Round Up: Week Thirteen

Last Week’s Prompt:

This week, we’re rewriting one of our old stories. We aren’t proofreading them and editing them. We are creating entirely new stories.

Amanda

I chose to “rewrite” one of my favorite stories written for this blog so far- Solving Your Potential. The story written from the point of view of a calculator. I wrote the story this week from the point of view of the boy to show more of what was happening in his life. The little calculator’s message worked and helped the boy to find his potential and learn how to think outside the box of where to apply his math degree. I love the whole story/situation involved since it reflects my current life situation. Studying math without studying engineering is tricky when it comes to getting non-teaching jobs, but with enough creativity and enough passion, it can be done.

I hope.

MY VOTE: Kylie

Korrin

I did my story on the cliche week’s story.  That story was one of my favorites because it was so very me.  It was also the easiest one I could think of to reinvent.  There are always two sides to every story, and I think part of being a writer is understanding both sides in any conflict you create.  Like how Voldemort kills people because he can’t love because he was conceived under the effects of a love potion.  That kind of thing makes the audience have some form of pity for the bad guy and gives a story much more depth.  

MY VOTE: Amanda. (PS. it was a really hard choice.)

Kylie

Better late than never.

This story is a bit slower than what I would normally write because of the narrator. He’s a pretty simple dude who’s at his most eloquent when he’s angry. What a nerd.

Anyways, this is a sort-of sequel to And You Caused It. It’s a reassurance that everyone ends up okay and that everyone is happy. Yay for cute fluffy junk!

MY VOTE: Amanda

Next Week’s Prompt:

Write (your version of) the true story behind any urban legend. You can either show it's true or show it's false, just pick an urban legend and tell a story!

Past and Future

                I don’t think she knows that I chased after her that night. I don’t think she knows that I held that little box as tight as I could in my hand until my knuckles changed from white to red and back to white. But I did. I knew that something had gone horribly, terribly wrong; I had never seen that look darken her face before, not even when her father left. Those looks are reserved for the kinds of tragedies that knock you off your feet and send you spiraling into the unknown. I know this because that one look almost sent me to the same place.

                At the moment, I didn’t care what everyone else in the restaurant thought of the scene. And although I still don’t care, I do wonder what it must have looked like to everyone else. Two normal looking people, one small box, and a phone call. A woman stumbling out the door as a man sat at a table staring after her for a few moments before running out the door and calling her name. I wonder if they knew that her life and mine had been changed forever. I wonder how many of them rooted for us.

                That moment changed me. I stumbled around the city for I don’t know how long trying to wrap my head around what had happened, still clutching the box, endlessly terrified of the unknown. I was scared for her mother, her brother, her, and even her father. It was torture, knowing that something was wrong and not being able to help her. At the time, I didn’t realize that I thought nothing of myself; I only see that in hindsight. It gives me comfort to know that I was doing the right thing all those years ago.

                She was furious when I found her. She thought her lack of communication had pushed me away, but it only made me fight harder. I knew she was hurting, and I knew I needed to help. It’s funny how things work, sometimes. She thought that with all her screaming and yelling in the quiet hospital, I would be forced to leave. I knew that with all her screaming and yelling, she needed someone there for her more than she had ever needed anyone before. I couldn’t leave her like that, but I knew I couldn’t stay. So I sat outside in the waiting room for hours. If she needed anything, I wanted to be there to make sure she got it.

                Of course, she knows about that. It’s hard not to notice, especially when I never left. But as far as I know, she doesn’t know how lost and desperate I felt that night at the restaurant, knowing that she may have been hurt beyond repair and knowing that I wasn’t there to help. But it doesn’t matter anymore. She might not know about that night, but she knows the future. We see the future every day in our children. Children who have learned from the mistakes of their parents and from the sins of the past. Children who have grown far wiser than their father ever was. The past is behind us. Long live the future.

Food Chain

Every day I hear my kin’s anguished cries as they are devoured without mercy.  It happens every morning without fail and all I can do is hide in my den and cower.  I weep every day for the lost souls of my family that disappear daily.

I have tried to caution my people to stop the foolish practice that gets them killed.  No one will listen to me.  “It is our tradition and nothing will change that. This is the way of life.” But it doesn’t have to be. Why am I the only one to see that?

Every day I go out into the open air to see the world and get what I need, I just do it earlier than anyone else.  Yes, I have to go to bed earlier to rise that early, but I am pretty sure my life is worth it.

There is one foe in particular that is becoming aware of my habits, and I will have to keep a close watch on him. I won’t say that it doesn’t give me pleasure to thwart him.  As the most intelligent one around here, outwitting the enemy gives me great pleasure.  It is the only good thing about this situation. 

The world is a mad place, and it’s vicious. I’m only doing what I can to survive.  

Finding My Equation

Everything was going exactly as planned.

It was the last week of my last semester, and I had one last final ahead of me- tomorrow morning. Tired of studying and confident that I knew the formulas well enough, I packed up my calculator along with some pencils and tried to get a few hours of rest.

One more test, two weeks until graduation, and already three interviews set up at prestigious companies. I would finally be able to support my wife and our coming child rather than adding to our mountain of student debt. Everything was going to be perfect.

I have always loved math, since I first took my dad’s old calculator when I was a toddler. I had a lot of adventures with that old calculator; learning how to program it, adding special features, and learning the beauty of its many functions. When the time came to choose a major, I already knew what I wanted. Six years later, here I am today, a few hundred hours away from holding a master’s degree.

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

The test went as planned- my little calculator performed perfectly as always as I slammed the keys in my panic to finish. Now I am in the waiting room, waiting for an interview with MedTech, one of the largest employers of people with my skill set. My heart pounds as the seconds tick by. I compulsively check my bag for my calculator, though no test will be required today. She is there, same as always; ready to help me in the next chapter of my life.

“Mr. Sterling?” the secretary finally calls.

“Yes?” I say standing and straightening out my jacket sleeves.

“They’re ready for you, just come this way.”

I followed her and found myself in a room with a man and a woman, both dressed professionally and looking stern. A few handshakes and questions follow until finally…

“Tell us about your experience with engineering.”

“Oh…” I stammer as my heart stops. “Well, I never really took physics or anything, so I haven’t done much engineering.”

A long pause destroyed every hope I had of landing this job.

“We were under the impression we were hiring an engineer, not just a math guy, Mr. Sterling. We have computers that run numbers; what we need are innovators.”

And that was it.

The interview was over before I could try to turn things around.

Two more interviews, almost identical, followed the first. I continued to search and apply everywhere I could think, but it didn’t add up. My wife’s due date was quickly approaching, so I put up a brave front for her sake.

Tonight, I am finally running the numbers- something I had been dreading. We had a decent savings account, and my wife’s small business brought in some money. I graphed, I calculated, I punched in numbers quickly and hurriedly, but my little calculator faithfully displayed the truth- negative numbers.

I broke down for the first time in years. I didn’t want my wife to hear my cry, but I had to speak to someone- so I pulled out my calculator’s old camera and speaker.

“How…” I tried to ask it with a sob, not knowing if I actually expected a reply. “How do I get by with no job, and no money? I have a master’s degree in mathematics for crying out loud! I've tried harder than I ever have in my life… but I just can’t do it anymore. Why isn't there a formula for getting your life together?”

My calculator did reply, in the form of two symbols. “=?” it read, and then darkness replaced all output on the screen.

I don’t know what the end of my equation might be. I have all the input- my degree, my experience, my faith… but the output was unknown. I don’t know what I might equal, what my life might amount to. But I realized then, as I sketched the two symbols in the corner of my notebook, I could make my output into anything. Maybe all the larger companies want engineers and scientists, but there had to be a place for someone like me.

I smiled, dug for some batteries in my desk drawer, and put them into my calculator. Then I opened up my laptop, adjusted my resume and my search, and tried to think where my equation might lead.

Round Up: Week Twelve

Last Week’s Prompt:

Got to where you keep your DVD’s/Movies. Close your eyes and pick a random disk out of the pile.  Play the first disk and press fast forward, as fast as possible. Count to 30 veeeeeeerrrrry sllllloooooowwwwwllllyy and then press play.

Watch for five minutes.

Your story has to be either the prequel to what you watched ending with the plot of the five minutes that you watched, or beginning with what you watched and ending in any way you want.

You cannot just rewrite what the movie did. The story you tell should be an alternate reality to what the movie is. Fanfiction is welcome.  

Amanda

My movie was Hercules (the Disney version) and I landed on the scene where he wants to figure out where he belongs, then he goes on a journey singing "Go the Distance". My story is pretty loosely based on the plot with just the essential elements- a young man feels lost and alone and needs to get away to discover more about life and truth. My young man feels isolated from his family and his community because of differences in belief and the persecution of Father Doyle, so he leaves for America, where he joins the Mormons in Kirtland, Ohio.

This story follows the pattern of the lives of many early Mormon pioneers, but I thought of my great (x3) grandfather in particular- a young man from County Down, Ireland whose family disowned him when he joined the Mormon church so he left for America.

MY VOTE: Kylie

Korrin

My show is called The Storyteller and is it a masterpiece put out by Jim Henson. I got the greek myths part of it and the story of Daedalus.  I forwarded it to the sad part where he totally murders his nephew and I had a hard time doing it because of how sad it is.  Luckily my friends helped and I think it turned out pretty well.  I didn’t want to give them names because changing Greek names into modern times sounded too hard, and I don’t think it took anything away from the story.

MY VOTE: Amanda

Kylie

My movie was Jurassic Park, and I landed on the famous T-Rex chase scene.

Dinosaurs are great. They’re cute, huggable, and completely bloodthirsty. What’s not to love about their inevitable path of destruction and dead bodies littered in their wake? Although Jurassic Park already did a fantastic job of highlighting precisely why dinosaurs are some of the scariest things of all time, I wanted to make them scary for a different reason. There’s a different level of fear that comes with not expecting a dinosaur to appear, rather than “I am literally on Dinosaur Island WHAT COULD GO WRONG.”

My story is also partially based off the legends of the mokele-mbembe. Given, it isn’t a T-Rex, but the legend of a dinosaur that lives in the African jungle was just too good to pass up.

MY VOTE: Korrin

Next Week’s Prompt:

This prompt is simple in theory, but a bit more complex to explain.

This week, we’re rewriting one of our old stories. We aren’t proofreading them and editing them, though. We are creating entirely new stories.

Some helpful hints:

--Imagine the story from another character’s point of view and how they might have interpreted events

--Make loose guidelines for your story. For example: Boy and girl meet, fall in love, go through tough times. Sound like the plot of The Hunger Games? Nope. But it still describes it.

--Find the biggest, most vibrant images in your piece. Elaborate on those. See where the story takes you based on those images.

Good luck and happy writing to you all!

Patience

                She stood in the passenger seat, loading her gun as Amal drove. The man in the back screamed as Amal jerked the wheel to the left, barely scraping past a fallen tree. “Keep your head down, Mr. Erickson!” she called to the man, snapping the barrel of her gun back into place. “I don’t want to remove it by accident!” The man shifted down lower, wrapping his arms around his head and mumbling under his breath. In moments like this, every second was precious and could be the barrier between life and death. But in this situation, she determined that it was worth it to let one quick eye roll fly before leveling the gun out the back of the jeep.

                She had heard it said that if one was in a moving automobile during an earthquake, it would be impossible to tell because of the movement of the automobile. It was impossible to say if she had ever believed it or not—it seemed both logical and as though it were an old wives’ tale, after all—but she knew that the footfalls of the big game that she sought out day after day were made still by the rumbling of the jeep’s engine. This creature’s steps, however, did not. Each footfall reverberated through her chest, making some primal part within her want to scream. But she had not lived her life fleeing rather than fighting, and she would not allow this creature to get the better of her.

                As she turned her head towards Amal—perhaps to ask a question or comment on the speed—two things happened. First, a terrifying sound came from the trees behind them as birds erupted from the growth, squawking in their fear; second, the world inverted itself, seemingly in response to the commotion. She had seconds to pull in her gun as they tumbled, making sure it didn’t discharge. The man in the back—Erickson—screamed louder than he had before. The crash was loud enough; the creature didn’t need the added help of the screams.

                It was all she could do to grab the man’s collar and jump out of the vehicle. She pulled him behind a large rock—likely the one Amal had attempted to swerve around. Her teeth ground together as she commanded the pricking in her eyes to stop. Amal had been a good friend and an even better guide. It was a shame that he had gone like this. It wasn’t right.

                “This is it,” the man said, and she turned to look at him. His eyes were wide, staring down into the dirt as if there were so much more there that she was unable to see. “This is it, isn’t it?”

                “Nonsense.” She leveled her gun at the top of the boulder, waiting for the creature to emerge. “I’ve plenty of life I’ve yet to live, Mr. Erickson. I don’t intend to end that here.”

                “This is all my fault,” he whispered, hands tangled in his dark hair. “If I had just stuck it out and stayed there with Sarah, this wouldn’t have happened.” A manic giggle escaped his lips and she fought the urge to slap him, fearing that he may make more noise if she did.

                “Mr. Erickson—“

                “And now,” he said, starting to shake, “now I may never see her again. This was so stupid. Why did I—“

                “Mr. Erickson!” she hissed, grabbing the front of his shirt and forcing him to look in her eyes. “I understand that your wife is precious to you, but it would serve both of us well if you would kindly shut up.”

                She let go of him and he flopped onto the ground in shock. He couldn’t believe that she would be so rough with him, especially when their lives were on the line.

                “So,” he whispered as she scanned the now-still trees, “what do you think it is?”

                “I don’t think; I know what it is, Mr. Erickson,” she said, pivoting the gun from side to side. “The locals have legends of these creatures lurking here in the depths of the jungle, these beasts that consume and leave few survivors, if any at all.”

                He was silent for a moment, attempting to corral his fear. “What is it called, then?”

                “I believe you would call it a dinosaur,” she whispered back gently.

                The world began to spin once again, faster and faster, a blur of green and shadow. “A dinosaur?” he heard his voice say from very far away. “I came all the way to Africa to take my wife on a safari, paid all that money for a guide and a private driver, and in return, I get eaten by a god damn dinosaur.” He felt the giggles bubbling in his chest but was powerless to stop them. He was on a different continent, surrounded by people who didn’t speak English. He had saved his whole life to be able to impress his wife, and now he would die because of a creature that had supposedly died out millennia ago.

                “Mr. Erickson!” she hissed again, attempting to snap him out of his hysteria. “Mr. Erickson, please, I beg of you, just—“

                A roar erupted from the trees, immediately silencing the pair of them. “Be very still, Mr. Erickson,” she spoke, her lips barely moving. “We’re about to make our stand.”

On The Run

I sit staring at my son as he sleeps in the motel room.  We can barely scrape by, selling the odds and ends I make every day. No eleven year old should have to sit on random streets selling wooden wares just to keep the dive they were staying in.  I was worried he would start getting sick from the bed bugs he shared his bed with.  But as he lay there he looked peaceful, he still doesn’t know the reason we had to leave our home so suddenly. He would never know.

I look down at my hands to see them shaking.  I can’t sleep because my dreams are plagued with the horrendous act I have committed. The only thing I can do is keep moving to protect my son.

I place my head into hands.  I can still see the day my sister brought him to us.  She was out of her comfort zone, he was too smart for her to deal with anymore.  She hoped that by living with me he would flourish and learn more than she could ever give him. My beautiful nephew.

He was everything I hoped for in my son. Unfortunately, he was born to my sister instead of me.  I thought I had come to grips with my hopes not being met. I love my son, but by being around my genius nephew, I was reminded once again of the lacks my son has. 

I look once again at him.  Happy and peaceful in sleep. I am grateful he can still dream and sleep.  Children really are so innocent.  They have blinders on to the horrors of the world.  My son definitely has them, because he can still look at me with love in his eyes. 

I know that while my nephew was staying with us he was trying hard to get my attention.  He always tries so hard to be what he knows I want him to be.  But there is no changing of nature.  He is a normal child, and I could not see him next to the light that I saw in his cousin.  I was blinded in my own way. 

Every day he was with us the more I grew to rely on his ingenuity and creativity.  I had lost that in my old age and he gave me ideas I would have never come up with if he wasn’t there.  And the more I saw him, the more the feelings grew within me.  Before it happened, I would have never thought myself capable of it. 

My son turns over in his sleep.  He is facing me now, his blond hair illuminated by the rising sunshine coming through the moth eaten curtains.  Soon another day of working while happy people pass by is approaching.  We will have to move again tomorrow, we have been here too long already.

He thinks we are on an adventure, not on the run.  Another example of a child’s innocence.

As I start to smile, the memory comes to me again.  We were on the balcony of our sixth story apartment watching birds.  Birds were rare in the city, but migration season had started again so we went out to see what we could.  My nephew and I kept talking about the aerodynamics of flying and how we could improve the technology of airplanes and my son was leaning over the railing not paying attention.

“Can’t we have dinner now? I’m starving.” My son had said, at the time I hadn’t realized that we had been out there for three hours.

“Just a little longer.” I snapped at him. I wanted him to go so that the smart ones could continue our conversation.  That wasn’t what I was thinking at the time but in retrospect I know that’s what was coursing through my mind.

“But dad…” my son had begun.

“Fine! Go inside have dinner. We will come in when we are ready.” I hadn’t looked at him as I yelled at him. 

“I guess I can wait a little more.”

“No, just go!”

He turned and walked inside and I turned to my nephew.  The hawk we were observing landed on the building next to us and we had quieted down to see it. 

As I gazed into the hawks eyes, I heard a voice that was very distinct.

“You hate your nephew.” It said, “You are angry that he was born to your sister and not you.  He is everything that you wanted your son to be, but did not get.”

“No.” I muttered to myself, “That’s not true, I love him.”

“You don’t. You hate that he reminds you every day that you couldn’t have a son like him.”

The voice kept repeating in my head.  Over and over.  The same words but said in different ways.  The voice seemed to be coming from the hawk which had not taken its’ eyes off of my since it landed.

“I wish I could fly without an airplane or harness.  To have the feeling of flapping wings and control over the tail spin would be magnificent, don’t you think Uncle?”

I don’t know what came over me.  “You want to fly?” I asked hysterically.  I grabbed him by the arms and swung him around.  I kept going and going until his feet were flying over the railing.

“Uncle, stop it.” He kept repeating. But I couldn’t stop, I didn’t know how. 

Then my hands slipped and he fell over the railing.

Luckily he grabbed the rail and I quickly grabbed his hands.  He was crying and all I could do was apologize.

“Don’t let me fall, please.” He sobbed.

“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.” I repeated.

Then his hands started to slip and his yells became louder.  I looked around and saw that no one was looking.  No one could hear him over the sounds of traffic from the streets below. 

When he started to fall, time slowed down.  He took forever to drop the six stories, until the ground met him as a bed and helped him fall into the final sleep. 

I ran then and there.  I grabbed my son and ran states and states away.  We are constantly on the move and I know that one day the feds will find us.  That’s what worries me the most.

What will happen to my son when they catch me?

Find My Way

Sunday mornings were the bane of my existence.

                After an exhausting week in the fields from sun up to sun down, the only thing I ever wanted to do was lay in my bed watching the room slowly light up. I managed to do so about one week every few months, but only by playing sick. Other than that, it was up at sunrise to pray, eat, and dress for church. The next few hours were spent in the company of our entire village, our pompous pastor, Father Doyle, and his condescending wife.

                “We read in the bible that God hates sin. Now, which of us has not sinned, my brothers and sisters? Are we not all guilty of displeasing our Lord and God?”

                Three hours (or two on a good day) of such talk was enough to make me feel awful, not only about myself, but also about God. If he was there, why would he want me to feel this way? If I were to believe in a God, it would be a loving God. One who listens to our troubles and watches over us like a parent. The closest I come to feeling like such a God might exist is when I’m out in the field after the sun sets, when I can look into infinite stars and feel both insignificant and claustrophobic at the same time.

                I managed to keep my mouth shut most of the time… up until the Sunday before I left. I didn’t know then that I was about to leave, of course, but now I know it was inevitable.

                “Every man is a sinner!” Father Doyle was saying that week. “We are drenched red in the blood of our own guilt, and without baptism, we cannot be saved! God commands us in his fury to repent!”

                “God does not command in fury, Father, but in love.” I spoke, more fury than love in my voice. I wouldn’t normally lose my temper over such sermons, but shortly before the meeting started, Father Doyle was condemning my older sister for failing to baptize her stillborn child. A God who does not save children is not a God I want to believe in.

                “Excuse me, sir, but I was quoting scripture. Are you saying you don’t believe in the Holy Bible?”

                “Yes, Father. I believe in every last part of the Bible. Especially John 3:16. Would you like me to read it to you?” My mother tried in vain to hold me back as I marched up to the podium, hardly knowing what I was doing. With a tremor, I flipped open to the scripture I had read so often and pondered as I gazed at the stars.

                “For God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life. I believe in God, Father, and in his Son. According to the Bible, that’s all I need.”

                And with that, I marched from the church; half to prove my point and half due to fear of the look that came over Father Doyle’s face. I left home that very night, telling my family I was to leave for Dublin and then to America in search of work, but really… I want to find truth. I need to know if there is a true religion; if there is a true God. At the very least, I want to feel like I belong.

                That’s how I came to be on this ship bound for New York. Most of my fellow passengers are bound for a city called Kirtland. They talk about a prophet, a new book of scripture, and a new sense of hope for the future. Something deep inside tells me I just might belong with them in Kirtland. 

Round Up: Week 11

Last Week’s Prompt:
This week I have binge watched every X­Men movie so far released with my brother, so I’m in a mutant frame of mind. This week’s prompt is inspired by that­ your main character will have a specific “mutation” but instead of controlling the weather or shooting laser beams with their eyes or being Magneto, your character’s mutation will be really lame. Specifically a dumb talent that can pass for little more than a party trick. You can think of one of your own useless talents or look online (h​ttp://mashable.com/2014/10/29/useless­life­skills/,​etc), just make it a super power that’s actually kind of dumb. Then make it awesome by having your character be the only one who can miraculously save the day. Also acceptable: Charles and Erik fanfic*.
*Note: Charles and Erik fanfic does not count for this prompt, even if it is awesome. Write some anyway.

Amanda

I have always had an affinity for Pig Latin. It’s one of those things kids learn to look cool in front of all the other kids, then they forget and move on with time. So I created Mr. Carson Kin, a superhero in his own mind, but a normal businessman to the rest of the world. His only powers thus far are his ability to speak better in Pig Latin than anything else, though maybe with his inside information, he can lead the war against the CobraBots and discover new and amazing talents he hides under his insecurities. Or maybe he will just go back to selling shoes. The world may never know.

The title is funny because it’s his name in Pig Latin! Ahahahaha! 

MY VOTE: Korrin

Korrin

I got the idea for the name of my main character from a Starkid show. They really are the gift that keeps on giving. However, what I really wanted him to be was just a normal guy with a sense of grandeur. He honestly believed that he had super powers, when everyone else just knew it was a weird sound he could make with his mouth. Yet he was the only one who could make saving the day possible. That’s the hope I have for humanity, that every normal person can know they have something unique to give.

The other names were just the lamest thing I could think up at the time. Except Captain Eardrum, him I knew because it was the only lame name that made sense with super hearing powers.
I like to think my story embodies all the lame parts about superhero comics. We all get so obsessed with them that we sometimes forget they can have some really cheesy parts.

MY VOTE: Kylie

Kylie

I stayed up until 1:30 in the morning to write this story, and the wifi went down just as I tried to post it. Sometimes I hate the internet.

My story is a journal entry. I’ve noticed that I only write in my journal when I’m going through tough times or when I have something I need to confess. And since my male, high­school age protagonist is both going through a tough time and needs to confess his secret hobby of being a one­man show, I figured it was the perfect format. I based his talent off a random video I found online (and have been unable to find since) of some dude playing the accordion as he rides his unicycle around in the woods. I never listened to the video­­I was just aware that it existed­­but it was such a great talent that I had to steal it.

The place my protagonist lives is based on Lake Tahoe. It’s super pretty there and there’s tons of secret areas to practice something like unicycling.

MY VOTE: Korrin

Next Week’s Prompt:

Got to where you keep your DVD’s/Movies. Close your eyes and pick a random disk out of the pile. Play the first disk and press fast forward, as fast as possible. Count to 30 veeeeeeerrrrry sllllloooooowwwwwllllyy and then press play.
Watch for five minutes.
Your story has to be either the prequel to what you watched ending with the plot of the five minutes that you watched, or beginning with what you watched and ending in any way you want.
You cannot just rewrite what the movie did. The story you tell should be an alternate reality to what the movie is. Fanfiction is welcome. 

Saturday, October 27, or How I Saved the World

                Nepal wants to give me a medal now. Nepal. Can you believe that? I can’t. I keep trying to turn all these medals down, but people keep trying to give them to me. That sounds terrible, like some whacked out humblebrag but… ugh. It just makes me sick to my stomach. Nepal should turn their attention back to Mount Everest, or snow, or whatever they usually focus on in Nepal. They shouldn’t be turning their eyes on me. Nobody should. It’s too embarrassing.

                The government agrees with me, at least. When I told them the story, one of the agents dropped his sunglasses. Another excused himself from the room, thinking he could cover his laughter before he lost control in my earshot, but I’m pretty sure the whole compound could hear him in the hallway. Oh yeah, they interrogated me at Area 51. Did I already say that? It’s pretty fitting, if you ask me. The ride there was super cool, though, I’ll give it that. I had never been in a helicopter before. I probably never will again. I’ve never felt sicker in my entire life, not even that time Dad and I were out in the skiff and we hit rough water and I puked off the side of the boat for almost five minutes straight.

                Anyways, like I said, it’s such a relief to know that my own government thinks I’m right. Well, partially. I still have to take all the credit for it, but I get to tell a rousing story about bravery and honor. They’ve also made sure that one of the agents is there with me for every media interview so they can stop any questions that might blow my cover by yelling out “CLASSIFIED!” and smashing the cameras. Or so I assume. They’re there to stop any wandering questions, anything that I can’t answer with a smile and an “I did it for my country, ma’am.”

                I’m supposed to tell them that I knew the aliens were coming my way. They had landed in Northern California and were making their way across the state, so, noticing they were headed straight for my hometown, I prepared myself for a war. Somehow, people seem to believe that beanpole me with glasses and too-long hair is both nerdy enough to figure out the alien’s plan and strong enough to take them on single-handedly. The story says that I had seen the news reports and knew that they were landing all over the world, terrorizing citizens of this big blue orb we call Earth, and I knew that if one of us could fight back, we might stand a chance.

                They say that I cornered the aliens in an isolated area in the woods. They say I had guns and knives, rocks and firecrackers. They say I managed to kill three of them, that I drenched myself in their blood (ew) because I knew they would see me as insane. They say that the aliens fled back to their ship, metaphorical tails between their literal flailing tentacles. I have to admit, the last part is one hundred percent true. Everything else is warped. I barely watch the news, so I didn’t know that other countries were having their own too-close-encounters of the third kind. The touchdown in California had only happened a few days prior, and my mom was the one who clutched her jacket a little tighter and told me to be safe every day. I had no idea they were headed this way, and I certainly never intended to fight them.

                And… I didn’t fight them. Not really.

                I was practicing when they came out of the woods. I’m getting pretty good at playing that one hit song from that 2004 Broadway show that everyone talked about for three months before they forgot about it. And of course I play far, far away on the hiking trails that people rarely climb. Not only do I need the space, but I need the privacy. I mean, come on. Not many people can tolerate unicycles, accordions, or harmonicas. Even fewer can tolerate all three at the same time. So naturally, I didn’t expect anyone—alien or otherwise—to come out of the trees. I didn’t expect all six eyes of each alien to roll back into their blobby magenta heads, and I didn’t expect yellow goo to run out of what I later discovered were their ears.

Really, I barely saw them at all. I only turned around because I heard them screaming in pain. They scared me so bad, I wasn’t scared at all; I even wheeled towards them, tooting a little on the harmonica because I forgot it was in front of my mouth. They reeled back, screaming, throwing their tentacles in front of their faces as they called for their ship to save them. I guess I was a terrible enough sight/sound to send them crying back home to their mommy, because they all left after that and nobody has seen them since.

So that’s the honest story of how I saved the planet. Only me, my parents, the United States government, and an entire alien race know what happened that day. But I have the Presidential Medal of Freedom now, so that’s cool too I guess.

Pterodactyl Man

“In other news, another man has popped up on our superhero radar. As of this moment no one has seen this mysterious crusader, but terrifying sounds have been connected to small mugging crime scenes and a huge figure running away as the cops arrive. If you have information, call the number at the bottom of your screen. Coming up, what kind of puppy gives the most happiness? This and other stories coming at 5:00.”

They sat around in the secret hideout watching the mid-afternoon news. Nothing happens much during mid-afternoon so fighting crime was kind of useless until later in the evening. The Strong Hands were a tight nit group, they had been together for five years now and when they fought together, their fighting style fit together just like a zipper.  

“Do you think there is anything in this new supposed hero?” Black Belt Matt said, he was sitting in a slumped position on the couch, having a blank look as he stared at the TV.

“Probably not.” Dragon’s Breath replied, “It’s most likely another lonely guy dressing up in a costume and finding recently deserted crime scenes.” He and Missouri Madame were playing ping pong in the corner.

“Maybe we should still look into it. No new villains have popped up lately and we are just settling petty skirmishes between drug dealers now.” Black Belt Matt moaned.

“You say that as if it is a waste of time. I think it is a good endeavor, considering we are still putting criminals behind bars.” Replied Heat Wave as he walked out of the kitchen carrying a plate of toast. You would never need to buy a toaster with him and Dragon’s Breath around. The brothers could heat up anything you could ever want.  

“It’s not a bad thing it’s just, I’m so bored!” Black Belt Matt tipped over onto the rest of the couch, lying as spread eagle as he possibly could be.

“Thanks Belty, now you’ve jinxed us.” Missouri Madame called as she served a new ball.

“I doubt it. Because of us, this town will probably never have a super villain again.” Black Belt Matt moaned once more, changing the channel to Sports Center.

# # # # # # # # # # # # # #

Across town, a young man slams the door and clicks on the TV. Another boring day of work had just finished and he had preparations to do.  If only those at work knew who he really was, they wouldn’t make him do as much paper work as they did. 

“In other news, another man has popped up on our superhero radar. As of this moment no one has seen this mysterious crusader, but terrifying sounds have been connected to small mugging crime scenes and a huge figure running away as the cops arrive…”

What was this? A story about him? Already? Perfect! His plan was starting to work. Phase 1: Some well-placed appearances to draw the public’s eye, was completed. Next was Phase 2: The defeating of a major criminal as a complete introduction to the city. Soon everyone would know that Pterodactyl Man was there to help them. Then he would be invited to the Strong Hands and his life would take a whole new direction.

“I have to practice my cry.” He says as he runs to the bathroom to stand in front of his mirror.

His apartment was soon filled with an obnoxious sound. It sort of sounded like an eagle mixed with a child’s scream.  He believed to be what a Pterodactyl’s cry would sound like, hence the name.  He had worked tirelessly, through blood and tears, to make his suit. I was brown and gray, effective camouflage for the city, and made wings with fabric connecting his ankles to his wrists.  It was the coolest thing that had ever been created in the world. 

“Oh yeah.” He said to his reflection, “This plan is going to work. My life will be so much more very soon now.”

He stayed in the bathroom for another two hours. His cry continued to fill the tiny apartment.  When he had first started practicing at that apartment he was worried that the neighbors would complain about the noise. But he had been there for a year now and no one had told him to keep it down. He must be surrounded by old people or people who can’t hear well, there was no other explanation.

He had paused to start making his dinner when he realized that the city had been plunged into chaos.

“Breaking news, chaos has taken over the downtown area. There was a bomb that went off early this evening in the Stanton bank building and a mass of masked marauders got a fast hold of the block.  Police have been trying to break through the criminal barricade, with no luck so far. We have just received information that the Strong Hands have tried to apprehend some of the men and break through into the interior of the bank with no luck so far.  They have set up a temporary base of operations just outside the blocks radius and are working closely with police to avoid casualties.  We have also received a broadcast from inside the bank by the groups supposed leader…”

The screen flipped to a video that looked like a bad YouTube video.  The man on the video was quite disturbing. He had heavy makeup on and seemed to have bigger ears than Prince Charles.

 

“Good evening precious citizens!” His voice had a heavy arrogance to it and what only could be described as mania. “I am Captain Eardrums, your new overlord. As you can see, my men and I have many hostages and if the police don’t BACK OFF, I will have to start killing them, one by one.  Your heroes have tried to make their way in, but they will never succeed.” He said this last part while tapping his enormous ears. He must be very proud of them, just another sign to show that he was completely nuts.

“This is great!” Pterodactyl Man screeched, his dinner left forgotten. “This could be my chance. I can prove myself tonight by defeating Captain Eardrums and make my way into the future I was destined to have!” He started to bustle about his apartment, picking up pieces of brown and gray fabric as he went.  

# # # # # # # # # # # # # #

“I’ve told you once and I will tell you once again, there is no way we can get close to that building.  This jerk…” Dragon’s Breath started.

“Captain Eardrums.” Black Belt Matt interrupted.

“Whatever! He can somehow always hear us coming. It doesn’t matter how stealthy we are or what we do, he chases us out every time.” Dragon’s Breath finished.

“He obviously has super hearing.” Heat Wave supplied, supporting his brother’s statements.

“Then what do you suggest we do, huh?” Missouri Madame snapped. She hadn’t been this frustrated during a fight since the 1999 epic battle. “Set the building on fire to kill all of the criminals as well as the hostages? Because that’s all you two can offer right now. Saying how impossible this task is, isn’t helping anyone.” She turned away from them to study the building’s layout for the 26^th time.

“We need a new plan. There must be a way to make it so he can’t hear us coming.” Heat Wave said.

“I think I may be able to help with that.” Came a pompous voice from the shadows.

The Strong Hands turned to see who had spoken and were met with the strangest sight any of them had ever seen.

A gangly young man was standing there with his arms stretched out to either side of him.  His cheap fabric clung to his slim body and made what were supposed to be wings, apparently, by connecting his wrists and ankles together.  Because of that, the man had to move his arms and legs very synchronized to even walk properly.

“Who the heck are you?” Black Belt Matt asked shortly. His mouth was hung open in derision. 

“I am Pterodactyl Man. I believe I have been making a splash on the public news waves.” Pterodactyl Man laughed. He had marched up to the group to see that all of them were looking at him in bewilderment. “And I have the answer to your problem.”

“How do you even know what the problem is? You just got here.” Dragon’s Breath mused.

“Oh that. Well I may or may not have been listening to your conversation just now because I was wondering how to make a proper entrance.” He grinned at them as if what he had just said wasn’t the most ridiculous thing they had ever heard.

“Get lost poser, we have too much to worry about right now.” Missouri Madame sighed, once again returning to the designs.

“Let’s hear him out.” Heat Wave said, moving around the table to stand closer to Pterodactyl Man.

“You can’t be serious?” His brother asked astonished.

“What can we lose?” Heat Wave replied, looking at his brother. “So tell us, what is this grand solution you have?”

“My cry.” Pterodactyl Man beamed.

“Your cry?” Black Belt Man asked in obvious disbelief.

“Yeah, I can sound like a Pterodactyl.” He stated, as if that was completely obvious. Did he really want them to believe that he was part Pterodactyl?

“Show us.” Heat Wave commanded, crossing his arms in front of him.

That was when he made the sound. Sure it was screechy and kind of loud, but not nearly enough to solve the current hostage problem.

“See, what did I tell you? He’s a total hack.” Missouri Madame declared, not once glancing up from the building plans.

However, Dragon’s Breath and Heat Wave were looking at each other.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Heat Wave asked his brother.

“Oh yeah.” Dragon’s Breath said. He marched up to the nearest cop he could find and grabbed his megaphone, and came back.

“Missouri Madame, what entrance have you found that we haven’t tried yet?” Heat Wave asked, leaving Pterodactyl Man to stand alone outside their command center, trying to figure out if he had saved the day, or just embarrassed himself.

“There is a secret entrance that is reserved for the bank president around the back.” She stated, looking at her partners as if they had gone crazy.

“Perfect, here is that plan…”

# # # # # # # # # # # # #

They were all in position.  Pterodactyl Man was as close to the building as he could get, standing on top of a cop car. All cameras were pointed in his direction and onlookers were shouting that the cops had let another weirdo break through. They didn’t faze him though.  He was needed and this was his moment of glory.

He placed the megaphone to his lips and projected his cry as loud as he could.  That year of practice had really paid off.

He kept going, only to stop to take another breath to produce even more terrible screeches into the night.  Everyone around him had their hands clenched to their ears.

Soon, there were people running out of the bank.  The goons that had set up the barricade ran away. Their plan had obviously failed, and the last thing they wanted was to get arrested.  The police charged forward to get the civilian hostages and move them into safety.  Pterodactyl Man continued his deluge until the Strong Hands were seen exiting the building.  Dragon’s Breath and Heat Wave were carrying a very bloody Captain Eardrums and the day was saved.

# # # # # # # # # # #

The aftermath was just as chaotic as the actual catastrophe.  Ambulances were bombarded with victims and were treating shock as fast as they possibly could. The heroes however had other plans.  They had snuck away in the confusion, mostly to avoid the pesky reporters. They had dragged a very puffed up Pterodactyl Man with them.

“Wow man, I didn’t think that would actually work.” Black Belt Matt exclaimed as they walked down back alleys towards home.

“Yes, thank you Pterodactyl Man. We couldn’t have done it without you.” Heat Wave said, clapping the unlikely hero on the shoulder.

“I was wrong about you, you really did save the day.” Missouri Madame said, smiling towards Pterodactyl Man.

He beamed with pride. This really was the start to his destiny. 

Arson K

A whisper stands out against the cool, still night in cell block 6B. “H-h-how did I g-get m-myself into th-th-this?” it says. The voice belongs to the only one left conscious at this hour- Carson Kin, also known as the Arson to few people besides himself. He sits on his rotting cot, holding his bleeding head in his hands. He only recently returned from the latest interrogation, and it didn’t go as well as anyone expected.

A voice in his head answers back, one he recognizes as his ex-wife, Margaret.

“You left me with our kids and ran off into enemy territory like an idiot, that’s how.”

“I remember it differently, Marge,” He coolly replies in his mind.

They were both right, as this was exactly the type of incident everyone has their own version of, and with no communication of it to taint their stories, each stuck to their own tale.

Carson Kin was a dull man. He worked in the sales department at a fairly successful shoe corporation. He had a wife and three children and no hobbies to speak of. He didn’t enjoy music, or television, but would pass his free time reading the warranties of each household product to ensure his average paycheck was put well to use. At parties, he was the person who would force his way into conversations with others, who quickly felt uncomfortable and made quick excuses to escape his company.

He had only one unique and defining characteristic, but it was one he shared with very few. He was completely fluent in Pig Latin. Of course, the same could be said of any kid found on a public elementary playground- it’s one of those skills children find fascinating and work to develop but later leave it behind for bigger and better things. But Carson was different. When he spoke normally, he had a stutter. When he spoke Pig Latin, however, he could speak quickly, effectively, and to the point. He spent most of his childhood speaking solely in what he called his native language and still used it whenever he had to get a point across and didn’t have time for his mouth to catch up with his mind.

When Carson and Margaret first met, they would speak this way. When the time came to pop the question, Carson dropped to one knee and said with passion, “Argaretmay. Illway ouyay arrymay emay?” to which she replied “ESYAY, ARSONCAY!”.

None of this explains how Carson arrived in cell block 6B, a prisoner of war against the Brazilian army, most of which was now headed by the self-aware robots who had taken over most of the American continent. That is much simpler to explain- Carson had a breakdown one day. Just one bad day too many at the office. He told his wife he had to clear his mind but didn’t say where he was headed. The plan was to pass time on Easter Island, but he was captured at a Chilean airport and taken to the Brazilian prisoner camp. He was boasting of his knowledge of American plans to stop the robots to a fellow passenger when he found himself surrounded by metal men. The memory still made him shudder all these months later.

Carson suddenly noticed light filling his cell and saw the ominous red eyes of a CobraBot glaring from a crack in the door. “PRISONER 4302E, COME WITH ME.”

“Akemay emay.” Carson found one thing to amuse himself- the robots understood every language except one. The language Brazilians were unaware existed. They thought his Pig Latin was nonsense and by now most of them ignored it.

He went along with them anyway and soon found himself somewhere unexpected. It wasn’t his usual interrogation room; it was a studio.

“PRISONER 4302E, WE KNOW YOU ARE CLOSE TO THE LEADERS OF YOUR COUNTRY. THEY WILL MAKE ATTEMPTS TO SAVE YOU.”

Wow, how original. They wanted to do a hostage video. Carson almost rolled his eyes, but an idea burst into his dull mind… an idea that just might save the world from these CobraBots.

They sat him down and pointed guns at his head, the whole cliché, and started filming. They gave the usual threats- nuclear attacks, planes falling from the sky, more pop up ads. Carson waited for the moment he knew people would start turning away from the broadcast over all American channels, and then he shouted his hastily crafted speech.

“Eoplepay of Americayay. I amyay Arsoncay Inkay. Ethay Eadquartershay of ethay obotsray isyay inyay Aranapay. Endsay acidyay ithway oppercay. Otslay. Ityay illway ustray emthay. Eway ancay illstay inway!”

The robots managed to cover his mouth, but he fought to pull them off and added before they could turn off the camera: “Argaretmay. I illstay ovelay ouyay. I amyay orrysay.”

The message cut.

But it was already over.

Arson K saved the day. 

Round Up: Week Ten

Prompt: Time for a songfic! Pick a song that tells a story and write that story down. Try to capture the essence of the song--not just the story, but the way the music makes you feel.

Amanda

When I read the prompt, I immediately put my ipod on shuffle and started trying to find a good song to tell a story. The first one that caught my attention was “Since I Left Your World” by one of my favorite bands, Rookie of the Year (Look them up, yo, they’re great). The story as I wrote it branched in my head as I listened to the music- thinking of first love lost and what it means to leave someone’s world. I fought with myself to write a fun, uplifting story based on other songs I listed out, but my mind would only focus as I wrote this one, so I stuck with it.

I love the way the story turned out. I liked the use of flashbacks telling the story of Belen and Dylan while also telling the story of him moving on and getting ready to propose to Sarah. I wish I would have worked out the relationships more to make them feel more real and not just like a summer fling, but I didn’t want to turn my short story into a novel.

MY VOTE:  Kylie

Kylie

This lovely, heartwarming story was brought to you by the song “Youth” by Daughter.

The first time I heard this song, I knew I wanted to write something that captured the feeling of it. It’s such a powerful song, both lyrically and musically. I love the way it sounds, and I love how emotional it is. In my story, the lyrics of the song don’t just represent one person. They represent all of the different men in her life. One line will represent one person, and the next will be about someone entirely different. I think it works, especially since she’s thinking of all these experiences at the same time.

This story is based on a character that I’ve spent most of my life developing. I love her and her journey to feel like she’s reached some sort of normal in her life. Don’t worry--she gets there in the end. That red haired boy never gives up on her.

MY VOTE: Amanda

Korrin

Putting your life in someone else’s hands is not an easy thing to do, but I believe that we have all done something at least similar in our lives. Nothing is more powerful than a parents love for their child and no one can understand it until they become parents themselves, or in my case have been through some kind of teacher training because they do it too.  

“I Bet My Life” by Imagine Dragons is one of my favorite songs. I have been thinking about it a lot lately. Mostly because it was stuck in my head all day Saturday and nothing I did could get rid of it.

I don’t know what the artists were thinking when they were making this song, but to me I sounds remorseful and a cry for comfort from someone you spurned long ago.  Children do stupid things. Heck, people do stupid things. And when it all comes down to it, the person you want most to comfort you is your mom. (Maybe a partner or something too but I haven’t experienced that so I can’t say that accurately).

When I started I wanted to go a completely different route. I wanted to tell the story of a convert to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints talking to his parents and hoping that they can still be a family even though he made that decision that so many people reject others for making. Also a Mormon fic sounded fun because I love the gospel. But then I read the song again, and it didn’t fit, also social issues are happening, so I didn’t go there.

MY VOTE: Amanda

We’ve finished ten weeks!! Here’s where the tally currently lies:

Amanda: 3
Kylie: 3

Korrin: 1

Jimlock: 1

Craig: 1

And one three-way tie

Next Week’s Prompt:

This week I have binge watched every X-Men movie so far released with my brother, so I’m in a mutant frame of mind. This week’s prompt is inspired by that- your main character will have a specific “mutation” but instead of controlling the weather or shooting laser beams with their eyes or being Magneto, your character’s mutation will be really lame. Specifically a dumb talent that can pass for little more than a party trick. You can think of one of your own useless talents or look online (http://mashable.com/2014/10/29/useless-life-skills/, etc), just make it a super power that’s actually kind of dumb. Then make it awesome by having your character be the only one who can miraculously save the day. Also acceptable: Charles and Erik fanfic*.

*Note: Charles and Erik fanfic does not count for this prompt, even if it is awesome. Write some anyway.