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Cat's Place of Mutterings, Scribbles, and All-Out Randomness
gonna love it!! pancakes and Applesauce!!!
This is just kind of random... I wrote this at like 2 in the morning (no kidding) so I don't really care, just a random idea I had (I did warn you). It's about these three teenagers who went off on trips in Ancient times (think Rome and Greece) and come back and see something terrible happen.
I would probably call the series "Coming Back to Nothing" and this particular book would be called "Pyromania in Pompeii". Tell me what you think!
RETURN
Marcus Lepidus groaned as he dismounted his poor mare. He had only traveled a day into his journey and already his bottom was as sore as anything. He had to travel the next day too if he was going to get home in any time reasonable. He tied his pretty mare Ciner to a nearby bush and flopped down to rest.
He had been visiting friends of his in Rome for two months. He had grown weary of the family vineyards at home in Pompeii and had begged to be able to go when his friends offered to let him stay. But now he had to return home. His father couldn’t run the whole villa and vineyards by himself for long. His father had never let anybody but his most trusted servants and those in the Lepidus family line to care for his vineyards. His father had once said that if the vines were ever treated differently they would never grow the juicy red grapes they needed to.
Marcus stood up and unhooked the saddle bag. He grabbed a piece of cheese and some bread with a clump of ripe red grapes. He started to eat and Ciner also ate, eating up all the grass which was very close to hay as it was so dry. Marcus stared up at the sky as he ate, looking at the constellations. He didn’t remember the names, but he remembered what to look for. He had never been good with remembering things.
When Marcus finished eating Ciner let out a low moan. Marcus inwardly cursed. Ciner needed water. Badly. But they hadn’t come across a stream for miles. The only water they had was Marcus’s water skin, but he needed that for the journey tomorrow.
“Tomorrow, my fair Ciner,” said Marcus soothingly as he rubbed Ciner down. “Tomorrow we will get you the cool waters from the first stream we cross.”
Ciner only neighed in reply as Marcus took off her saddle and saddle blanket and took the bit out of her mouth until all she had on was the rope tying her to the bush. He made the rope more adjustable for Ciner so she could lie down and stand up as she pleased. Then he quickly made a fire pit out of all the stones and soon had a comfortable blaze going with the dry grass around him. Then Marcus, overcome with exhaustion, curled up beneath a tree close to the warm blaze and fell fast asleep.
The next morning Marcus awoke with a shudder. He had a most horrible dream that the fire had gone out of control and had burned him to pieces. But the fire was just burning low inside the pit he had made the night before. Ciner neighed expectantly as Marcus quickly put out the dying fire and cleaned up their campsite. He prepared Ciner for a long day of riding. They would start as soon as the sun peeped its head.
“Tonight we’ll be home,” Marcus told Ciner as they started their day of riding. “And then I will groom you and give you a bath and give you the sweetest water from the streams around the vineyards. You’ve never seen my father before. He is a gentle man and he knows how to handle you good and proper.”
Marcus had just bought Ciner at the market in Rome. That was another reason why he had gone to Rome. The finest horses were bred in Rome. One of the older horses that his father used to own named Vender needed to be swapped for a better Thoroughbred that Marcus could go fast on. Marcus had ridden Vender to Rome and swapped Vender for Ciner. The man he had traded with had not wanted a mare. Said he wanted an older horse to teach his son how to ride and that Ciner was too spirited. It was actually quite a bargain to swap an old, slow horse for a spirited, young horse. Marcus had thought that the man would argue, but he never did on the swap. Good manners, he had supposed.
So Ciner was just trotting along with Marcus bouncing lightly on her back when a gravely, scratchy voice said “Stop, boy. Stop.”
Marcus couldn’t help it. He stopped Ciner and looked around. To his right a man wearing the most ragged, burned tunic he had ever seen and covered in the most ash Marcus had seen in his lifetime.
“Where are you headed, boy?” asked the stranger.
“None of your business to worry about that,” said Marcus coldly. “I’ll be going on my way.” He thought that the man was of the despised group of fleeing tax collectors. People were angry that anyone would cheat them of their money. He kicked Ciner into a trot.
“If you are headed for Pompeii you won’t find it,” grumbled the man.
Marcus pulled up abruptly. “What did you say?”
But the man didn’t say anything. He just stared at Marcus, hand grasping his throat. He couldn’t talk due to the buildup of ashes.
Marcus sniffed. He kicked Ciner into a trot again and soon the man was out of sight. What could the man have meant that he wouldn’t be able to find Pompeii? Of course he would. Hadn’t he grown up there? Didn’t he know every path, every stream, and every animal? Wasn’t his father one of the best grape growers across the whole of Italy? The man was just plain stupid, Marcus decided. “There was probably an itty-bitty fire that he got caught in somewhere near Pompeii. Nothing could ever destroy the whole city at once,” he said aloud. “Right, Ciner? Besides, that man was probably half crazy.”
On and on they rode, until Marcus half fell asleep on Ciner’s back. Finally, around midday, Marcus spotted a stream and Ciner drank thirstily. Marcus didn’t drink from the stream, though, because it looked cloudy. It would be fine for a horse, however. Marcus stopped to eat a little cheese and bread and took a swig of the bottle of watered-down wine.
“We still have a good six hours to home, my Ciner,” said Marcus as he finished his little meal and clambered on Ciner’s back. “I know you’re tired but soon you’ll be resting in my father’s stables. You aren’t used to traveling yet, but if Aelius wants to travel as much as he says you’ll get good at traveling soon enough.” Aelius was Marcus’s ten year old brother.
Ciner was too tired to do more than a huff to this. She plodded along, sometimes speeding up a little, and then slowing right back down again. Marcus was worried, however, that he might fall asleep. Ciner had never been to Pompeii before. She didn’t know the way.
The sky got ashy dark as he grew closer to Pompeii. Marcus was getting wary. The weather was odd. It was chilly, not at all the warmth he had felt just a few miles back. It was February, so he didn’t expect it to be too warm at all, but it was very cold compared to the weather he had those few miles ago.
“Surely the gods are punishing us for something, eh, Ciner?” he asked her, trying to make light of the odd weather. “Wonder what that is? Freak storm here. Wasn’t it nice and easy just I’d say three miles back, eh Ciner? Odd storm, out of nowhere, eh? Never seen the sky so ashy gray and the wind so gritty. Can’t be anything else than a storm. Soon, my Ciner, we’ll be comfortable and nice inside my father’s house. Yes, my Ciner, that’s how it’ll be.” Now, you make think Marcus stupid for talking to a horse, but he was dead frightened and he didn’t have anyone else. “If something was happening, we’d hear it, wouldn’t we, my Ciner? If some sort of thing happened we would know right then, eh, my Ciner? That we’d a know if something wrong had been going on, hmm? Ciner, we’d KNOW!”
Ciner just neighed and kept plodding along. Eventually Marcus and Ciner reached what Marcus knew to be the main road into Pompeii. It was black as ever and with all the grit going round in the air Marcus couldn’t see his own hand in front of his face. “Eh there, Ciner, I lied,” said Marcus. “I thought we’d be nice and cozy by now inside my father’s house. But I can’t see anything, and I know the way to my house but they’ve probably shut the door tight and locked it up. Ciner, we’d better camp out here on the outskirts and come home in the morning. We won’t find anything at all in this mess.”
So Marcus dismounted and took of Ciner’s saddle. He led her over to the side of the road, feeling for a tree, but he didn’t find one. “I thought for sure there was an old nut tree here. But I could be a couple feet off. I’ve got no time to search tonight. You stay here, my Ciner, right? You’re a good horse.”
Ciner seemed to understand as she stood vigil, snuffling the ground for grass, while Marcus ate some bread from the pack and fell fast asleep on the saddle blanket.
He awoke at the crack of dawn, when the sun was just rising. He could hardly believe his eyes. Just down the road was Pompeii. But it wasn’t Pompeii anymore.
It was mounds of ash and pumice. Mount Vesuvius had erupted.
I would probably call the series "Coming Back to Nothing" and this particular book would be called "Pyromania in Pompeii". Tell me what you think!
RETURN
Marcus Lepidus groaned as he dismounted his poor mare. He had only traveled a day into his journey and already his bottom was as sore as anything. He had to travel the next day too if he was going to get home in any time reasonable. He tied his pretty mare Ciner to a nearby bush and flopped down to rest.
He had been visiting friends of his in Rome for two months. He had grown weary of the family vineyards at home in Pompeii and had begged to be able to go when his friends offered to let him stay. But now he had to return home. His father couldn’t run the whole villa and vineyards by himself for long. His father had never let anybody but his most trusted servants and those in the Lepidus family line to care for his vineyards. His father had once said that if the vines were ever treated differently they would never grow the juicy red grapes they needed to.
Marcus stood up and unhooked the saddle bag. He grabbed a piece of cheese and some bread with a clump of ripe red grapes. He started to eat and Ciner also ate, eating up all the grass which was very close to hay as it was so dry. Marcus stared up at the sky as he ate, looking at the constellations. He didn’t remember the names, but he remembered what to look for. He had never been good with remembering things.
When Marcus finished eating Ciner let out a low moan. Marcus inwardly cursed. Ciner needed water. Badly. But they hadn’t come across a stream for miles. The only water they had was Marcus’s water skin, but he needed that for the journey tomorrow.
“Tomorrow, my fair Ciner,” said Marcus soothingly as he rubbed Ciner down. “Tomorrow we will get you the cool waters from the first stream we cross.”
Ciner only neighed in reply as Marcus took off her saddle and saddle blanket and took the bit out of her mouth until all she had on was the rope tying her to the bush. He made the rope more adjustable for Ciner so she could lie down and stand up as she pleased. Then he quickly made a fire pit out of all the stones and soon had a comfortable blaze going with the dry grass around him. Then Marcus, overcome with exhaustion, curled up beneath a tree close to the warm blaze and fell fast asleep.
The next morning Marcus awoke with a shudder. He had a most horrible dream that the fire had gone out of control and had burned him to pieces. But the fire was just burning low inside the pit he had made the night before. Ciner neighed expectantly as Marcus quickly put out the dying fire and cleaned up their campsite. He prepared Ciner for a long day of riding. They would start as soon as the sun peeped its head.
“Tonight we’ll be home,” Marcus told Ciner as they started their day of riding. “And then I will groom you and give you a bath and give you the sweetest water from the streams around the vineyards. You’ve never seen my father before. He is a gentle man and he knows how to handle you good and proper.”
Marcus had just bought Ciner at the market in Rome. That was another reason why he had gone to Rome. The finest horses were bred in Rome. One of the older horses that his father used to own named Vender needed to be swapped for a better Thoroughbred that Marcus could go fast on. Marcus had ridden Vender to Rome and swapped Vender for Ciner. The man he had traded with had not wanted a mare. Said he wanted an older horse to teach his son how to ride and that Ciner was too spirited. It was actually quite a bargain to swap an old, slow horse for a spirited, young horse. Marcus had thought that the man would argue, but he never did on the swap. Good manners, he had supposed.
So Ciner was just trotting along with Marcus bouncing lightly on her back when a gravely, scratchy voice said “Stop, boy. Stop.”
Marcus couldn’t help it. He stopped Ciner and looked around. To his right a man wearing the most ragged, burned tunic he had ever seen and covered in the most ash Marcus had seen in his lifetime.
“Where are you headed, boy?” asked the stranger.
“None of your business to worry about that,” said Marcus coldly. “I’ll be going on my way.” He thought that the man was of the despised group of fleeing tax collectors. People were angry that anyone would cheat them of their money. He kicked Ciner into a trot.
“If you are headed for Pompeii you won’t find it,” grumbled the man.
Marcus pulled up abruptly. “What did you say?”
But the man didn’t say anything. He just stared at Marcus, hand grasping his throat. He couldn’t talk due to the buildup of ashes.
Marcus sniffed. He kicked Ciner into a trot again and soon the man was out of sight. What could the man have meant that he wouldn’t be able to find Pompeii? Of course he would. Hadn’t he grown up there? Didn’t he know every path, every stream, and every animal? Wasn’t his father one of the best grape growers across the whole of Italy? The man was just plain stupid, Marcus decided. “There was probably an itty-bitty fire that he got caught in somewhere near Pompeii. Nothing could ever destroy the whole city at once,” he said aloud. “Right, Ciner? Besides, that man was probably half crazy.”
On and on they rode, until Marcus half fell asleep on Ciner’s back. Finally, around midday, Marcus spotted a stream and Ciner drank thirstily. Marcus didn’t drink from the stream, though, because it looked cloudy. It would be fine for a horse, however. Marcus stopped to eat a little cheese and bread and took a swig of the bottle of watered-down wine.
“We still have a good six hours to home, my Ciner,” said Marcus as he finished his little meal and clambered on Ciner’s back. “I know you’re tired but soon you’ll be resting in my father’s stables. You aren’t used to traveling yet, but if Aelius wants to travel as much as he says you’ll get good at traveling soon enough.” Aelius was Marcus’s ten year old brother.
Ciner was too tired to do more than a huff to this. She plodded along, sometimes speeding up a little, and then slowing right back down again. Marcus was worried, however, that he might fall asleep. Ciner had never been to Pompeii before. She didn’t know the way.
The sky got ashy dark as he grew closer to Pompeii. Marcus was getting wary. The weather was odd. It was chilly, not at all the warmth he had felt just a few miles back. It was February, so he didn’t expect it to be too warm at all, but it was very cold compared to the weather he had those few miles ago.
“Surely the gods are punishing us for something, eh, Ciner?” he asked her, trying to make light of the odd weather. “Wonder what that is? Freak storm here. Wasn’t it nice and easy just I’d say three miles back, eh Ciner? Odd storm, out of nowhere, eh? Never seen the sky so ashy gray and the wind so gritty. Can’t be anything else than a storm. Soon, my Ciner, we’ll be comfortable and nice inside my father’s house. Yes, my Ciner, that’s how it’ll be.” Now, you make think Marcus stupid for talking to a horse, but he was dead frightened and he didn’t have anyone else. “If something was happening, we’d hear it, wouldn’t we, my Ciner? If some sort of thing happened we would know right then, eh, my Ciner? That we’d a know if something wrong had been going on, hmm? Ciner, we’d KNOW!”
Ciner just neighed and kept plodding along. Eventually Marcus and Ciner reached what Marcus knew to be the main road into Pompeii. It was black as ever and with all the grit going round in the air Marcus couldn’t see his own hand in front of his face. “Eh there, Ciner, I lied,” said Marcus. “I thought we’d be nice and cozy by now inside my father’s house. But I can’t see anything, and I know the way to my house but they’ve probably shut the door tight and locked it up. Ciner, we’d better camp out here on the outskirts and come home in the morning. We won’t find anything at all in this mess.”
So Marcus dismounted and took of Ciner’s saddle. He led her over to the side of the road, feeling for a tree, but he didn’t find one. “I thought for sure there was an old nut tree here. But I could be a couple feet off. I’ve got no time to search tonight. You stay here, my Ciner, right? You’re a good horse.”
Ciner seemed to understand as she stood vigil, snuffling the ground for grass, while Marcus ate some bread from the pack and fell fast asleep on the saddle blanket.
He awoke at the crack of dawn, when the sun was just rising. He could hardly believe his eyes. Just down the road was Pompeii. But it wasn’t Pompeii anymore.
It was mounds of ash and pumice. Mount Vesuvius had erupted.
I thought that it was very good, set in a time that not many books are set in, the destruction of pompeii. I liked how you made it Old, and still was good. (I usually don't like HF) but I liked this. Good!!!
Thanks you two!
Maybe I should write stuff at 2 a.m. more often...
Maybe I should write stuff at 2 a.m. more often...
yeah, if that's the product, do it every day. I see that you said yes? to the NaNoWriMo event. please tell me you said yes.
Of course I did. I start working on my NaNoWriMo entry almost as soon as the last one ends.
This is an idea....
Title of Book: The People
Description: Some very strange things are happening...very strange things.
Chapter Title: *not yet formulated*
An elderly woman wearing a long, furry coat walked into the bank, shuffling along with a nervous expression on her face. Her hands were clutched tightly on her purse. The clerk heard the bell as she came in and looked up expectantly, thinking she would come forward with a deposit or something else of that nature. Instead, she simply stayed in the corner, her hands shaking a little. The clerk couldn’t help but wonder why on earth she was wearing a coat- it was nearly ninety degrees outside. “Can I help you madam?” the clerk asked. The woman didn’t respond, just stood in the corner. The clerk asked again, this time with a more urgent tone of voice. Again, the woman did not answer. The clerk supposed she was hard of hearing or had one of the other ailments that were common among the elderly people of society and gave it up as a lost cause. He just watched the woman, wondering what her business could be. After a couple of minutes, another man stepped in the bank. He walked towards the direction of the clerk and the clerk raised his eyebrows expectantly. But the man who had just entered walked over to the woman instead. “Madame,” said the man, his mouth curling into a smile. The woman looked up at him, a terrified expression in her eyes. The clerk saw that something was up. “Can I help you two?” He asked loudly. The man didn’t even turn towards the clerk, and the woman appeared to be captivated by the man’s gaze. The clerk came out of the booth and went next to the man. “Listen, I don’t know what you’re playing at, mister, but why are you here?” The man turned towards the clerk. “We are friends,” he said, smiling an odd smile. “We met here before we go on a little excursion together.” Usually the clerk would have believed the story and then waited for them to leave but the terror in the old woman’s eyes didn’t seem to match up with the man’s story. “Then get going on your excursion,” said the clerk, making it clear that he did not believe the man’s story. The man’s smile fell and his lips were pressed tightly together. “Of course,” he said, sounding very gallant, but his eyes showed menace and hate. The clerk shrank under the man’s gaze as the man forcibly took the woman’s arm and marched out the door. The clerk watched them go, suddenly fearful for the woman with him. He wasn’t the type to be scared easily. He sat back down and thought over maybe calling the police or at least notifying someone that a suspicious figure had been hanging around the bank. He decided against it. It couldn’t be that important. The clerk settled back down into his chair and was determined to think of the matter no more. But in the back of his mind he continued to wonder about the man and the elderly woman.
About an hour after the queer meeting of the elderly woman and the man the phone rang and the clerk hurried to pick it up. A voice on the other end quietly told him that he required a very large sum of money and if the clerk would take it from the bank he would be rewarded. “Who do you think I am?” the clerk bellowed into the phone. “More importantly, who are you? Who are you to think I would steal from a bank?” The voice on the other end, clearly male, replied that certain things would happen that would be catastrophic for the clerk if he did not do as he had instructed. As he listed the things that would happen, the clerk turned pale. “Alright,” he gasped. He couldn’t let things like that happen. “I’ll do it.” The voice on the other end replied with a curt, “I knew you would” and then hung up. The clerk, with a shaky hand, walked over to the main vault where all the money was kept.
A woman walked into the grocery store and quickly walked over to a checker on the side where customers are not supposed to be. After finishing helping another customer the checker turned around and with a big, fake smile he said “Welcome to WonderMart! Can I help you?” The woman just smiled as she got closer to the clerk to the point where the checker was uncomfortable. “Ma’am?” the checker asked. “What are you….?” The woman pulled a small envelope out of her jacket pocket and slid it into the checker’s breast pocket. “Read it and tell me what you think.” The woman walked away, leaving the checker confused. At his lunch break he slid into a booth and, while waiting for his order, he pulled the letter out of his pocket and opened it, a bit afraid of what he might find. When he first read the first few lines, his face was simply confused and a bit curious. But as he got farther into the long letter, his face turned a variety of colors, from red to purple to gray to deathly white. His hands shook. As the waitress brought him his food she noticed the checker’s expression and the letter in his hand. She clucked her tongue as she set down the platter of food. The checker looked up at the noise and he noticed that the waitress was the same woman who had given him the letter. “You!” he gasped, his face contorted with a mixture of rage, fear, and bewilderment. “You were the one who… who…” The woman sighed, a queer smile on her face. “Yes,” she said. “Have you decided?” The checker gulped and stole a glance at the letter as if to assure himself of the contents, that it was all real. He pinched himself for good measure. It wasn’t a dream. The checker swallowed and took a deep breath. “I can’t,” said the checker miserably, beads of sweat forming on his brow, knowing what was at stake but he didn’t want to give up. “Thank you for your cooperation,” said the waitress, knowing he’d accept. She snatched the letter out of his hands. “Enjoy your food,” she said as she walked away. The checker swallowed, staring at his sandwich. He had no appetite. After his lunch break he received a phone call. He recognized the voice as the voice of the woman. The woman said only two words before hanging up. “Your turn,” she said curtly, before the line went dead. The checker, his face visibly sweating like mad despite the cool temperature of the grocery store, quickly walked over to his checkout station. He slipped his hand into the cash box and grabbed money, fistfuls of it, and stuffed it into the garbage can. It was quite a lot of money, considering that two people had bought huge, widescreen television sets that day. The checker, his face a sad mess of sweat and tears, took the bag of money out of the garbage can and walked out of the grocery store where the woman was waiting. “I’m going to get arrested for this, and I’ll tell them all about this,” said the checker in a moment of sudden courage. “Precisely,” the woman replied, taking the bag. The checker started to walk away. He turned around for one second.
The woman had vanished.
Title of Book: The People
Description: Some very strange things are happening...very strange things.
Chapter Title: *not yet formulated*
An elderly woman wearing a long, furry coat walked into the bank, shuffling along with a nervous expression on her face. Her hands were clutched tightly on her purse. The clerk heard the bell as she came in and looked up expectantly, thinking she would come forward with a deposit or something else of that nature. Instead, she simply stayed in the corner, her hands shaking a little. The clerk couldn’t help but wonder why on earth she was wearing a coat- it was nearly ninety degrees outside. “Can I help you madam?” the clerk asked. The woman didn’t respond, just stood in the corner. The clerk asked again, this time with a more urgent tone of voice. Again, the woman did not answer. The clerk supposed she was hard of hearing or had one of the other ailments that were common among the elderly people of society and gave it up as a lost cause. He just watched the woman, wondering what her business could be. After a couple of minutes, another man stepped in the bank. He walked towards the direction of the clerk and the clerk raised his eyebrows expectantly. But the man who had just entered walked over to the woman instead. “Madame,” said the man, his mouth curling into a smile. The woman looked up at him, a terrified expression in her eyes. The clerk saw that something was up. “Can I help you two?” He asked loudly. The man didn’t even turn towards the clerk, and the woman appeared to be captivated by the man’s gaze. The clerk came out of the booth and went next to the man. “Listen, I don’t know what you’re playing at, mister, but why are you here?” The man turned towards the clerk. “We are friends,” he said, smiling an odd smile. “We met here before we go on a little excursion together.” Usually the clerk would have believed the story and then waited for them to leave but the terror in the old woman’s eyes didn’t seem to match up with the man’s story. “Then get going on your excursion,” said the clerk, making it clear that he did not believe the man’s story. The man’s smile fell and his lips were pressed tightly together. “Of course,” he said, sounding very gallant, but his eyes showed menace and hate. The clerk shrank under the man’s gaze as the man forcibly took the woman’s arm and marched out the door. The clerk watched them go, suddenly fearful for the woman with him. He wasn’t the type to be scared easily. He sat back down and thought over maybe calling the police or at least notifying someone that a suspicious figure had been hanging around the bank. He decided against it. It couldn’t be that important. The clerk settled back down into his chair and was determined to think of the matter no more. But in the back of his mind he continued to wonder about the man and the elderly woman.
About an hour after the queer meeting of the elderly woman and the man the phone rang and the clerk hurried to pick it up. A voice on the other end quietly told him that he required a very large sum of money and if the clerk would take it from the bank he would be rewarded. “Who do you think I am?” the clerk bellowed into the phone. “More importantly, who are you? Who are you to think I would steal from a bank?” The voice on the other end, clearly male, replied that certain things would happen that would be catastrophic for the clerk if he did not do as he had instructed. As he listed the things that would happen, the clerk turned pale. “Alright,” he gasped. He couldn’t let things like that happen. “I’ll do it.” The voice on the other end replied with a curt, “I knew you would” and then hung up. The clerk, with a shaky hand, walked over to the main vault where all the money was kept.
A woman walked into the grocery store and quickly walked over to a checker on the side where customers are not supposed to be. After finishing helping another customer the checker turned around and with a big, fake smile he said “Welcome to WonderMart! Can I help you?” The woman just smiled as she got closer to the clerk to the point where the checker was uncomfortable. “Ma’am?” the checker asked. “What are you….?” The woman pulled a small envelope out of her jacket pocket and slid it into the checker’s breast pocket. “Read it and tell me what you think.” The woman walked away, leaving the checker confused. At his lunch break he slid into a booth and, while waiting for his order, he pulled the letter out of his pocket and opened it, a bit afraid of what he might find. When he first read the first few lines, his face was simply confused and a bit curious. But as he got farther into the long letter, his face turned a variety of colors, from red to purple to gray to deathly white. His hands shook. As the waitress brought him his food she noticed the checker’s expression and the letter in his hand. She clucked her tongue as she set down the platter of food. The checker looked up at the noise and he noticed that the waitress was the same woman who had given him the letter. “You!” he gasped, his face contorted with a mixture of rage, fear, and bewilderment. “You were the one who… who…” The woman sighed, a queer smile on her face. “Yes,” she said. “Have you decided?” The checker gulped and stole a glance at the letter as if to assure himself of the contents, that it was all real. He pinched himself for good measure. It wasn’t a dream. The checker swallowed and took a deep breath. “I can’t,” said the checker miserably, beads of sweat forming on his brow, knowing what was at stake but he didn’t want to give up. “Thank you for your cooperation,” said the waitress, knowing he’d accept. She snatched the letter out of his hands. “Enjoy your food,” she said as she walked away. The checker swallowed, staring at his sandwich. He had no appetite. After his lunch break he received a phone call. He recognized the voice as the voice of the woman. The woman said only two words before hanging up. “Your turn,” she said curtly, before the line went dead. The checker, his face visibly sweating like mad despite the cool temperature of the grocery store, quickly walked over to his checkout station. He slipped his hand into the cash box and grabbed money, fistfuls of it, and stuffed it into the garbage can. It was quite a lot of money, considering that two people had bought huge, widescreen television sets that day. The checker, his face a sad mess of sweat and tears, took the bag of money out of the garbage can and walked out of the grocery store where the woman was waiting. “I’m going to get arrested for this, and I’ll tell them all about this,” said the checker in a moment of sudden courage. “Precisely,” the woman replied, taking the bag. The checker started to walk away. He turned around for one second.
The woman had vanished.
Thanks. It really means a lot. This is the first time I've really exposed my work to anyone, so your encouragement means quite a lot.
This particular idea really seemed to come out of nowhere. I forget what I got it from. So yeah, this kind of did come out of nowhere. :)
This particular idea really seemed to come out of nowhere. I forget what I got it from. So yeah, this kind of did come out of nowhere. :)
*grins* Nowhere, apparently, does a lot in his free time.
Yepperdoodles. When will the roleplaying stations get set up? As soon as we get a name for Nexus guy?
This is the second chapter of The People.
Melanie sighed, her face pressed against the window. It was a horrible day. She was sick, it was raining outside, and her brothers were being annoying- more annoying than usual, anyway. Her chin was propped up on her elbows as she looked down on the empty sidewalk below the apartment, bored out of her mind. Usually reading a book or playing on the computer would be fun, but right now she for some reason couldn’t be interested in anything. Her mom had even offered to bake cookies with her and she’d said no. She was sick, and nothing feels good when you’re sick. Melanie blew her nose and sighed again. Today was supposed to have been the best day ever. It was supposed to be the day of Lydia’s birthday bash and afterwards they would have gone to Sherman’s for ice cream. No, instead all the kids were having fun without her and she was supposed to just sit and wait to get better. Melanie could hear the sounds of her brothers’ laughter and her little sister clapping her hands together and squealing in delight. Usually the sound would cheer Melanie up, but it just made Melanie grumpier. It just wasn’t right. Everyone got to have fun while she just had to sit. And wait. And sit. Did she mention that she had to wait?
A light knock came at the door. “Come in,” said Melanie in a rather ungrateful tone.
Her mother walked in holding a cup of water and a bit of a sandwich. “I brought you some lunch,” she said, walking over to Melanie and setting the food in front of her. “It’s your favorite.” Her mother was trying to sound upbeat.
“You sound happy,” said Melanie, picking over the sandwich and taking the seeds out of the crust. “I bet you can tell that I’m not.” She took a small sip of water, knowing her mother would make her drink it anyway.
Her mother pursed her lips. “Now, now, Melanie, you know that Lydia is going to bring over some of the treats from the party tomorrow after school.”
“Oh yes, having the party favor is going to totally make up for missing the whole party,” said Melanie sarcastically, picking out the last seed. “Is this the NutriGrain bread from WonderMart? It tastes nasty.”
“Melanie,” said her mother sternly, stretching out the name so it sounded like it had a hundred syllables instead of three. “The NutriGrain bread is good for you. Anyway, enjoy your food. And please, Melanie, try to remember that the world has the right to be happy even if you’re not.” She walked out and shut the door behind her. Then it opened again and her mother’s face peeked in. “And don’t forget to drink your water.” The door shut again and Melanie was alone.
Melanie just scowled at the sandwich, not wanting to eat it. Usually she liked NutriGrain bread, but apparently everything about her was all out of whack because she was sick. She did take another sip of water though.
She was bored out of her mind. After finishing the rest of her water, she tried lying down, walking around (that made her feel dizzy), drumming her fingers on the window, watching the cars that went by, reading… nothing took the feeling of absolute boredom away.
Suddenly the door burst open and her two brothers ran in, battling each other with Nerf swords.
“Take that! And that!” yelled her brother Nathaniel, swinging his Nerf sword in all directions and upsetting a pile of books that had been stacked on Melanie’s nightstand.
“You’ll never defeat…OOOF!” said her other brother Luke, who had just been thwacked in the stomach by Nathaniel’s sword. “You’ll pay for that, you dodo!”
“Out, OUT!” Melanie roared, all her boredom turning into extreme annoyance at her brothers.
But they kept swinging their swords, Luke’s eyes shut tight as he spun around in a circle swinging his sword around, knocking a stuffed animal off Melanie’s bed.
Melanie promptly began to start to try and push Nathaniel out, not wanting to get close to Luke as he continued to spin around. Nathaniel kept hitting her abdomen with his sword. “Die, felon! This is treachery to the Knights of Apartment 385!”
“Okay, c’mon boys,” said their mother, who had just come in. “Melanie needs to rest.” She tried in vain to look serious, but she was clearly trying to hold in a laugh.
Luke opened his eyes and Nathaniel broke free of Melanie’s grasp and they both ran out, cries of “Die!” echoing throughout the apartment.
Melanie’s mother came over to Melanie. “I apologize for that, but here.” She handed Melanie the newspaper and then left, not wanting to leave little baby Sage to the boys’ wrath.
Melanie sat down, her head woozy from trying to push Nathaniel out. She took the newspaper and for the first time felt a spark of interest. Usually she just read the comics and the Dear Abby column but this time the front page caught her interest. Normally the front page was about something boring concerning politics but this time it actually looked like something good. She settled down on her bed and started to read.
It was about a recent occurrence at WonderMart and the county bank. Apparently a clerk named Thomas Weber from the bank had taken almost two million dollars from the bank vault and that a checker named Tyler Grey had stolen about 100,000 dollars from the cash register at WonderMart. Both men have similar stories. Weber related a story about having two suspicious figures hanging around the bank and that about thirty minutes later he received a phone call saying that some terrible things would happen- like a release of nuclear bombs on all of New York and the annihilation of his family. He didn’t necessarily believe that the threat of bombs on New York was legit but the one about his family he couldn’t afford to take a risk on. Grey had a similar story, except all the messages to him were given in person by a mysterious lady who had been hanging around his checkout station. He had gotten a letter saying that the same things that Weber had been threatened with would happen if he didn’t steal cash from the cash register. Authorities are not inclined to believe the two men’s story especially since they both have no evidence whatsoever, and some people believe that they were conspiring together. The two men are being held and have been interrogated on the location of the money, but they both said that part of the agreement was to give it away.
Another thing was odd about the story.
On the security camera tapes there is no evidence whatsoever that a man and a woman in a furry coat came to the bank that day or that a woman came up to the checker at WonderMart.
Melanie sighed, her face pressed against the window. It was a horrible day. She was sick, it was raining outside, and her brothers were being annoying- more annoying than usual, anyway. Her chin was propped up on her elbows as she looked down on the empty sidewalk below the apartment, bored out of her mind. Usually reading a book or playing on the computer would be fun, but right now she for some reason couldn’t be interested in anything. Her mom had even offered to bake cookies with her and she’d said no. She was sick, and nothing feels good when you’re sick. Melanie blew her nose and sighed again. Today was supposed to have been the best day ever. It was supposed to be the day of Lydia’s birthday bash and afterwards they would have gone to Sherman’s for ice cream. No, instead all the kids were having fun without her and she was supposed to just sit and wait to get better. Melanie could hear the sounds of her brothers’ laughter and her little sister clapping her hands together and squealing in delight. Usually the sound would cheer Melanie up, but it just made Melanie grumpier. It just wasn’t right. Everyone got to have fun while she just had to sit. And wait. And sit. Did she mention that she had to wait?
A light knock came at the door. “Come in,” said Melanie in a rather ungrateful tone.
Her mother walked in holding a cup of water and a bit of a sandwich. “I brought you some lunch,” she said, walking over to Melanie and setting the food in front of her. “It’s your favorite.” Her mother was trying to sound upbeat.
“You sound happy,” said Melanie, picking over the sandwich and taking the seeds out of the crust. “I bet you can tell that I’m not.” She took a small sip of water, knowing her mother would make her drink it anyway.
Her mother pursed her lips. “Now, now, Melanie, you know that Lydia is going to bring over some of the treats from the party tomorrow after school.”
“Oh yes, having the party favor is going to totally make up for missing the whole party,” said Melanie sarcastically, picking out the last seed. “Is this the NutriGrain bread from WonderMart? It tastes nasty.”
“Melanie,” said her mother sternly, stretching out the name so it sounded like it had a hundred syllables instead of three. “The NutriGrain bread is good for you. Anyway, enjoy your food. And please, Melanie, try to remember that the world has the right to be happy even if you’re not.” She walked out and shut the door behind her. Then it opened again and her mother’s face peeked in. “And don’t forget to drink your water.” The door shut again and Melanie was alone.
Melanie just scowled at the sandwich, not wanting to eat it. Usually she liked NutriGrain bread, but apparently everything about her was all out of whack because she was sick. She did take another sip of water though.
She was bored out of her mind. After finishing the rest of her water, she tried lying down, walking around (that made her feel dizzy), drumming her fingers on the window, watching the cars that went by, reading… nothing took the feeling of absolute boredom away.
Suddenly the door burst open and her two brothers ran in, battling each other with Nerf swords.
“Take that! And that!” yelled her brother Nathaniel, swinging his Nerf sword in all directions and upsetting a pile of books that had been stacked on Melanie’s nightstand.
“You’ll never defeat…OOOF!” said her other brother Luke, who had just been thwacked in the stomach by Nathaniel’s sword. “You’ll pay for that, you dodo!”
“Out, OUT!” Melanie roared, all her boredom turning into extreme annoyance at her brothers.
But they kept swinging their swords, Luke’s eyes shut tight as he spun around in a circle swinging his sword around, knocking a stuffed animal off Melanie’s bed.
Melanie promptly began to start to try and push Nathaniel out, not wanting to get close to Luke as he continued to spin around. Nathaniel kept hitting her abdomen with his sword. “Die, felon! This is treachery to the Knights of Apartment 385!”
“Okay, c’mon boys,” said their mother, who had just come in. “Melanie needs to rest.” She tried in vain to look serious, but she was clearly trying to hold in a laugh.
Luke opened his eyes and Nathaniel broke free of Melanie’s grasp and they both ran out, cries of “Die!” echoing throughout the apartment.
Melanie’s mother came over to Melanie. “I apologize for that, but here.” She handed Melanie the newspaper and then left, not wanting to leave little baby Sage to the boys’ wrath.
Melanie sat down, her head woozy from trying to push Nathaniel out. She took the newspaper and for the first time felt a spark of interest. Usually she just read the comics and the Dear Abby column but this time the front page caught her interest. Normally the front page was about something boring concerning politics but this time it actually looked like something good. She settled down on her bed and started to read.
It was about a recent occurrence at WonderMart and the county bank. Apparently a clerk named Thomas Weber from the bank had taken almost two million dollars from the bank vault and that a checker named Tyler Grey had stolen about 100,000 dollars from the cash register at WonderMart. Both men have similar stories. Weber related a story about having two suspicious figures hanging around the bank and that about thirty minutes later he received a phone call saying that some terrible things would happen- like a release of nuclear bombs on all of New York and the annihilation of his family. He didn’t necessarily believe that the threat of bombs on New York was legit but the one about his family he couldn’t afford to take a risk on. Grey had a similar story, except all the messages to him were given in person by a mysterious lady who had been hanging around his checkout station. He had gotten a letter saying that the same things that Weber had been threatened with would happen if he didn’t steal cash from the cash register. Authorities are not inclined to believe the two men’s story especially since they both have no evidence whatsoever, and some people believe that they were conspiring together. The two men are being held and have been interrogated on the location of the money, but they both said that part of the agreement was to give it away.
Another thing was odd about the story.
On the security camera tapes there is no evidence whatsoever that a man and a woman in a furry coat came to the bank that day or that a woman came up to the checker at WonderMart.
that's really good cat. no criticisms from me.MOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMOREMORE!!!!!
This one isn't as good as the first two in my opinion, but here it is.
Chapter 3 of the People
“I’ve already told you everything,” said Tyler Grey as he sat in his chair, looking across the table at the officer. “I’ve told you all I know. Can I go home now?”
The officer didn’t answer Grey. “Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Grey.” He signaled two other officers to take Grey away with a flick of his hand. As soon as Grey was taken away, the officer dropped his pen on the table, sat back in his chair, and sighed. This case was going nowhere, and all the officers in the station knew it.
The station had been abuzz ever since they first received news of the two thefts. Officers and forensic scientists had swarmed the two places, but they’d found nothing. No footprints, no fingerprints, no sign that the man with the elderly woman was real, that the call from the man had been real, that the woman had been real, or that the letter had been real. Nothing proved that they had ever existed, and the obvious thing to do was to immediately arrest both Weber and Grey for theft. Yet something was fishy about this case. Both Weber and Grey had squeaky-clean records, were married, had good jobs that paid well enough, and went to church every Sunday. They came from good, steady families and had never wanted for anything. Why would they steal? Who had they given the money to or where did they hide it? Everything seemed to point to the fact that Weber and Grey were guilty, yet the officers couldn’t bring themselves to arrest them because it didn’t seem right. They didn’t appear guilty, yet they did. It was the most confusing thing any of the other officers had seen before. They were, frankly, baffled. It didn’t help that the press was buzzing everywhere, always pressing the officers for information. Especially that pesky journalist Mimi Oswald. She had already written two articles that had been featured in the newest edition of her magazine The Newest News that specialized in information that should be classified.
Another officer came in by the name of Officer Brent. “Anything new with Grey, Colby?” He asked, handing the other officer who apparently was Officer Colby a Styrofoam cup of black coffee.
“Nothing,” said Officer Colby darkly. “Nothing at all. I ask him what kind of voice it was on the other end, and he says he can’t say anything about it or else they (whoever they are) are going to nuke California. As if whoever called him can hear.”
The PA crackled to life. An indistinct voice that was clearly disguised mechanically said, “We can hear everything, George Colby.” Then the PA turned off.
Needless to say, the station was in an uproar. Colby and Brent ran out of the interrogation room and demanded to know what had happened. According to all the other officers, no one had been near the PA in the past three hours since the announcement about the bank and WonderMart. The security cameras clearly showed that no one had been near it. The PA couldn’t have been intercepted by wireless, seeing as it used no Wi-Fi. It was altogether inaccessible by an outer source. It had to have been used from the inside, yet there was no way someone had gotten into the PA room in the past three hours. It was altogether an impossible thing. Those officers who had doubted the phone call and letter immediately decided that the two things had to have been done by the same group of people. Weber and Grey were pardoned, but they were still held and interrogated for hours on end about every detail that they couldn’t disclose unless their family was killed. The officers said there was no way of getting the information out of the two men.
Mimi Oswald, of course, happened to hear about the PA incident. Out of all the people who could’ve heard it, it had to be Mimi Oswald. The next day her magazine was bestselling with its featured articles “Impossibly Idiotic: Who Runs Our National Security” and “Baffled by the Breach!”.
After a long night, Officer Colby walked into his apartment where his wife was waiting for him with a plate of chicken and green beans.
“You’re late,” she said, easing his coat of his shoulders and handing him the plate of food. “The case again?”
Colby didn’t have to ask which case she meant. “What else?” he said wearily, sitting down and eating. “How are the children today? Is Melanie feeling better?”
“Melanie is still sick, but seeing as it is a school day, she isn’t as disgruntled as before,” said his wife, sitting down as well. “Luke and Nathaniel complained twice today about how small the apartment is. I hope the short sale goes through – I don’t think we can stand another minute in this apartment, let alone another year. Sage is starting to take a few steps, although she plunks right down afterwards.” She sighed, letting herself slump in the chair a little. She was so tired. “Anything new on the case?”
“Nothing,” Colby replied. “Nothing at all. Weber and Grey can’t talk about it unless their family gets killed by whoever called them or put the letter there. We don’t believe that they can carry out the threats, but after the thing with the PA… we’re not so sure.”
His wife nodded slowly, and her eyes fastened themselves on a copy of The Newest News that sat on the table in the middle. Colby noticed it too. “You read it?” He asked her.
She nods, and then stops. “I used to, but nowadays it’s just a bunch of nonsense about the case. About how security these days is just terrible, about how the policemen in the station aren’t even trying, how we should bring in people who actually know what they’re doing…” she shrugged. “I don’t believe a word of it.”
They finished the rest of the time in silence, and then they silently went to bed, both equally exhausted by the day.
The next morning, there were two murders.
Thomas Weber and Tyler Grey.
Chapter 3 of the People
“I’ve already told you everything,” said Tyler Grey as he sat in his chair, looking across the table at the officer. “I’ve told you all I know. Can I go home now?”
The officer didn’t answer Grey. “Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Grey.” He signaled two other officers to take Grey away with a flick of his hand. As soon as Grey was taken away, the officer dropped his pen on the table, sat back in his chair, and sighed. This case was going nowhere, and all the officers in the station knew it.
The station had been abuzz ever since they first received news of the two thefts. Officers and forensic scientists had swarmed the two places, but they’d found nothing. No footprints, no fingerprints, no sign that the man with the elderly woman was real, that the call from the man had been real, that the woman had been real, or that the letter had been real. Nothing proved that they had ever existed, and the obvious thing to do was to immediately arrest both Weber and Grey for theft. Yet something was fishy about this case. Both Weber and Grey had squeaky-clean records, were married, had good jobs that paid well enough, and went to church every Sunday. They came from good, steady families and had never wanted for anything. Why would they steal? Who had they given the money to or where did they hide it? Everything seemed to point to the fact that Weber and Grey were guilty, yet the officers couldn’t bring themselves to arrest them because it didn’t seem right. They didn’t appear guilty, yet they did. It was the most confusing thing any of the other officers had seen before. They were, frankly, baffled. It didn’t help that the press was buzzing everywhere, always pressing the officers for information. Especially that pesky journalist Mimi Oswald. She had already written two articles that had been featured in the newest edition of her magazine The Newest News that specialized in information that should be classified.
Another officer came in by the name of Officer Brent. “Anything new with Grey, Colby?” He asked, handing the other officer who apparently was Officer Colby a Styrofoam cup of black coffee.
“Nothing,” said Officer Colby darkly. “Nothing at all. I ask him what kind of voice it was on the other end, and he says he can’t say anything about it or else they (whoever they are) are going to nuke California. As if whoever called him can hear.”
The PA crackled to life. An indistinct voice that was clearly disguised mechanically said, “We can hear everything, George Colby.” Then the PA turned off.
Needless to say, the station was in an uproar. Colby and Brent ran out of the interrogation room and demanded to know what had happened. According to all the other officers, no one had been near the PA in the past three hours since the announcement about the bank and WonderMart. The security cameras clearly showed that no one had been near it. The PA couldn’t have been intercepted by wireless, seeing as it used no Wi-Fi. It was altogether inaccessible by an outer source. It had to have been used from the inside, yet there was no way someone had gotten into the PA room in the past three hours. It was altogether an impossible thing. Those officers who had doubted the phone call and letter immediately decided that the two things had to have been done by the same group of people. Weber and Grey were pardoned, but they were still held and interrogated for hours on end about every detail that they couldn’t disclose unless their family was killed. The officers said there was no way of getting the information out of the two men.
Mimi Oswald, of course, happened to hear about the PA incident. Out of all the people who could’ve heard it, it had to be Mimi Oswald. The next day her magazine was bestselling with its featured articles “Impossibly Idiotic: Who Runs Our National Security” and “Baffled by the Breach!”.
After a long night, Officer Colby walked into his apartment where his wife was waiting for him with a plate of chicken and green beans.
“You’re late,” she said, easing his coat of his shoulders and handing him the plate of food. “The case again?”
Colby didn’t have to ask which case she meant. “What else?” he said wearily, sitting down and eating. “How are the children today? Is Melanie feeling better?”
“Melanie is still sick, but seeing as it is a school day, she isn’t as disgruntled as before,” said his wife, sitting down as well. “Luke and Nathaniel complained twice today about how small the apartment is. I hope the short sale goes through – I don’t think we can stand another minute in this apartment, let alone another year. Sage is starting to take a few steps, although she plunks right down afterwards.” She sighed, letting herself slump in the chair a little. She was so tired. “Anything new on the case?”
“Nothing,” Colby replied. “Nothing at all. Weber and Grey can’t talk about it unless their family gets killed by whoever called them or put the letter there. We don’t believe that they can carry out the threats, but after the thing with the PA… we’re not so sure.”
His wife nodded slowly, and her eyes fastened themselves on a copy of The Newest News that sat on the table in the middle. Colby noticed it too. “You read it?” He asked her.
She nods, and then stops. “I used to, but nowadays it’s just a bunch of nonsense about the case. About how security these days is just terrible, about how the policemen in the station aren’t even trying, how we should bring in people who actually know what they’re doing…” she shrugged. “I don’t believe a word of it.”
They finished the rest of the time in silence, and then they silently went to bed, both equally exhausted by the day.
The next morning, there were two murders.
Thomas Weber and Tyler Grey.
Totally random, this, but oh well....
Jackdaw Broderick Mimsy
Hides everything, his emotions, his brilliance, but underneath, he is passionate, smart, engimatic, devoted, and Awesome with a capital A.
Mother is crazy about birds, and I don't mean fits of madness where she can be calmed down and stuff, more like dragged to the psychiatric hospital in a straitjacket crazy. All her sons and daughters are named something related to birds, like Raven, Cardinal, or even Bluejay. His father is a drunkard with serious problems and comes home and beats his children, which is why Jackdaw hides everything.
I told you it was random.
Jackdaw Broderick Mimsy
Hides everything, his emotions, his brilliance, but underneath, he is passionate, smart, engimatic, devoted, and Awesome with a capital A.
Mother is crazy about birds, and I don't mean fits of madness where she can be calmed down and stuff, more like dragged to the psychiatric hospital in a straitjacket crazy. All her sons and daughters are named something related to birds, like Raven, Cardinal, or even Bluejay. His father is a drunkard with serious problems and comes home and beats his children, which is why Jackdaw hides everything.
I told you it was random.
Thanks on both of them! I'll post the next chapter soon.
I dunno now. My head is swelling a wee bit, you understand, with every post.
This is also random, but here it is anyway.
In a town, there was a house, and inside the house, there were rooms, and inside a room, laid a child.
Her name was Evangeline. She was lying down on the distressed carpet with her elbows propped up and supporting her chin. She was bored. She felt like the definition of bored. She picked at a loose thread of the carpet; picked the large scab she had accumulated the other day, and scratched her mosquito bite. She curled up in a ball and rolled around, played dead for a few minutes, and jumped up and down. Nothing worked. She was still bored. She tried in vain to wash a bit of dirt off her tattered t-shirt or off her cotton pants.
She looked out the window and, to her surprise, saw a truck pull up with big black letters declaring “S.W.A.T.” on the side. Evangeline, after she got over her initial shock, prepared to leave.
The girl jumped up and ran down the many stairs, ten floors to be exact. Any normal child, by the time they got to the bottom, would be exhausted and might even need a small nap. But Evangeline, as you may have guessed, is no ordinary child.
When Evangeline reached the bottom she walked into the kitchen. The kitchen was a foul-smelling room, smelling as if it had not been washed in the past five years at least, which was very true. It was covered with mold on every wall and piles of dishes and rotting food lay about the counters. Evangeline ignored all this, however, and made her way immediately into the large pantry.
The pantry did not contain dry foods as most pantries do, no, this pantry contained things that were so random you wonder what type of person would put them all in the same place. It was filled with containers of silly putty, coils of greased rope, an extremely realistic sandwich made of rubber, and tubs of concrete. It had poles and beehives that buzzed with activity, and jars of a slippery substance. It had everything from tubas to car tires in this pantry. Evangeline also ignored all this and went over to an area of the pantry that wasn’t covered with stuff. She reached down and, after some fiddling, pulled up a trapdoor and jumped down.
Evangeline lit a flashlight and directed the beam in front of her. It lit up the whole passageway, showing it to be a small one no bigger than four feet tall and about three feet wide – only big enough for someone of Evangeline’s size. Evangeline walked down the passage without hesitation, skirting around the puddles of black muck that littered the ground.
She walked down the passage for some time before stopping in front of a sturdy metal door. She tried the handle; it was locked. She pulled a bobby pin out of her pocket and in a minute, she had unlocked the door and was in.
The passageway behind the door was much nicer than the passageway Evangeline had just been in. It had no muck littering the ceiling and floor, was well lighted, was bigger by about two feet each way, and was a pleasantly warm temperature.
Evangeline clicked off the flashlight and, without making a sound, crept stealthily across the concrete floor of the passage. After a few twists and turns, she reached another metal door, this one with a much more complicated lock than the previous one. Out came the bobby pin again, but this time Evangeline was unable to get it open. Beads of sweat started to form on her forehead as she jiggled the lock in every way she knew, mentally going through the different techniques. None of them worked. Finally, she pulled the bobby pin out and the door swung open. With an exasperated noise, Evangeline went in.
The room behind the door was very comfortable. It had two big, squashy purple armchairs in front of a roaring fire, and a collection of books sat on three huge shelves that had a sliding ladder so you could reach the top shelf. It had a fridge and a big counter in one corner, and a dining table, and over in another corner was a bathroom and three cots. This place was clearly made to live in.
Evangeline carefully locked the door behind her and went over to one of the armchairs, getting in it and curling up with a huge book titled “C.S. Lewis: A Treasury”.
Her peace was soon interrupted, however, by a commotion outside the metal door. Evangeline’s face turned deathly white as she stared at the door, her hard black eyes glittering. When she heard another sound, she scampered off the armchair and ran to the pantry of this area.
This pantry was filled with pretty average stuff; soup cans, cereal boxes, and an arsenal of hand grenades and M16s. Evangeline grabbed three hand grenades and one of the M16s and walked back out, loading the M16 and positioning herself in front of the door.
The scuffling continued until, after a while, the door gave way and four men wearing bulletproof vests and armed with stunning guns came in and opened fire.
Three grenades and six bullets later, Evangeline was kicking their bodies down a large garbage chute.
In a town, there was a house, and inside the house, there were rooms, and inside a room, laid a child.
Her name was Evangeline. She was lying down on the distressed carpet with her elbows propped up and supporting her chin. She was bored. She felt like the definition of bored. She picked at a loose thread of the carpet; picked the large scab she had accumulated the other day, and scratched her mosquito bite. She curled up in a ball and rolled around, played dead for a few minutes, and jumped up and down. Nothing worked. She was still bored. She tried in vain to wash a bit of dirt off her tattered t-shirt or off her cotton pants.
She looked out the window and, to her surprise, saw a truck pull up with big black letters declaring “S.W.A.T.” on the side. Evangeline, after she got over her initial shock, prepared to leave.
The girl jumped up and ran down the many stairs, ten floors to be exact. Any normal child, by the time they got to the bottom, would be exhausted and might even need a small nap. But Evangeline, as you may have guessed, is no ordinary child.
When Evangeline reached the bottom she walked into the kitchen. The kitchen was a foul-smelling room, smelling as if it had not been washed in the past five years at least, which was very true. It was covered with mold on every wall and piles of dishes and rotting food lay about the counters. Evangeline ignored all this, however, and made her way immediately into the large pantry.
The pantry did not contain dry foods as most pantries do, no, this pantry contained things that were so random you wonder what type of person would put them all in the same place. It was filled with containers of silly putty, coils of greased rope, an extremely realistic sandwich made of rubber, and tubs of concrete. It had poles and beehives that buzzed with activity, and jars of a slippery substance. It had everything from tubas to car tires in this pantry. Evangeline also ignored all this and went over to an area of the pantry that wasn’t covered with stuff. She reached down and, after some fiddling, pulled up a trapdoor and jumped down.
Evangeline lit a flashlight and directed the beam in front of her. It lit up the whole passageway, showing it to be a small one no bigger than four feet tall and about three feet wide – only big enough for someone of Evangeline’s size. Evangeline walked down the passage without hesitation, skirting around the puddles of black muck that littered the ground.
She walked down the passage for some time before stopping in front of a sturdy metal door. She tried the handle; it was locked. She pulled a bobby pin out of her pocket and in a minute, she had unlocked the door and was in.
The passageway behind the door was much nicer than the passageway Evangeline had just been in. It had no muck littering the ceiling and floor, was well lighted, was bigger by about two feet each way, and was a pleasantly warm temperature.
Evangeline clicked off the flashlight and, without making a sound, crept stealthily across the concrete floor of the passage. After a few twists and turns, she reached another metal door, this one with a much more complicated lock than the previous one. Out came the bobby pin again, but this time Evangeline was unable to get it open. Beads of sweat started to form on her forehead as she jiggled the lock in every way she knew, mentally going through the different techniques. None of them worked. Finally, she pulled the bobby pin out and the door swung open. With an exasperated noise, Evangeline went in.
The room behind the door was very comfortable. It had two big, squashy purple armchairs in front of a roaring fire, and a collection of books sat on three huge shelves that had a sliding ladder so you could reach the top shelf. It had a fridge and a big counter in one corner, and a dining table, and over in another corner was a bathroom and three cots. This place was clearly made to live in.
Evangeline carefully locked the door behind her and went over to one of the armchairs, getting in it and curling up with a huge book titled “C.S. Lewis: A Treasury”.
Her peace was soon interrupted, however, by a commotion outside the metal door. Evangeline’s face turned deathly white as she stared at the door, her hard black eyes glittering. When she heard another sound, she scampered off the armchair and ran to the pantry of this area.
This pantry was filled with pretty average stuff; soup cans, cereal boxes, and an arsenal of hand grenades and M16s. Evangeline grabbed three hand grenades and one of the M16s and walked back out, loading the M16 and positioning herself in front of the door.
The scuffling continued until, after a while, the door gave way and four men wearing bulletproof vests and armed with stunning guns came in and opened fire.
Three grenades and six bullets later, Evangeline was kicking their bodies down a large garbage chute.
Just for the visual picture, this is what Evangeline looks like:
That child is creepy.
Good. But the writing is very well done.
As I said before, that's the point. :)
I walk through the door
I still hear your voice say hello
But you are longing, you are yearning
For the time the Father calls you home
Broken inside
You still keep a smile on your face
Because you are holding to the promise
Of a God who has given you His grace
I want to wake in the place where angels sing
And run to Your arms when You call for me
Whether that Day is far away or soon
I await the day that I see You
Laid down to rest
Never again will you weep
Because I know those who believe will never die
But only fall asleep
Waiting to run, free from the pain and the tears
That weigh me down
Praise to the One who took all my sin and fears
And gave me His crown
I still hear your voice say hello
But you are longing, you are yearning
For the time the Father calls you home
Broken inside
You still keep a smile on your face
Because you are holding to the promise
Of a God who has given you His grace
I want to wake in the place where angels sing
And run to Your arms when You call for me
Whether that Day is far away or soon
I await the day that I see You
Laid down to rest
Never again will you weep
Because I know those who believe will never die
But only fall asleep
Waiting to run, free from the pain and the tears
That weigh me down
Praise to the One who took all my sin and fears
And gave me His crown
Thanks! I only helped write it though. It's a song from my church, but I was totally pumped when they said I got to help write!
Are you on Spotify? If you are, if you search "Crosswalk", you can find this song. The official title is "The Day I See You".
Evangeline lay in her cot, sleeping heavily under her thick orange blanket that kept out the dank chill of the room. She turned over in her sleep, but she was very tired and did not stir at the noise of someone banging on the door. Eventually, however, she came to and was alarmed by the noise. She stealthily crept towards the door and peeked through a small hole that was not noticeable from the other side. Satisfied with who was on the other side, she opened the door.
In came a tall man with arms thick with muscle and an M16 slung over his shoulder. He looked as if he had been sleeping out in the open and been assaulted, for his clothes were covered in grass stains and were rumpled and dirty.
Evangeline sighed, and then beckoned for the man to come in. The man hefted the M16 over his shoulder and followed Evangeline into the kitchen, where she indicated that he should sit. He did, and Evangeline, in a flurry of activity, soon had a hot plate of chicken, rice, and sautéed broccoli that she handed to him. He ate it in seconds, neither of them saying anything at all.
After the man finished his food, he silently pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and slid it across the table. Evangeline took the paper and her gray eyes scanned the document. After reading, her lips pressed together tightly as she slid it back.
“No.”
The man sighed. This was exactly what he was afraid of. “King, we need you on this. This is of national importance. You’d be paid well and kept safe.”
Evangeline snorted. “There’s no such thing as safety when it comes to this. I said no, and I’m not changing my mind. I have my own personal agenda.”
“King…”
“I said no,” Evangeline interrupted. She pointed towards the stone door. “There’s the door. Now get out of here.”
“We can force you to do this,” the man warned.
Evangeline laughed without humor. “We both know that’s not true. I said no, Jackson, and I’m sticking to that. I’m not going to run to this prig’s rescue. Get out of here.”
“Ev.” This so-called Jackson’s voice was firmer now. “Please.”
“It’s been a long time since anyone has called me that,” said Evangeline quietly. “But still no. And I mean it, Jackson. I’m not going to help the very people who destroyed my home.”
“They were not responsible for that,” Jackson explained in a patronizing voice. “That was an accident.”
“An accident that was repeated twice,” Evangeline pointed out. “You’d best shut up and get out now, Jackson, before I make you.”
Jackson’s shoulders slumped a little. He knew now that Evangeline had made up her mind, she wasn’t going to change it anytime soon. “Fine, Ev.” He tossed a card onto the counter. “In case you change your mind.” And he was gone.
Evangeline snorted in disgust. “Goodbye to you,” she said sarcastically. She checked the clock on the wall. It was nearing three in the morning. Knowing she wouldn’t be able to fall asleep again, she sighed a little and opened the freezer for maybe an instant dinner or something. Her eyes fell on the container of Ben and Jerry’s cookie dough ice cream. She was on a special diet, and ice cream definitely didn’t make the list. Still, she was craving something sweet. It had been difficult to retain her childish needs for sugar for the diet, but she could let it show once. Smiling a little, she grabbed the Ben and Jerry’s and a large spoon and sat on the couch and just ate it right out of the carton while she popped in a recorded DVD of the second season of Fringe.
She could not help but think about if she had made the right decision. She had, certainly? She could not let the incident of her parents’ death and the destroying of her home. It was not to be born. She had a reputation of being cold hearted to keep up. Sighing, she had another bite of Ben and Jerry’s, which was only minutely helping. It was wonderful to taste something sweet again though.
Ev. That’s what Jackson had called her. She hadn’t heard anyone call her that since… since her mother. She swallowed a lump in her throat. How had Jackson even known about that nickname? He hadn’t known her parents. He knew about them, but he didn’t know them. And she had certainly never told him. Where on earth had he gotten it? All the people who could have known that nickname were dead.
The current episode of Fringe finished, and Evangeline hit the button for another. She watched for a while until she realized that the ice cream was gone and she had blown through almost the whole season. Sighing and massaging her stomach, which was feeling bloated and uncomfortable, she threw the container in the garbage and was about to turn off the TV when an emergency message popped up.
The US seal flashed over the screen and was then replaced with the face of Jackson. The connection was shoddy at best, and filled with static. He was bloody, and he appeared to be holding the camera himself. Evangeline just stared at the TV screen before springing into action. In a matter of seconds, she had the specially issued hi-tech Skype program up so he could see her.
“King!” Jackson yelled. “This is why we need you!” The camera was jostled for a minute and the TV screen was dark and then red. Evangeline realized that the red was blood flowing from Jackson’s leg. Stump, actually. “King!” Jackson screamed. “More people will die! This isn’t just the” The crackling sound of static filled the speakers and for a second, Evangeline couldn’t hear or see a thing. Then it came back into focus. “-for your family!”
The screen flickered to black and static, but the sound continued, albeit peppered with moments of static. Evangeline could hear screams, gunfire, explosions, and groans. She also heard the sound of Jackson giving his last huff of breath. Then the sound was cut.
Evangeline glanced over at the card on the counter.
In came a tall man with arms thick with muscle and an M16 slung over his shoulder. He looked as if he had been sleeping out in the open and been assaulted, for his clothes were covered in grass stains and were rumpled and dirty.
Evangeline sighed, and then beckoned for the man to come in. The man hefted the M16 over his shoulder and followed Evangeline into the kitchen, where she indicated that he should sit. He did, and Evangeline, in a flurry of activity, soon had a hot plate of chicken, rice, and sautéed broccoli that she handed to him. He ate it in seconds, neither of them saying anything at all.
After the man finished his food, he silently pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and slid it across the table. Evangeline took the paper and her gray eyes scanned the document. After reading, her lips pressed together tightly as she slid it back.
“No.”
The man sighed. This was exactly what he was afraid of. “King, we need you on this. This is of national importance. You’d be paid well and kept safe.”
Evangeline snorted. “There’s no such thing as safety when it comes to this. I said no, and I’m not changing my mind. I have my own personal agenda.”
“King…”
“I said no,” Evangeline interrupted. She pointed towards the stone door. “There’s the door. Now get out of here.”
“We can force you to do this,” the man warned.
Evangeline laughed without humor. “We both know that’s not true. I said no, Jackson, and I’m sticking to that. I’m not going to run to this prig’s rescue. Get out of here.”
“Ev.” This so-called Jackson’s voice was firmer now. “Please.”
“It’s been a long time since anyone has called me that,” said Evangeline quietly. “But still no. And I mean it, Jackson. I’m not going to help the very people who destroyed my home.”
“They were not responsible for that,” Jackson explained in a patronizing voice. “That was an accident.”
“An accident that was repeated twice,” Evangeline pointed out. “You’d best shut up and get out now, Jackson, before I make you.”
Jackson’s shoulders slumped a little. He knew now that Evangeline had made up her mind, she wasn’t going to change it anytime soon. “Fine, Ev.” He tossed a card onto the counter. “In case you change your mind.” And he was gone.
Evangeline snorted in disgust. “Goodbye to you,” she said sarcastically. She checked the clock on the wall. It was nearing three in the morning. Knowing she wouldn’t be able to fall asleep again, she sighed a little and opened the freezer for maybe an instant dinner or something. Her eyes fell on the container of Ben and Jerry’s cookie dough ice cream. She was on a special diet, and ice cream definitely didn’t make the list. Still, she was craving something sweet. It had been difficult to retain her childish needs for sugar for the diet, but she could let it show once. Smiling a little, she grabbed the Ben and Jerry’s and a large spoon and sat on the couch and just ate it right out of the carton while she popped in a recorded DVD of the second season of Fringe.
She could not help but think about if she had made the right decision. She had, certainly? She could not let the incident of her parents’ death and the destroying of her home. It was not to be born. She had a reputation of being cold hearted to keep up. Sighing, she had another bite of Ben and Jerry’s, which was only minutely helping. It was wonderful to taste something sweet again though.
Ev. That’s what Jackson had called her. She hadn’t heard anyone call her that since… since her mother. She swallowed a lump in her throat. How had Jackson even known about that nickname? He hadn’t known her parents. He knew about them, but he didn’t know them. And she had certainly never told him. Where on earth had he gotten it? All the people who could have known that nickname were dead.
The current episode of Fringe finished, and Evangeline hit the button for another. She watched for a while until she realized that the ice cream was gone and she had blown through almost the whole season. Sighing and massaging her stomach, which was feeling bloated and uncomfortable, she threw the container in the garbage and was about to turn off the TV when an emergency message popped up.
The US seal flashed over the screen and was then replaced with the face of Jackson. The connection was shoddy at best, and filled with static. He was bloody, and he appeared to be holding the camera himself. Evangeline just stared at the TV screen before springing into action. In a matter of seconds, she had the specially issued hi-tech Skype program up so he could see her.
“King!” Jackson yelled. “This is why we need you!” The camera was jostled for a minute and the TV screen was dark and then red. Evangeline realized that the red was blood flowing from Jackson’s leg. Stump, actually. “King!” Jackson screamed. “More people will die! This isn’t just the” The crackling sound of static filled the speakers and for a second, Evangeline couldn’t hear or see a thing. Then it came back into focus. “-for your family!”
The screen flickered to black and static, but the sound continued, albeit peppered with moments of static. Evangeline could hear screams, gunfire, explosions, and groans. She also heard the sound of Jackson giving his last huff of breath. Then the sound was cut.
Evangeline glanced over at the card on the counter.
Feedback? Anyone? If it's that terrible, please tell me instead of just avoiding the question.
I LOVE IT!!!!!!! MORE!!!!!!
yeah, it's really good, just the whole thing is kind of sudden, right? I mean, she gets home, and then she's off to washington ro whereever, but I mean, maybe that's just me.
When did I ever say that that big creepy house or that cavern was her home?
Thanks you guys! Next chapter soon. I've got writer's block on The People, but I'll try.
Thanks you guys! Next chapter soon. I've got writer's block on The People, but I'll try.
sorry, i just assumed, but it is good. write more.
Random idea alert. Very random prologue. Have to see what you guys think.
Something has happened and has been happening.
Something that has been happening for years and years and years, we just haven’t noticed it. Something that had been building itself up; strengthened by its failures and made even stronger by success. Something that had been mapped out to the last minute, honed to perfection. Something that is completely undetectable because they have hidden their tracks so well. Something that no one could have foreseen. Something that is impossible to defeat, impossible to destroy. What you do against it can only fuel its anger against you and make it stronger. It is as slippery as an eel, never to be found unless it willingly reveals itself. It shows itself in the worst ways, through fear and rage and pure hate. It consumes, never stopping, never giving up its ruthless quest to destroy. It thinks in ways you cannot understand and twists your mind in strange ways.
But the problem is, no one knows. No one can defeat it. Except for one person.
Me.
The survival of the world relies on me. The very essence of everything relies solely on my shoulders. I have a terrific burden on my shoulders.
My job is to find people who are different. Who know that something isn’t right in the world. Few ever look far enough to see it. They live their daily lives, never knowing that they’re very being rests on a single being.
I have to train those who are different. Show them reality. Show them the truth about the world they live in. Help them realize their powers so that they can fight against the powers up against them. They can only hold Him off. They cannot defeat Him. Only I can defeat Him. But I am not strong enough. I must bide my time and shed tears over those who are lost, chained to the darkness, to Him. I have to find them. I have to help them. It is our only chance of ever defeating darkness.
Our only chance. Your only chance.
The world’s only chance.
Something has happened and has been happening.
Something that has been happening for years and years and years, we just haven’t noticed it. Something that had been building itself up; strengthened by its failures and made even stronger by success. Something that had been mapped out to the last minute, honed to perfection. Something that is completely undetectable because they have hidden their tracks so well. Something that no one could have foreseen. Something that is impossible to defeat, impossible to destroy. What you do against it can only fuel its anger against you and make it stronger. It is as slippery as an eel, never to be found unless it willingly reveals itself. It shows itself in the worst ways, through fear and rage and pure hate. It consumes, never stopping, never giving up its ruthless quest to destroy. It thinks in ways you cannot understand and twists your mind in strange ways.
But the problem is, no one knows. No one can defeat it. Except for one person.
Me.
The survival of the world relies on me. The very essence of everything relies solely on my shoulders. I have a terrific burden on my shoulders.
My job is to find people who are different. Who know that something isn’t right in the world. Few ever look far enough to see it. They live their daily lives, never knowing that they’re very being rests on a single being.
I have to train those who are different. Show them reality. Show them the truth about the world they live in. Help them realize their powers so that they can fight against the powers up against them. They can only hold Him off. They cannot defeat Him. Only I can defeat Him. But I am not strong enough. I must bide my time and shed tears over those who are lost, chained to the darkness, to Him. I have to find them. I have to help them. It is our only chance of ever defeating darkness.
Our only chance. Your only chance.
The world’s only chance.
The stars might go.
The world might quake.
The winds may blow.
The people may shake.
But I have nothing to fear.
Death may reach across the sand
With his terrible, rotting hand
The bones may be crushed
The blood has gushed
But I have nothing to fear.
Friends may betray
False love might decay
The elders spit
And the young hit
But I have nothing to fear.
I can be kicked, I can be burned
I can be cut and overturned
I can be an outcast, a disgrace
I can be starved and gaunt of face
But I have nothing to fear.
Love is patient, love is kind
Love is not jealous or boastful
It never is proud or rude
It does not demand
It does not fight for command
It does not anger
It always forgives
So I have nothing to fear.
The world might quake.
The winds may blow.
The people may shake.
But I have nothing to fear.
Death may reach across the sand
With his terrible, rotting hand
The bones may be crushed
The blood has gushed
But I have nothing to fear.
Friends may betray
False love might decay
The elders spit
And the young hit
But I have nothing to fear.
I can be kicked, I can be burned
I can be cut and overturned
I can be an outcast, a disgrace
I can be starved and gaunt of face
But I have nothing to fear.
Love is patient, love is kind
Love is not jealous or boastful
It never is proud or rude
It does not demand
It does not fight for command
It does not anger
It always forgives
So I have nothing to fear.
Cat, I wish that I could write stuff like that. It's really good, and I love it.
Ethan - the secret to creativity is hiding your sources.
Lex - Roger that, captain.
Both of you - Thanks! You would not believe how much this group has done for me. It has given me the incentive and encouragement to keep writing, even when it is hard or I have a block. A million times thank you!
Lex - Roger that, captain.
Both of you - Thanks! You would not believe how much this group has done for me. It has given me the incentive and encouragement to keep writing, even when it is hard or I have a block. A million times thank you!
Next chapter of King!
Story: King
Chapter Title: Files of Things of Importance
“I hear Jackson went missing in action. How? He wasn’t scheduled for anything.”
“Rogue operation, sir. It wasn’t authorized by his commander.”
“Interesting. What was he hoping to achieve?” The commander walked around the room, keeping his eyes on the young soldier he had called in.
“As far as we know, sir, he was trying to convince Evangeline King to join the mission to save the President.”
The commander laughed. “King? The child?”
“She’s not just a child,” said the soldier. “Haven’t you seen the footage, sir? She’s one of the best spies in the country.”
“Please.” The commander snorted. “He couldn’t want anything with the child. What else could he have been shooting for?”
“I do not know, sir.”
“Very well. Can I have the papers to the case?”
“Didn’t you get them, sir, in your daily briefing packet?”
“No. The delivery boy seems to be dilly-dallying in the female wing again.”
The soldier handed the commander the papers, but he was still suspicious. “Anything else, sir?”
“No. You’re dismissed.”
The soldier left and the commander pressed an ear to the wall. Hearing nothing, she held onto the briefing packet and went into the bathroom.
Evangeline tugged off her commander’s uniform and fake moustache and tucked them into her satchel that had been hidden under the sink. With a quick look in the mirror, she went out the door and was able to slip outside with her fake ID. She got onto a bus and looked through the briefing packet.
The president had gone missing ten days ago. It had seemed like he had just… vanished. Nobody had seen anything suspicious and the security tape was missing from that time. A very clever criminal, and obviously an inside job. What’s more, there was no sign of struggle, so they think it may have been one of the security guards who had taken him. But none of the guards were missing and all of them, as required, had squeaky clean records.
Evangeline bit her bottom lip. National importance, yes, but Jackson had made it sound urgent. Like a lot more was at stake than just the President’s life. Maybe the commander Evangeline had been impersonating hadn’t been high enough in the business to receive more information. She almost growled in frustration. She hadn’t been able to impersonate anyone higher because that would be very suspicious, and much easier for them to figure out. It was a risk she hadn’t been willing to take for a packet of information on something she might not want to do. Now she wished she had taken the risk.
She stuck the papers back in her bag through a small shredder she had set up inside her purse and tossed the scraps into the garbage. She was getting a few weird looks, but in such a big city weird things really didn’t get as much attention. When Evangeline had gone undercover in a small town in Kansas, it had been a terrible situation. She preferred big cities for their ample camouflage. Weird things didn’t stay noticed for long. Which was also why it was the perfect location for the Oddly headquarters.
The bus went to the last stop on the route, so Evangeline gathered her things and paid the bus driver.
“Aren’t you a little young to be about the city by yourself?” the man asked gruffly, handing Evangeline her change. “The city is a dangerous place.”
“My mother’s just off the bus, see?” said Evangeline, pointing at a young, pretty woman talking on her cellular phone by the stop sign, who thankfully was well-wrapped in a scarf and coat so that the driver did not see that the woman looked nothing like Evangeline.
“Ah, alright,” said the driver. He tipped his hat to Evangeline. “You have a good day now.”
“You as well,” Evangeline responded regally. She stepped out of the bus into the cool autumn air and wrapped her coat tighter around herself. She walked in the direction of the young woman she was pretending was her mother until the bus was out of sight and then briskly walked down the street until she came to a big, gray building with a large sign above it saying HERMES TRAVEL AGENCY.
Evangeline marched up the stairs and rang the bell, tucking her cold hands into the pockets of her coat.
The door opened to reveal a man in his fifties, who had a serious expression. He looked down at Evangeline and there was recognition in his eyes. “King.”
“Doyle.” Evangeline dipped her head.
The man looked up and down the street nervously, as if afraid that someone was watching him. “King, what are you doing here?” he hissed. “If anyone from Oddly sees you here, you’ll be shot.”
“Oddly can go to the pits,” Evangeline snorted. “I don’t care about them. I need the files on my parents.”
“I don’t have them,” said Doyle.
“You’re a terrible liar, Doyle,” said Evangeline curtly. “Give me the files, or I’ll get them myself.”
“You wouldn’t get past the front door with my security systems.”
“I bypassed the firewall before I got here,” Evangeline replied. “All your security systems are down until I leave this staircase.”
Doyle sighed. “You always were very thorough. But I can’t give you those files. Why do you want them anyway?”
“They are my own parents.” Evangeline folded her arms, glaring at Doyle. “Do I need another reason?”
“You don’t do things without a reason, and I’m pretty sure that isn’t it.” Doyle practically shriveled under Evangeline’s glare. “What do you want, King? Because I have a feeling that if I give you those files, this will not be the last time I see you on my doorstep.”
“You feel correctly,” Evangeline said. “I need the files for private reasons. Now give me the files already.” She wanted to just march into the house and grab the files and stop wasting time, but if any of this was going to work, she needed to be on at least cordial terms with Doyle.
“Give me one reason why I should.”
“Because I could just snap your neck and go in there myself and do it right now,” Evangeline shrugged, smiling slightly. “And I have a feeling your life might be important to you, but I’m not quite sure.”
“Except you’re not going to do that, are you?” Doyle knew Evangeline. The fact that he was not dead yet signified that she needed him later.
Evangeline couldn’t resist. “Sorry about this, Doyle, but Oddly will be here any minute and I’d rather not be here when they do.” So quick that Doyle couldn’t defend himself, she kicked him in the head and thrust his head against the railing of the stairs, knocking him out immediately and probably giving him a concussion.
“Oops,” said Evangeline, as she stepped over his body and into the building.
Story: King
Chapter Title: Files of Things of Importance
“I hear Jackson went missing in action. How? He wasn’t scheduled for anything.”
“Rogue operation, sir. It wasn’t authorized by his commander.”
“Interesting. What was he hoping to achieve?” The commander walked around the room, keeping his eyes on the young soldier he had called in.
“As far as we know, sir, he was trying to convince Evangeline King to join the mission to save the President.”
The commander laughed. “King? The child?”
“She’s not just a child,” said the soldier. “Haven’t you seen the footage, sir? She’s one of the best spies in the country.”
“Please.” The commander snorted. “He couldn’t want anything with the child. What else could he have been shooting for?”
“I do not know, sir.”
“Very well. Can I have the papers to the case?”
“Didn’t you get them, sir, in your daily briefing packet?”
“No. The delivery boy seems to be dilly-dallying in the female wing again.”
The soldier handed the commander the papers, but he was still suspicious. “Anything else, sir?”
“No. You’re dismissed.”
The soldier left and the commander pressed an ear to the wall. Hearing nothing, she held onto the briefing packet and went into the bathroom.
Evangeline tugged off her commander’s uniform and fake moustache and tucked them into her satchel that had been hidden under the sink. With a quick look in the mirror, she went out the door and was able to slip outside with her fake ID. She got onto a bus and looked through the briefing packet.
The president had gone missing ten days ago. It had seemed like he had just… vanished. Nobody had seen anything suspicious and the security tape was missing from that time. A very clever criminal, and obviously an inside job. What’s more, there was no sign of struggle, so they think it may have been one of the security guards who had taken him. But none of the guards were missing and all of them, as required, had squeaky clean records.
Evangeline bit her bottom lip. National importance, yes, but Jackson had made it sound urgent. Like a lot more was at stake than just the President’s life. Maybe the commander Evangeline had been impersonating hadn’t been high enough in the business to receive more information. She almost growled in frustration. She hadn’t been able to impersonate anyone higher because that would be very suspicious, and much easier for them to figure out. It was a risk she hadn’t been willing to take for a packet of information on something she might not want to do. Now she wished she had taken the risk.
She stuck the papers back in her bag through a small shredder she had set up inside her purse and tossed the scraps into the garbage. She was getting a few weird looks, but in such a big city weird things really didn’t get as much attention. When Evangeline had gone undercover in a small town in Kansas, it had been a terrible situation. She preferred big cities for their ample camouflage. Weird things didn’t stay noticed for long. Which was also why it was the perfect location for the Oddly headquarters.
The bus went to the last stop on the route, so Evangeline gathered her things and paid the bus driver.
“Aren’t you a little young to be about the city by yourself?” the man asked gruffly, handing Evangeline her change. “The city is a dangerous place.”
“My mother’s just off the bus, see?” said Evangeline, pointing at a young, pretty woman talking on her cellular phone by the stop sign, who thankfully was well-wrapped in a scarf and coat so that the driver did not see that the woman looked nothing like Evangeline.
“Ah, alright,” said the driver. He tipped his hat to Evangeline. “You have a good day now.”
“You as well,” Evangeline responded regally. She stepped out of the bus into the cool autumn air and wrapped her coat tighter around herself. She walked in the direction of the young woman she was pretending was her mother until the bus was out of sight and then briskly walked down the street until she came to a big, gray building with a large sign above it saying HERMES TRAVEL AGENCY.
Evangeline marched up the stairs and rang the bell, tucking her cold hands into the pockets of her coat.
The door opened to reveal a man in his fifties, who had a serious expression. He looked down at Evangeline and there was recognition in his eyes. “King.”
“Doyle.” Evangeline dipped her head.
The man looked up and down the street nervously, as if afraid that someone was watching him. “King, what are you doing here?” he hissed. “If anyone from Oddly sees you here, you’ll be shot.”
“Oddly can go to the pits,” Evangeline snorted. “I don’t care about them. I need the files on my parents.”
“I don’t have them,” said Doyle.
“You’re a terrible liar, Doyle,” said Evangeline curtly. “Give me the files, or I’ll get them myself.”
“You wouldn’t get past the front door with my security systems.”
“I bypassed the firewall before I got here,” Evangeline replied. “All your security systems are down until I leave this staircase.”
Doyle sighed. “You always were very thorough. But I can’t give you those files. Why do you want them anyway?”
“They are my own parents.” Evangeline folded her arms, glaring at Doyle. “Do I need another reason?”
“You don’t do things without a reason, and I’m pretty sure that isn’t it.” Doyle practically shriveled under Evangeline’s glare. “What do you want, King? Because I have a feeling that if I give you those files, this will not be the last time I see you on my doorstep.”
“You feel correctly,” Evangeline said. “I need the files for private reasons. Now give me the files already.” She wanted to just march into the house and grab the files and stop wasting time, but if any of this was going to work, she needed to be on at least cordial terms with Doyle.
“Give me one reason why I should.”
“Because I could just snap your neck and go in there myself and do it right now,” Evangeline shrugged, smiling slightly. “And I have a feeling your life might be important to you, but I’m not quite sure.”
“Except you’re not going to do that, are you?” Doyle knew Evangeline. The fact that he was not dead yet signified that she needed him later.
Evangeline couldn’t resist. “Sorry about this, Doyle, but Oddly will be here any minute and I’d rather not be here when they do.” So quick that Doyle couldn’t defend himself, she kicked him in the head and thrust his head against the railing of the stairs, knocking him out immediately and probably giving him a concussion.
“Oops,” said Evangeline, as she stepped over his body and into the building.
Different story.... not sure about the title yet.
Description: Jennifer Baines isn’t a charmer. She isn’t remarkably pretty either. She doesn’t have anything to recommend her other than a plain high school diploma. Yet somehow she caught the eyes – and hearts – of any man who walked down the street. She had men practically lined up around the block for the chance to date her. And Jennifer had no idea why. Why she was so sought after by all of them. It made no sense. No sense at all.
People called her a witch. They said she had bewitched them all. Because it seemed like almost married men turned their heads when Jennifer walked by. No one knew. Jennifer was an outcast in society. The small coffee shop she ran lost business and eventually went out of it, and she had to close down. She was barely supporting herself with a meager salary from a job in the next city. But even though she was an outcast, she still captured hearts.
No one knew. No one knew anything. It was unthinkable. Unbelievable.
Chapter 1: Stranger
I walked into the coffee shop, sighing as nearly every head turned my way. Did they not understand how annoying that was, to have people watching you constantly? I felt like I always had to be on my best behavior, because if I wasn’t the whole world would notice. I had taken to wearing the plainest clothes possible, but it didn’t help. I was still stared at by every man in the country – and the women too, for they looked out of envy and spite.
You could have heard a pin drop as I went over to the counter and ordered a caramel mocha, ignoring the stares. You’d think I’d get used to them after a while, but it still annoys me to no end. I paid for my coffee and sat in the back corner where I always did at 7:20 to check up on my email and do the crossword puzzle. I sipped my mocha, glad when at last a few heads turned away from me and the buzz of conversation grew again. I heard my name plenty of times and tried to ignore the eyes that would glance my way. I wrote down a four-letter alternative to sheep’s fluff (wool) and stared out the window.
As far as I knew, I had always been this way. I had started dating at age thirteen because every boy at school would ask me out. It seemed like I was always dating someone. When I was young I had felt like it was all just a great game, and I found pleasure in seeing men trip over themselves to open the door for me. As I got older, however, it became more of a curse than anything else. I got fired from my first job because all the men got distracted. I had to get a crappy secretary job at a law firm working for Mr. Elliot, where it is my job to charm the men into going for lower deals. Normally I wouldn’t like to stoop to such things, but it is the only way Mr. Elliot would hire me, and those bills don’t pay themselves.
But never mind that. The eraser of the Number 2 pencil that I held in my right hand was in my mouth as I puzzled over what the six letter name of an important Italian noble during the Italian Renaissance. I was distracted from this, however, when a man slid into the chair opposite me.
Now, I’m used to men doing strange things to get close to me, but usually they at least have the courtesy to say something before just setting themselves down. I had played this game before, thank God, so I was able to retain the nonchalant look on my face. “Hello.”
“Hello, Miss Baines,” said the stranger. He crossed his arms on the table, staring directly into my eyes.
“Can I help you with something?” I asked casually, setting down my pencil and taking a sip of my mocha, unable to break my eyes away from his piercing glare.
“You are Jennifer Elizabeth Baines, age twenty-three, born April seventh 1989 to…” And before my eyes, he rattled off my entire life’s history, including everything from my fourth grade school homeroom teacher to the names of boys who I had been with for a short while and not told anyone about.
My mouth dropped open. I felt like one of those cartoon characters when they get surprised, when their eyes bug out and their jaw hits the floor. I daresay my jaw would have hit the ground as well had the table not stopped it. Who was this guy? I took a more careful look at him. He looked about eight years older than I, with tousled golden brown curls with a hint of stubble all over his neck and face. Unremarkable. But his eyes… they were icy gray, with a hint of blue, and gave me the shivers. “Who… who are you?” I demanded after I had found my voice again. “How do you know all that? What… what?”
The stranger’s eyebrows raised and his mouth twisted and I was positive he was laughing at me. “Simple,” he said dryly, his voice mockingly humorous, like he was trying not to laugh. So no, he was not exactly laughing at me, but he wanted to. “Records.”
“I doubt that much information is in one place,” I said, my jaw still somewhere near the center of the earth. “What are you, some stalker?”
“You hardly know me, yet we are already at name calling?” He raised an eyebrow. “Prejudiced.”
“You’re the one who knows everything about me,” I pointed out.
“True.”
“You didn’t answer why you wanted to know all that, or what you want with me.” I crossed my arms, trying to look all tough and nonchalant, but inside my brain was reeling and jumbling with questions and everything was just topsy-turvy. “So answer it now.”
“I work for a special agency,” the man replied. “It tends to attract people of your… talents. We sought you out for a specific task we’re hoping that you would perform. We can pay you a generous bonus for your service.”
“Talents?” What was he referring to? My high school diploma? “Sorry, mister, but I don’t have any talents. I think you’re talking to the wrong person. I stood up, ready to leave, because I had to be at work in thirty minutes and it was a twenty-five minute drive, but he grabbed my hand.
I started, staring around to see if anyone else was noticing this. Surely grabbing a woman had to be at least an offense. But the odd thing was that nobody seemed to notice us at all. There weren’t even anybody glancing my way, which was odd. Very odd.
“So you’re saying that you haven’t noticed that people fall at your feet with every swish of that brown hair?” The man’s eyebrow continued its lonely trek up into his hair.
“I’d hardly call that a talent,” I snorted. “It’s annoying.”
“It’s a tool,” he insisted. “We can pay you handsomely for this.”
“Sorry, but I need to get to work.” I tried to wrench my wrist out of his tight grip, but he held fast.
“At least think about it,” he pleaded. He handed me a rectangle of paper that I at first thought was a business card but turned out just to be a plain bit of paper with a phone number on it.
“I can’t guarantee it.” I shoved the card in my purse and again tried wrenching my hand out of his. This time he let me go on purpose, and I ran to the car, more than a little freaked out by all this.
-o 0 o-
“Miss Baines?”
I looked up from my desk. My employer, Mr. Elliot, was standing a few feet away from my desk. “Yes?”
“There’s someone to see you, in my office,” he replied. I then noticed the bead of sweat trickling down his forehead. Whoever it was, they scared Mr. Elliot. I would like this person, I think.
“Alright.” I got out of my chair and went to the office, Mr. Elliot holding the door open for me.
In the big black chair that my chunky employer usually sat in was the stalker/stranger/creep from the coffee shop.
Scratch that. I would not like this person.
Mr. Elliot left the room, shutting the door firmly behind him.
“You,” I said, trying to keep my nonchalant attitude. “What are you doing here?”
“Have you thought about my offer, Miss Baines?”
“No, I bloody haven’t,” I said crossly. “I’m at work, for God’s sake. I don’t have time to call up psychopath stalkers about a task that probably involves me going against the law. Why did Elliot ever let you in here?”
“I’m not above bribery,” the stranger drawled. “Elliot is a weak-minded man.”
Well, we agreed about one thing at least. “Why do you follow me around like I’m some sort of criminal?” I demanded an answer. I refused to let this guy wreck my life. “What is this job you want me to do? Who are you? Why do you know so much about me? Why does it matter? What does my so-called talent have to do with anything?”
The creep sighed. “They told me it wouldn’t be easy,” he muttered under breath.
“I’m not going to make it any easier for you.” I crossed my arms; leaning against the doorframe, glad for once for the soundproof walls of the office, or else the whole floor would be hearing this. “I demand answers.”
“I follow you around because I need you to come with me,” the man disclosed. “The job is top secret. Unless I have your word not to speak of it, I cannot give up that information. My name is John Doe. The details on you were easily found and all I had to do was memorize them. Child’s play. It matters because we needed to astound you. Your talent is required for the job we have for you.” He stood up and walked over to me, his fingertips pressed together.
“John Doe isn’t your real name,” I snapped. “That’s the name hospitals and stuff give patients and people who no one knows who they are. And I’m supposed to just accept this job? This task? Leaving my life behind when I barely know a thing about you?”
“John Doe, as improbable as it seems, is truly my real name,” the so-called John alleged dryly. “And if you would just come with me, I would be able to give you the answers you seek.”
I knew I had to remain firm. That there was no way I was getting in a car with this guy. But part of me longed to know what was going on. And as far as I knew, this John Doe (if that is even his name) was the only guy with answers. But I had to remain firm. “I can’t just leave here out of the blue. I have a job. I have to get home. I have a date tonight… again.” I never was without a date. If I wanted one, it seemed like all I had to do was drop a word.
“Yet I do not think your heart is in that statement,” John (fine, I’ll stop calling him the stranger) observed. “I think you long to find answers.”
“You think wrong,” I retorted, but my heart wasn’t in that statement either. “I’m not going to go gallivanting across the country with you for some task set by people I don’t know.” I was furious, but at the same time I was excited. Gallivanting across the country sounded a lot better than sitting behind a faux mahogany desk all day.
John was silent for a minute. “I’m going to call you, tonight. On your landline. It’s entirely your choice if you want to pick up the phone or not.” He looked over at me with one eye. “Does that work for you?”
“As much as any of this can work for me.” I glared at John. “Fine.” I aimed one finger at him. “But that means you don’t barge into my life after tonight. If I don’t answer that phone, I never want to hear from you again, understand?”
“Loud and clear,” he replied.
“Good.”
Description: Jennifer Baines isn’t a charmer. She isn’t remarkably pretty either. She doesn’t have anything to recommend her other than a plain high school diploma. Yet somehow she caught the eyes – and hearts – of any man who walked down the street. She had men practically lined up around the block for the chance to date her. And Jennifer had no idea why. Why she was so sought after by all of them. It made no sense. No sense at all.
People called her a witch. They said she had bewitched them all. Because it seemed like almost married men turned their heads when Jennifer walked by. No one knew. Jennifer was an outcast in society. The small coffee shop she ran lost business and eventually went out of it, and she had to close down. She was barely supporting herself with a meager salary from a job in the next city. But even though she was an outcast, she still captured hearts.
No one knew. No one knew anything. It was unthinkable. Unbelievable.
Chapter 1: Stranger
I walked into the coffee shop, sighing as nearly every head turned my way. Did they not understand how annoying that was, to have people watching you constantly? I felt like I always had to be on my best behavior, because if I wasn’t the whole world would notice. I had taken to wearing the plainest clothes possible, but it didn’t help. I was still stared at by every man in the country – and the women too, for they looked out of envy and spite.
You could have heard a pin drop as I went over to the counter and ordered a caramel mocha, ignoring the stares. You’d think I’d get used to them after a while, but it still annoys me to no end. I paid for my coffee and sat in the back corner where I always did at 7:20 to check up on my email and do the crossword puzzle. I sipped my mocha, glad when at last a few heads turned away from me and the buzz of conversation grew again. I heard my name plenty of times and tried to ignore the eyes that would glance my way. I wrote down a four-letter alternative to sheep’s fluff (wool) and stared out the window.
As far as I knew, I had always been this way. I had started dating at age thirteen because every boy at school would ask me out. It seemed like I was always dating someone. When I was young I had felt like it was all just a great game, and I found pleasure in seeing men trip over themselves to open the door for me. As I got older, however, it became more of a curse than anything else. I got fired from my first job because all the men got distracted. I had to get a crappy secretary job at a law firm working for Mr. Elliot, where it is my job to charm the men into going for lower deals. Normally I wouldn’t like to stoop to such things, but it is the only way Mr. Elliot would hire me, and those bills don’t pay themselves.
But never mind that. The eraser of the Number 2 pencil that I held in my right hand was in my mouth as I puzzled over what the six letter name of an important Italian noble during the Italian Renaissance. I was distracted from this, however, when a man slid into the chair opposite me.
Now, I’m used to men doing strange things to get close to me, but usually they at least have the courtesy to say something before just setting themselves down. I had played this game before, thank God, so I was able to retain the nonchalant look on my face. “Hello.”
“Hello, Miss Baines,” said the stranger. He crossed his arms on the table, staring directly into my eyes.
“Can I help you with something?” I asked casually, setting down my pencil and taking a sip of my mocha, unable to break my eyes away from his piercing glare.
“You are Jennifer Elizabeth Baines, age twenty-three, born April seventh 1989 to…” And before my eyes, he rattled off my entire life’s history, including everything from my fourth grade school homeroom teacher to the names of boys who I had been with for a short while and not told anyone about.
My mouth dropped open. I felt like one of those cartoon characters when they get surprised, when their eyes bug out and their jaw hits the floor. I daresay my jaw would have hit the ground as well had the table not stopped it. Who was this guy? I took a more careful look at him. He looked about eight years older than I, with tousled golden brown curls with a hint of stubble all over his neck and face. Unremarkable. But his eyes… they were icy gray, with a hint of blue, and gave me the shivers. “Who… who are you?” I demanded after I had found my voice again. “How do you know all that? What… what?”
The stranger’s eyebrows raised and his mouth twisted and I was positive he was laughing at me. “Simple,” he said dryly, his voice mockingly humorous, like he was trying not to laugh. So no, he was not exactly laughing at me, but he wanted to. “Records.”
“I doubt that much information is in one place,” I said, my jaw still somewhere near the center of the earth. “What are you, some stalker?”
“You hardly know me, yet we are already at name calling?” He raised an eyebrow. “Prejudiced.”
“You’re the one who knows everything about me,” I pointed out.
“True.”
“You didn’t answer why you wanted to know all that, or what you want with me.” I crossed my arms, trying to look all tough and nonchalant, but inside my brain was reeling and jumbling with questions and everything was just topsy-turvy. “So answer it now.”
“I work for a special agency,” the man replied. “It tends to attract people of your… talents. We sought you out for a specific task we’re hoping that you would perform. We can pay you a generous bonus for your service.”
“Talents?” What was he referring to? My high school diploma? “Sorry, mister, but I don’t have any talents. I think you’re talking to the wrong person. I stood up, ready to leave, because I had to be at work in thirty minutes and it was a twenty-five minute drive, but he grabbed my hand.
I started, staring around to see if anyone else was noticing this. Surely grabbing a woman had to be at least an offense. But the odd thing was that nobody seemed to notice us at all. There weren’t even anybody glancing my way, which was odd. Very odd.
“So you’re saying that you haven’t noticed that people fall at your feet with every swish of that brown hair?” The man’s eyebrow continued its lonely trek up into his hair.
“I’d hardly call that a talent,” I snorted. “It’s annoying.”
“It’s a tool,” he insisted. “We can pay you handsomely for this.”
“Sorry, but I need to get to work.” I tried to wrench my wrist out of his tight grip, but he held fast.
“At least think about it,” he pleaded. He handed me a rectangle of paper that I at first thought was a business card but turned out just to be a plain bit of paper with a phone number on it.
“I can’t guarantee it.” I shoved the card in my purse and again tried wrenching my hand out of his. This time he let me go on purpose, and I ran to the car, more than a little freaked out by all this.
-o 0 o-
“Miss Baines?”
I looked up from my desk. My employer, Mr. Elliot, was standing a few feet away from my desk. “Yes?”
“There’s someone to see you, in my office,” he replied. I then noticed the bead of sweat trickling down his forehead. Whoever it was, they scared Mr. Elliot. I would like this person, I think.
“Alright.” I got out of my chair and went to the office, Mr. Elliot holding the door open for me.
In the big black chair that my chunky employer usually sat in was the stalker/stranger/creep from the coffee shop.
Scratch that. I would not like this person.
Mr. Elliot left the room, shutting the door firmly behind him.
“You,” I said, trying to keep my nonchalant attitude. “What are you doing here?”
“Have you thought about my offer, Miss Baines?”
“No, I bloody haven’t,” I said crossly. “I’m at work, for God’s sake. I don’t have time to call up psychopath stalkers about a task that probably involves me going against the law. Why did Elliot ever let you in here?”
“I’m not above bribery,” the stranger drawled. “Elliot is a weak-minded man.”
Well, we agreed about one thing at least. “Why do you follow me around like I’m some sort of criminal?” I demanded an answer. I refused to let this guy wreck my life. “What is this job you want me to do? Who are you? Why do you know so much about me? Why does it matter? What does my so-called talent have to do with anything?”
The creep sighed. “They told me it wouldn’t be easy,” he muttered under breath.
“I’m not going to make it any easier for you.” I crossed my arms; leaning against the doorframe, glad for once for the soundproof walls of the office, or else the whole floor would be hearing this. “I demand answers.”
“I follow you around because I need you to come with me,” the man disclosed. “The job is top secret. Unless I have your word not to speak of it, I cannot give up that information. My name is John Doe. The details on you were easily found and all I had to do was memorize them. Child’s play. It matters because we needed to astound you. Your talent is required for the job we have for you.” He stood up and walked over to me, his fingertips pressed together.
“John Doe isn’t your real name,” I snapped. “That’s the name hospitals and stuff give patients and people who no one knows who they are. And I’m supposed to just accept this job? This task? Leaving my life behind when I barely know a thing about you?”
“John Doe, as improbable as it seems, is truly my real name,” the so-called John alleged dryly. “And if you would just come with me, I would be able to give you the answers you seek.”
I knew I had to remain firm. That there was no way I was getting in a car with this guy. But part of me longed to know what was going on. And as far as I knew, this John Doe (if that is even his name) was the only guy with answers. But I had to remain firm. “I can’t just leave here out of the blue. I have a job. I have to get home. I have a date tonight… again.” I never was without a date. If I wanted one, it seemed like all I had to do was drop a word.
“Yet I do not think your heart is in that statement,” John (fine, I’ll stop calling him the stranger) observed. “I think you long to find answers.”
“You think wrong,” I retorted, but my heart wasn’t in that statement either. “I’m not going to go gallivanting across the country with you for some task set by people I don’t know.” I was furious, but at the same time I was excited. Gallivanting across the country sounded a lot better than sitting behind a faux mahogany desk all day.
John was silent for a minute. “I’m going to call you, tonight. On your landline. It’s entirely your choice if you want to pick up the phone or not.” He looked over at me with one eye. “Does that work for you?”
“As much as any of this can work for me.” I glared at John. “Fine.” I aimed one finger at him. “But that means you don’t barge into my life after tonight. If I don’t answer that phone, I never want to hear from you again, understand?”
“Loud and clear,” he replied.
“Good.”
*WARNING: Some of the stuff will be ALL-OUT random. Like, very random.*