WRITERS' CORNER discussion

Cнallenge Accepтed:

Write a story for this cover



Deadline: 1/15/15
Finished: 1/10/15

PAGE:

(view spoiler)[There’s something different about dying. When the second comes and you give one final breath there’s nothing but darkness. It isn’t a bad sort of darkness, it’s sort of peaceful. Like you’re sleeping, only while you sleep the world seems to move on without you. Of course, there must be some that mourn, but otherwise things change until eventually you’re forgotten. And then when you wake you find out how much you’ve missed and how much you would’ve liked to change. Especially, your final breath.

The room was covered in dust and cobwebs, as a figure was laid slouching in a corner. His chest did not stir, and his complexion pale and drawn. He had been dead, but somehow he had never decomposed. Miraculously, his lungs gave a start. His chest moved. Up and down. Up and down. He felt feeling in his limbs like he could move them. He opened his mouth and took a large and raspy breath. His mind came to life then. And with a start he realized he shouldn't be here. He rubbed his chest painfully and looked around. Where were the dark clouds? Where was the devil about to prey on him? He was supposed to be dead. Where was he? His hand moved over to a thick silver chain on his neck, he hid it further in his shirt and looked around adjusting his eyes from the blurriness of misuse. It seemed, like an underground burial. He coughed which then revealed how dry and raw his throat was. It hurt to swallow. It was if he swallowed a years worth of dust that took away his vocal cords. He rubbed his neck and blinked back tears of pain. He made out a door, swung it open, and climbed up some steps.

He felt sick, but a wave of familiarization came over him. He walked around until he spot a glassless window. It was stormy outside, but as he looked around he almost recognized it instantly. It was too impossible. He looked around him. It was all too impossible. He felt like tears were choking him. He knew where he was! Or at least partly. Despite himself, he threw up, while made him want to do it again after catching sight of his dusty body and clothes. He wiped his mouth from the guile and then trembled at the sight of the massive building he was in. It had to be a dream. It had to be. It wasn't physically possible. He needed to find someone. Anyone! Anyone to tell him he was wrong and feverish. He ran. Everything was confusing, but familiar, and yet so unfamiliar. He lost himself in passageways and corridors, and bumped into a surprised monk. He raced past him though darting around. His breath caught at the stain glassed windows and the high ceilings, all things he could’ve spent hours admiring if it wasn’t for his fright.

"Bishop!" his unused voice cried, it was so soft and hoarse he had to cry out again, "Bishop Sully!"

Tears blurred his vision. He was so confused! The rain and thunder continued making him jump. "Bishop Sully!" He cried until someone seized his shoulders and shook him. An older monk glared angrily at the him and with a disgusted sneer said,

"Why are you yelling about boy? No ye not this is the chapel of our Lord?"

"I want to see Bishop Maurice de Sully!" his voice cracked under his sore throat, he felt like his limbs were about to snap not being used to his weight.

The monk sneered again looking up and down at him with distaste, "Bishop Sully is a dead man. Died 253 years ago. Our bishop is Guillaume Chartier."

He looked at the monk in confusion, "But, I don't understand. Bishop Sully, he--" the boy looked around the place as if trying to find some sort of answer, all that came out was, "This is his Cathedral?"

"The Lord's cathedral boy," corrected the monk, he squinted his eyes, "And what does a poor Parisian boy know what church history?"

"My father helped build it, he was a stonemason," explained the boy quickly, "We saw Pope Alexander the III lay down the cornerstone."

The monk glared at him, "Preposterous! You’re a liar!" Then realization dawned on him, he was older than 235 years... which meant... he ran out of the cathedral with the monk shouting after him. Rain soaked the poor boy as he ran blindly through the rain, his thin clothes getting him soaked to the bone. He ran until he got to where is old house was, the relief that entered into his soul nearly made his heart soar out of his chest. He ran to it, pushed open the door, and looked around. But, it was empty, dusty, and unused. He shook his head in disbelief and then raced out not bothering to close the door. He ran back to the cathedral and searched for the burial grounds. It had been so long! So long! He raced back and forth amongst unmarked graves trying to find his parents. He was exhausted, and terrified. He collapsed in a heap next to the tree and cried. He cried for being cold. He cried for being wet. He cried for being alone. It was not until morning when he woke, and found someone standing before him looking sympathetic. He took the boy by the hand and led him back inside the cathedral. The boy was still wet, hungry, and exhausted from the night before and the friar took great pains to make sure that the boy was cared for, though he didn’t tend to him very often.

It wasn’t until earlier that night when the friar let him sit down to ask what had been weighing on his conscious all day, “My boy, how exactly did you get here?” (hide spoiler)]

I like it Emmeline

Thanks! :D

I would've written more (so it could actually be more of a story), but I'm glad it fit the bill okay.

Cнallenge Accepтed:

Write the first page of a book with this synopsis...

'The Fall'

Emily smiled, it was over. She closed her eyes and took a step and down she fell.

They say that your life flashes before your eyes just before you die. Emily Owens is ready to end it all, but as she falls she relives her entire life. Will she finally decide that life was worth living after all, and if she does will it be to late. Relive Emily's worst and best moments in the split second it takes her to reach the ground.

Deadline: 2/29/15
Finished: 2/7/15


PAGE:

(view spoiler)[Let me start off by saying that when Emily Owens was going on a private helicopter ride, it was not because her family was rich, but because her uncle’s boss had a lost a bit of a bet. For the whole day they would have access to his private helicopter outside of the city. When morning hit all the Owens gathered together for a quick round about of possessions and attendance. However, Emily is better equipped to tell such a story.

*

This was to be the greatest day of my life, bigger than the trip to Seaworld when I was six, bigger than snobby Jessica’s day in DisneyLand, I mean - this was a helicopter and we had full access to everything inside of it! Besides my uncle, my dad, me, and my brother Isaac that was all who would be in attendance. The only people who were missing were Aunt Judith, my mom, and my baby sister Joanne. Aunt Judith had a house showing for a client, while my mom and sister were in Arizona taking care of a recovering friend from her latest surgery. I would say they would be missed, but I was too excited to mourn them not being here. Isaac, who at the time, was only seven was particularly eager to get on the road. The trip was literally a two hour drive. Most of the time was spent arguing over who gets the last M&M in the trail mix bag, we stopped arguing when dad grabbed it and tossed it in his mouth. We stuck out our tongues at him and then looked out our windows.

While my family wasn’t rich, my uncle’s boss was. I didn’t know him well enough to give you a good description, all I knew was that he owned a very big estate, with a helicopter. Isaac practically drooled on the window when the gates opened to the man’s launch pad. I remember my uncle punching my dad on the shoulder in satisfaction, they said something not audible to my ears, and they both laughed. Uncle’s boss met them inside a building to the side while Isaac and I admired our mode of transportation. It was a standard helicopter. Well, not really, because it wasn’t standard to me. It was the best thing on Earth! My uncle’s boss, or Mr. Arkins as I understood, introduces us to Scotty who would be driving the helicopter. Once we were all situated inside, seat-belts, ear-muff-looking-things and all, we took off. The flight was exhilarating I tell you! Soon Mr. Arkins was no more than a pinprick in the distance. Scotty and my uncle sat up in the front, while dad was squished in the middle with both me and Isaac so we could get window views.

Without a doubt this surpassed a costumed Mickey Mouse greeting anyday! As if mirroring my own thoughts Isaac turned towards me and shouted as loud as he could because of the helicopter roar,

“THIS. IS. AWESOME!!”

I agreed it was. Scotty began giving us a tour then as we flew around Mr. Arkins’ private property. Part of it was forest, and while I had seen a forest before, I had never seen it from above. Scotty pulled up higher into the sky, and then, strangely, some part of the helicopter seemed to malfunction. Scotty shouted, and my uncle and dad quickly reacted. They tried desperately to gain control of the helicopter, but to no avail. We were going headfirst into the trees! Uncle screamed for the pilot to lift up before we crashed, but Scotty screamed that he couldn’t and everybody needed to abandon the helicopter. In the frenzy I barely had enough time to register everything. Dad grabbed my arm and shoved me out of the helicopter. I didn’t get to see if he did the same with Isaac.

I screamed as the whole helicopter exploded when it made impact into a tree, with everybody else inside. I wanted to die just then in misery. I wanted everything to disappear and as my face and body hit the hard, thick branches of the trees I was sure I wasn’t going to survive the fall.

They say your life flashes before your eyes before you die… mine did. (hide spoiler)]

Interesting

I know right? There ain't no suicide stories here! (only dramatic and intense helicopter landings)

Cнallenge Accepтed:

Write a short play about two boys who got lost in the woods.

This play should be in script format.

Deadline: 2/19/15
Finished: 2/7/15

SCRIPT:

(view spoiler)[


THE SWALLOWING TREE


(Light dims to dark. Light creaking, rustling. Two boys ENTER stage LEFT and work their way RIGHT. DARREN holds a flashlight. WILLIAM quivers behind him)

(Loud creak)

WILLIAM:
(shaky)
Darren?

DARREN:
(grumbles)
What?

WILLIAM:
Did you hear that?

DARREN:
What? Your whining? Yes, I've heard it for the past ten minutes.

WILLIAM:
(impatient but apprehensive. Walks closer to DARREN)
You know exactly what I mean. Don't you hear that creaking sound?

DARREN:
(smirks and waves the flashlight around)
A creaking sound you say? I hope it isn't the Swallowing Tree then.

WILLIAM:
The Swallowing Tree? What's that?

DARREN
(sits down on a rock)
Just an old story. It's not even scary. Do you want to hear it?

WILLIAM:
(sits down next to DARREN)
Might as well.

DARREN:
Alrighty then. Just don't get chicken on me okay?

Any who, story goes that there once were five boys who went into a wood, just like this one-

WILLIAM:
(skeptical)

Just like this one? Come on. Isn't that a bit much?

DARREN:
Just shut your trap and listen, I haven't even gotten to the good part!

Now, as I was saying. Five boys. Lost in woods like this, et cetra. Well, as you know people can't walk in straight lines, so the boys spent hours in the dark walking around in circles. Every time they passed a certain point one boy would go missing.

(More creaking noises, WILLIAM shudders, DARREN continues)

DARREN:
Of course, the boys didn't realize it until they found two of their companions missing. So, the three boys who were left called for the missing boys, but of course they didn't answer. They decided to search for them.

WILLIAM:
Well, that's stupid. They should just wait out until morning, or make a fire or something to signal for help.

DARREN:
Hey! This is MY story that I'm telling! So just chill and keep your nerdy solutions to yourself.

WILLIAM:
(grumbles)
Fine.

DARREN:
THANK. YOU.
Now, so the boys walk around again in a circle. Next time they look around, another boy is missing. The two boys left get creeped out, and continue to search for their missing while shouting their names. About the fourth time around, one of the boys look behind him to see a root slithering out of the ground. He utters a scream and his other companion turns around just in time to see his friend's horrified face as he is dragged underground. Before the last boy could even shout, another root drags him under.... to this day they still say that the Swallowing Tree continues to feed on lost boys.

DARREN:
So? You scared now?

(looks around, WILLIAM is missing)

DARREN:
Haha William. Very funny. Come on.

(loud creaks, DARREN stands, and looks around with flashlight)

DARREN:
Come on Will. This isn't time for games. We gotta get back to camp.
If you're trying to scare me it's not going to work.

(intensified creaks, and a slithery sound)

DARREN:
Will?

(loud thump, followed by a rustle. WILLIAM roars and DARREN shrieks)

WILLIAM:
(laughs)
You fell for it! I can't believe you ACTUALLY fell for it! What are you five?

DARREN:
Why you little-

(voice offstage RIGHT)

CAMP DIRECTOR:
Darren Coles? William Polin? Is that you?

WILLIAM:

(shoves DARREN out of the way)

Swallow Tree is going to eat yah!

(runs offstage RIGHT)

DARREN:
Why you little---

(louder creaks, DARREN hesitates)

DARREN:
----Well wait up!

(runs offstage RIGHT)

END SCENE (hide spoiler)]

:)

I was half expecting Darren to get eaten at the end, once William ran off. But they all survived. Well done, Emmeline!

Thank you! I was tempted to do it, but I'm a sucker for happy endings. :P

Cнallenge Accepтed:

Write at least 4,000 words for this challenge.

Write a story with this as the first sentence: 'People had always told me that I would fail.'

This as the last sentence: 'After all tomorrow was a new day.'

A character who can read peoples minds

A character whose name is Felicity

And an old velvet pouch that no one can seem to open.

Deadline: 2/28/15
Finished: 2/16/15

PART 1:

(view spoiler)[

People had always told me that I would fail, but allow me to let you on to a little secret. I didn’t think I would. In fact, I knew I would succeed because stubbornness is not given to an individual without a reason. That much I knew and there was a day I proved them all wrong. Every year in London there is a Mechanic Presentation where nobility from around the world come to watch people present new gadgets and inventions for those who could afford them. It was a huge spectacle. Investors from around the globe came for this once a year presentational and I planned to go. There was also something much more appealing about going when I wasn’t allowed. Of course, I never expected things to take a different route.

At the moment I was playing with the clogs of our Grandfather clock in the library. I was half-concealed by aisles of books, which was good, because Claire would be absolutely furious that I was taking it apart. Claire, had been my stepmother for over two years, but I swear she lived to make my life miserable. I know I ought to give her a chance, but sometimes it’s impossible to do so when she’s replacing someone I held the most dear. My mother died when I was eight and I guess that’s why I could never really find a connection with Claire. Although my father never knew, my mother and I shared a lot of secrets with each other. A fact that she would never share with father is her love for inventing, which was a passion I got from her. I first found out when I was snooping around the corridors and I saw her tinkering. I thought she didn’t know I was there until she said,

“Izzy,” which was my pet name because my mother was known as Elisabeth, “It’s not polite to snoop.” she said turning around smiling.

“Are you creating something?” I asked that day my eyes looking at all the little silver and gold pieces on the table.

“Why! You little mind reader!” she exclaimed, another one of my nicknames. I couldn’t read minds of course, but my parents often teased me that I could see through anyone. A curse and a blessing I suppose. Afterwards she invited me to go and see what she was doing and I suppose that’s when my passion of inventing really started. After she died I still carried on her secret and right now I was low on parts. The Grandfather clock seemed like the best option at the time, no matter how valuable it was. I was removing the center wheel when I was vaguely aware of someone calling my name. I, of course, ignored it. The library would be the last place I would be, but apparently that was the only room that hadn’t been searched that day.

“Elisabeth my dear!” my father cried, searching the aisles for me. When he finally reached me he didn’t even notice the clock. Instead, he picked me up as easily as if I was a porcelain doll and set me down, “Guess who just came in?”

My mouth twisted into a grimace, mostly because he had called me by mother’s name. Claire had required it, since my mother was gone there was no reason to still call me Izzy. The other half of my displeasure was because I was supposed to know father’s associates, but didn’t pay much attention. I tried to cover this up with saying, “Oh father, you know I am a horrid guesser.” He didn’t catch the hint.

“Come on Elisabeth, think harder!”

I laughed trying to cover up my discomfort, “Just tell papa!”

“Nathan McCloony!”

My nose scrunched up so he could notice my distaste, “Nathan McCloony? Papa, tell me you cannot be serious!” My nose scrunching did not work; he was too caught up in his own excitement.

“And he’s come here for you, Elisabeth! And to think you’re only fifteen years old!”

This was where my ‘mind reader’ skills came in. He wanted Nathan to marry me! The audacity of the whole sentiment sent me in for a whirl. “Papa!” I protested in dismay, “I cannot accept Nathan McCloony. I’m much too young to marry.” he beamed at me, and then shook his finger as if I was naughty.

“Ah, that is where you are wrong. Lady Thatcher’s daughter, Felicity, got married when she was fourteen.” he looked at me with a sad smile, “I know this is hard for you to understand Elisabeth, but how many more McCloonys will there be in this world? He might be your only chance.”

“I’m fifteen,” I said slowly, “Besides Nathan McCloony is a baboon.”

I smelled her before I saw her. Like a perfumed predator bird swooping in on her prey, Claire entered the room. Her eyes drifted from me to the Grandfather clock. She showed satisfaction towards me, but to the clock she showed a bit of distaste.

“While Mr. McCloony may be a baboon, poor he will never be,” she said and locked arms with my father, “Now you must go downstairs, it is rude of you to let him wait.”

“It’s very rude,” I snapped, “for him to be here.” I watched my father frown and I felt my gut twist. I hated him being disappointed. I huffed a fine, picked up my skirts, and quickly went to the parlor room. I didn’t bother checking myself in the looking glass, but I imagined I must’ve looked a bit frightful. My hair was probably a ruin, and no doubt my dress must be all sweaty, but I didn’t care. As a gentleman should, Nathan McCloony stood up at my entrance. Perhaps an introduction should be in order. I know Nathan because Nathan’s father works with my father. He’s had some sort of crush on me ever since we were introduced. When he was little he never said a word to me, only looked away bashfully, but he grew some type of nerve when he hit youth and I’ve always wondered how he has the guts to talk to me. He was a bit taller than me, but by no means particularly handsome. He was also very fidgety; perhaps one of my biggest pet peeves is when someone is fidgeting in my presence. This is perhaps, one of my only connections with my stepmother. I try to hide the fact I have no idea what to say, or do, so I say,

“Would you like me to play something?” Nathan stared at me like some sort of rare jewel in the Queen’s museum.

“Play what?” he asked dumbly, his eyes still fixated on me. I wanted to slap my hand over my forehead, but I resisted. This only confirmed why I would never marry Nathan McCloony. Claire was probably relishing this right now. My look must’ve snapped him out of his stupidity because he looked around the room and beheld, alas the only instrument in the room, the piano. “Oh ah… ah… of course.” he stumbled. Rolling my eyes with my back turned, I sat down on the piano bench.

“What should I play?” I shouted, even though he was only a few feet away.

“What?” he asked, and then fumed, “I don’t know… I’m not one for music.” I huffed and he corrected himself, “A concerto!” he said all-too-loud, even he winced. “A concerto.” he repeated even softer, which made it worse. I searched my music sheets until finding a concerto I could play and then began. It was more giddier than I liked, probably because I felt bitter playing it, but he seemed to like it. By the end of the piece he was jumping up and down in crazed excitement. He reminded me of a little child seeing the largest present for his birthday. I, of course, played along. I gave the most sincere curtsy I could muster, and then sat down. It was getting late and I wished he would just leave so I could go to the presentations, but he continued to clap. To stop him I asked,

“Mr. McCloony, would you like some tea?”

He seemed delighted in the prospect, “Of course.”

“Then,” I began, “I shall see to it myself.” I got up to leave when he began to protest.

“Oh must you?” he asked, his voice a little bit whiney in my ears. I turned and smiled at him,

“Oh I assure you, I must.” my smile faded into a grimace as I walked out.

Little did McCloony know, I would not be returning to give him his tea. I went to the coat rack and picked out one of my finest coats and from it my old velvet purse. I don’t know why I carried it, probably because it was my mother’s, but it never opened. I opened the front door and entered into a whole new world. I smiled as I dug into my other pocket. I felt something cold, hard, and smooth underneath my fingers. Good. The Presentations would begin in a few minutes and this time, I would be showing my invention. I’m not going to try to sugarcoat it. Girl inventors were frowned upon here, and the last thing I wanted was my parents finding out. A proper lady did not make gadgets, or thingamajibs, or thingamabobs. Ladies are supposed to be sophisticated, graceful, and support their husbands. If they were to be in any sort of engineering business, they would be investors, but I didn’t want to invest. I wanted to create. I would be fulfilling the dream my mother always had, but it wasn’t just my mother’s, it was mine. Thousands of others walked past me in the streets, but nobody cared about a girl of my age running amok.

That was good, the less conspicuous the better. However, if I was found out, that wasn’t the only thing that I would be held accountable for. Besides going to the Mechanic Presentations, going through the streets alone were also prohibited. Father would be appalled to find out that I had been on the same level as…. well, the lower classes. I didn’t care much about them, but to affiliate was almost considered a crime. To the upper classes they were filthy, lowborn sort of people. And, worst of all, they had absolutely no respect. Yet, to me, they also had something else. Freedom. Something I’ve envied for all too long. This was my chance to win back some independence and I was going to get it. No longer would I be known as the snobby rich girl on 72 Graystone Lane, but the snobby rich girl who now earned her living and was free to do what she liked. Fifteen already, and freedom was sweet in the air.

Something snapped me out of my trance a few seconds later, and it started when I bumped into someone. I saw two people and they seemed to be angrily conversing, until I fell. One seemed to be younger, while the other much older. Both were men and the older individual, was the one I bumped into. He gave me an ugly sneer revealing three gold teeth, and his face was disgustingly dirty. He puffed angrily with a cigar he held in his fingers and looked at me with distaste. “Hey girl! Watch where yer going!” The taller, younger individual didn’t even spare me a glance, but looked absolutely furious at the older man.

I got up and shook myself off, “I could say the same to you.” I was, in fact, consciously aware, that it was my fault. But, I was too angry to admit that I, too, played a role. The taller individual scowled at the man, and then reached over to help me up. “Sorry ‘bout that miss,” he said sincerely. The older gentleman growled at me, he made an attempt to lunge, and I jumped back. His growl turned into hearty hoots and hollers. He leaned closer to me,

“Just watch where yer going and you’ll have no trouble with me.” he slurred, the other man who helped me up grabbed his jacket and hauled him away.

“Your business is with me Hamis,” he said, or at least I thought so, his voice was dangerous and low.

“Like I’d forget!” snapped ‘Hamis’, I took this time to walk away promising myself that I would pay more attention. I didn’t like that Hamis fellow, but I couldn’t deem the other man’s character. (hide spoiler)]

PART 2:

(view spoiler)[

I continued walking down the street until I came to the large building that would house the presentations. Father called it ‘The House of Science’, but it was a large structure that resembled something like a pantheon. There were people walking in and out of the building so it was hard to find the direction of the flow, but eventually I followed one man to the inside.
Various people of all shapes, sizes, and classes were therein. Some of them so interesting I had to tear my eyes away so I could see where I was going. The inventors seemed to be lining up, which was an extremely long line that seemed never ending. Those who weren’t inventors, but investors and spectators, made their way up into the balcony where they could judge.

I stepped in line next to a tall man who most likely was a merchant for a living. There probably was about twenty other people ahead of me at the moment, but then I felt someone grab my shoulder and twist me around. A large, bulky man stared down at me furiously. “What do you think you’re doing?” he shouted. At first I was wondering if he saw through my disguise, I cursed not wearing something that blended in a bit more, but then he gestured back. “The line starts that way!” Realizing that I had made not only a fool of myself, but a spectacle, I apologized hastily and walked to what was the end of the line. Now I had about sixty people to go through before I could finally enter. Eventually, and slowly, the line dwindles. Sixty went to forty. Forty went to thirty. Thirty went to twenty. After the person behind me had gotten his number, he receded into the side of the building. The number-giver was an old, short man with glasses. He looked exceptionally bored and uninterested in his surroundings. Perhaps that’s what happens when you sign everyone in. In front of him was a large sheet of paper containing names, signatures, and numbers. He twisted his ink pen in his fingers, remarkably his hands stayed cleaned. Not a drop of blank ink stained them. After he had finished he looked up at me,

“Name.” he intoned.

“Izzy Marger.”

“Class?”

“Worker.”

He looked at me up and down with a disbelieving face before continuing, “Invention name?”

“The Hopper.”

“Number 423,” he said handing me a sticker with the bolded number 423. “If you’ll just sign here ma’am in the signatures.” he gestured to a tiny little box in the corner of the paper as he flipped it around so I could write on it. I picked up a red ink pen that wasn’t being used and scrawled my name. The man squinted at it through his glasses and then pointed to his left.

“Follow the arrows, they’ll lead you back stage.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” he said sourly before shouting “NEXT!”

There were so many red arrows it was impossible to get lost, and sure enough, I found the stage where thousands of other eager inventors waited for their numbers to be called. Five went on at a time, and at least after the tenth row to be called I spotted that man who had bumped into me on the way. I tried to look for him again, but he was lost in the midst of other crushing bodies. The waiting was tedious and the mass of bodies made everything hot and miserable. To prevent boredom I imagined when Mr. McCloony would finally leave the house. He had to be gone by now, but then again, he was Nathan McCloony. I imagined he might be a bit angry at me, I wouldn’t blame him, but I just hoped there was enough anger in that to make him leave me alone. His intentions were not welcomed nor appreciated. The worst thing that could happen is if his father decides to disassociate himself with mine. Not that I believed that it might happen, but you never know. I waited for what seemed like hours, eventually my legs hurt from standing so I sat down in one of the corners waiting for my name to be called. Finally, as clear as a bell, I heard,

“Numbers 410 through 415!”

The inventors with those numbers walked out. Unfortunately, the man who knocked me over was only a few feet away. He hadn’t been called yet, but I had no desire to be even ten feet away from him. There was another wait and then, “Numbers 415 through 420!”

I was so close! So close! By now, I had enough view of those who would be entering on stage with me. All of them were men, but I knew two of them. For not only was there Hamis, but the one who had conversed with Hamis beforehand. From a distance he seemed uninterested in surroundings, in fact even appeared to be sleeping, but I had a feeling he was all too aware of them.

“Numbers 420 through 425!” called a man close to the stage. Hamis, his associate, two others, and me walked onto the stage. It was just then I realized how terribly exposed I felt under the pressure of all those eyes. Being a girl didn’t help the matter I was sure, even now I could see some of the watchers on the balcony straighten up to see the next row of inventors.

“Number 421, center stage please.” the squat man a few paces away from me walked hesitantly forward. He cleared his throat and then stuttered a brief hello. Gradually, however, the squat man introduced himself as Arlis Finn and he had invented a grooming machine. After quite a bit of coaxing, a man, probably of the upper class, came down to help Finn with his demonstration. We waited about two minutes until Finn’s invention was finally on stage ready for use. The volunteer sat on a chair and then, with a click of a button, the metal arms attached to it were readjusted.

The claw holding the comb neared the person’s hair, the one with the toothbrush neared the mouth, and the one with the razor neared the cheek. With a click of a button the squat man resumed the grooming. The pace was slow. The comb brushed one hair strand at a time, the razor gently grazed the cheek, and the toothbrush rubbed carefully. I thought it was magnificent, but one of the investors spoke up.

“Can it go faster?” he asked. He had to be no older than father, but he seemed a bit younger. The squat man nodded and pushed the button two times. The mechanical arms picked up the pace. “Faster?” asked the same investor. The man pushed the button three times. “Faster.” the squat man frowned, and then pushed it four times. This went on until it hit six pushes. That was its max. The razor flew out of the air and hit a spectator on the balcony, the comb flew offstage, and the toothbrush whacked the speakers on the side of the stage. A ringing went off and everyone covered his or her ears. The terrified demonstrator ran off just before the whole thing fell apart. The squat man looked at his machine in horror. Some of the crowd murmured to themselves before an invisible voice said,

“Number 421 please enter stage left, number 422 please walk center stage.”

The squat man walked dejectedly off and the man who I bumped into stepped into the spotlight. Unlike Finn, this man bowed and with a smile said,

“Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to show you something you have never before seen, and never will. How many of you have struggled with the prospect of finding gifts? Go on, raise your hands.” I was impressed, even more so when nearly half of the people managed to get their arms to move up into the air. Some of them looked ashamed, while the other ones just put their hands up indifferently. “Well,” continued the man with a smile, “I have a solution. I give you-” and from his pocket he pulled out…. my Hopper. I gasped and my hand flew to my mouth. I dug into my coat pocket but I didn’t feel it. My metal replica of a cricket was held in that man’s hand! He was passing it off as his own! “I call it, the 325 Crick E prototype.”

“He’s lying!” I shouted, running up to grab my invention, “That’s mine!” I made a snatch at it, but the man pulled it away. He looked at me like he had never seen me before and frowned disapprovingly.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Hamis said as if scolding a naughty child, “I invented this, not some little girl.”


I turned to those watching, “It is my invention!”

The man who broke the squat man’s machine said, “Young lady, we do not tolerate this sort of behavior.”

“But this is my invention!” I shouted at him waving my hands about wildly, “He’s passing it off as his own!”

“My dear ladies and gentleman,” said Hamis, “This woman is surely delusional. I would never steal.” he laughed lightly as if the whole notion was preposterous.

“There you have it,” spoke another man in the audience, “Are we really going to believe a girl could build such a trinket? No offense madame, but save yourself some dignity.” there were some murmurs in agreement and I felt my cheeks go aflame.

“I am not lying.” I sputter out, “I bumped into this man, fell, and my invention fell out! He stole it!”

“Ridiculous!” said Hamis, “I’ve never seen you before in my life!” he held my Hopper closer. “Besides, what proof do you have?” there was a silence, and the truth was… I didn’t have proof. My chest heaved and I looked into the liar’s eyes with anger. I couldn’t prove anything; he had staged this whole thing.

“I have proof,” said a voice loudly.

My head turned and I saw his associate step forward.

“What is your name?” asked one in the audience.

“My name is Fritz Flannagan Fitzwalter the Fifth and I stand in defense of this young lady,” there was a resounding gasp at the mention of such a name. Everyone knew who the Fitzwalters were no matter class you were. The Fitzwalters were mechanical gods, of the highest society, and the personal innovators to the queen. No one would doubt a Fitzwalter word. “Unfortunately,” the Fitzwalter began, gesturing towards me, “I saw the man steal her invention, and I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me. Normally you don’t see a girl walking around with those sort of things, and I was wrong.” he looked at me as if offering a silent apology. “But, the solution stands the same, the invention is hers, and hers alone.” Fitzwalter looked towards the audience and I realized how young he was. Probably no more than nineteen years old, but he seemed to gain the whole rooms respect.

“Lies.” Hamis dared say after a while. Part of the spectators gasped, but Fitzwalter looked unperturbed.

“If I am lying,” said Fitzwalter to the man, “start your invention.”

I felt my heart fill with hope. Starting my Hopper was not as obvious as it appeared. For a while time stood standstill until the fake began to push my invention, most confidently, on the head. The Hopper did nothing. The man began to sweat and he flipped the Hopper over and tried it’s stomach. The Hopper did nothing.

“There is your proof,” began Fitzwalter pointing to the man, “This man is a fake and he has stolen a young inventor’s product.” there were several audible gasps and I felt satisfaction as two guards from the sides of the stage arrested the thief. Before I knew it the Hopper was back in my hands and Fitzwalter walked back to his previous position. I looked towards him a questioning glance as if wondering what do I do now? He just gave me an encouraging smile and then I faced the audience on the balcony. I hesitated, before saying,

“Ladies and gentlemen, I give to you, the Hopper.” I twisted the cricket’s back legs two times around until it made a click. Afterwards I set it down on the ground. As soon as I did the mechanical cricket, jumped two times before making more clicks, and then hoping forward two more times. Before I could say another word, there was the resounding noise of claps and approval. Even when I left the stage I still had people coming after me. I tried to find Fitzwalter to say thank you, but I was lost in the crowd. I finally arrived to a point where an investor had offered to buy the Hopper from me, but I shook my head. It was already promised to someone else. (hide spoiler)]

PART 3:

(view spoiler)[ When I came home I ignored the accusations from Claire and my father and closed my door. Apparently the McCloonys wouldn’t be working with my father anymore, but I couldn’t find it in me to care. I pulled out a sheet of paper and an ink pen and began writing. After it was sealed I put it in a box as well with the Hopper and had the postal service send it out. It was a good week or so before I got a response. I ripped open the letter and read it with open curiosity.

Ms. Elisabeth Holland,

Or should I say Izzy Marger? Thank you for your letter, but as for your Hopper I am afraid I cannot - or shall I say, will not keep it.

At this I frowned and continued to read,

For you see, I refuse to keep such a grand invention to myself. Do not take this personally, but I feel it belongs to you. Meet me two days from now at the Science Museum and I will properly give it to you. I look forward to keeping in contact; perhaps you could help me with some of the things I’m working on at the moment. That is, only if you are free to do so.

Sincerely,

Fritz Flannagan Fitzwalter

I smiled and then hid the letter underneath my bed. That was the beginning of a whole new career. I did indeed become the first famous female inventor and I often worked a lot with the Fitzwalter who had come to my aid that day. I was not immune to the criticizing of the world however and there were times I felt threatened to give up. But I was convinced I wouldn’t give up so easily. After all, tomorrow was a new day. (hide spoiler)]


End Word Count: 4,556

Wow. That was hard. I think I'm going to be afraid to ask for any more challenges. XD

Anyway, I hope it's okay. I struggled a bit with this one, but it actually has some roots to a Steampunk novel I wanted to write once. Again, enjoy, and sorry if there are any inconsistencies or faults that are in it. I was a bit rushed trying to put it together. Let's just say, I'm pretty sure Steampunk is not my thing.

I've only read the first part, Emmeline, but I'm enjoying what you've created. I'll read the rest when I come back from work. Well done with such a criteria filled challenge!

Thank you so much! I'm glad you like it so far! (I was rather nervous)

You did wonderfully Emmeline I really enjoyed it. Don't worry I won't give you another long one for a while. I'm glad that you were able to persevere despite the large requirements and really make something you can be proud of. Good Job Em


Oh and Travis, you're next....



Dun Dun Dunnnnnn

Emmeline, thank you for a great read. I really enjoyed it, even though I'm usually into more action/adventure type stories. I think it was the way that you wrote it. Very well done!

And TMEB... I'm ready. I'll just go and request it. :)

Cнallenge Accepтed:

Write at least two pages based off of this cover:



Deadline: 3/10/15
Finished: 2/20/15

2 PAGES:

(view spoiler)[

I was going to do it. I was going to ask them. I would skip straight to the point so as to cause as little trouble as possible. Not to say that it would lessen the blow, but at least make things a bit more decent. After all, no real harm could come from this could it? The lace on my collar made my neck itchy, but I refused to itch it. Itching would make me seem uncomfortable, and I am not uncomfortable. I am composed. I looked down at my meal. Pork chops, mashed potatoes, and peas. I couldn’t even seem to work up an appetite, probably this nervousness. Mostly because I haven’t rehearsed what I want to say, father insisted I read the rest of the Evolution of Society and Culture, giving me very little time to run through my ‘conversation’. Even now, I could feel the printed words coming back to me in my mind. If there is one thing I’ve learned about that book, it is that you better get change over and done with. It’s best not to wait.

“Papa,” I began, stirring my mashed potatoes around. I couldn’t look him in the eye; it would be much too painful. On the far end, left of the table my father humphed. He was reading an article about politics. Rotten politics. I looked up this time, “Pa-pa.” I repeated more earnestly.

“She is right dear,” spoke my mother on the other far right end of the table, “You really shouldn’t read at the table.” my father grunted and put down the newspaper.

“Yes, yes,” he agreed unconsciously and scooted his chair up a bit further, “What do you want Una?” he cut up a piece of his meat, and chewed it. Straight to the point, I reminded myself. I gave a nervous cough and said,

“Well…” I coughed again and then tried once more, “Well, I have finally figured out what I wanted to do in life now.”

“Really?” asked father, suddenly interested. He looked up from his plate. Even mother beamed at me. “Tell me, have you decided to take your studies into sociology?”

“No.”

“Psychology?”

“No.”

“Historiology?”

I started to get a bit frustrated, “No.”

“Ah!” he said, “How about metapolitics?”

“Perhaps musicology dear!” suggested my mother, “Una’s always talking about music, perhaps she’s taken it to heart.”

My father frowned, “Music? What does music have to do with science? I want my daughter to be successful not pawning off her inheritance on buying pianos so she can study musical vibrations and patterns.”

My mother clucked her tongue, “You never know dear. I don’t think musicology would be that bad, she’d be able to educate quite a lot of people.” she looked at me and smiled, “And with such a lovely face I’m sure even the most unmusical of gentlemen will pay attention.” my face heated, but father cut in,

“Just because one is attractive doesn’t mean that one will succeed. Besides, she’s much too young. Much too… naive. She’d run off with the first man who pays her any mind.”

“Papa!” I exclaimed in horror.

“Now you’re just being too unfair my dear!” agreed mother, “I’ve seen many a girl who is naive and my daughter is not one of them.”

I took this time to intervene, “Speaking of not being naive,” I began, “And since I’m old enough to make my old decisions-”

“Good grief!” interrupted father, “Don’t tell me you’ve gone and eloped yourself!”

“Papa!” I exclaimed, “Please let me finish!”

“Una…”

I bowed my head at my mother’s voice, “Yes, I know. Don’t raise my tone at my superiors.” I took a deep breath and then began again, “What I mean to say is that I have decided what I want to do in life. I want to dance.” Everything happened so fast I barely had any time to register it. My father immediately uttered words no gentleman should ever utter, and my mother was too distraught to admonish him because she began weeping hysterically. “Woe is me!” she sobbed, “What have I done to deserve such as this!”

“No daughter of mine will dance!” yelled my father, “Best way to disgrace yourself! The best way! Might as well throw yourself out on the street bare!” at this my mother weeped even louder, this only agitated father even more, “Go to your room and you might as well never come out until you’ve decided to choose a useful profession! Like science!”

Don’t get me wrong; dancing is not a bad thing. In fact dancers are on high demand and I hear that they get paid decently. However, my parents are one of more...sophisticated expectations. The last thing they would expect me to do is go up on a stage and dance. They’d rather have me be a schoolteacher or etiquette professor at some academy. Maybe even a starving artist! Either way my father didn’t speak for me for a week and my mother nearly three. She was so distraught that any time she saw me she burst out in tears. Our dinner discussions were awkward and our teatime uncomfortable. By the end of father’s week he began getting annoyed at mother’s outbursts.

“Priscilla,” he snapped making her jump, “For the love of all things practical, get a hold of yourself.”

“How can I?” she asked mid-sob, “When my own daughter is going to disgrace us all!” For my part, I just remained with my head bowed and my tongue silent. After the end of my mother’s three weeks she still was a bit sensitive towards me, but on the last day of her silence she sat me down and she said,

“Now Una, I know I have been a horrible mother-”

“Mama-”

“No, don’t interrupt. It’s absolutely so and I take full responsibility for your thoughts. My side has always been full of dreamers, but I find it is best to let them go while they can. Reality always wins, and reality is that dancing is not the best way to carry on with your life…” I tried not to interrupt her, I truly did. So I let her continue telling me all of the pros and cons of dancing in society, and mentioning how I best stick to the books. But, I still held hope that they would accept my ambitions over time especially my ambition to dance in the Arimeda. I found it in a book once, and it is one of the grandest theaters in the universe. Thousands of elite dancers and singers perform there. It’s like a stage for the gods. However, that never stopped me from dreaming. To preform in the Arimeda would be a once in a lifetime experience for me, all I needed was something to help me get there. (hide spoiler)]

Yup, we went completely different routes.

Haha! That's good! But, I hope you still liked it all the same! Can't wait for yours!

I think I might actually continue this. I like where it's heading.

If you do continue make sure to keep me updated. I'd love to read more of this.

Beautifully written, Emmeline. I love the characters in this one. Great job!

Thank you! I had a fun time writing this one!

Cнallenge Accepтed:

Write a poem inspired by this quote...

'War is created by people who are too old to fight for those who are too young to die.' - Vikrant Parsai

Deadline: 3/4/15
Finished: 3/1/15


POEM:

(view spoiler)[
The men do cry a war, a war
The mothers do weep my boy, my boy
For boys are bred to die they say,
Boys are bred to conquer at may,
Train them hard and train them good!
Make their arms as tough as wood
Training in arts of war

The men do cry a war, a war
The mothers do weep my boy, my boy
If you don't fight
Your honor is dead
If you don't fight
It'll be on your head
Taught of the honor of war

The men do cry a war, a war
The mothers do weep my boy, my boy
The starters of war they sit on their chairs
Eating in parties
Doing their share
When all of their boys are fighting the foe
So are the starters of war

The men do cry a war, a war
The mothers do weep my boy, my boy
Sent off to foreign lands that night
Eating of gruel
Sleeping off fright
But that won't prevent the enemy's flight
So is the battle before

The men do cry a war, a war
The mothers do weep my boy, my boy
Amongst the smoke
Amongst the ash
Only the brave will stay at last
The cowards will mew and then foe slew
Fighting the foreign foe

The men do cry a war, a war
The mothers do weep my boy, my boy
Who did win?
And who did loose?
How much were slain?
How much were saved?
Who did die and who are alive?
That is the ending of war (hide spoiler)]

Beautiful Em

Cнallenge Accepтed:

Write the first page or so of a novel with this prologue...

April 17, 1896

The waves crashed against the wooden hull of the ship, Victoria. Gust after gust of wind hit the sails rattling the timbers and making the masts creak and groan. The captain of the old schooner, a man by the name of Sal, was strapped to the deck barking useless orders at his crew desperately trying to save his ship. He was a short, elderly man, with a small amount of white hair on top of his absurdly large head. He was known by all the sailors as a tough, but fair and respectable captain. He had a way about him that made people respect him, he was a leader and I personally would've followed him into any battle no matter how bad the odds. But, that day the man who was usually so confident and optimistic, knew even then that they weren't going to make it. He was sure that the crew couldn't hear his useless orders over the noise of the storm and even if they could it wouldn't have made a difference.
Water splashed against his leg as yet another humongous wave struck the ship. Sal looked despairingly at the sky. It was only 3 hours past midday but the storm had blocked out all of the suns light. Instead, the sky was covered in angry black and gray clouds pushing and shoving one another for space, over crowding the sky so that whenever one of the clouds had a chance to move another took its place. Sal was an experienced sailor and had never once gotten seasick, but when he looked up at the sky at that moment the constant shifting and changing of the dark mass was enough to make him want to go to the rail and hurl. Thankfully he did not act upon this thought because not a moment or two after he thought this another crew member did throw up and though he was also strapped the ship he was swept away by the roaring sea along with the large chunk of railing he was attached to.

Sal sadly surveyed the ship. Even through the downpour he could see that the vessel was in ruins. One of the three masts was cracked almost in half and was leaning at a dangerous angle over the deck. Half of the wooden planks, so expertly put together ,were wrecked and the other half was drenched in sea water. The once beautiful carving on the rails was destroyed. In just thirty minutes the monstrous storm had reduced the majestic ship to a simple raft barely floating. He knew that if they somehow made it out of the horrible storm they could never make it to land.

He sighed and looked at the palm of his right hand, on it was a star. The gold symbol made his old sea cracked hands seem like a beacon of hope in the mist of all this despair. He smiled and for once that day he was happy. Sure he was going to die, but he had lived a full life. He was a Guardian after all, the symbol on his hand proved it.

Suddenly an ear splitting crack rang through the air. Sal looked up just in time to see the middle mast hit the ship cracking it in half. He was sent flying through the air and into the cold Atlantic ocean. As he sank beneath the waves the old man had only one thought. That if the ship was one day found that they would know how beautiful she once was and they would know that he had tried his hardest to save her. With that final thought the Victoria and her ever loyal captain sank beneath the waves.
Of the thirty or so passengers and crew on that ship only two survived. You could argue that it was the large amount of magic protecting them that kept them alive, but I would disagree. I think that the reason that young Cora and Thomas lived that horrible day was the sacrifice their parents took not only to save their kids,but possibly everything they worked so hard to protect. You see all the Guardians were on that ship and with them all the knowledge that could lead a future generation into finding what they were protecting. The children were now the last and final clue to a treasure so massive and powerful that it could never possibly see the light of day.

For a long time the children were to drift not lost but protected from society until one day, when life itself was being threatened and there was great need of the Guardians, I would call them and they would awake into a different world where they would have to carry out the task that their parents and all that came before them had done.

Deadline: 3.14.15
Finished: 3.1.15

PAGE:

(view spoiler)[June 10, 1904

Thirteen years later….

There’s something about sneaking up on someone that makes things all the more interesting. At the moment, Thomas Dorwin was eagerly waiting in the bush where his sister would be passing any minute on her rickety-old bike. It had been about ten minutes by his own reckoning until he finally heard the bike wheels rolling on the gravel. Holding his breath he waited until the bike rolled closer and closer. Which took some time since the victim had trouble riding on the terrain, but just when she was about to pass him, he leaped out and shouted, “Corinna! Catch!”

A young girl of no more than thirteen gave a small yelp of surprise as her brother tossed a ball at her. It hit her mid-petal and made her go off balance and into a brown mud puddle that had been created the night before. Her books fell from the basket and also a small white package but they luckily missed the puddle by inches.

“Poor catch huh?” Thomas asked, trying to smile as he helped her pick up her fallen books.

“You think?” snapped Cora as she put the rest of the books in the basket and the white package, “You do know that this is the third time you’ve skipped school? Mr. Jones was about to file a complaint to the Wilmings, and naturally he turned to me for some sort of an excuse. As if I was actually responsible for you missing roll call.” she paused in reflection, “Perhaps I should take that more seriously. I mean, out of the two of us I’m the only one who is responsible.”

Thomas scoffed, his eyes drifting to the small paper-bag that carried some sweets, “Ha! I’d like to see him try to go to the Wilmings.” His hand reached for the goodies and Cora rolled her eyes as he shoved his hand in and pulled out a handful of lemon drops. He plopped a few in his mouth before Cora continued,

“Anyway, don’t you think you should be heading home by now? The Wilmings would be worried.”

“And what about you?” he asked, “I know for a fact that you aren’t anywhere near the Becksters.”

The Wilmings, of course, were Thomas’ adopted parents and Cora’s was the Becksters. It wasn’t as bad as it seemed really; they lived only twenty minutes from each other and attended the same school. It was better than being separated with miles between them, which was more than what some orphan siblings could agree to.

“Elizabeth gave me permission to write some poetry under the Crossers Bridge,” Cora explained easily, “She says she doesn’t mind until I’m home by dusk.”

Thomas rolled his eyes, “Oh, of course, the Crossers Bridge.”

Cora turned her head, “What about it?”

“Oh don’t play stupid Corrina,” he said scrunching up his nose, “Even I know James Witt passes by there.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Cora retorted, “So what if James passes by? It’s not like he’s the only one who crosses it.”

Thomas snorted, “Yeah right.” He batted his eyelashes and in an exaggerated high voice said, “Oh hello James how are you? Well, you know how I am, just writing poetry because poetry is the most romantic language in the universe. Do you write poetry James?” he batted his eyelashes two more times for emphasis.

“I do not sound like that,” Cora said picking out a lemon drop from the bag, “Besides James doesn’t even look twice at me.”

“Says the prettiest girl in this miserable town. Even if he’s four years older than you I wouldn’t be surprised if he married you on the spot.”

“Thomas!” exclaimed Cora, “Watch your tongue!”

“I am!” responded Thomas haughtily, “But that doesn’t stop the facts-“

“Thomas,”

“Yes?”

“If you want to go to the Crossers Bridge with me you should just ask.” (hide spoiler)]

My wierd twisted, strangely nararrated 12 year old version...


(view spoiler)[Chapter 1

“Class, this is Cora and Thomas. They're new to town, but I’m sure you will all make them feel welcome.” The irritable principal said with forced smile.
Twenty-four blank faces stared back up at the twins. The twins didn't care though, why should they? In a few weeks they would put Belvidere, Vermont behind them. Of on a new adventure their social worker would say. Nevertheless they both put a smile on their face and went to sit in the two empty seats.
I am going to take this time to tell you a little about myself. I was born with a name, but it slipped my mind a long time ago. So now those who do know of me (which isn't many people at all) know of me as It. A bit unusual, but I don't really mind. Anyway I'm in a way the Protector of the treasure. Not like those “guardians” who protected the worlds deepest secrets as a side job or even a hobby, for me its a 24 hours a day, 364 days a year job, I don't even get a vacation! I didn't even chose this future, I was “chosen”. A privilege they called it, a huge honor. Well I guess this story isn't all about me and if I keep going on about me this could take hours, literally. So I'm sorry if you want to hear more about my life, but I really don't like to talk about that stuff. There is one more thing you should know though, it's that I happen to be a very opinionated person so if I ever get away from the story to give you my own input (this will probably happen quite often) feel free to yell at me telling me what a horrible narrator I am if you ever happen to run into me on the street. Actually scratch that, because if that ever happened it would be a very strange occurrence seeing that I've been locked up in the same room for over 200 years. So instead just keep your annoyance at me to yourself.
Now, let's see what I can tell you about young Cora and Thomas. The twins are about 12 years old. They each had jet black hair and piercing light gray eyes. Thomas had his curly hair cut short. Freckles of the lightest brown dotted his face. He was a strong, fit boy standing at five feet six inches tall. He always wore a pair of worn out jeans and a plain black t-shirt. It was sort of a gothic look, but on him it worked.
Cora and Thomas might have been fraternal twins, but they were identical in every possible way other than their gender. Cora's hair was shoulder-length with beautiful spiral curls and like her brother had freckles all over her face. She was a tad shorter than her brother standing at five foot two, but she was just as athletic and she could beat him at a foot race anytime. She also liked to ware the color black and was a fan of jeans and tenis shoes.
Both their faces were angular and they both had athletic builds. However, their striking features were not the first thing people ever noticed about them, usually it was the fact that on each of their right hands was a thin light black fingerless elbow-length glove. They told people that they wore it because of a scar that each of them had, but there was really another reason which we'll talk about later.
They also had a way about them that made the other children look up to them, so that even though they never had any real friends, beside themselves, other children and even most adults all seemed respected them. They seemed to always know something everyone else didn't know, a certain kind of secret that they never told, and even the teachers were wary of them. They didn't act as if everyone else was beneath them but they just had a way about them that was more sophisticated than the other children. Overall they were quiet children and mostly just kept to themselves.
They grew up moving place to place in the foster care system. They were mystery kids, and they had been ever since they were found floating on a raft of the coast of New Hampshire about 10 years ago when they were around about 2 years old. They had no known family, and no memory of any life before foster care. They didn't even have a last name and the only reason they had first names was because of the necklaces they each wore. They were little silver rings ,each one engraved with their respective names, on thin black strings.
As we go back to the story I'll have to tell you that school is over. The twins are now walking down an old cracked sidewalk by a bunch of beautiful rose bushes. They were headed to “home” number 38. The bad thing about number 38, which the twins called it, was that they had to share it with dozen other orphans. One of these kids, a boy their age named Eric, was now bobbing up and down beside them talking non-stop. He talked fast to so they couldn't even understand what he was saying. All I got was something about a weird hat and the cranky chemistry teacher Mrs. Hemma. He continued to ramble all the way until they finally reached their destination 7 painful minutes later.
Now don't blame Eric. At first hes pretty annoying, but the truth is that well he is pretty annoying. Just don't let it fool you, inside he is a caring boy who has lost everyone he loves who and is afraid to show his real feelings. If you really get to know him you'll see that he really is a good person.

Eric was born on July, 11th, 1998. He grew up in an unstable environment with his older sister Meredith and their crazy dad Roger. Roger was a veteran from the Persian gulf war who had fought as part of navy. He was a valiant soldier and had saved many lives. Ever since he got back his mind was somewhat messed up and he was was soon diagnosed with PTSD and depression.
His wife Loraine was the one that kept them all together. With her help he managed to get a job at the local auto shop and for a while he was able to keep all his anger and sadness buried deep inside him. They were happy and a few years later, when Meredith was 11, Eric was born.
Then everything changed. When Eric's was 4 years old his mother was killed in a car crash. Roger fell into an even deeper depression. He just sort of lost it, all the sadness that had long been trapped down inside him all bubbled to the surface at once. He turned to drinking and lost his job. He had to start working at a gas station just to get by. Even so they ended up getting evicted and Eric spent both his 5h and 6th birthday living out of a car.
When Meredith turned 16 she dropped out of school and got a low paying job at the outlet mall. It was shame because Meredith was a very smart child and could've gone on to do great things in the world of chemistry and physics. Nevertheless she had to drop out in order to put food on the table and clothes on their backs. I will always admire Meredith, she gave up so much for her family.
Eric was also was remarkable student and he loved school. He used the work as a way to escape the car and his horrible life. He had an admirble memory and could remember almost anything, that and the fact that he had a lot of dedication helped him so much that he was able to skip first and second grade all together. The people at the elementary school thought he was a genuis and since they knew his family could not pay for special tutoring, did their best to help him achieve his full potential.
At the same time Roger was getting worse. He started on drugs and gambling. There were times when Eric and Meredith had to avoid the car for days at a time. After all this time though Roger had never hit them, never hurt them and while he wasn't the best father Eric loved him with all his heart. No matter what people said about his father Eric wouldn't believe that he was a bad guy. He truly believed that his dad was a good guy who a lot of bad things had happened to.
Then the worst thing happened, on Christmas Eve ,when Eric was barely 7 years old, the Social workers came. They took both children away from their father and separated them from each other. Eric never saw Roger or Meredith ever again.
For a while Eric was irritable. He would tell everyone that his father wasn't a bad man, that he had always tried to take care of them. Sadly 2 months later , he received news that his father had jumped of a bridge and killed himself.
After that Eric became withdrawn. He refused to talk to anyone and moved from house to house until he finally landed with the Jackson's. At the Jackson's he was able to get back to his normal self and instead of hardly talking he started talking non stop, to make up for 3 years of solitude I suppose. He continued to excel at school and was now in 10th grade instead of 7th. So that’s how 2 years later he found himself sharing his room with Cora and Thomas.

Upon entering the house they quickly escaped into their room to avoid Eric. They were successful evading him, but instead they found their path blocked by Mrs. Melanie Jackson. Mrs. Jackson is a rather bubbly women whose greatest love in life was children. She had long auburn hair that was always worn down and was a little on the fat side.
Her husband Harold was almost the complete opposite. He was a slim man standing at an astonishing 6 foot 8 inches. He was rather kind quiet and would spend hours at a time shut up in his study doing who knows what. He shared his wife’s love of children though and even when he was busy he always found time to play with the children or tell them stories.
They had met in college at the prestigious Corcoran College of Art and Design. He was an aspiring writer studying journalism and she was there on a photography scholarship. It was love at first sight and 4 years later when they both graduated they got married. Things went pretty quickly after that. They moved to Belvidere, Harold got a job at the local newspaper and Melanie started a her own photography business out of their house doing graduation, wedding, holiday, or whatever photos her clients wanted her to do. So they settled in to live there and they were happy, they only thing missing was children. Two years later they received terrible news that they wouldn't be able to have children of their own so they chose to become foster parents instead and 7 years later they took Cora and Thomas in to their lives and Cora and Thomas found themselves at 311 lost meadows road. A rather charming house with a large back yard and overflowing garden. A nice place to start this story except for the other dozen children shut inside it with them.
Mrs. Jackson now stood in front of them with a plate of heart shaped cookies with a lot of messy white frosting and purple and pink heart shaped sprinkles.
“So, how was your first day” She asked joyfully.
“Not bad, probably rank it around number 10 in the list.” was Thomas's reply
“You think, I'd say say about number 15” Cora said.
“And how many days are on this list”Mr. Jackson said, coming up behind Mrs. Jackson on the stairs.
Thomas told them “ We started making this list around are 8th school so counting this one its an even thirty”
“So you kids ready for family game night?” said Mrs. Jackson hastily trying to change the subject.
“Wouldn't miss it” Thomas said sarcasticly.
“Great,” Mrs. Jackson replied, “and seeing as your new you can pick the first game. We have Clue and Monopoly and apples to apples. This is going to be so much fun.”
“This is going to be a long couple of months.” muttered Cora as the twins pushed through the adults and climbed up the stars into the bedroom they shared.
Once they shut the door they entered what seemed to be a different world. One without babies crying, kids fighting, and most of all without corny jokes from a red-headed talking machine every few seconds. Instead their new world was one of refreshing quiet.
Or not. As it they turned around they saw Eric was sharing a room with them.
“Isn't this great guys!” He said. With a wide grin that showed off his bright orange braces.
“Sure,” Cora said sarcastically, “ like one big party that never ends.” (hide spoiler)]

Haha! That time period is way off! It looks like the story started back around 80 or 90 years later. XD By now Thomas and Cora would be great-grandparents or something.

But I have to admit, it was a little confusing. The 'narrator' seems to know a lot about certain people, who was he or she supposed to be?

IDK. My memories of this story are very vague. I think she was supposed to be a girl who was trapped and like immortalized with this big treasure, but like she can see and likes to watch the outside world. This was written around the time I was obsessed with National Treasure.

The only other stuff I have written about this story are a half written riddle that will eventually lead to the treasure, a half completed list of where clues might be, and a list of what I think are supposed to be old guardians, this list includes but is not limited to Abraham Lincoln, George Washington, and Archimedes. I also have a bunch of pictures and maps of the Great Pyramids in Egypt, and a map I made that looks o be a maze under the Great Pyramid. I think that was where the treasure was supposed to be. IDK 12 year old me was wierd.

Haha! That's pretty cool though! It would be interesting if you continued it in your totally not weird previous age. :)

Maybe someday.