Ever since I was a little girl, I had found the art of medicine astounding. For years, I begged my mother to teach me her ways. It took a lot of convincing for her to allow me to engulf myself into the practice. She taught me everything; when it comes to properly mincing herbs, mixing them together, or even brewing them into a tea, I knew it all. Sadly, the public nor the church approved of these methods. “Witchcraft,” they called it, but it wasn’t. My dear father, bless his soul, was murdered for his abilities. After his death, my mother did what was best. We had to go into hiding; we couldn’t face the public. For years, we settled in a cozy cottage in the woodlands. It had everything: a small creek, fertile soil, adequate sunlight, and finally, peace and quiet. She made sure everyone would forget the Widukinds, and she did an amazing job. We became a bedtime story that mothers would tell their children to get them to behave, a rumor that adults often discussed and laughed gleefully over at parties. My point is, we became the ghosts of Bavaria. No one knew who we were. No one knew who Amelina Widukind was. Well, that was what I thought. It was May of 1540; the birds were singing their lively songs, the creek glistened like shining diamonds, the trees were dancing along to nature’s dance, and the sun’s warmth gleamed on my skin. It was a beautiful morning. “Amelina!” My mother called out. “Yes?” I peered into the aged doorway. “Could you please gather some lavender and mint? I’m going to make some tea.” She requested. “Of course! I’ll be on my way.” I walked towards our garden where we kept a plentiful amount of herbs available. Before I picked anything, I tied my fiery, red hair back to avoid getting dirt stuck in it. That’s when I felt another presence. I looked to my right to see a young boy, probably of the age of sixteen, staring at me in fear. “What are you doing here?” I yammered in a boorish tone. He was shaking. He had a frightened demeanor; it didn’t help that I was glaring at him. “Help! Witches!” He declared while sprinting away. “It was too late; we had to relocate, but where would we go?” I pondered. Before I could even say anything, I immediately ran into the house. “Mutti! MUTTI!” I hollered, trying to get her attention. She ran over to me, wondering what was wrong. “What is it, Amelina? What happened?” Her face was consumed with fear. “We need to move again. We have been caught. I bet the boy has already sent guards our way.” I sobbed while being cradled into her loving arms. She sighed as if she finally gave up. “You go. I’ll hold them back as long as possible.” She directed. “But…” I instigated, attempting to persuade her. “No, you are to do as I say. I’m 35, and I don’t have many years left. You still have your life ahead of you. Grab some food, water, and gold, and run.” She ordered with a bold tone. I didn’t even hesitate. I swifty gathered some belongings in a bag, put on a dark cloak, and ushered out the door. She didn’t even say anything. The look on her face gave it all away. “Tchao, Mutti.” Tears were pouring down my porcelain-toned face. That was the last time I ever saw her. Now, she was going to pay for my mistake. I ran for hours upon hours until I made it to a small village near the Austrian border. The village was small but do-able. There were candles streamed everywhere like ribbons on a lady’s gown, most likely to prevent predators from attacking. Small cabins littered the sides of the trail. Overall, it was fairly empty; whilst the occasional wanderer stared at me in disbelief. The markets were a bit smaller than the ones back home, but I could potentially live here. Or so I thought. It was around dusk; the sun’s vibrant masterpiece of colors was now turning into a dark, clear night. I was emotionally and physically exhausted; my face and dress was caked with dirt. My arms looked as if a cat was angry, and I was the first thing it saw. Twigs and leaves were entangled in my blazing, scarlet hair. A few feet before me was a small inn. I walked inside and made my way towards the innkeeper. Running the inn, was a beautiful woman with dark, chestnut hair. Her eyes were a kind, soft, lavender shade. “Hello! My name is Linza Averne. How may I help you?” She inquired, not realizing my current condition. “Are you alright, dear?” She started to investigate. “Yes, I am fine.” I stated, but based on her expression, she didn’t believe me. “Look, I won’t serve you a room until I am sure you are okay.” She challenged fiercely. “It’s difficult for me to explain.” I started to tear up. “Well, I have all night. I understand more than one would think.” She explained with a sympathetic look on her face. “Alright.” I looked down in defeat. She directed me to an empty room and sat down. That was my wall of emotions completely shattered like glass. “I’ll start.” She gave me her handkerchief for me to use. “My name is Amelina Widukind. For years, my family has created numerous medicinal techniques. When I was younger, my Vati was slaughtered in cold blood by the church because of the methods’ ‘peculiarity’.” I paused to take a breath. “In reality, he didn’t do anything wrong. All he did was offend a person with friends in high places. Afterwards, Mutti and I hid from society. Life was great until a young noble...saw me harvest herbs.” I gritted my teeth. The boy didn’t even give me time to explain! He accused us of witchcraft, and I was forced to run.” She looked at me with her solemn lavender orbs. “What of your Mutti?” She asked. “I guess she was tired of running. She’s...probably gone by now. I have lost everyone.” I wiped my eyes with the handkerchief. “Anything you need, I am here. Stay here for as long as time will permit.” Linza offered. “But, you are now at risk. People could name you as an accomplice or an apprentice.” I cautioned. “Trust me. I am fully aware of the consequences; my Vati would be disappointed in me if I didn’t do what was right.” Linza said. “But…” I argued. “I highly doubt that you have anywhere else to stay. I also believe that no one else is aware of your situation. Now wash up, get something to eat, and go to sleep.” She ordered.
“Amelina! Could you go out to the market and get some bread, fish, and preserves?” Linza requested, busy with chores on-hand. “I’m on my way now.” I exited the inn. As I entered the market, my eyes promptly drafted towards the bread stand. I am glad that I made it into the line when I did; the afternoon rush is always overbearing. Right after I got into line, I noticed more people were staring than usual. It felt like they were a bunch of hyenas, and I was their prey. They were muttering something that I couldn’t quite pick up on. A few minutes later, I made it to the front of the line; fortunately for me, there was still a few loaves left. “Three loaves, please.” I requested. “Of course. That would be one and a half pence.” The baker affirmed. I was getting ready to hand him the money when I noticed something unusual. Along with the bread, the baker had daisies gripped in his hands. “Sir, if you don’t mind me asking, why do you have daisies in your hands.” I speculated. “Well, daisies are said to symbolize a new beginning, and I believe that you are going to get one real soon, Amelina Widukind.” The baker boomed. All of a sudden, the two people behind me grabbed my arms and held me down while the wicked baker called out to the guards. “Why...are you doing this?” I squeaked. “Money pays the taxes, dear.” The stranger answered. A moment passes when the guards arrived; the guards were reasonably young. Based off their white uniform and cross, they were members of the Teutonic Knights; this was a well-known organization that converted pagans to Christianity and claimed land in the name of God. “Amelina Widukind, you have been arrested for witchcraft by the Church of God.” A guard notified. “Understood.” I mumbled in dejection. They tied my hands together and threw me into the prison wagon. Right beside me was an elderly woman with scrapes and ligature marks all over her bruised body. “Why are you here, Dearie?” The frail woman asked. “All I did was try to help others, Miss; apparently that is the definition of witchcraft.” I informed the woman. “Well, Dearie, let’s enjoy our final hours together.” The woman sighed. “I would like that.” I smiled weakly. Before we fell asleep, we spent those few hours recalling kind memories of our past. Believe it or not, I am glad she was there to accompany me; I’m sure I would’ve lost all sanity had I been alone. “Alba Weber!” A guard spat. “Say your last goodbyes, thief!” Another guard yelled. “Auf Wiedersehen, Dearie.” The old woman waved goodbye. Not a moment passed before a guard walked up, grabbed my chains, and tied me on a stake. “Enjoy the fire, Witch.” The guard snickered. In front of me was two people: the head of the church and the one and only, my executioner. “Today, Amelina Widukind shall be punished for her crimes against God for indulging in the evil art known as witchcraft. She shall pay for her crimes as all witches should: being burned at the stake.” The head of the church declared. “Amelina Widukind, do you have any last words?” He asked. And then the executioner lit the hay on fire while daisies flew gracefully in the air. “Tut mir leid.” I whispered as I saw an apparition of Mutti and Vati smiling at me wistfully. BiographyMy name is Kaylin Small. I am currently a freshman in high school graduating in 2023. My personal favorite genres are Fantasy, Historical Fiction, and Poetry. Ever since I was little, I have always loved to draw and write; I would make short stories for my family. One thing that has inspired me to write is thinking of how I would manage to live through different cultural time periods (Great Depression, Renaissance, etc.) It often amazes me to think about what the average person had to go through or what people considered normal or moral.
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As the pain consumed me, I looked back to the start of my dilemma, the question of why is this happening to me echoing not just in my head, but in my whole being. If I could go back to the moment that ruined my life and all the work on which I had spent so much of my life, I would go back and take it all back. I would stop myself from making the mistake that led to where I am now. I would resolve what had happened between Jeremy and me before I so stupidly it blew out of proportion. I wish I could just go back and stop myself from doing what I had done. But it was too late, and now, as fire licked at my skin, filling my skin with bubbles and almost melting it, I realized just how right they were about us. However, that is the end of my story. So I must return to the start; a start that came before my troubles created the nightmare I found myself in. A soft chiming noise flowed into my ears, wriggling down my ear canal with its gentle sweetness to pull me from the peace that came with slumber. Peeling open my eyes, I found the soft gray of my bedroom ceiling glowing with the early morning light that poured in from my window. I couldn’t help but notice that my surroundings were even blurrier than they had been the day before. I didn’t focus too long on it though, I just sat up and turned off the alarm beside my bed. It was one of those old, brick-shaped alarm clocks; the kind of alarm clock that was birthed in times before the advancements that had been made in science and technology that embettered our world. Yet, just like most things, the timepiece had been altered- perfected, you could say- so it was more power-efficient and didn’t make an annoying screeching sound. I climbed out of bed, quickly changing into a simple pastel blue shirt and nice, black dress pants. I would have much preferred to wear a dark green or a vibrant red, but those weren’t readily available colors anymore. That and people around Esterwood didn’t exactly like when you were different. I went to the bathroom to brush my teeth and wash my face, then I stepped out into the hall before making my way to the kitchen. Mom was making delicious pastries for breakfast--I think they had once been called cinnamon rolls--and there was a big, glass bowl of fruit salad on the counter. She smiled at me over her shoulder. “Good morning, Azazel,” she greeted me with a voice like music and an attitude like pure sunshine. I held back a cringe at how happy my mother sounded and forced an easy smile onto my face. “Good morning, mother,” I returned in just as bright and happy a tone as hers. I took my seat at the breakfast table just as my father walked into the room. “Good morning, father.” He smiled at me, pressing a quick kiss to the top of my head. “Good morning, son,” he said, plopping into his seat where the daily newspaper was waiting on his ever-helpful hPad. He began reading the daily articles that had been posted, and my sister strode into the room. She was two years younger than me, but easily looked a year older than me. She smiled as brightly as the sun shone as she greeted each of us. “Good morning, Carolina,” we all grinned. Mother was a beautiful woman with thick, golden curls, a round face holding eyes in a warm brown, and a petite figure. Father was a handsome man with sharp facial features, hair like bronze, and eyes like steel. Carolina had mother’s hair and petite figure and father’s eyes. I had dad’s boxy figure and a mixture of mother and father’s hair colors- a dirty blond. However, strangely enough, my eyes were an olivine green color that made me stand out in the family. My parents and Carolina had a gentle tan to their skin whereas I had a complection the color of clouds on a bright, sun-filled day and what I swore was a permanent sunburn across my cheeks. I was quite different from my family, and it wasn’t hard to see. We all ate our breakfast together- a roll and a bowl of fruit each- before drinking a glass of water. Then Carolina and I rushed out of the house to the bus stop for school. She grouped up with her friends, and I stood to the side, waiting for the bus so I could get to my friends. It wasn’t normal for kids to have so little friends, but I was always different from everyone else. The bus arrived quickly, and all the kids at the stop piled in, but of course, they did it in the most respectful manner. I mean, sure I let a group of girls get on first because it was the right thing to do, but I just wanted to roll my eyes at the way people were constantly acting like that sometimes. I mean, do they always have to act so polite and cheerful as they insist everyone else get on first? It made me want to puke sometimes, and quite honestly, I hated those feelings. I sat with a stranger on the bus, squeezing myself closer to the window to make room for the guy. He was broad and bulky and took up more seat space than I could have thought possible. I don’t think he really noticed me as he was in a deep philosophical debate with his friends which kind of annoyed me. I mean, what happened to the dumb jock stereotypes? I was undoubtedly relieved when we arrived at the high school and all the kids filed off. I held my tongue as my patience was tried and climbed off the bus with a warm smile for the people I hardly knew. Ther air felt lighter when Jeremy and Keiron came into view. Jeremey was a guy with a lean, but sturdy build. His orange hair was always spiking out in a mess, his pale skin dotted with freckles, and his eyes the color of emeralds glittered with this unending warmth. Keiron had a build somewhere between that of Jeremy and that bulky guy who had all but squished me on the bus. His hair was the color of midnight, his eyes a navy blue, and his skin just a tad bit darker than that of my family’s. They were my best friends since childhood. Jeremy was the kind of guy who could start and hold a conversation with anyone without really trying. Everyone loved him, and he loved everyone. Keiron was the kind of guy who stayed silent, but would be there to help when you least expected it but most needed it. They were kinda like opposites, and that’s what made them such good friends. I found myself genuinely smiling at them as I walked over to the two. “Hey look! Here come the shrimp!” Jeremy joked as I made my way over. I snorted, something I probably wasn’t supposed to do- at least in public- and playfully shoved my elbow into his side. “I’m only, like, four inches shorter than you,” I retorted. “Try half a foot,” Keiron corrected with a faint smirk. I stuck my tongue out at him. They were beyond used to this kind of reaction from me, but I always saw this form of shock in their eyes, as if they still couldn’t comprehend the fact I acted in such a way. I didn’t blame them. Nobody else acted like that. “What are you two planning to do after school lets out?” Keiron always knew just when the topic needed to be changed. Bless that man. “I’m headed for the public library,” Jeremy told our friend. That’s right. Sometimes, I, myself, forgot that my ginger-haired friend volunteered his time at the library every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. It also- occasionally- irked me that he was just good enough to be able to know exactly what to do, always knew what to say, always smoothly inserted himself into society. Here I was, scrambling everyday to hold myself together and follow the rules set by the people who’d come long before us and he just did it like it was natural to him. There were times anger and envy burned a hole in my chest- as if the emotions themselves were acidic. Those thoughts and emotions terrified me. I mean, that was the kind of anger and envy that made one imagine driving a pair of scissors into a limb or piercing an eye with the dull tip of a pencil. And I don’t mean their own. I hated those feelings, those thoughts, those images. Jeremy was my friend- he’d been there since I was a little kid, for goodness sake!- yet I still so easily got perturbed by his sense of ease. There was something wrong with me. I was so different from everyone else, and I was horrified by the thought of everyone else finding out. I was happy with pretending the rest of my life that I was just like them. What was that old saying? “Fake it ’til you make it”? That’s exactly what I’d do; fake it until I made it. “I gotta go to the library, too,” I told my friends. “There’s this book I’ve been meaning to read for science, but the school doesn’t carry it.” “Great!” Jeremy grinned, obviously excited by the idea that I’d get to walk with him. “Think you could go with us Kei?” “Unfortunately, I cannot. I have to take care of Christy.” Christy was Keiron’s younger sister. His parents were probably going to be at a council meeting for the night- right, Keiron’s mother and father were on our city’s council and they had meetings at least once every year. “However, I wish you two fun.” I chuckled. “We haven’t even started the day. That’s still hours away. You don’t have to talk like we’re leaving now.” I bumped my friend’s shoulder with my own in a playful gesture. Keiron smiled and shook his head at my antics. Had it been me, I would have just rolled my eyes at my stupidity. Together, we made our way into the school- a giant building covered by white paint to hide the bunches of red bricks that were used to patch up all the rundown buildings in the city. We made our way down the hallway to the left. Lockers lined the walls. Like most things, they were covered in a nice layer of paint to hide the fact the metal was horribly rusted underneath. Sometimes, when I let my mind wander when I should have been paying attention in class, I wondered what it looked like in the outskirts of the city. The outskirts of the city were places where the consequences of the war were untouched. Based on the textbooks, there were still buildings in ruin, still rubble on the street, still skeletons at the mercy of the elements. They were almost a time capsule to the world before ours. However, it made me grateful for the fact that I lived in the limits of Alban. It also made me grateful for the fact that I lived in this time instead of in the time of the Gender War. At least I was only in danger of being found out. At that time, I would have been at risk of dying. We all owed our lives to the man and woman who had created our community of peace. Before the bell signaling the final five minutes before class began rang, Keiron, Jeremy, and I hung out together. Then we were headed off in different directions to get to our individual classes. I think the reason that I didn’t do too well in my classes was the fact I didn’t have Keiron in class with me to rein in my focus. He had to do it all the time when we were kids, and it was clear I still needed him to get me through class. I spent most of my time in class staring at the blurred board without actually listening to what the teacher rambled on about. I would just look over the homework and use the example question or read the article needed so I could do the work when I got to it later on. It was times like these that my mind could wander without being reprimanded too much, so I just let it. There were also those thoughts that were better left unthought, but they just came with the territory. Don’t they always say “if you can’t beat them, join them”? The day dragged on in a confusing blur. The only thing I was aware of at all were my thoughts. They were like this dark stormy cloud inside my head, and I couldn’t shove them down. I think they were coming to surface because I’d spent so much time shoving them down in the first place, and they were finally deciding that they needed to be freed or something terrible might occur. I wish I had known that a terrible thing would occur due to how long I’d been shoving them down. Maybe if I had acknowledged them, everything would have been okay. But I didn’t. So things weren’t okay. Lunch was spent with Jeremy and Keiron. There was laughter and joking just like normal. I think that by then I’d gotten so good at faking smiles and laughs that I was a professional at it. I mean, Jeremy and Keiron didn’t seem to notice at all that none of it was real. Even if they did, they didn’t say anything about it. Just yet another perfect thing about them. When the day ended, Jeremy and I said goodbye to Keiron before making our way to the library. Looking back, I wish we had begged him to go with us, or offered to have Christy join us, or just decided not to go altogether- well, at least I could have decided not to go. If Keiron had been there, he would have stopped the situation we found ourselves in, would have eased the tension that arose. If we hadn’t gone, things would have been okay. But- as I have said- things weren’t okay. “So, how was your day?” Jeremy asked, his hands resting in his pockets as he shot me an easy grin. I shot him a smile right back. “Good as always,” I told him. How do they not see the darkness hidden within me? I wondered tiredly. “How about your day?” “Great!” Of course. He was perfect, just like everyone else. How could I have expected anything else? “Terra and I are going on a movie date tomorrow.” Terra, as in Terra Gardner. The most perfect girl in school. The girl who volunteered her time at the local hospital to help the little kids smile as well as at the local nursing home to remind the elderly that they were still loved. On top of that, she never had issues in school academically, she was the cheer captain, and head of the debate team. It really wasn’t all that shocking they ended up together. “That’s cool.” “Yeah. She’s just so perfect.” A frown made its way onto my lips. “What is it with this town a perfect?” I muttered to myself in annoyance. Apparently, Jeremy heard me. “What do you mean? Everything about us is supposed to be perfect,” he told me with a stupid, relaxed chuckle. I grit my teeth and forced another smile to hide my annoyance and frustration. “Nothing! I just mean you two are as perfect as everything!” Jeremy smirked playfully. “Aww. Is the shrimp jealous ‘cause he hasn’t found himself a girlfriend yet?” I took in a slow breath. Let him think I was jealous. I didn’t care. Just so long as he didn’t realize that I wasn’t perfect like him. That was all that mattered. “Yeah. Sure. Whatever, Mr. Perfect,” I joked, trying to ease the anger that was beginning to burn in my chest. We walked in silence for a few minutes, then I ran right into the pole of a sign post. A snarl curled at my lips and an oath rolled off my tongue before I could stop it. Jeremy looked at me in both shock and amusement. “Maybe I’m Mr. Perfect, but your eyesight sure isn’t,” he teased. I tried to steady my breathing. I was so angry, and I couldn’t even figure out why. Normally, I would laugh it off with him, play it off as a joke, but today anger just flared brightly. I didn’t respond to Jeremy’s joke except by storming past him. I could tell he was startled, but I didn’t bother apologizing to him. I really wasn’t in the mood. “Azazel! Wait up!” He hurried after me and grabbed my wrist gently. “Dude. What was that? You’re acting weird.” “Well I’m sorry I’m not perfect like you!” I hissed out before I could stop myself. I’m not even sure I could have if I tried. Jeremy flinched like I’d slapped him. “Dude. Are you okay?” “Yeah. I’m fine. Let’s just go, okay?” I started walking off, but Jeremy’s grip tightened on my arm, holding me in place. “Azazel. What’s going on? Everyone here is perfect, so why is it bothering you to this degree?” “Drop it, Jeremy.” “No. You’ve never reacted like this. What’s going on?” “Jeremy.” “What is it? Is it the idea of perfection-” “Shut up-” “What’s wrong with it?” “Stop it, Jeremy!” “Just tell me!” “I said stop!” I shoved my distressed friend away from me. It wasn’t a lot of force, really- I’m pathetically small and weak compared to the bigger-sized guys my age, honestly! But we were both so full of stress that his balance was thrown off, and my anger gave me an extra burst of strength- where was that when I needed it in gym class. Jeremy stumbled back, tripping over his own feet as he staggered off the curb. Into the street. Too late, I saw the bus rushing right toward my best friend. Too late, I reached out to grab him, my anger morphing into fear. I was just too late. I watched in horror and shock as the bus driver slammed on his brakes too late and Jeremy was slammed into by the grill of the bus. He went flying through the air a few feet before he crashed into the ground and rolled. Blood was everywhere. Splayed out on the front of the bus. Streaking the ground. Pooling in the road under the body. Gushing out of Jeremy’s wounds. I wasn’t stupid enough to hope he was going to be okay. I knew he was dead. People who were standing around on the street went rushing to my friend’s corpse. People on the bus climbed off to check it out, see if he was still alive. I heard a distressed cry come from a woman after a man murmured something. At least, I think that’s what was happening. I was too busy staring at Jeremy, my mind so blank I swear the silence roared. Then everyone turned to look at me in shock and horror. What have I done? That was the only thought my brain was capable of creating. In my state of shock, my body took over and dived into a mode of survival. That being said, I ran away like the devil himself was hot on my tail. No, wait, that isn’t good enough to describe how I ran, how I felt as I ran away from my crime. I ran away as though I was a monster from the old horror stories with a mob of angry villagers on my tail. I ran as though I was being chased by vengeful men and women with pitchforks sharpened to deadly points and torches that blazed with fire that scorched the skin of my back and my heels. I ran as though I was being chased by Keiron and Jeremy, anger burning in their eyes and hatred pushing them forward faster. I ran like I was trying to get away from my own darkness and monsters and demons. But how can you run away from something that has already caught you? It was because of those monsters, those demons, that darkness, that Jeremy had been pushed in front of that stupid bus. It was because of them he was dead. It was because of them my best friend would never grow up to make the world even more perfect than it already was. It was because of them I was falling back onto the habits of the people who had started the war that had ripped apart our world. I should have turned myself in, should have begged forgiveness. Any perfect person would have done just that. Yet I ran; I ran in fear as tears of sadness and guilt poured out of my eyes. I hid outside of the limits of the city. I hid in one of the bombed out buildings and broke down into sobs. How could I have done that to him? How could I have let my anger get the best of me? How could I have destroyed something so perfect and beautiful in a fit of rage? I’m a monster, I thought as pain overtook me. I am a monster, and I am the reason my best friend is dead. I shouldn’t exist. I should be dead, not him. I should have been the one hit by the bus. It should have been me. It should have been me. It should have been me. No matter how many times I repeated that sentence in my head, nothing changed. Jeremy was still dead, I was still hidden away like a criminal on the run- which I was-, and I was still a thief that had stolen the most precious thing in existence; a human life. It must have been hours after my tears had run dry. Hours after my body gave up on trying to hold me up and slumped over onto the floor. Hours after I gave up on wanting to live. That was when the echoing sound of boots came towards me from outside. Fear took over my body yet again and I was back up on my feet and running. But I kept running into things. I kept falling, and stumbling, and tripping. I had barely made it a block away before I was caught and thrown into the back of a large, menacing vehicle. The place where I was put was like a small room with only the doors at the back as an escape and no windows. I sat, curled up in a ball as I cried like a frightened child. I was going to be punished. The people took me to this big, gray, cement building and dragged me inside. I was strapped to a chair standing a few yards away from a camera. What could they possibly need that camera for? I wondered. I got my answer sooner than I was ready for. A man in all black with a full-face black mask walked in. A little red light on the camera turned on and the man began to hit me with his large meaty fists. I heard my screams of pain, but I felt disconnected. I could feel bones snapping- could hear it too- and I could smell and feel the blood that began to coat my skin. If he wasn’t breaking bones, the masked man sure was leaving large, ugly, painful bruises. Then, he stopped. He dragged the chair- and of course that meant he took me with it- away from the camera. As I wondered what they would do with me then, he dropped logs of wood at my feet, piling them up without order or care. He then poured a nasty smelling liquid onto the logs and me. He carried the tub of liquid away before grabbing a box of matches. With a wicked grin shot in my direction, he lit up five matches at once and threw them onto the logs. The flames caught in an instant and spread just as quickly. They climbed up my legs, then up my shirt before consuming my head. Now, I was literally burning alive. All those times I’d been sweating profusely in an uncomfortable summer heat were nothing compared to the way the flames licked at my skin and scorched it. Pain was the only thing I knew in that moment. There was no perfect, there was no Jeremy, there was no Keiron, there was no murder, there was no treason. Only pain. And as that pain consumed me, I thought back to how my day started, wondering how I could have gotten from there to here. As the memory of Jeremy flashed before my eyes, I realized something. These people went after me because I was dangerous, and if there were more people like me out there, they were just as dangerous. They would send us back into a time of war, and might just wipe us all out. That was the last thing I thought before I was consumed by the everlasting darkness of death. What I didn’t know, however, was that the normal, everyday people I had known- the Perfections- were just as dangerous as the people like me; maybe even more so… BiographyMy name is Áine Jessel. I will graduate in the year of 2021. I love to read fantasy and science fiction because I love jumping into an adventure with magic or non-realistic pieces. It’s like living a new life that would be impossible otherwise. I love to write fictional stories- fantasy is my jam!- and poems. I love to write because it’s like my therapy. If I need to get away from the real world, writing is where I go. If I’ve got this idea in my head, writing is my release. To me, it’s almost as if my blood is made of words and when I begin to write, it’s as though I’ve been cut because it’s so hard to stop! Writing is a big part of who I am.
There are people who like sports. There are people who like cooking. There are people who like science. These are all groups of people who like certain things. Nobody else is let in, nobody gets out. It works like that in all places. Mainly schools. Me? I like to draw cartoons. Not those cheeky little stick figures blowing things up. No, I prefer the original cartoons. Like the first Mickey Mouse, Steamboat Willy, you know? There aren't a lot of professional cartoonists in this world, so I’ll have my work cut out for me. The thing is though, because of my dreams, I don't have very many friends. My school is the average kind of school. Not in a stereotypical way. Just think of the high school you went to or are going to. It's kind of like that. Sports kids, drama kids, choir kids, band kids. You know, the works. There are clubs too. All schools have clubs, of course, but the clubs here are . . . average. French club. Drawing club. Cooking club. They all sound dull to me. There is a drawing club, which I tried joining, but they all said my art wasn't art. Just because it isn't anime or real enough doesn't mean it isn't art. It's just different, that's all. There's nothing wrong with it, right? Either way, they kicked me out. So, I just go back to doodling on my tests and hoping I’ll meet someone like me. Someone who appreciates the weird, strange ways of cartoons. Someone who won’t push me out of a group. Someone who will let me in. And lucky me, that's what's about to happen. . . . I’m in history class. The teacher is droning on and on about some presentation that’s due next week. I don't mind history, it just gets a little boring at times. Sure, there are important lessons to be learned that some dead guy a hundred years ago learned the hard way. But still, you could at least find a way to jazz it up a little. “Henry, look up here please.” said Mrs. Green. Mrs. Green is a nice teacher, but she thinks that if she shows my cartoons to the class I’ll feel like I’m being punished. It never works. I just feel a sense of accomplishment. I look up. She’s got a yardstick and is using it to point out things on the board. Looking around, I see that everyone is watching me. I probably should’ve been paying attention. “Yes, Mrs. Green?” She scowled. “Do you remember what your history project is about?” “Er . . . not exactly.” She sighed. “Go out in the hall and wait for me there please.” Great. Another talk with another teacher. Just because I find it hard to pay attention or remember things. It gets annoying at times, but I’m used to it. I go out into the hall and sit at the desks they keep out there. There's a derogatory pencil drawing on the desk. I take out my own pencil and start to draw one of my own characters on the desk. His name is Edmund, and he looks like a cross between a rabbit and a german shepard. I don't know how long Mrs. Green left me out here for, but my guess is she forgot about me. I don't really care, because it gives me time to take Edmund’s story further. The bell rings and the my classmates file out of the class. Mrs. Green comes last, and looks surprised to see me sitting there. Then she gets this look on her face, of which I can only describe as an Oh, right, I forgot about you look. “Henry,” She starts, “I know you're a good kid.” Here we go again. “But you can’t keep doing this. I need you to try to pay attention in my class, okay?” “I do try, Mrs. Green. It's just that there are so many other things I could be doing at the moment. History isn't that important to me.” She sighed again. “Wait here. I have something for you.” She walked back into her class. I resumed my work on Edmund. The late bell rang for fifth period. Oh, well. My next class was art and you already know about what happened in art club. I stand up thinking she wasn’t coming back, but she magically appeared behind me saying “This is your presentation. Normally, students would pick their topic out themselves, but since you cannot seem to do that, I had to do it for you.” That ticks me off. The hand-holding. I never needed help with something before. Never have, never will. I don't like the way she phrased it either. But, I have to keep my cool, because exploding at a teacher would get me a detention. They won’t let me draw in there. She hands me a packet of papers. “Thanks.” I say. I don't know if she could tell that I was kinda mad at her. “I expect you to do better in the future.” she says before turning back into her class. I look down at the packet. In big, bold letters it clearly states that my presentation will be about the history of Eastern Pennsylvania High School. My school. Now I have to do work at school about school. Today just keeps getting better and better. . . . I’m back at home now. Researching my project. There’s actually some pretty cool stuff about my school. But before I get into that, I should probably explain my family. My dad is an electrician and strongly disapproves of my cartoon expertise. He wants me to follow in his footsteps and get electrocuted by miniature lightning bolts. Fun, right? My mother is a meth head. I don't know when she got on the drug. Probably when I was little. To me, she’s always been this way. You have to stop and wonder, though, why she was doing lines with a toddler next to her. Then again, she probably had me somewhere else in the house. I am an only child. So nobody to play with as I grew up. Only my cartoons. I don't know when I learned to draw. I guess I’ve always been able to. Right, back to what I was doing. According to some search on google, my school used to be a major cartoon studio. They never published any of the cartoons though. Some of the hallways are just closed off by plywood. Some are still accessible through the teacher’s break room. That's what I’ll do tomorrow. Look for one of the doors. If I add some pictures of those, It’ll be an easy A. I guess today wasn’t all that bad. Until my dad burst into my room. “Hey. I’m going to the store. Want to come and see if they have a future you can get?” He laughs like he just told the funniest joke ever. My dad: professional comedian. I chose to ignore the jab and continue on with my research. “Can’t. I gotta do this for history. It’s due next week.” “Oh, so you finally got your head out of those silly, childish, character things. Good for you.” he leans down, his head next to my shoulder, and asks “What’s it about?” I stand up. “First off, my cartoons are not childish. In fact, when I become an animator, it won’t be for children. Second, what's so bad about me drawing? I like it. Isn't that what you want? For me to be happy?” Now he’s getting mad. “I want you to be happy doing a professional job, Henry. Not some hobby you should’ve grown out of by now.” “Well, I guess you’re just going to have to accept that I’m not what you want me to be.” He stiffens. Then turns and leaves the room, slamming the door as he leaves. I sigh. Why can't he understand? I don't want to have some boring desk job. I want an exciting, creative one. I can’t do this right now. I’m just going to go to sleep. . . . I wake to sunlight streaming in from my window. My alarm clock must’ve not gone off again. It’s eight fifteen. Missed the bus by an hour. Guess that means I’m walking. I change and grab my bag. On my way out the door I swing by the kitchen to get a Poptart. Mom’s there. She looks up when I enter. “Aren’t you supposed to be at school?” she asks. “I slept late.” “Do you want me to drive you?” That's new. She never asks whether or not I need a ride. Is she still high? “Are you . . . are you sober?” I ask. This is a dangerous question for anyone, really. She laughs. “Yes, don't worry. I've been trying to quit.” This is surprising. In a good way though. “You have?” “Yeah. Let me get the car keys and I’ll drive you there.” “Uh okay. Thanks, Mom.” Today has a weird start. Mom drove me to school. And we didn't hit any cars. Or get pulled over. It’s second period by the time I get there. Unlike my dad, Mom doesn't really care what I do. I’m glad she hasn’t tried to get me to do other things. As I’m walking through the halls to second, I remember that my presentation requires pictures. So, instead of going to biology, I go look for false walls. I pass the break room. Normally, only teachers can go in there. But since it’s a special occasion, I decided to treat myself. It’s a lot less nice than what I thought it was. The walls were painted a dull gray color and was cracked in some places. A microwave sat on a stool next to a vending machine off in the corner. Thankfully, there weren't any teachers there. Then again, who would want to be there? There’s a hallway that branches off into another room. A door is at the end of the hallway. As I walk down the hall, the temperature seems to be getting lower. Maybe they also have a walk in freezer? No, no they don't. It opens up to a dark room. The strange part of it is, there’s nothing in there. Just a few pedestals. But there's something on the pedestals. Pieces of paper underneath sheets of glass. Or, I should say, They’re encased in glass. I pick one up. Inside there’s a little cartoon figure. He seems to be flying in a hot air balloon. He looks like a goat with aviator sunglasses on. I look back at the pedestal. There's a plaque that reads Roy. Must be his name. I put it back and pull out my phone. I take a picture of Roy and move to the next pedestal. There I find another drawing encased in glass. The plaque says Slipind town. The drawing is of a place. A quiet street with sleepy little houses and shops lining the road. I take another picture. I do this to all of the pedestals. There’s only six, so it was over pretty fast. I was about to leave when I noticed another pedestal off in the darkest corner of the room. It didn't look very well cared for like the others. It was covered in dust and grime. I pick up the drawing-glass thing and brush some of the dust off. It is a picture of a monster so grotesque that I can hardly describe it. Imagine a demon with glowing red eyes, teeth so sharp that you’d think they spent all morning with razor wire going at them. It’s skin looks to be made of shadows.I gasp and drop it. It shattered on the ground. Cold air rushes past me. I feel an uneasy feeling in my stomach. The hairs on the back of my neck raise. I feel as though someone else is in the room, watching me. I lean down to read the plaque. Silent I don’t really want to look at the picture again. But I do, and take a photo. But no matter how many times I take one, it always looks blurry. It won’t focus. I shake my phone, hoping that’ll help it take the photo. It didn’t, and probably never will. I turn to leave the room, and stop. A silhouette of a person was standing in front of the door. Except it didn't look like a person. They were nearly seven feet tall. Kind of like the drawing of Silent. Wait . . . Uh oh. Silent seems to know that I recognize him. He takes a step forward. I take a step back. He takes another step forward. I take another step backward. I’m scared. I don't know what to do. What are you supposed to do when confronted by a cartoon demon? I reach the wall, never taking my eyes off of him. He gets closer. And closer. And closer. A strange ink like smell comes off of him. I don't like where this is headed. He’s about three feet away now. His arms are long enough to reach me. The temperature in the room has fallen dramatically. I’m going to die. I don't want to die. Then Silent speaks. I had to strain to hear him. No wonder they call him Silent. “You do not belong here.” Just five words. I don't want him to kill me. He's going to do that, isn't he? But he continues. “I will keep you safe.” What? “You’re not going to kill me?” I ask nervously. He looked puzzled. “Why would I do that?” Oh. I’ll live to see another day. “It’s just . . . I’ve never seen someone like you before.” He laughs quietly. “That is true. I’m the only Silent left. All the others have been hunted by those down below.” This is interesting. “Who?” He looks off into space, as if remembering something terrible. “They kinda look like you. But they are taller. And have small killing things that go bang.” “You mean guns?” “Yes, I believe that is what they call them.” Huh. This is something I haven’t heard about. Is there an underground army hunting down Silent?” I am definitely getting an A on this project. “What’s your name?” I ask. I think it might be Silent though. “I do not remember.” “You don't?” “I was in the glass for a long time. I don't remember much. I do remember that someone had imprisoned myself and others in the glass. I don't know how, though.” “Well, then, how about I just call you Silent?” “Okay then.” “Great. Whelp, I gotta go.” I start towards the door. “Things to do, places to see. You know the drill.” “Wait, don't step there-” The floorboards broke underneath me. I start to spiral down into a dark abyss. As I drop I could’ve sworn I saw people staring at me from ledges built into the abyss. No, that couldn’t be possible. Either way, I’m falling. I of course did the normal human reaction from falling: I screamed like a seven year old. I don't know when I hit the ground. But when I did, I immediately felt like my legs were on fire. I layed down on my back. I looked down at them. Oh, God, they are not supposed to bend that way. I look back up. I can’t see anything there. Not even the hole I fell through. Then I hear it. Footsteps. Coming this way. A shadow falls on me. A dirty looking man was standing over me. He had Darkly colored clothes and a black bandana on his forehead. He was carrying a revolver. And pointing it at me. “Please help me.” I said. I needed a hospital. Really bad. “You woke up the Silent.” he said in a gruff voice. “We eliminated the cartoonists already. How are you still alive?” He sighed “Doesn’t matter now. To me, or you.” He pulled the trigger. BiographyMy name is Payson Drescher, but I usually shorten it to Payson D. I don't like having to type/write it out all the time. And Payson D just sounds cooler. I will graduate in 2023, which means I’m a freshman right now. I like to read Horror and Mystery novels, mainly James Patterson or John Green. My inspiration usually comes from whatever’s around me.
Marisu envied humans. He envied them not because of their complicated problems, society, or even the technology he watches them use everyday. That, in fact, he really hated. The shooter games the boy of the home played were far too loud, especially at night. The only good device is their radio, which sometimes played a relaxing song or two. But no, he envied them for their relationships, both platonic, familial, or romantic. He envied them for how close they can get with one another, and how, when another human is around — a dear friend or visiting grandparent — their faces light up with a grand smile and all tension is lost from their shoulders. He envied the young boy, who was far beyond the age Marisu was forced to leave his home, but the boy was still openly welcomed by his parents. He envied how the little girl can run around with other little girls and play with their large dogs, careless and joyful, making up dramatic stories with plastic dolls bigger than he was. He envied them, because he never had that. Of course he never had that. Marisu was a Borrower, and it’s against his culture to have a close-knit family. Borrowers are not social creatures. They find an occupied home, burrow down in a small, hidden space, and come out at night for the tiny bits of food and water gracing the floors. Really, the only interaction they get was once every few years, during the mating season, when a Borrower comes out to get a mate, then goes back to one of their homes to have a child; a single child. Already, Marisu is an odd one out, as somehow, his mother and father had two children: Marisu himself, and his younger sister, Ryzuna. It was probably this relationship that caused his desire for a family, as he and Ryzuna were as close as could be. That was, until he turned ten, the age he was forced to leave for his own home, like a lion cub that outgrew his welcome in the pride. Maybe he was still a bit incensed. He never left this new home, even if it was the mating season, as he didn’t want to end up meeting any other Borrower. He didn’t want a family if that disconnection was his only fate. He preferred to wander his Borrowed home, day or night, climb onto the countertops when no one was around, and sneak single cherries or grapes from the fridge. It was much better than scavenging the toast crumbs the man of the house sometime’s left behind. Besides, that means he gets to watch the humans more, which was always a delight for his boring life. That’s not to say he didn’t have an official home, however. He just chose not to burrow in the typical small space. He managed to find a hole in the wall in the kitchen, and he decorated it with the scraps and trinkets he finds or makes, to make it more homelike for him and his rodent company. The human’s dogs didn’t like the two of them, an observation he based entirely off their occasional loud whining and huffing when they’re allowed into the kitchen. But still, the family remains unaware of their unintentional housemates. Really, they should be thankful. It’s Marisu’s bartering and generosity that keeps the neighboring ant colony out of their cupboards. It’s a simple life, but a lonely one. He’d give anything to be able to be human: 6 feet tall instead of inches, creating entire plates of seasoned food instead of leftover crumbs, and putting on pants without the constant issue of where to stick his tail. An issue he suffers with now, sitting on the tallest shelf in the young girl’s play room, pulling up his newly made pants in frustration. Rizu snorts a little laugh off to the side. “Shut up,” he mutters to the brown mouse, working to tear a slit in the fabric to slide the thin appendage through. The puff of hair at the end gets a bit ruffled, but a quick brush through fixes the problem. The mouse whips her tail in amusement, as though showing off she didn’t have this difficulty. Marisu glared at her with bright yellow eyes, which she returned with a little unbothered flick of her ear. “Mom!” the young girl called out from below, grabbing their attention as well. She was crawling through her assortment of toys, hair up in a lopsided braid that was obviously done herself. Marisu gathered his own long hair down the center of his head into his hands, pulling it into a loose ponytail and backing further into the shadows. “Have you seen my bunny?” The mother peaked in through the doorway, an almost exact replica of the child aside from the slight wrinkling by her eyes. “What bunny, sweetie?” “My Pet Shop bunny! The one with a floppy ear and shiny fur? I can’t find it!” “Did you check you room?” “Yeah.” Her eyes were starting to shimmer with tears. The mother glanced around the room, as though she’d see it magically appear, as lost toys always did for her. “I’ll help you look for it, ‘kay, hun? We’ll find it.” Marisu was briefly reminded of when Ryzuna lost the little dust bunny he’d tied up for her, and how their mother simply scolded them for getting so attached to something in the first place. Once again, he marveled at the family dynamic before him. The human daughter often reminded him of Ryzuna, not just because they looked similar, with long gold hair and a slight dust of freckles similar to his own, but because of their curiosity in the world around them. When he sees the girl admire a moth on the windowsill, he’d see Ryzuna, a large ladybug cuddled in her arms. When the girl giggled at her brother’s dorky stories, he’d remember the times he himself had made up plots to see Ryzuna smile. Rizu nudged his arm, bringing him back to the present. Shaking his head, the young Borrower ran his gloved fingers down the mouse’s face and stood up. “We should get going,” he muttered, looking away from the two females, “before the dogs find their way in here.” Rizu gave him a sad look, but followed him without question. Together, the two walked to the back edge of the shelves and to the green tack pushed into the wood. With practiced ease, the two carefully made their way down the thread tied to the tack, the Borrower helping the rodent as much as he could. Upon reaching the tan carpet once again, Rizu, as she often did after having to climb up and down his usual trails, looked ruffled as she shook herself out. He snorted a bit. “You know you don’t have to follow me up there, right?” She glared, whiskers twitching, then turned and walked towards their little crack in the wall that served as a tunnelway through the houses rooms. With a snort, he followed her. Before ducking into their pathway, a bit of color caught his eye. Confused, he turned towards the object. Shimmering under his glowing gaze, laying face down in the carpet a few inches from the green-clad Borrower, sat the orange, plastic bunny toy. Upon seeing it, he recognized it as the Pet Shop the girl’s grandmother gave her for the last holiday. It even still had a flower accessory clipped to it’s pointed ear. He stared for a moment, wondering how on earth the toy found its way behind the shelves. It probably was rolled back here the last time the girl had friends over. He turned back to the hole in the wall, deciding it wasn’t his problem. … He barely made it two steps before groaning and turning back. “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” he muttered, hefting the bobblehead toy into his arms. Rizu snickered from the hole. He ignored her. “It’s just a piece of plastic. The girl will forget about it in like, three days. Why do I bother?” He shoved the toy into his passageway, letting the mouse move it so he could slip in. “I’m so dumb.” Dragging a hand down his face, smearing dust across his cheeks, Marisu continued through the walls, following Rizu’s tail. “I should just leave it. They’ll find it eventually, right? This is a waste of time and energy, and I should be worried about my next meal, not some kid’s- ow!” He rubbed his cheek offendedly, meeting Rizu’s glare with one of his own. “What was that for?” She lowered her tail from its attack position, flicked her ear, and looked pointedly at the bunny toy. He crossed his arms. “What? Why spend this much effort on people that don’t even know I exist? I’m not getting anything for it. It’s not like the girl’s gonna thank me or something.” Her glare hardened. He held her gaze for a solid minute before, eventually, his stubbornness wore down and he sighed, slumping. “I know, I know. It’s the action, not the prize. Just… they’re so…” he fumbled for the word, “lucky, you know? And I know they don’t realize that, let alone appreciate it.” Rizu made her way back to her partner, nuzzling his face for comfort. He huffed, scratching her chin. “I can’t believe I’m being petty over a lost toy…” he grumbled, burying his face into the mouse’s scruff. Rizu squeaked in obvious agreement. “Guess it’s just how a person’s born, huh,” the Borrower added, getting a slight nod. He stared at the toy for a moment, studying the slight texture of the shiny plastic as it shimmered under his gaze. He thought of his sister, and her dust bunny. It mean so much to her, despite barely keeping up the shape of the animal it was meant to be. Sometimes they’d joke it looked more like a horse at times, but it was easily fixable with a couple threads of string. She’d been devastated to lose it. Marisu ended up sneaking out to find another ball of fluff, just so she’s smile again. He briefly wondered if she still had it. From the playroom besides them, they heard the muffled sound of the girl crying to her mother, finalizing his decision. He sighed resignedly. “Let’s get this over with. Guess I’m playing the hero for a fake rabbit.” Once again, he lifted the toy into his arms, this time hooking it’s foot onto his belt to keep it stable, and continued his trek through the dark walkway, navigating the familiar path until they reached the girl’s room. With no cracks to serve as an entryway, they had to improvise by slipping into the floor, and popping up a loose floorboard in the hallway. With no sign of dogs, Marisu snuck into the pink and green room, quickly making his way to the girl’s bedside table. He’d set the bunny upright on the floor, leaning it’s unbalanced head against the wooden table, then scampered back to where he’d come, just in time for the little girl to come walking out with her mother, dried tears on her cheeks. A couple minutes into his walk back to his makeshift home, he heard the child’s cry of delight, followed by the exasperated sigh of the mother. Rizu bumped him with her haunches. “Yeah yeah, whatever.” His lips upturned ever so slightly, tail flicking. He’d never have a family of his own, but, for now, he’d be alright with simply watching this one instead. BiographyI’ve always been enraptured by fantasy since I was in elementary. Creating a whole new world with just a few paragraphs or sketches really appealed to younger me, and that’s never changed. Worldbuilding and creature-making is, by far, my favorite part of creating a story, whether it be in writing or comics. Everything I’ve written for classes always expands until it’s long past my word limit, and most of it is just details for the world the characters reside in.
I can’t remember the exact moment I took a liking to it, but the main memory that comes to mind is the one night I had a terrible nightmare. I woke up bawling, scaring my mother awake, and, with no room for me in their room, she told me to make up a story in my head to distract my thoughts and fall back asleep. I remember specifically making up a story about a young jaguar, and sure enough, the rest of my night was peaceful. Even as a senior in high school, I still use this trick every night. At this point, my mind is filled with new universes, and I can’t wait to share them, writing or otherwise. I woke up to a slight tingling sensation all throughout my body. My skin was cold, and sharp pains crawled up my back. Realizing I had no idea where I was, I opened my eyes to reveal the interior of a half-buried plane. Shards of glass powder the the dash, and snow came in from every direction. My mind felt cloudy and was vacant of any memory of what happened before this. Outside I could hear the sounds of crunching snow, as if someone, was waiting for me, pacing back and forth. I pried myself from the leather seats and crawled through the shattered window. Looking up there was nothing but untouched snow, not a single flake was moved. I was alone here on the snow covered peak, or at least I thought. Looking back to the plane, I grew frustrated with confusion. I had no recollection of what happened, I couldn't even remember my own name. Did I fly the plane? Where was I going? Suddenly I was shoved to the ground from a large gust of cold wind. After angrily getting up, and brushing the cold snow off, my eyes caught something peculiar. Hidden behind the dense trees of the next mountain over, small puffs of smoke escaped as if to invite me, offering safety and warmth. Without looking back I began to venture from the plane, investigating my find. After walking just a few steps the wind chirped in, blowing a icy breeze at my back, trying to tell me something. Ignoring it, I continued my way toward the smoke. For every step I took, I had the strangest feeling, as if there was a presence following me. Pushing on, I reached the forest edge. It was surprisingly warmer here, it was almost magical. The farther I walk-in, the less snow there was. There was a bit of comfort here, as if the mountain was showing me bit of gratitude. And there it’s was, a small wooden cabin, with a stone cobble chimney spawning the smoke clouds I saw earlier. I ran to the door knocking on it hoping for an answer, but none came. Instead, the door slowly opened for me. With a bit of suspicion, I ventured in. There was a lady inside sitting by the fire. She stayed there, motionless, staring at the fire ignoring my presence. Awkwardly walking over I introduced myself, or at least made an attempt, “Um hello there, I um… I’m in need of shelter. My plane crashed about a mile back.” She slowly turned to face me; she seemed translucent. I could feel a cold chill up my body, the hairs of my arms stood straight, waiting at attention. She moved her hand in a ominous way, and suddenly the door was slammed shut by the wind, blowing the fire out with it. The room was dark as the woman was gone, everything felt so wrong. With a jolt, I ran to the door, shaking the handle. The door didn’t budge an inch. I looked for an escape and found a small window to the left of me. I grabbed the metal coat rack to my right and struck it, shattering it to the ground. I jumped through and made a run for the plane. The wind was blowing harder than ever, knocking over trees nearly crushing me. I cleared the trees and ran back towards the plane. Bitter wind blew at my face, swirling ice shards around me. My vision darkened, and I became frozen still. Over the howling wind I could hear the plane engine sputter to life. It came closer and closer until it faded away. The wind slowly died down. The air had become calm and quiet as I faded out. Waking up, I felt different as if I wasn’t myself. Opening my eyes I found myself in the warmth of the cabin, I was alone, sitting in the very chair the lady was sitting in. Looking at my hands, I could see the crackling fire in front of me, I too had become translucent. I have become stranded upon this mountain peak. Once more I am alone. BiographyClass of 2019
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