A Haunting Notion

Once upon a wiki dreary,

I revised my long-strung query.

Ten weeks ago I began my quest,

Ev’ry application, tried my best.

My last employer did not like,

My smile, my jokes, my mountain bike.

He kicked me out, so now I wait,

To find a job and change my fate.

Another click, another scroll,

Another ad, another troll.

But, wait! This one looks promising,

“Full time assistant, hiring.”

My heart skips one beat more than most,

“Must not have fear of any ghost.”

A strange requir’ment to be sure,

Yet still I sign up for a tour.

I fall asleep and near forget,

This chance to rid myself of debt.

Next morn my ringtone awakens me,

I answer the call; say “This is she.”

‘Tis the company calling back, who,

What to set up an interview!

I agree to go that very day,

Then hang up and dress without delay.

Ten-thrity sharp I knock on the door,

Once, then twice, then three times, then four.

Just as I turn to walk away,

The door flies open and gently sways.

I walk inside, my blood runs cold,

The walls are cover’d in webs and mold.

The floorboards creak as I walk by,

Shadows move, I quickly shut my eyes.

This has to be part of some test,

I think, to prove I’m true, not in jest.

For did they not specifically say,

Any who fear ghosts should stay away?

Finding my courage, I march on,

Hoping it’s not an intricate con.

I hear talking off to the right,

But around the corner… nothing in sight.

Come on, you can do this Kristen!

Something slimy crawls over my skin

Rather than think, I start to run,

I consider leaving, just to be done.

I hear a growl but don’t stop to look,

It follows me on, so the next turn I took.

Suddenly there’s nowhere left to go,

Three walls around, then I spot a glow

I feel it creep toward me in my trap,

But I ignore it, clawing at the glowing gap.

It opens more, I anxiously pull,

Something grabs my leg, I scream in full.

The gap gives way, I hurl myself in,

As someone watches me with a grin.

“Miss Gray, how good to see you here!

You’re the only one who has made it this year.

Please, take a seat here in this chair,

I see we’ve given you quite a scare.”

I sit down nervously, fearing the worst,

Adrenaline flows, I want to burst.

The man watches me, expression queer,

I cannot tell if I should trust or fear.

“Let me explain our little game.”

I jump as the candles burst into flame.

“We’re a peculiar group here, you see,

But things are not as they seem to be.”

Three more people walk in the room,

All dressed up in fantastic costume.

“This house is not real, it’s all a set,

Set up with decoration and tech.”

“So you mean it’s like a haunted house?”

I hear myself whisper, quiet as a mouse.

“Exactly, yes! We will open this October.”

The people stare at me, their expressions sober.

“We want you to help us, if you will,

Your actions here have shown much skill.

Give us feedback and help us design,

New attractions that will make us shine.”

“But, if this house’s not really haunted,

why musn’t I fear ghosts?” to know, I wanted.

“Who said it wasn’t haunted?” said he,

With a wicked smile, wide as could be.

“He’s only joking,” a tall woman said

“Creative types are we, our humor he fed.

See, we’re ghost writers, my dear young miss,

A pun like that fills us with bliss.”

“You’re writers too?” my dream come true!

“Ghost writers, dear, that’s what we do.

A horror magazine we publish together,

Under the names of those known much better.”

I laughed out loud, filled up with joy,

What a wonderful notion, what a toy!

I gladly accepted their job and soon,

I was writing books of banshee’s croon.

And so ends my tale, wonderful and true, 

I took a chance and changed my fate; so you can change yours too.

Round Up: Week Eight

Last Week's Prompt

There is a certain musical artist named Taylor Swift (don’t worry if you haven’t heard of her, it will be okay) who posted a video for her song “Bad Blood” about a month ago. This video features several bada** girls fighting and being awesome. Your task is to write a story about one of these girls- their origin story, an epic fight with their nemesis, a mission they were sent on, whatever. Just pick one of the strong female characters and use her as your lead.

Amanda

Watching the music video, Frostbyte was the character who stood out to me the most. With nothing more than an upward glance and the drop of her blade on a chain, her image of a hardcore don't-mess-with-me person is shown so well. I loved the idea of an agent who is genuinely hardcore and can get the job, but who on the inside is more of a damsel in distress... or at least someone unhappy with their situation. The backstory of being abducted from her burnt down village in Alaska seemed perfect for this kind of character.

Originally, I was just going to write her reflecting on her backstory on the way to the airport, but I thought it would be more fun to show both sides of her- the bada** and the damsel. Thus the scene at the coffee shop where she connected with another person for the first time in her life. Then some possibly Hydra bad guys come and try to kill her. I am super happy with the way this story turned out and I accidentally created a new OTP.

MY VOTE: Korrin

Kylie

This prompt gave me so many great character options to choose from, but in the end, I chose my favorite--Destructica X.

Destructica X is my favorite because she blows things up and she has an awesome name. Really, what other qualifications do you need to be awesome? And the best part was looking back at the video and realizing that she’s only in the video twice. So why isn’t she at the final battle? The entire background is one giant curtain of fire, so why isn’t she there? And why did she fire a rocket launcher in her own building? Why would she do that? It doesn’t make any sense. So, as you can see, between her name and her scenes in the video, there’s just too much awesome material to NOT use.

Writing strong warriors that have a silly side is kind of my thing. I love those two character traits going hand in hand. Like, yes I can kill you, but nothing amuses me more than sticking a “kick me” sign on someone’s back. It was the type of character I first created when I started out writing, so I love the opportunity to come back to them and write a fun piece.

MY VOTE: Amanda

Korrin

I had a terrible week and so the writing prompt for this week got pushed to the back of my mind. Therefore I didn’t think about it until 10:00 p.m. Tuesday night. And as a result my story is short, not well thought out, and kinda sucky in my personal opinion.  But then artists always hate their own work when it is unpolished.

My character was called Domino and I picked her because Jessica Alba + Motorcycle = Some kind of attitude her character had in Dark Angel.  That made it more easy to get in her head.

I also tried third person, which I’m not to great at either so yeah.

MY VOTE: Kylie

This is a momentous occasion. Thanks to Taylor Swift, we have a tie on our hands! WE’RE ALL WINNERS HERE!

Next Week’s Prompt:

You've been out of work for a few months and respond an unusual ad online that reads: "Team seeking full-time associate who isn't afraid of ghosts." They call and tell you to come in. Intrigued (and desperate for work), you go to their office and get hired on the spot. Moments later, there's a…

Inertia

The people in her hometown were always scared of her.  Everywhere she went, there was destruction.  From the moment she was born, or so the rumors go, she would cause mayhem.

Now that she was older, she embraced this view.  She became what most people would call a delinquent.  Knocking over anyone who got in her way and riding her motorcycle like a badass out of hell.

On this particular night she had heard of a new race on the outskirts of town.  The Dragons had set it up.  They were the most notorious gang in town, so the race had to be good.  There was a 1,000 dollar reward for winning too.  Just the thing she needed to get out of town for good.  No more of the onlookers who trembled at the sight of her.  No more townspeople who knew her when she was six.  This was going to be a fresh start.

She was driving down the highway, zooming in and out of traffic. Driving in the shoulder if need be, her taillights flashing a brilliant red streak behind her. She took the 135 exit and was heading down the ramp at lightning speed when all of a sudden, a giant black van appeared and cut her off.

She turned to the right sharply, but not enough to avoid the collision. Her left shoulder put a dent in the door of the van and her leg was pinned between it and her bike. 

“Damn.” She said as a woman from the passenger side climbed out of the car.

“You must be the hell-raiser we have heard so much about.  Come with us, and we can give you more than this crumby way of life could ever promise you.”

The woman was wearing all black and had a look in her eye that said, “I dare you to try and mess with me. I haven’t had fun all day.”  She knew that look. She saw it every day in the mirror.

She didn’t say anything to the woman as she sized her up.  The woman looked strong and confident.  She wanted to kick that confidence right out of her.  But then again, what other plans did she really have.  Get money and leave.  Then what?  And if what the woman was so vaguely promising was bust, she could just rip her way out and move on.

“What the hell, I haven’t got anything better to do.” She said

“What’s your name?” The woman asked as she moved to open the back door of the van that she was leaning on.

“The people in town call me Domino.”

“Hey Domino.  You have no idea what you just got yourself into.”

Boom

                There are two kinds of people in this world: the people who get caught, and the people who don’t. As a member of the foremost undercover training academy in the world, you’d think I’d be in the latter, but I usually fall in the former. Not only is this strange considering my background, but I’m a demolitions expert. The likelihood of one of us getting caught is close to nothing. We set the explosives, we get out, we detonate, and we’re gone. But not me. I’m more of a hands-on girl, for some stupid reason, and the pyromaniac in me tends to act out at the worst of times. For example, the Headmistress first found me in the middle of the burning remains of a building as I laughed manically, rocket launcher still clasped in my hands.

                Now isn’t any different. I just get in more trouble because for some unknown reason I’ve decided to accept authority from someone.

                “I don’t understand,” I say, halfheartedly twisting two wires together. “It just doesn’t make sense. You’re literally taking a bunch of knives to a gun fight.”

                Catastrophe, who happens to be leaning up against my Jeep quite unwelcomely, flips her hair. “It was the Headmistress’s choice, not mine.”

                “Right. Because you had no say in this.”

                Cat takes a break from fiddling with her newly-dyed hair to look down at me like I’m a pouting four year old who doesn’t understand why she can’t light the family dog on fire. “Look, X. I know we’ve been through a lot together, but for this mission—“

                “For this mission, we’re fighting one of our own!” I slam down the lid of the electrical box I’ve been fiddling with. “We’re fighting a traitor, and I don’t think we should let anyone who has stayed loyal to us suffer because of her. Is that such a crime?” Cat’s face darkens, but I ignore her. “She pushed you out a window, Cat. A window! She tried to kill you, and you two were closer than the Academy likes to allow us to be. She burned you, and now you won’t burn her back. You just want me here for a pyrotechnic display of epic proportions! Why not let me take her out instead?”

                “Because she’s mine.”

                A silence falls between the two of us. Cat and I are familiar with each other, sure. You could almost call us friends. We’ve worked together on a lot of missions, me as backup and her—and yes, Arsyn too at times—as the field workers. When you work with someone that much, it’s impossible not to form an attachment. Do I want Arsyn to die? I don’t know. What I do know is that I want her to suffer. The Academy isn’t all fun and games, but it’s home. And despite how much I hate it, I’ll always fight for it.

                “So that’s why I can’t come out and play?” I know full well that I’m pouting now, but I can’t help it. I want to have my rocket launcher back in my hands, where it belongs.

                “Well,” Cat says with a snort, “that and the Headmistress said you’re still on probation after that little stunt in Headquarters.”

                I turn my nose up at her giant grin. “It wasn’t intentional!”

                “You hit the trigger in perfect synch with some cheesy one liner! I was standing right there!” She’s trying to hold back her giggles, and her eyes are watering up in the process.

                I hope it smears her stupid fancy eyeliner.

                When my ancient Jeep and I pull up into enemy territory, I expect to be ambushed faster. Instead, her team keeps to themselves. They all have weird face shields on—probably because they’re a bunch of princesses that can’t handle a scar or two. But if they aren’t paying attention to me, then that means I can attend to my work without any distractions. The only thing that could ruin this moment of quiet would be—

                “Any particular reason you’re over here, Natalie?”

                I clench my teeth in an attempt to stop myself from strangling her. “Just over here to brighten your view, Griselda.”

                “That isn’t my name,” Arsyn says smoothly, voice void of emotion.

                “Really?” I say, removing a bundle of wires from my backseat. “Because you really look like one to me, what with all that ratchet hair and makeup.” I look up at her, feigning surprise. “Oh dear, that’s your natural face, isn’t it? I’m sorry! No, really, it must be dreadful looking that terrible all the time, you poor thing.”

                She just stares at me, as cold and blank as ever. She’s too cold to be fire. I’ve always thought that. Next time I see Frostbyte, I’ll have to ask if she snatched away the codename before this poser could get her hands on it.

                “I don’t want to kill you, Natalie,” she says quietly. “But I will, if forced. So tell me—“ her eyes meet mine. There’s nothing but ice in them. “What are you doing here?”

                After I let her simmer for a few minutes in my defiant stare, I chuckle softly and turn back to my explosives. “You really pissed off Cat with that last stunt. I mean, like, really pissed her off.” She doesn’t move. “And you know Cat better than any of us. She’s not too happy with you.”

                “No,” she says, staring just to the left of me, “I don’t expect she would be.”

                “Oh, and the Headmistress…” I shake my head and click my tongue a few times. “She’s furious.”

                “That doesn’t explain why you’re here.”

                “I know.” I tenderly put the finishing touches on the current pack of explosives and move to get the next one. “I’m just trying to piss you off.”

                Between trips to the Jeep, I can see her staring at me with her right eyebrow raised. Let her stare. Let her wonder. God knows she doesn’t think very hard, or else she wouldn’t have betrayed the Academy.

                “You fired another RPG in the building, didn’t you?”

                “They had no right to remove me from roster,” I snap before I can stop myself. Arsyn has the nerve to smirk. Call me that name one more time, I think. Call me that name and give me a reason to pull out my gun.

                “That still doesn’t explain why you’re here.”

                “Doesn’t it?” I say glumly as I throw down a box. Arsyn gives me the pleasure of jumping slightly. “I’m at the biggest battle the Academy has ever seen, and I’m not allowed to play along! Instead, I have to ‘set the mood.’” I glance up at her, embarrassed that I can’t help but tell her my woes but relieved that someone will finally listen to me without complaining that I singed their eyebrows during the explosion. “You know Catastrophe. She wants this to be big.”

                “Ah, yes.” She smiles, looking for all the world like a crocodile. “Did the phrase ‘we have to make this look hella good’ factor into this conversation?”

                “’Hella tight,’” I correct, moving on to the next explosive. “She specifically said ‘hella tight.’”

                “Well, then. I suppose I can’t argue with that.” Arsyn looks smug. I can’t blame her. No matter which way this fight leans, she’ll always have the satisfaction of knowing how badly Catastrophe wanted to look cool. “Anyways, I have to get back to my troops. World domination, and all that. It’s extremely taxing.” She starts to walk away, then looks back. “Oh, and thanks for letting me know, Des. I’m glad I don’t have to kill you.”

                I can’t help but give her a smug smile as she walks away. She has no idea how “hella tight” this will look. 

Frostbitten

There’s nothing like the feeling of waking up to that sound.

My eyes shoot open only a few hours after I was finally able to fall asleep. The hustle and bustle of this part of town is enough to keep anyone awake, but only that sound could send me sprinting across the room at this hour.

I finally grab the phone from the bottom of my bag and hold it in my hand another instant before answering. This phone… this sound means another mission has come. Within the next five minutes, I could be heading anywhere in the world to do any sort of task the Agency sees fit… and this could all result in pleasure or pain.

My heart pounds in my head as I accept the call and breathe out the familiar words, “This is Agent 99774, code name Frostbyte.”

My anxiety that had skyrocketed as the phone rang is now in a free fall as I listen to the details of my mission. This was the kind of mission I had hoped for all my life; no killing, no spying, and no blackmail… nothing that was usually on my agenda.

I hang up the phone and want to dance, but instead I start packing my bags. Finally, a mission I could be proud to complete- training a new recruit. Okay, so maybe it’s not as honorable as building an orphanage, but I would never be allowed to do anything like that. In my field, training is the closest we can get to being altruistic.

I glance over my studio apartment one last time before shutting the door. I wish it felt more like a home to me, but I rarely get to stay more than three days here. With a sigh, I lug my bag down three flights of stairs and jog down the road waiting for the Agency’s car to catch up with me.

So, a new recruit. I wonder where they might have picked her up, and whether she was one of the crazies who volunteers for this life. Of all the agents I have rubbed shoulders with, only two had volunteered. The rest were taken like I was.  But I seem to be the one taken with the most force- the Agency didn’t burn down anyone else’s entire village.

I still wish I knew why I was targeted and taken. I’m not a warrior. I mean, I definitely look the part. I can throw some punches and slit some throats when I need to. But in my heart, I feel more like a damsel in distress, or like a small silly girl dreaming of the life she thinks she deserves- a beautiful home in the mountains of Alaska, close enough to my parents’ graves to pay them a visit every week.

I aggressively wipe the tears out of my eyes- I may let myself be pathetic on the inside, but that doesn’t mean I can let the world see me cry. I have a reputation, after all. 

It starts to worry me that the car hasn’t found me yet. Usually I can only make it two blocks before someone comes to take me to the airport. I pull my notebook out of my purse and realize I had acted hastily in my excitement to do good- I wasn’t meant to leave for another few hours.

Great, just great, I think as I shiver as the wind blows up snow from the ground. I turn and see the only place that could be open at this hour- a Starbucks. I’m not surprised as I open the door to find only one other person inside- a blurry eyed worker in his green apron. He smiles sleepily when he see me and says “Something to fight the cold?”

I quickly ask for a hot chocolate and pass him the exact change before he can finish typing out the order. When he sees my money, he smiles and says “This one’s on me if you agree to tell me your story.”

I hiss back “I guess it’s on me then” but he just laughs and pushes my payment back into my hands.

As he makes my hot chocolate, I consider playing into his stupid game, if only to see what it might be like to have a friendly conversation with someone who doesn’t have access to nuclear plans.

“So, what’s your name?” he asks smoothly, finally passing me my cup.

“I’m… I’m Finn.” I say, blushing at the fact that not even my name feels like mine anymore.

“Finn… that’s adorable. I’m Isaac. So, what do you do?”

I murder the innocent and balance the fate of many small countries in my pale hands, I think. But instead I say, “Oh, I travel a lot. I work for a worldwide company so I’m kind of all over the place.”

“That sounds amazing!” Isaac says warmly, and he seems to really mean it.

Talking to Isaac is so easy. I don’t remember ever talking to someone without a hidden agenda. He is friendly and smiles widely, and somehow he makes me want to smile back. Before we know it, two hours have passed and we know each other better than any team of secret agents could.

I excuse myself to go to the bathroom as he turns to take the orders of a group of men who walked through the door, looking like they are on their way to work. I amuse myself by contemplating ways to fake my death to the Academy and working at Starbucks with Isaac. Sadly, there is no escape from my life, though it has been fun to be normal for a few hours. As I crack open the door to leave, I suddenly hear something I was almost expecting, but not entirely prepared for.

The men weren’t on their way to work. They were hard at work… robbing Isaac of everything in the register. It can’t have been much money, especially since he wouldn’t take any of mine, but Isaac was still trying to fight for it. Stupid boy.

“Please, no. Take anything you want, but I just can’t listen to your orders.”

“Then we don’t need you around here, do we boy?” a dark voice howls at Isaac and I see the tallest and thickest of the men raise his gun up to Isaac’s head. Acting on pure instinct and adrenaline, I run at the man and trip him; his bullet ricochets against the ceiling but does no harm.

“There she is, men, I told you!” the dark voice shouts, and I understand they didn’t want money… they were after something much more valuable.

Me.

I pull a gun from my ankle holster and shoot three of the four men surrounding the leader; three heavy thuds tell me the bullets found their targets.

“Isaac! Get back!” I yell, jumping over the counter like a madwoman, sending cups and straws flying. I make sure he is in a safe spot beneath the counter and whisper an apology but no explanation. I spring up, swinging my lucky blade, and glare at the men, challenging them. I don’t want to kill them before I know why they came for me and how they found me in a Starbucks in the middle of Manhattan.

The last of the tall man’s guards springs toward me with a knife; he regretted that decision the rest of his short life as he clung to his bleeding neck on the floor. I turn back to the man in charge and roar “Who are you?!”

“Agent, agent, agent,” he says with a heavy accent I can’t quite identify. “Surely you know I cannot tell you that. Just know that we are many and that you will be the next to die.”

Before I can react, he pulls his gun to his own head and shoots.

Without batting an eye, I run to the men and start looking through their pockets for clues… I need something to tell the academy or they will write it off as another empty threat from a group of wannabe terrorists. Each man has a similar tattoo on their left hand- something curled around and looking almost squid-like. It’s not a symbol I have ever seen before, but I make a mental note of it.

I forget about Isaac until I hear him whimpering and look to see him staring at me in shock.

“I….I…” I stammer. “I’m sorry. For the mess. And for scaring you. I never should’ve come here.”

“Who are you… really?” he whispers with fear.

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you that. That information is worth more than both our lives.”

I walk toward him and hand over a $50.

“That’s for the hot chocolate, and for the mess. I’m sorry, I would help you clean up, but my ride just got here and I have to go.” I signal to the driver, pick up my bags, and start to make for the door.

Then I run back and kiss Isaac, for good measure. I kiss him passionately, and he kisses me back, as though we have been dating for years. Too many things run through my head, too many thoughts to put into words, so I just put them into a kiss on his lips and a squeeze of his hand, hoping he understands, before I run and jump into the back of the car, which pulls away before I even shut the door.

“Rough morning, agent?” the driver asks, seeing my bloodstained shoes and my running mascara.

“You wouldn’t believe it.” I say back before putting in my headphones and drowning out my reality. 

Round Up: Week Seven

Round Up: Week Seven

Prompt: As a writer, the number one thing we are told is “AVOID CLICHES AT ALL COSTS.” So this week, we’re writing with cliches. But--plot twist!--you have to earn your cliche. Does this mean it’s literal? Does this mean it’s figurative? Does this mean it has to prove a point and ends up as a terrible pun, as commonly happens in the comic strip Pearls Before Swine by Stephan Pastis? IT DOESN’T MATTER! Just earn it.

Amanda

When I first read the prompt, I couldn’t think of any cliche worth writing a story about. So I went online and started going through lists of common cliches, but I didn’t feel much like browsing past the ‘a’ part of the list. So I picked a cliche I’ve liked since I was little for comedic potential- an apple a day keeps the doctor away. The night I wrote the story, I was trying to forget a super stressful event and felt at my wits end, so I created Alice. She may or may not be actually crazy, but she is certainly crazy fun. George is a pretty hopeless doctor, but in a small town, there aren’t many options and doctors are in high demand. Except in this town, where he can spend every day trying to get Alice to go to the hospital. Really, after a few days it was more about the game and outsmarting Alice than actually helping her get help… which is why he fails dramatically.

Bonus Fact: The title of my story is the scientific name for apples

Bonus Fact Two: Alice was already named when I discovered Alice is a kind of apple, which makes it so much better

MY VOTE: Kylie

Korrin

For my cliche I decided to go classic.  What is the most cliche cliche around? “The early bird gets the worm.” For those of you who are still going through your high school and college years, you know that ain’t neva gonna happen.  However, that is what all of our mother’s tried to tell us when they wanted us to finally get out of bed at 10:00 a.m.  They made it seem like you could accomplish anything if you got up early enough.  Even vanquish your life-long nemesis.  

I thought it would be very comical to have the story be literal.  It is told from the birds perspective.  There is a very crafty worm who is obviously a bully because how dare he not want to get eaten. Jerk.

I wrote it short on purpose. Half because I thought short would be a good way to tell the story, the bird’s last thoughts before he goes to bed on the eve of his victory, and half because I didn’t really feel like writing a lot today. I just watched the season finale of The Flash and am not super happy right now.  Anyway, that’s my view on it.

MY VOTE: Amanda

Kylie

Oh, cliches. Aren’t you always the most fun?

Another rough week of “I want to do this idea! Kylie, do this idea! Why isn’t this working? I JUST WANT TO FORCE YOU TO USE THIS IDEA STOP BEING A JERK!” Luckily, my mom had just seen a post about where different cliches come from, and she gave me my inspiration. So I changed to “dead ringer,” which I thought would give me a lovely horror story. Instead, I got this kindly police officer who still can’t get over the family notifications. If this isn’t how the police actually work, then oops yolo sorry not sorry (for now). I watch a lot of Law and Order, but other than that, I’m pretty clueless as to how the police actually work. Anyways, I’m actually very pleased with how this turned out. This is another piece I’d definitely consider taking to a large workshop.

MY VOTE: Amanda

Next week’s prompt:

There is a certain musical artist named Taylor Swift (don’t worry if you haven’t heard of her, it will be okay) who posted a video for her song “Bad Blood” about a month ago. This video features several bada** girls fighting and being awesome. Your task is to write a story about one of these girls- their origin story, an epic fight with their nemesis, a mission they were sent on, whatever. Just pick one of the strong female characters and use her as your lead.

Dead Ringer

                He pushed the doorbell again, listening as a dog scrambled over the tile to reach the door and a woman yelled “Coming! Coming!” These were the hard days. A modest suburban home. A wife that was home in the middle of the day. A dog. A well-worn swing set outside. Chipped paint and a dent in the garage door, no doubt part of the “Honey Do” list. A list, he thought as his stomach turned in another loop, that would never be done.

                Each morning, he thanked God he didn’t work homicide. This was hard enough. He couldn’t imagine having to ask questions. These were people with families. They were parents and children, siblings and lovers. To treat them with suspicion as they reeled where they stood, stupidly staring through him and towards the sky as though their loved one would appear laughing, claiming that it was all just a joke, all just a misunderstanding, would have been too much.

                As the doorknob turned, he snuck a glance as his partner. He too bore the weight of the notification, the weight of the dead and of the living. The oath they had taken had prepared them for the worst, or so it had seemed. In reality, it was only preparation for their bodies. It was their hearts and minds that suffered the worst blows.

                The woman opened the door, her bright smile wavering as she noticed the glint of their badges.

                “Mrs. Garcia?” he asked, wondering if for once it would be no, that this was a mistake, that nothing bad had happened. Instead, she put her hand to her mouth as she slid down the doorframe and crouched as if she were holding herself together. Her head nodded jerkily as her voice spoke of its own accord, gasps of pain and anguish. It was, he knew, a pain that would always be as raw as it was now.

                These were the hard days.

How to Defeat A Nemesis

I’m going to get that smug, little, menace.  Tomorrow will be the day that I vanquish my rival once and for all.  He will never see it coming. 

Every day he gets up before anything should be awake.  He’s crazy.  And he does that because he knows.  He is smarter than the rest of his kind and he knows that if he starts early, he won’t get caught. 

I know his moves.  I have been trying to beat him for a long time now and I know.  He knows I know, and he taunts me.  He will poke his head out, only to dive back into the earth just before I can sink my claws into him.  Well he is in for a surprise now. 

My nest is comfortable and I am sure to get enough rest this night.  I built it far away from any potential neighbors so they won’t know my secret plan.  No one can ruffle my feathers tonight.

I will be the one to get up early.  I will be the victor.  And I will finally feast on the flesh of my nemesis. 

Tomorrow, I’m going to get that worm.

Malus Domestica

I’ve been living alone longer than what most people seem to think healthy. They all want me sent to that windowless prison they call a hospital; I know it. Every time I sneak into town to sell my homemade cider and other wares, I find a place to hide and catch up on the gossip. I know they all talk about me… they all think about me. Some of them speculate that I killed my dear husband, but they don’t know a thing about that. He wasn’t even at home when he passed on… and I had lived miserable every day since. Just because I don’t cry in public they assume I don’t cry at all.

Living on the outskirts of a small town has many advantages- privacy, acres of land, and little contact with nosy neighbors. Solidarity of this sort truly can be enough to drive some mad, but I couldn’t find it more relaxing. The only time I feel truly happy is when I am cradled under one of our hundreds of apple trees reading a book in the spring or picking apples by the bucket load in the fall, turning some to cider and others to pies.

I can’t blame the villagers for gossiping about me though. I have a sense of humor that is rather… well, twisted, as my husband would say. When I first heard the word “mad” mentioned in connection with my name, I decided to embrace it. I muttered to myself all day scaring anyone I passed by. If anyone spoke to me, I would stare at them a long while before answering. Sometimes I would even twitch. It was all in jest, but as nobody in the village ever bothered to call at my house or really get to know me, nobody understood.

This didn’t bother me until the doctor came by.

I still remember the first time it happened. I was shocked- I don’t remember anyone ever knocking at my door. When I peaked through the window and saw his stupid white coat with a stethoscope and his medical bag in hand, I had to stifle a laugh. I had grown up with George and could think of nobody less suited to be a doctor than him. But in a small town, desperate times sometimes call for desperate measures.

I opened the door, but not enough for him to squeeze through.

“Yes?” I asked.

“Good morning, Alice!” he said, though it was three in the afternoon.

“It’s three in the afternoon.” I said, which he must have mistaken for “Do, come in” since he pushed through the door and stepped into my kitchen.

I saw him sitting nervously on a barstool as I walked in to see what he wanted. He just stared at me as if expecting me to say something, so I offered him a drink.

“Juice?”

“Yes please, as long as it’s not apple.” He replied.

Of course it’s apple, you idiot, I thought but didn’t say. Then I remembered his allergy and felt bad for calling him an idiot, even if only in my head.

“Water it is then!” I said uncharacteristically cheerfully.

He took the glass and drained it before looking at me again. He started to speak several times before he managed to string a full sentence together. And they think I’m mad, I thought bitterly, their beloved doctor can’t even speak.

”How…” he eventually managed, “how have you been, Alice? Since last June, I mean.”

“I’ve been fine.” I snapped. He seemed to either not hear or not understand because he just continued on.

“People in town have been concerned about you. You have been acting strange since then and people are taking note, Alice. We’re all worried. That’s why I came here today. I think it would be best for all of us if you came with me somewhere I could help you better. If you just came to the hospital, you could live there quite comfortably, and I would be able to help.”

I fought against the accusations, the charge to leave my beloved house, and George’s medical qualifications for hours as he repeated back to me the same nonsense he had been spewing since he arrived. Eventually, as a closing statement, he said “Well, I will return tomorrow… with my car, even. I shall expect you to be ready at 8:00 in the morning. Good day, Alice.”

As he shut the door, I shouted “IT’S EIGHT O’CLOCK AT NIGHT, YOU FOOL!” which, in retrospect, didn’t make him like me anymore.

This all took place three weeks ago, yet here I was, comfortably baking an apple pie in my own kitchen. George had expected me to go down without a fight, the simpleton. True, I had to stay up late every night plotting a way out, but I had managed it so far even though he returned every morning at 8:00 sharp. I must be the only sick person in town, at least in his eyes.

The first morning was sloppy, but it was all I could do with such short notice. When he came, I opened the door and offered him some water. What I didn’t tell him was that I had spiked it with the smallest amount of apple juice. He ran from the house with his tongue so swollen up he couldn’t even properly threaten me or tell me he would return tomorrow.

By now, it had become a game for me. Now that he is better prepared for my tricks, I have to find more and more clever ways to bring on an allergic reaction. One day, my entire pathway was lined with halves of big red apples. Another, I had rigged a bucket to drop on the head of whoever first walked on my porch filled with apple skins and cores. Apparently his reactions were bad enough to make him flee but not so bad that he didn’t try again the next day.

I put the finishing touches on my pie crust and set it in my ice box. I would wake up early tomorrow to set it in the oven so it would be in place on the windowsill to cool when he approached.

As long as I never ran out of apples, he will never be able to drag me away and lock me up.

An apple a day will keep the doctor away.

Round Up: Week Six

Prompt: Write a story using the most vivid dream you can remember. You can change the characters in it if you wish, but the plot should stay the same.

Amanda

As soon as I read the prompt for this week, I was really excited because I think I have pretty freaking cool dreams. Unfortunately… as soon as I tried to remember them, I couldn’t remember ever having a dream in my life. The only one I can remember details of, even now, was the basis of this story- I dreamt I was in my church building and there was a picture of Ariel with a crown on and somebody was trying to convince me the crown was a clue. Also I spent most of the dream looking for a bathroom.

I wrote the poem because I can’t dream in poetry and changed myself to Cinderella (called Ella in the story) and whoever was talking to me to Philip. I love Disney and the idea that their hidden secrets within movies could actually be clues to a quest. Disney, you should get on that, I know plenty of disneyphiles who would love a good quest with clues hidden in classic movies, with or without a fortune waiting at the end. Maybe just like a really cool hidden mickey and a dole whip stand.

MY VOTE: Kylie

Korrin

I wrote this story at 11 o’clock at night so my brain was kinda dead.  The dream I wrote about was the only reoccurring dream I have ever had.  The captain in my dream really was my mother and she really did stab me in the chest and it was terrible and awful, mostly because you can’t go and sleep in your parents bed after your mom kills you in a nightmare.  I picked the dream because I had had it so often and it still frightens me to this day.

MY VOTE: Kylie

Kylie

NOTE: I published my story early Wednesday morning. I hit publish. I made sure it went up. And for some reason, it did not publish. So I claim sanctuary.

Don’t hate me because I was late this week, hate me because I’m the fairest in all the land. Just don’t be offended if I turn down any apples you try to offer me.

I had to try to find something off-limits this week. I have so many dreams that evolve into the basis of one of my future novels that it was difficult to find something. That contributed to my lateness, along with other personal stuff. So for this prompt, I wrote about the time I met a genuine rock star in one of my dreams. Except in my dream, it was Pink, and I spent the rest of the dream waiting for her to call me back. It was quite rude of her to leave me hanging like that. I would have even settled for a text. I also left out the part where after the commercial was done shooting and they had cleaned up the plaza, Joss Whedon showed up and started filming the end credits scene for Age of Ultron. The crew noticed that I was trying to take Snapchat pictures/videos, so they started taping up things over our windows so that we couldn’t leak pictures. Unfortunately, all they had was paper plates, so we had paper plates very hastily and poorly taped over our windows.

I still got awesome pictures, though.

I’m fairly happy with how it turned out, but I think I’m far happier with the fact that I actually got something written.

MY VOTE: Korrin

Next Week’s Prompt:

As a writer, the number one thing we are told is “AVOID CLICHES AT ALL COSTS.” So this week, we’re writing with cliches. But--plot twist!--you have to earn your cliche. Does this mean it’s literal? Does this mean it’s figurative? Does this mean it has to prove a point and ends up as a terrible pun, as commonly happens in the comic strip Pearls Before Swine by Stephan Pastis? IT DOESN’T MATTER! Just earn it.

I Might Even Be a Rock Star

                It’s a warm day today, and warm days make me tired. The last thing I want to be doing right now is walking home with a huge backpack weighing me down. I’m just so tired. I’m tired all the time, lately. It’s not like my classes are any more stressful from the past two semesters. Maybe it’s the new commute. I used to drive for an hour to get to school, but ever since the move, I walk all the way there and back. It sounds like a fair trade, but I walk through downtown to get there, so it almost isn’t.

                I can see my family’s apartment from here. It isn’t hard, to spot I guess, considering that we have a huge penthouse. I guess the apartment’s nice. There aren’t any dogs and its pretty quiet living up in the sky. The adjustment was difficult, though. One minute, Mom’s running around the house with wild eyes, waving some scratch card over her head, and the next, we’re moving into a penthouse downtown with lots of fancy art. I don’t know how much we won, but based on the way Mom smiles when I ask her, I know it’s a lot.

                I hitch my backpack up on my shoulders and duck under some yellow tape that’s in my way. There are barricades in the middle of the street that say “road closed,” but it’s probably just road construction or something. Nothing I can’t handle walking through. I’m sure I could flatten a steamroller right now through sheer will power. I get angry when I’m tired. I don’t think there’s a word for that, yet. There’s “hangry,” but as much as I love food, lack of it doesn’t usually upset me. It’s being tired that gets me all riled up. There should totally be a word for being angry because you’re tired. Get on that, internet.

                There’s something going on in the plaza. It looks weird. There are giant boxes, and… a tree? It looks almost like a playground, with all the bright colors. Well, the color I can see underneath the huge piles of white. They can’t be installing something new. The plaza is in the middle of downtown. It’s where the city lets local bands play. It’s where the city holds all their big festivals. Heck, it’s even where they hold the farmer’s market on early Saturday mornings. They can’t take all of that away and put a playground there. It’s part of the city’s cultural history! They can’t replace it with… with…

                Christmas?

                Oh my heck. I’m such an idiot. Mom warned me about this as I was scarfing down my bagel before class. We all got the notice that one of the large department stores was shooting a Christmas commercial out here this afternoon. There’s no road construction, just sleighs and banners and presents. And that means that there isn’t anything keeping me from walking in the middle of the road.

                I try to walk in the middle of the road as often as I can. It’s a liberating experience for me. I’m exactly where I’m not supposed to be, and nobody can stop me. Plus, I’ll have cross the street at some point anyways, so why not just start walking that direction now? It’s like killing two walking related issues with one road closure sign.

                For now, I’m walking in the middle of the road, one foot in front of the other, trekking on the way home. I can hear someone walking behind me. Apparently someone else had the same idea as I did. I guess they could also be coming to kick me out of the middle of the road. The director or someone could be pulling a diva fit because there’s an extra out of place. The person is walking faster. I’m not going to try and run away. I’m going to be off the street soon enough, so they can calm down for thrww minutes and let me get home.

                “Long day?”

                I don’t turn towards the woman’s voice. Instead, I kick a pebble. “You have no idea.”

                “Yeah, man, I know how that goes.” She chuckles. “So what’s up?”

                I shrug. “I’m in college, and I walk there every day. Either one of those alone is bad, but put them together, and—“

                “Damn. That is long.”

                I glance up at the lady. She looks genuinely surprised. I’m sure I do, too. My family doesn’t swear, and neither do any of my friends. At least, not very often.

                “Yeah,” I say slowly. There’s something weird about this lady. And it isn’t just the fact that she’s decked out in a bunch of furry winter gear. It’s that she looks familiar. She’s just old enough that I know I don’t recognize her from high school, but she’s young enough that she doesn’t look like a teacher. “Sorry,” I finally say after this long internal debate with myself, “I really don’t mean to stare, but you look incredibly familiar.”

                She grins. “Well, it’s nice to hear that for once. I usually get screams of ‘oh my God‘ and ‘sign my boobs!’ I take it you don’t listen to Top 40 radio?”

                “Well, I do, actually, but—“ Her lips are bright pink. She has bright pink lipstick on. Top 40 radio and bright pink lipstick can only mean one thing.

                The one and only rock goddess Magenta is standing in front of me.

                “You—“ I stammer, “you’re Magenta.”

                “Hell yeah I am!” She’s laughing. “Oh man, you should see your face right now. It’s golden.”

                I’m walking down the street with a rock star right now. This is real life. Sure, I don’t know many of her songs or obsess over her, but… she’s a rock star. She’s met the president of the United States of America.

                “I’m like… wow. I’m so sorry. You must be—and you’re in,” I point halfheartedly towards the plaza, but I can’t stop staring at Magenta. My best friend from middle school would be flipping out right now.

                “Hey, don’t worry about it. It isn’t often that I get to talk to someone like a person, even if it is for only thirty seconds. I’m just sorry I don’t have a signed headshot or something for you. Do you have a phone? We can totally take a selfie or something. I’m supposed to be heading to the set, but I can stop for a few. What are they gonna do, fire me?”

                My head is still reeling. “Actually,” I hear myself say, “I live up there, in the penthouse of that old casino. You’re always welcome to stop by. Do you want to have dinner with us? Mom’s making spaghetti.” I sound like I’m in kindergarten and asking for my friend to stop by. This is absolutely the stupidest thing I’ve ever done. Now I will live my whole life knowing that I was an idiot in front of the rock goddess Magenta.           

She laughs. “You know, I just might. I’m heading to set now. See ya later, dude!” She waves as she jogs to set. I stand there and watch her leave for a moment, then immediately run home.

                Just wait until Mom hears about this.

A Pirate's Tale

We had ship wrecked.  For the fourth time this year. It was starting to get really annoying, but there were freak storms everywhere.  Guess that's what people would call karma for a pirate.  I had been sailing the seven seas since I became of age and nothing as bad as this year had every happened before.

I woke up on the beach. Not necessarily a weird thing after a ship wreck but I'm happy I lived all the same. None of the crew are around me so I should probably start looking for them.  First, I have to stand up though and that is never an easy thing to do when you feel like you inhaled three gallons of sea water and then got slammed against some very sharp rocks.  I start by sitting up.  The world hasn't turned upside down on me yet, which is a good sign.  I finally make it to my feet and have a look around.

We crashed on an island.  Big surprise.  There was a hill that ran up to what looked like a small oasis.  I should probably start there to look for water and the others.  But the beach is so beautiful that I can't not walk around a bit.

The sand is golden and soft.  It isn't really hot either, peculiar for the middle of the day.  There are no rocks or seaweed on the beach, in fact the tide doesn't really go past a certain point, like it is avoiding hitting the island at all.  Everything is really calm, there are no waves in the water and when I look up at the trees they aren't swaying in any wind.  I must have been conscious for a long time, there isn't any sign of a storm blowing through at all.

I also don't see any pieces of our ship. That's great. We will have to start from scratch. Just brilliant.

I keep walking along the edge on the beach, something feels wrong here but I can't put my finger on it.  I stumble here and there, the water must have done something to me or I wouldn't be tripping over nothing.

I feel as if I have been around the whole island when I hear a sound behind me.  I turn around and see her, the Captain.  She also happens to be my mother.

"Thank goodness you are alright!" I shout and start to move toward her.  She isn't moving sluggishly like I am, but it can't be easy for her to move around in the soft sand with her peg leg.  She is holding her cutlass at her side and her eyes tell me that something wrong has happened.

"Mum? Are you alright?" I ask. I am much closer to her now and she is staring at me blankly.

Suddenly she gives a ferocious yowl and charges me.  I fall over into the sand.

I turn and spit grit out of my mouth. That's when I see that my mother is standing over me with her sword pointed at my chest.  I freeze like I had been taught to do.  My weapon had been washed away while I was out and I was completely defenseless.

"What is going on?" My voice is quavering.  The look in my mum's eyes is terrifying.  I have only seen her look this way when one of the crewmen tried to mutiny and she tossed him overboard.  Seriously what kind of idiot mutinies by himself? Anyway, I was horrified.

"You should have known better child." She tells me.  Her voice is soft, but in no way warm.  Her eyes tell of a hatred that I have never experienced before. "This is what was coming for you, what was always coming."

"Mum I don't understand. What has happened to you?" I can feel water on my cheeks and it isn't the kind of salt water you get from a spray of the sea.

"Nothing has happened." She says.  That's when she swings down her sword and stabs me in the chest.

I feel cold, and my shirt is suddenly wet.  I thought there wasn't any waves. That's right there isn't.  Then what is this wetness on my shirt?

I look at my mum and my vision is tinted red.  She is smiling with glee and that's when I know that my mother killed me.

The next thing I see is the bright blue sky over head.

And then...

Nothing.

A Princess Quest

Disclaimer: I do not own the Disney Princess or any of the characters mentioned in this story. They all belong to the Disney company.

“Don’t tell me you actually believe that!”

Ella stopped in her tracks in the middle of the church hallway where she had been walking with Philip and stared at him in disbelief.

“But, those were just stories! Stories he told us for entertainment… to inspire our imagination… whatever it was dad had said.”

“Ella, I know you don’t believe… but it’s true! I didn’t really believe either until I found this hiding in some thorn bushes in the Black Forest.” Philip shook an ancient-looking key in front of her face.

“You could have bought that key anywhere.”

“No, Ella. It’s true. If you will just let me show you….” He pulled out his tablet and started flashing through pictures of the princesses. A six year old girl couldn’t be more obsessed with Disney royalty than Ella’s family was.

“Snow White, Cinderella (He nudged Ella as she scrolled past her namesake), Aurora, Ariel, Belle, Jasmine, Pocahontas, Mulan, Tiana, Rapunzel, Merida. The official Disney princess lineup. But, if you recall, there are way more princesses featured in Disney movies; and not all the ‘princesses’ could even claim that title. So why these characters? Why not others? They’re clues, Ella.”

Ella started to walk away, so Philip grabbed her hand.

“Ella, wait! Just look at their crowns.” He pulled up a picture of the mermaid with a tiara on. Now that Ella looked at it…. It was still just a stupid cartoon crown. She was getting tired of humoring Philip. She looked at him and he looked back like a child on Christmas morning.

“You see? The gemstone in her crown! Purple and shaped like a seashell! It’s part of the clue! The poem that dad found!”

“Dad wrote that poem, Philip. If you’ll excuse me, I have to find a bathroom now.”

Ella marched away to find a bathroom, but Philip stayed and pulled out of his wallet the poem… or the riddle… the verse… their dad had found when they were young.

Many years hence, the princesses will unite

When they number eleven, the time will be right

Their style will change, their dresses will glow,

So heed these words and you shall know.

The first, the bow worn in her hair

The second, her shoes, put on with care

The third, her tall and golden crown

The fourth, a gemstone, but not round

The fifth, a rose found in full bloom

The sixth, a crown to match her groom

The seventh, the necklace she often wears

The eighth, a sword she bravely bears

The ninth, her green and leafy gown

The tenth, a hidden princess found

The eleventh, the tip of her fair bow

Collect these things, and you shall know

Philip read over it a few times and took notes of his recent find in the margin. His father never told the origins of the poem, but claimed it came from someone within the Disney company. The riddle was a quest, and the prize was Disney’s vast fortune hidden somewhere. According to the poem, the company had planned to change the looks of each princess once they numbered eleven; this took place in 2013, meaning the time was now to solve the quest and earn the fortune.

Ella finally returned, complaining about getting lost along the way, and Philip read the poem through to her before she could stop him from doing so.

“You see, I know the poem is real, and I’ve already figured out which piece it describes from each. Ariel’s is her seashell gemstone, Cinderella’s is her glass slipper, Tiana’s is her dress… you get the idea”

“Well, what about this one… ‘A lost princess found’?”

“That’s Rapunzel. You know that part in Tangled when they go to the kingdom and…”

“I haven’t seen it” Ella snapped proudly. She thought Philip would get upset and try to force her to watch it, but he just sadly looked away and whispered “I thought not.”

They sat in silence a moment, then Philip held up the key again.

“I found this in the Black Forest… where Sleeping Beauty is set. If you look closely, you can see a hidden Mickey here, which proves it’s Disney-made. The only problem is that, obviously, this isn’t a crown, so I don’t know exactly what it means. I found it inside a chest with the inscription “To my castle.” But in all the castles around the area, I couldn’t find anywhere the key would fit.”

“Well obviously not. Sleeping Beauty’s castle isn’t in Germany; it’s in Disneyland.”

Ella spoke so matter-of-factly that Philip simply stared.

“That’s common knowledge.”

“Ella… let’s go to Disneyland.” Philip pleaded.

Ella thought a moment, and then agreed. “I’ve always wanted to go anyway. Honestly, I don’t know why dad never took us there, being so consumed by Disney himself.”