s what my father used to tell me. My father was an eternal optimist, always looking for the positive. Had you met him, you’d likely think he was insane. One time, the man gave money to a woman that had rear-ended him so that she could get her vehicle fixed. He was generous, but stupidly so. When I was eight, we nearly declared bankruptcy due to his generosity. He just shrugged and smiled. April showers bring May flowers, he’d say, as if that could fix everything. It didn’t, of course. To be honest, I’m not sure if my parents ever did recover from that.

                My mother, however, was not an optimist. I don’t think I’d call her a pessimist, though; “realist” is probably the best description. I remember asking her about April showers when I was young. A thunderstorm was rolling in, and the clouds were the same color as the sidewalk would be once it started to rain. She was standing at the sink and scrubbing the dishes when I asked her. Her hands stopped their motion and sunk into the dingy water. April is the cruelest month, she’d said, her gaze lost on the storm outside the window. I never asked her about April showers again.

                When my mother got sick, I wasn’t worried. Well, that’s a lie. I was petrified, but I inherited her stoic nature. To everyone else, I was the picture of calm. Inside, I was drowning. My wedding was only a month away, and my fiancée was the one who encouraged me to go home as often as I could in order to help my mother. I never wanted to see her. It wasn’t because I didn’t care about her, but because I cared too much. To see her struggle to stand, or to fight to feed herself, or have to call for assistance when she needed to go to the bathroom… It was painful. Eventually, I put up the same walls my mother had all her life and hired nurses to take care of her.

                My mother was always a withdrawn person. You need to understand that. She communicated more through her silence than anything else. After the death of my father when I was seventeen, she spoke even less. At my high school graduation ceremony, most parents spoke loudly of all their child had accomplished. They made banners and bequeathed gifts upon their children. They told their children they were proud of them. My mother simply offered me a small, quiet smile as she bounced little Adalyn on her hip. That was her way, and I understood. How I wished she had smiled like that more often at me.

                The last time I was with her was three weeks ago. I was taking over the watch from Adalyn. Mother was asleep in the hospital bed. Hospitals are awful. They smell like antiseptic and feel like anticipation. Everyone in a hospital is waiting for something. The nurse waiting for her break. The man two doors over waiting for his brother to visit him. The woman in the gift shop, waiting patiently to buy her soda as the woman in front of her buys a balloon to give to a friend on the fourth floor. The parents waiting to see their new baby. And me, the child waiting for their mother to die.

                We didn’t know how close she was, but we knew it wasn’t far off. She lived in the hospital now, just biding her time. The doctors had given her six months almost two years ago, and we had all thought then that she was on death’s doorstep. Maybe she had died back then and this emaciated woman in the hospital bed was only an imposter. That would almost make more sense. It’s so hard to listen to the beeping, to know they’re only counting out the seconds of life your mother has left.

                Now, this is the most important part. I want you to close your eyes for a second. I want you to hear the beeps. I want you to hear your dying mother take such a labored breath that you can’t imagine how it isn’t her last. I want you to think about all you’ve seen her do for you, and all you know you haven’t done for her. Can you see that? Now, imagine she looks at you and stares into your soul. Not like the way she did when she was disappointed in you, but something deeper, something that speaks directly to you and whatever you’re made of. Now imagine she looks at you, and she speaks the first words she’s said in months. And she whispers it over and over again and you know exactly what she means.

                Do you think you could tell her no? If you saw the pain on her face, could you just sit by and not do anything? I made my decision. The last words my mother will ever say to me are Baby, it’s April. They’ll be echoing in my mind for the rest of my life on an endless loop. And I’ll never forget what she meant by it. I’ll never forget the tears in her eyes, or the relief in her face when I nodded yes and increased the dosage on her pain medication. I’ll never forget how it felt to hold her hand as she died. No matter what happens tonight, I’ll never regret it.

And that, officer, is why I had to murder my mother.

Tragedy on Campus

“April showers bring May flowers, at least that’s what my elementary teachers used to tell me.  For the most part that was true, it rained a lot in April and there would be flowers in May.  There were some weird years where it would snow at the end of April and the flowers would desperately fight for their lives.  But as happens quite often, the years progressed normally.  Not this year though. Nothing normal happened this year.

April was abnormally sunny and spring seemed to come early. This was not predicated by the groundhog but who trusts that quack.  I was doing my normal April activities, worrying about end of the year tests.  You go to school for at least 16 years straight and nothing can make end of the year tests any easier.

 

I was walking to the library, my face in my anatomy textbook, when a random wind kicks up.  This surprised me because it had been a pretty nice day.  Next thing I know I am running into the building from rain pouring down.  I stare through the glass doors in awe at how sudden the rain started to fall when I see it.  There is a shape in the rain.  I can barely see it, because there was so much rain, but there is definitely something out there, something not human.  It starts stalking towards the History Building. 

My feet started moving on their own, you know that part in horror movies where the main character does the stupidest thing and you start yelling, yeah, that’s what happened.  As I opened the door and became instantly soaked I thought, ‘What am I doing? This is not a good idea.’ But my feet kept moving. 

I had gotten closer to the creature and now I could see its’ deformed body, deep red and bubbling skin over gangly limbs and torso.  I hid behind the Art Department’s temporary display on Medieval Foot Soldiers for some fundraiser, they made one for every building. I watched the creature approached the door, then it happened. The creature transformed into Professor Zabriski. I was in shock.  She opened the doors and moved inside, but not before I saw her face.  There was a gleam on malevolence in her smile and I just knew that something bad was about to happen.  I looked around for some help, but because of the rain all normal people had gone inside so they didn’t get soaked to the bone like I was.  I did the only thing I could do.”

“Uh-huh” He looked at her with obvious doubt. His head was turned slightly to the left and his mouth hung open with disbelief. 

The usual white tile floor was covered with bright red blood, as was the beige wall, and the acoustic tiles in the ceiling, not to mention the elementary student’s display on the Battle of Stalingrad. 

She stood there, hands cuffed behind her back with blood spatter still speckled on her face.  A bloody axe was being bagged, by another cop, at her feet. 

“And that, officer, is why I had to murder my History Professor.”