Fictional World

If I visited a fictional world

Where all were mad

And the walls swirled

I wouldn’t think it bad

For I would have daily chats

With the Cheshire Cat

I would go and see

Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum

And meet the Mad Hatter for a cup of tea

I would listen as they sum

Up the stories in their dreams

For nothing is truly what it seems

I would assure the White Rabbit is on the dime

I will help the Dormouse stay awake

He needs to learn to manage his time

And a lot of cups of tea that will take

I will not touch anything that says “eat me”

No matter how appealing they may be

I will teach the flowers that humans are beautiful too

I will remind the Oysters that the Walrus lies Nothing of what they already knew

Maybe they’ll see past his disguise

Hopefully Absalom doesn’t choke

On his giant cloud of smoke

I will help the Dodo realise there’s no point to run

I will convince the King to stand up to his wife

For the waves will still come

Otherwise it’ll be his neck under the knife

This world is not as you were told

To survive you must be bold

I will play kroke with the Queen

I will make sure the cards choose roses that are red

Hopefully she doesn’t make a scene

Otherwise it will be off with their heads

Run Alice run

For we’re all going mad one by one

Emma Hamaker 

Vanished – Prologue (anonymous)


The silence in the room was unbearable. I could feel the pity and grief the people in the funeral home gave me. My older brother wrapped me in his arms and held me tightly while the others tried to keep it together for me. My best friend gave me a look that read, “you know I’m here for you” The pastor’s uncomfortable knowing look gave me chills. The remembrance of my mother this day eleven years ago and my father’s funeral both on my birthday was all too much for me to handle. My mother died giving birth to me, so I only really had my father to rely on, who is now gone. “Excuse me,” a tall, middle-aged African American pastor interrupted my thoughts.He scratched his black goatee while the crowd quieted down. He continued, “I was asked to prepare a speech concerning Robert James Foster. He was not only a member of this church but a huge role model for this community and for the youth. Although I don’t know why or how, he was my fathers best friend. He always bossed my father around acting like he owned him. He took advantage of him, and now he is giving this lame-ass fake speech, he doesn’t even mean. “I remember twenty-one years ago when he first came up to me. He was in a miserable place. But once his first son was born, he turned his life around. He then became a respectable husband and father of five. He survived this long by the love from his children Robert Jr, Prince, Anthony, Damian and Delilah along with the rest of his loved ones.” I honestly couldn’t care less about what he has to say. Not only was he a terrible friend to my father, but he was a terrible person period. He continued, “even though we did not want him to, I know in my heart he was ready to go. As the pastor of Robert Foster, I am proud to say that I know he is in heaven with our Father. He looked up towards the ceiling before he said, “everyday we will think about how much we love and miss you.” The pastor wiped his runny nose and stepped away from the podium. Before he sat down he gave me that same unknowing look I cannot read.

After the service, my brothers and I held a get-together in our living room where anyone was invited. I couldn’t face my friends or family without bawling my eyes out. I just didn’t know how to control my emotions and feelings. I didn’t even really know what I was feeling. Maybe a little bit of anger, confusion, sadness. I didn’t like the way my friends look at me, like I’m some charity case. So I wouldn’t sob in front of everyone, I went up stairs and laid in my bed and just wept silently.

“Deli,” Nicholos Jones knocked on the white wooden door. He is one of my best friends along with his twin sister Katelie. When I don’t reply, he just struts in. He saw my tear-streaked face and rushed over.

“I miss him so much,” I cried into his small broad shoulders.

“I know, I know,” he kept on whispering in my ear.

Katelie walks in and sits on the other side of me.  She wraps her long arms around my shoulders. The three of us just laid down side by side. They comfort me as I wept. These dreadful seconds passed by slowly.

Someone knocked on the door, and walked right in. I felt a little insecure because I feel weak when I cry in front of people. “Ms. Delilah?” a petite woman interrupted our moment. Through my blurry eyes, I tried so hard to recognize her round face and short blonde hair. A name did not come to me.

“Yes and you are?” I wiped away the tears that were still falling from my dark eyes.

“Terri, my name is Terri. I am a social worker. First I would like to say that I am dearly sorry for your loss, but it is my job to give you a caring and loving foster family because of your parent’s absence.” Even though I have no idea why I am surprised from events in my life anymore, I still could not believe what she was saying to me without sincerity.

“She is going to live with me,” I heard my oldest brother Robert JR say. “And I do believe you shouldn’t talk to an eleven year old about this, alone.” I could tell by his arrival, he was getting a little pissed.

“I- I am s-sorry, but you are g-going to have to go to court to receive custody.” she stuttered probably because Robert made her lose focus. Ha, look at the way she is looking at him like that. She is so mesmerized.  I thought to myself and added a little chuckle. They both gave me a look that said ‘this isn’t funny.’ I ignored them because I needed a little humor in my life at that second. I could always make myself smile.

“Well, we’ll be going to court then,” Robert stated.

After she said she’ll wait for me in the car, she walked out the door. “Damn it!” Robert started to pace around the room. “I will get you back, D. I promise.”

I didn’t respond. By that time my other brothers showed up. I saw tears in Anthony’s and Damian’s eyes. I was always the one who held it together even though it should be the opposite. I packed my clothes and things I cannot live without. My heart broke just by looking at them bawling. We said our goodbyes, then I went downstairs. I realized then how many people were gathered into my living room. On my way out the door, more friends came up to me, apologizing.

“Hello, Delilah,” Pastor greeted me. Couldn’t he see that I was not in the mood to chat with an ungodly pastor.

“Pastor,” I said as I tried to rush past him.

“Revenge is awaiting because it is all your fault.” He smirked and slowly walked away from me, backwards. Soon I lost sight of him.

Ira Deorum Est

It was mid-summer when it happened, when one man realized his actions had brought on the fate of man, the apocalypse. As he stood in his palace that he had gotten from the royal prince one thought flashed across his mind. “Why does this place mean so much to me?” he thought, “What has this place done to be such a monumental figurehead in my life?” He summoned one of his servants into the room to confide in him and seek his counsel. The servant came in hurriedly so as to not anger his master. The servant was as old as he was young. He was of the age 26 fair-haired and not unhandsome for one serving the royal family under force. Yet he was easily older than the man he stood before. He may have looked young but his eyes revealed much more wisdom than one would have expected. His eyes showed the knowledge and wisdom of an old man well past the centuries as well as the cunning of a jaguar. Even with this great cunning and knowledge he is still frightened by the man he serves due to the man’s past history. He was a great general, once, however he was cruel when his king did not share the same views as the general. The general had realized that king had become soft, forgiving, weak. He also trusted the general with his life, that being his biggest mistake as king.

It was raining when the dogs had finally stopped howling in their kennels. The night air mixed with the rain made the man’s skin tingle as a drop hit the top of his head and ran down the side of his ghostly pale face. His stern face was unrevealing when some guards were escorting a few of the king’s slaves down to their quarters. One of them was a man of at least 37 him being skinny enough that his ribs shown in the faint light of the moon as the clouds started moving again. Two others were women in their early 20’s and stark naked. He watched them as they passed. One of the girls blushed as she realized he was staring at her slightly developed breasts. The other stared at him longingly as they passed and reached out for his hand as if longing for his touch. He just gazed at her unblinking as if he were looking through her. The last was a child of 7 who just cried as he passed. The man didn’t even so much as look at him as he passed, but he heard him muttering something ever so softly. “War,Death,Pestilence,Famine,War,Death,Pestilence,Famine.” He muttered. Right as he passed the man he gripped his arm tight and started screaming, “The Horsemen ride towards our light! No one will be safe! They bring with them what was destined to happen to humanity, death! Three others ride as well though! One to save us and protect us leaving us in peace! One to destroy us and lead us down a dark winding path that will obliterate us! And one to make his own choice and to bestow upon mankind a gift of either doom or peace! This can be prevented! Don’t go into that palace to take the man’s life that he entrusted to you! If you do you will break 7 seals that have been held together for more than 10 millennia and you will set humanity onto a path of destruction and only he who has caused it will be able to prevent it!” The guards grabbed the boy and pulled him off while muttering curses. They mercilessly beat him until he bled and picked him up and started dragging him off with the rest. But not before the man heard him mutter, “War, Death, Pestilence,Famine.”

—Ethan Sterling

Gamer’s Dream

I’m getting ready to go to bed. I say to myself “Tomorrow’s gonna be a better day”. Before I shut my lights out and set my alarm for the morning, my mom stops by my room and says “Sweet dreams“. “Thanks, you too” I say as I’m setting my alarm for the morning. After my mom goes to bed, being the rebel I am, I load up an old 80’s video game emulator I downloaded and start to play Pac-Man. Soon, I am asleep.

I hear my phone go off in the morning. I had the standard alarm tone for my ringer so I was up and moving as fast as I could. I hated that ringtone. I got out of bed and started my daily routine. I got dressed, ate breakfast and brushed my teeth, the usual things someone does when they wake up. My mom was already at work so I wouldn’t see her until the afternoon. I pickup my backpack and get ready to go to high school. I walk out the front door and as I walk out everything changes. All of my surroundings change to look like an old 8-bit video game. I drop my backpack in amazement. I look over at the road and I see toads hopping across, dodging cars as they go by like in Frogger. I look over to where my bus stop is and it wasn’t my bus stop anymore. Instead, I see Scorpion and Sub-Zero fighting in one of the old Mortal Kombat stages. I look up into the sky and I see a spaceship shooting at aliens that were attacking it. It reminded me of my favorite 80’s game, Space Invaders.

After I take everything in, I realize that I’m in a 80’s style, video game world. I felt unstoppable, invincible, like I could do whatever I wanted. I ran out past my house to see what else there was in this new world. I saw Bowser’s airship taking a princess to his castle in the distance. Then, I saw Q*bert hopping around on my neighbors roof, turning all of the tiles to a bright yellow.  As I was running, I saw a big brown dog running past me. I stopped to pet him. I realized that he was the dog from Duck Hunt. Suddenly, a hundred ducks flew by. Then, BANG, I saw a flash of red and orange and heard a loud gunshot. All I saw was darkness. Then two words came into my vision. The two words no gamer ever likes to see. In red, bold letters, the words “GAME OVER” were displayed. That’s when I woke up to my horrible alarm.

-Austin Abrams

Panic! At The Disco and Fall Out Boy: A story from songs

This is gospel for the fallen ones. Even when it is nine in the afternoon. They say to themselves “show me your love, show me your love before the world catches us, there’s always room for second guesses, but I don’t want to know.” They believe in casual affairs, even if it is only for the night.  A lover on one side and a sinner on the other. After the night they see things from a whole new perspective. Alls they want is to be alone together because it is irresistible.  “I’m ready to go” one women says.  A man replies “You’re such a pretty women to be running from anyone at such a time like this.”  “It’s better to burn than to to fade away, and it’s better to leave than to be replaced.” was her reply.


A song came on that meant something to her. “Favorite Record” by Fall Out Boy. She sang along “…and you can get what you want, but it’s never enough…and I’ll spin for you like your favorite records use to.”

She realized what she was running from.  She was not running from anyone, but herself.  Hearing her favorite song triggered something in her mind.  She thought she was going crazy, but then her life flashed before her eyes.  Instantaneously she decided she was not ready to go.  Instead she went to get help from Miss. Jackson.

-Neve Consylman

Prologue- Not Like me

“..And this is where you’ll be living for the next few years.” The old lady, whose name I did not know, said as she handed me a pair of pajamas that everyone else had been wearing since they moved here. She pointed down the hallway, guiding me to where the room was. We all had to share rooms with each other. Well, the younger kids did. I was a bit on the older side being at the age of 16, so I didn’t have to share a room with anyone, thankfully. I was always shy with strangers so I thought it best to have a room all to myself. I muttered a quiet ‘thank you,’ to the lady who handed me a key to my room as I took it out of her hands and slowly dragged myself down the hallway.


I unlocked the room and knocked twice out of habit. After two seconds of silence, I opened the door about an inch and peeked inside. The room was empty.


I walked inside and sat the pajamas that were handed to me earlier on the bed that was made neatly. I sat the only bag that I had brought down on the floor right next to the bed. All that was in it was a few outfits, my favorite book (which I had read many, many times), and a few miscellaneous items.


I sat on the bed and looked at the clock. From far away, it looked normal and fine.. but up close, you could see how if there was even a slight shake in the structure of the building, the clock could fall at any second and shatter from the impact. If I shuffled too fast, the legs of the bed could crack in half and break from underneath me.


To be honest, I was horrified. Not of any pain or anything breaking, just in general. Horrified of life; horrified of being in this home.


It’s already six in the evening. This is when they serve dinner. I wasn’t really hungry though; the anxiety was eating my stomach from the inside out. I laid my suitcase flat on the ground and unzipped the sides before I was able to gaze among the insides. I sighed looking at a few of the family pictures I had packed.

Continue reading


M.GY.SGT. Henry Martin

May 5th, 1945   0900 Hours

Classified West Africa


I wake up pondering what mission I might be briefed for today, My thoughts were immediately interrupted by an extraordinarily loud siren and people yelling outside my tent. I wasn’t due home for two more days and i had hoped to be gone by now ( I never stay in one area for more than a day at most and i’ve been here for a day and a half ). Unfortunately I was injured in my last mission in Germany and will be awarded a purple heart on May 25th. I would theoretically have enough time to complete a small or simple mission, Even though i’m technically not allowed to leave camp due to my injury. I really don’t see the point in keeping me back. I mean yeah i’ve got a bullet hole in my butt but that isn’t enough to keep me from being effective in a combat situation. My missions are always covert and solo. I requested a position that I would be alone to work my own way. I like the thought and feeling of being behind enemy lines by myself, No help, one target, my plan, my way, if I die its only me dieing and one elses lives are in my hands.  My last mission is classified. But a quick summary, I was ordered to kill Adolf Hitler in an underground bunker and make it look like either an accident or suicide ( That was my choice ). I clearly picked suicide, that was the best option to humiliate his Nazi force, and it did just that very well. That was only an objective to distract the world from everything. The real objective of my mission was to get information on advanced technology the axis forces were developing to win the war. Needless to say im really good at my job and got my information, tracked down where the tech was, fought my way in, got the tech, and left. Little did I know throughout the mission somewhere one of those buggers shot me and now i’m stuck unable to leave this wretched place. It is too hot, there is no cold water anywhere, there are way too many people here, I feel as though we are one giant target. I’m tagging along with the 82nd Armoured Division, British Army. So by giant target I mean a gathering of a thousands of troops, hundreds of tanks. By far the biggest division of the British Army overall making it a prime target for bombing…


Introduction: An Unexpected Independence-

With a powerful gust the smell of the gunpowder and salt watered air struck up my nose. A pool of blood on my boots from the corpse of the Spanish privateer was being washed from the heavy maelstrom bombarding us from each side of the deck. A Man-of-War or not, our ship wasn’t an invincible beauty, but a coercive glory and beaut of a warship she was. Though as the blood poured, the bullets and cannonballs flew, and the colors above tore in defiance of the wind, the men feared our home and glory, The Yellow Bow we called her, would not make port in Kingston this coming Wednesday as expected. Her ivory white sails, once clean and bold in their stainless gloss. Now torn from stray bullets and the sword strokes of the Spanish men who’d climbed the mast and slashed at the mainsails with their cutlasses and bayonets. Slippery bastards got us good. Never saw that galleon of theirs on the horizon. The storm drew the waves high and our eyes were averted. Continue reading

Ideas by Daniel Bielmyer

the year 2125.
physical contact is banned by
hug dealers hide in the alleys offering a warm embrace
couples hold hands in the dark streets
a man with no name begins a rebellion
a mask hides his face.
and the final stand begins in the old subway tunnel
surrounded he may not have an escape
he begins a quick pace. bullets fly and he ducks spins and kicks
a drawing a knife a quick flash of red.
again and again until one man remains
why won’t you die?
the man speaks in an almost robotic voice
behind this mask mr. creedy is more than flesh.
behind the mask are ideas and ideas can never die.
and the last draw come to close he stands a victor.
the government has fallen and the new people will rise.

Chapter 3: The Watcher from the Past


I followed Edward outside, deciding that spending some time with our daughter proved to be a good distraction for everyone. We played catch with Renesmee; watching her collect the plastic ball with great speed, even at her preteen age. Jasper and Alice sat in the grass playing chess, but we all knew Alice would win. She could see every move he made, and you could see the annoyance crossed on Jasper’s face by this. Rosalie argued with Emmett over mechanics as Rosalie tinkered with the engine of her Red BMW M3 Convertible. You could hear Rosalie’s usual bitchiness shine through as she threw a wrench a Emmett, followed by a hissed, fuck off. Esme and Carlisle laughed at the scene, as did everyone else. But our laughter was cut short when we all heard a commotion sounding not far from us in the surrounding woods. Continue reading

Behind the Den Door by Lizzie McIlhenney

Every family has their stories, the legends and the myths, the sad stories and the ones that everyone laughs at an annual dinner after the wine has been cracked open. But there are some that no one dares breathe a word about, and everyone wishes or is demanded that they forget. Every family has them, and they can strengthen or break the bonds between loved ones.

I’m older now, I’m a grandmother with my oldest grandchild engaged to be married this summer, but there is one memory that will forever be branded into my mind.

           My father was a World War II veteran, and my two uncles served as well. My uncle Andy survived, my uncle Thom, however, was shot down early in the war, and is honored to this day with a ribbon in my window. The war affected my father in ways that I could not possibly understand when I was a young girl in the late 40s and the early 50s. Not even the post war understood what affected and changed our soldiers, with what we now understand are extreme cases of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and a serious psychological problem. Back when the war ended, our boys were sent home and counseled to push the bad memories away, and not to talk about it to anyone, except maybe other veterans.

           The men returned home changed, not quite the same as their wives remembered from before. Each man dealt with the emotional scarring differently, ranging from looking for answers at the bottom of a whisky bottle to going insane. My father chose to completely shut his emotions out. I remember the late nights when he would sit in his chair and stare blankly into space, his eyes glazed over and wide, until I heard my mother gently pull him out of his chair and lead him to bed. I remember watching their shadows in the hall from my little twin bed, and hearing my mother whisper to my father and the shuffling of his slippers on the carpet hallway as they slowly made their way to bed.

           My father was a good man. Honest and kind, and a loving father and husband. However, there were nights when he would stay in his den, and keep the door closed, a sign that we were forbidden to enter. Sometimes we wouldn’t see him for a full day. Sometimes, when my uncle and his family would come on Sundays for dinner, after the meal, my father and my uncle would slip into the den while my mother and my aunt cleaned up and we children would play in the family room.

           Finally, one night when I was around ten years old, my curiosity got the better of me. I told my cousins I was going somewhere, probably the bathroom, and I stood and listened at the keyhole of the den door, and I got my first glimpse of my father’s experience and horrible memories.

           As I stood crouched, listening, careful of my breathing, I heard crying. A tingle ran down my spine. I had never seen or heard my father show any emotion like this, and to hear him heave for breath like so was alarming to my young ears. I strained to hear more.

           “My God, Jerry! What is it?” I heard my uncle exclaim.

           “It’s just those damn dreams again! I can’t shake the images from my mind…”

           There was silence for a moment, and I heard my uncle sigh, “I know, I know…”

           “How many years is it now? Over ten? And the memories are just as vivid as they were. The screaming rings in my ears like they did when we marched… I dreamt about Henry again last night, do you remember when I told you about him? We trained together, fought together, were captured together… Until we were a day away from O’Donnell. We were marching right next to each other, happy to be alive still, when so many were dropping around us. Then, Henry fell, and the guard who was behind us slashed his head off with a samurai before he had even completely hit the ground. I tried to stop him, but another guard bayoneted me until I was within an inch of my life. It was a miracle that I was still standing, let alone marching. But what I remember most his having to march past his dead body, and know that his family would never see him again. Sometimes, when I close my eyes, I can see the flash of the sword, hear it swishing in the air, and hear him crumple to the ground…”

           Horrified, I couldn’t listen anymore. I remember running away from the door, down the stairs, and through the kitchen doors to where my mother and my aunt were laughing and drying plates. Mother turned around and eyed me with alarm, “Are you alright, sweetie? You’re white as a sheet!”

           I blinked, and couldn’t open my mouth to reveal what I had heard, the visions in my mind playing over and over like a talkie. It took me a moment to gather my composure and smile and nod, saying that I had come in for a glass of water.


Years later, when my siblings and myself were going through his belongings, packing them up when we were moving Dad into a smaller condo when Mom died, I discovered an old journal in a box in the attic. It had fallen out of a musty old blanket that was bundled up in his trunk. Dumbstruck, I realized what this was as I flipped through the yellowed pages. It was my father’s diary that he kept during the war. I held in my hands piece of history that I never knew had existed. The last entry is what haunted me the most.

   We once studied this poem by Thomas Hardy, in school when I was young, and there is a line that has been running through my head ever since I started serving.

But ranged as infantry,

And staring face to face,

I shot at him as he at me,

And killed him in his place.

“I shot him dead because —

Because he was my foe,

Just so: my foe of course he was;

That’s clear enough; although

“He thought he’d ‘list, perhaps,

Off-hand like — just as I —

Was out of work — had sold his traps —

No other reason why.

  I didn’t understand it then, but it made sense to me as I entered the battlefield the first time. These men we’re being sent out to shoot and kill, we are no different. We’re both human, maybe we would have been friends if the circumstances were different. The man at the other side of my bullet may be a father to be, or he may have a young daughter or son at home, as I do. He could have a sweetheart or a wife at home, praying to God for his safety, as I do. And the possibility that the man or boy at the other end of my gun could be so similar to myself, hangs over me like a dark cloud as I harden my heart and pull the trigger.


           For years I would remember that night, and when I researched the details I found that my father had survived the Bataan Death March. That was the only time I had heard about my father’s experience through his own lips. I never told him what I had overheard, but when I was nearly thirty and pregnant with my first child, I asked my father if he had marched in Bataan. He was quiet, until he swallowed and confirmed that he was, not asking how I knew. After a long period of silence, he lifted himself out of his chair and lifted the back of his shirt, where I could see several nasty scars where the Japanese soldiers had bayoneted him. After a moment, he pulled his shirt back down and lowered back into his rocker. Then he changes the subject to my unborn baby, asking if we had any names in mind for the child.

           I smiled to myself and replied, “Henry.”

Watcher from the Past: chapter 2

Everyone looked at each other in confusion. Our enhanced sense of sight and smell would surely spot someone following us, watching us. I gazed out in the green, mossy forest trying to detect any evidence of another being hidden amongst the tall trees and overgrown grass, but I could see nothing, just the dawn breaking through the peaks of the trees, casting an eerie glow of sparkles reflecting off of my skin. I looked back to Carlisle, his expression of absolute misperception made my nerves grow tenfold. The head of the Cullen Clan was always calm and collected, even during war and hardship.

“No, it’s impossible for someone to be watching us. We would’ve known, Carlisle. Alice could have seen him coming. Edward could read his thoughts. I don’t believe it.” I said stubbornly, not truly understanding what was happening. This is the most confusing, and admittedly horrifying, thing that has happened to my family. Our family’s abilities, combined, made up an almost impenetrable force, and knowing that someone could possibly be watching us made my ice cold skin tingle in fear. I once believed that the fairy tales were wrong, but ………My thoughts were broken when Edward’s voice sounded like an echo in my ears.

“Why would someone want to watch us Carlisle?” Edward asked skeptically; trying to make sense of this.

“I don’t know, it could be the Volturi, but we would have known, it could be…No, I haven’t seen him in centuries.” Carlisle’s brow furrowed.

“Who is Vincent?” Edward asked.

“He is an old acquaintance of mine during the time I spent in Volterra, about 250 years ago. Eleazar introduced us.”

“No offense Carlisle, but what does this man have anything to do with the books? All of these books came directly from my thoughts, and I thought no one could read my mind, unless I let my shield down.” I started, shooting an obvious look to Edward. He still couldn’t read my mind, my shield made sure of that.

“Well, Vincent is a special exception to our kind; he has very strong gifts that could probably bring forth the extinction of vampires.” Carlisle explained while I listened in awe.

“What’s his gift?” Jasper asked speculatively; plans and strategies probably already forming in his war strengthened mind.

“Gifts, Jasper,” He corrected. “He has the gifts of pain illusion, sense deprivation, telepathy, shield penetration, precognition, and retro cognitive projection. And those are just some of the gifts I am aware of. Eleazar warned me of Vincent although I knew him to be a kindred spirit, knowing the full extent of his power, but not revealing it all to me.” Carlisle clarified.

“That’s sick!” Emmett proved my theory of our coven being incredibly powerful wrong. And now, brings me to an even harsher reality; a single vampire stronger than an entire coven of vampires.

“Yes, Emmett, it is “sick”, but puts our family at a great disadvantage. We could be destroyed.” He said gravely.

“Wait, Carlisle, how come you never told us about him?” Alice asked.

“He has been making himself invisible for centuries due to a huge conflict with the Volturi during the Plague of the Immortal Children that sent him into hiding. So When he encounters humans or vampires, he shadows that memory so that Aro does not see him through their memories,” which is the reason why I did not tell you about him, but since the Volturi is not an issue right now, it is safe for me to tell you.

“What was the conflict?” I asked Carlisle.

“I am not sure. Every time I even attempted a conversation with him about his past in detail, he clamped up and got bothered by it.” he said.

Carlisle sighed deeply, showing us that we weren’t going to hear anything else on this mysterious vampire. And maybe it was a good thing, considering that everyone looked like a nervous wreck, even Rosalie.

I was met with silence as everyone had confused and worried expressions on their faces. I’m afraid that this man could hurt us, even after Carlisle had assured us of his ‘friendliness.’ A man with infinite power, immortality, and time sounded like a ticking time bomb to me. It was a matter of time before he would reveal himself to us; a matter of time before the destruction of the Cullen Coven would just be a whisper of history. History written in the pages of a book taken from the almost impassable depths of my mind: Bella Swan.

Changing My Life for the Worse

I walked into the small colorful office and sat down, smoothing my skirt. He looked up from his papers and I saw his eyes rake over me. He cleared his throat and put his papers down, one hand going to fix his already perfect tie.

“So you’re Miss Jones?” He said, his voice husky and deep. One of his hands went through his mess of curls on his head, deep brown curls that seemed like they went on forever. I realized I was staring so I quickly look down and back up again to answer him.

“Yes sir, Marie Jones.” I fixed my hair and readjusted myself on the uncomfortable chair.

“Well Miss Jones, I must say I’m surprised to see somebody like you here. I have read over all of your skills and have decided that you are somebody that I would very much like to have here in our… presence. I know that you will make good use to us. You will start now.”

He stood up and started walking over to me and the next thing I knew his fist came into contact to my face and everything went black. I woke up what I think was hours later and opened my eyes to a dark room only lit up by a small light bulb hanging by a string. I tried to move my arms and realized my body was tied to a chair with rope. I struggled, trying to get out but it was no use. Whoever tied me up knew what they were doing.

I looked up once more and saw the same man I was just in the office with. His sleeves were rolled up and his tie was loose around his neck. He walked up to me and put his hand on my face, making me flinch away in pain from where he hit me.

“I got you good. Such a shame. You’re a nice one.” His hand was still on my face, rubbing my cheek. I put my head down, hating what he was doing. I heard him back away, that making my head go up once more.

“Are you ready for this?” He asked. He didn’t say what I was ready for but I already knew. I wanted to do this. I nodded my head with a strong look on my face to show him I was fearless. He nodded back at me and then walked towards me once again, this time going to the back of me. I heard a sound of a knife come out and the next thing I knew the ropes were falling off of me and I was free. I stood up, rubbing my arms glad that they were finally off of me.

I looked back over to him, waiting to do what I was told. He grabbed something out of his waistband and handed it to me. He looked back up to me nodding to a door in the corner of the room. I put what his gave to me in my hand, the silver gleaming weapon, and made my way to the door. This was my new life and I was ready for it.

—Alex Drake

Watcher From the Past: Chapter 1

I wiped the remaining blood off of my hands in the small creek before joining Edward back in our walk to the house. We’d been hunting for a while, but Edward picked up Alice’s thoughts off unease and rallied us in. It had only taken us a minute or so before we caught up with the rest of our family. Everyone was silent as we approached the house.

Right away I noticed a brown package on the door step. The packaging was crinkled; like it was delivered a lengthy journey, but the weird thing about it was that I couldn’t catch the scent of it. It was like there was no trace of anyone on it; no human, vampire, or even werewolf scent lingering on it. I reached for the package cautiously, as if it could really hurt me, a vampire with impenetrable skin. The package felt heavy in my hands, and written lavishly on the front was Isabella Marie Swan-Cullen. Confused on the proper title, and no return address, I gently ripped open the cover on the delivery.

“Love, what’s that?” Edward asked.

“I don’t know but it says my name on it.” I shrugged and continued opening it up.

Four books placed delicately in soft paper tissue lay inside. Each one with a title inscribed into the black covers. They read: Twilight, New Moon, Eclipse, Breaking Dawn.

“What stupid titles!” Emmett declared. I didn’t realize I read the titles out loud, but then again we do have vampire hearing.

“That’s what I saw in my vision! I couldn’t see who, or what, delivered them, but I could see a package being placed on the steps,” Alice exclaimed.

“Well that’s unusual even for your unstable visions Alice,” Carlisle said, his brows furrowed in confusion.

“Should I read the first one, Carlisle?” I asked, almost reluctantly.

“I don’t see why not.” He said. I opened the one that read Twilight, assuming it was the first one. A small piece of paper tumbled out onto the ground as I opened it.

“What does it say, Love?” Edward said.

“Yeah mom, what does it say?” Renesmee asked.

“It says: Read all the books out loud to your family.”

“Well read it Bella,” Alice said.

I opened up to the preface and read

“I’d never given much thought to how I would die… though I’d had reason enough in the last few months…but even if I had, I would not have imagined it like this.I stared without breathing across the long room, into the dark eyes of the hunter, and he looked pleasantly back at me.Surely it was a good way to die, in the place of someone else, someone I loved. Noble, even. That ought to count for something. I knew that if I’d never gone to Forks, I wouldn’t be facing death now. But, terrified as I was, I couldn’t bring myself to regret the decision. When life offers you a dream so far beyond any of your expectations, it’s not reasonable to grieve when it comes to an end.The hunter smiled in a friendly way as he sauntered forward to kill me. And that’s when I dropped the book.

“Oh my god, this is exactly what I was thinking right before James attacked me!” I yelped.

“Someone has been watching you,” Alice said.

“No, someone’s been watching all of us,” Carlisle said.

Left Alive (Chapter 3) – By: Bradley Schlinkman *Warning! Minor Gore Scene!*

Early morning sunlight filtered in passed the boarded windows of the room. The young, almond haired, boy laid sprawled over the bed, his limbs splayed about as if he had fallen a great height, only to land softly upon the bed. A single beam of sunlight traveled across the tan carpeted floor, trailing over the white sheets, and coming to a stop over the boy’s gently closed eyes. He scowled in his unconscious state and attempted to roll over to his right to escape the evil sunlight that dared to interrupt his peaceful sleep. Only, he managed to roll into a larger and brighter beam of sunlight that came through a hole in the roof. It forced him awake in the most unpleasant way that only the sun can give.

With an annoyed groan, he sat up and rubbed his tired eyes. As he swung his legs over the side of the bed and into the boots waiting below, the thoughts from yesterday gently forced their way to the forefront of his sleep addled mind.

‘I’m leaving today,’ he thought to himself with a frown as he laced up his boots.

He knew he had to leave, and he came to decision that he will leave last night, but the comfort of his base called for him, and he still wasn’t sure if his mother was truly gone from the city. He stood, his feet now secured and comfortable in his worn tan hiking boots. He retightened his black leather belt as he slowly took stock on what he would leave and take.

As he began to walk from the room, a thought made itself known to him. If he did end up having to survive in the wilderness that surrounded Glendale, then he will need a good knife. He turned back around, and walked back the side of the bed. Hidden underneath his deflated pillow was a simple, but reliable, five inch survival knife. The blade had dulled slightly from use, but still had the edge to cut through flesh with relative ease. The hilt was hard and black, made from a hardened plastic like material that was hollowed out inside. The hilt ended with a ball compass that still worked, so long as you don’t tilt it, and twisted off to reveal the space inside. Inside was a small bundle of emergency matches, three feet worth of rolled twine, and a slightly used small flint.

He slid the blade into its sheath he kept hidden under the bed. Clipping it to his belt amongst the other belt attachments, he looked around the room for anything else he could use. Spotting and grabbing nothing other than the sheet from the bed, he climbed back downstairs into the kitchen.

As he came into the kitchen, he removed a nearby vent cover revealing a folded up large black back pack. Walking to his pile of edibles, he contemplated what he should take. In the end, he just grabbed a weeks worth of his dried meats and fruits, along with three canned soups. Leaving the pack where it lied on the floor, he marched over to a cabinet partially hidden by the bathtub-turned-cooking-fire. Inside was his emergency water supply. A total of fifteen plastic bottles of water, two gallon jugs, and three filled metal canteens sat proudly in the darkness of the cabinet. He felt pride blossom in his chest at the sight, he worked hard to transfer and purify that water to be fit for drinking. It took him some time and a good bit of his patience to gather it, and he was proud of it. However, that pride died slightly when he had a realization. He couldn’t take much of it with him. Too much water would slow him down and waste a good bit of it in the effort. With a sight, he grabbed four of the filled water bottles and the three canteens.

He set them next to the slowly filling backpack, only placing the water bottles inside and a single canteen, leaving the rest sitting out for use. He spotted his trusty bandaged pipe still leaning against the chair from last night. He walked over and picked it up, inspecting it for any damage. Softly dulled gray metal winked up at him, sending him back to the day he found it.




‘Shit, shit, shit, shit!’ a fifteen year old almond haired boy panickly thought as he ran across broken streets.

Behind him, the sounds of heavy feet falling unsteadily against the asphalt, crunching it underfoot, and empty moans sent shivers of fear and panic down his spine. The sick smell of rot was constant in the air behind him. His heart beating hard and fast in his chest, like an orchestra of drums, and his eyes were wide and searching for any escape from his chaser.

As he turned a corner into a nearby alleyway, he stumbled slightly over a rock. As his heart froze at the sudden shock, and he instinctively stumbled to try and regain his footing, he tripped over an overturned trash can. The crashing sound echoed out of the alleyway and into the streets. He rolled, hitting his head painfully against the rough asphalt. Dazed and confused, he sat up holding his head with one hand, his eyes crossed.

He glanced upward, eyes trying painfully focus on the black shape stumbling toward him. He blinked once, twice, and finally on his third time his vision cleared, revealing his horrifying pursuer.

A ruined, ripped, and bloodstained tan jacket hung off an unhealthy thin frame. What was once a pair of blue skinny jeans now hung loosely and in pieces from it’s bonelike unsteady legs. It’s incredibly pale skin hung off it’s flesh, revealing strangely brown muscle and sinew beneath. Unnaturally large, blind white eyes seemingly stared into his frightened dark green ones. It’s ears and nose were gone, in it’s place existed rotted dark holes into it’s skull. It’s lips were also gone, revealing a gruesome smile full of missing teeth and rotting gums. It’s sharply thorned tongue darted excited in it’s maw, cutting into the gums but drawing no blood.

Frightened and panicked further by the steadily advancing horrifying husk of a human body, the boy’s eyes darted about the alleyway in search of a weapon. Spotting something shining from a bin, he lunged forward, plunging his cut and dirty hand into a nearby overturned bin. Inside, his searching fingers found cold, hard metal. Gipping it hard, he ripped it out from it’s place in the bin, revealing his chosen weapon.

A simple foot and a half long steel pipe was gripped in his tight fist. The end tapered out into an elbow that once served the purpose for connecting to other pipes. Small rust spots speckled across the pipe, giving it a strange texture. This was his weapon, no longer a peaceful manufactured pipe designed for directing liquids in the dark, but now a tool of blunt death in this teenager’s unbloodied hands.

He allowed the momentum of his swing to take him, allowing himself to stand and pivot on his heel. The cold steel pipe whistled through the rotting air of the alley, only to suddenly stop with a loud crack and a sickening crunch of the nearing creature’s skull. The boy’s arm shook, his hands and joints of his arm hurt from the sudden and unexpected stop. He heard the disgusting crunch in front of him, and felt the sudden weight now weighing down on his defiantly raised arms. He refused though, to open his eyes, afraid of the possible scene before him.

After a few long seconds of nothing happening, and his arm growing tired, he cracked an eye open. The shocking sight before him caused both his eyes to suddenly snap open, staring at the disgusting scene before him. The creature, once an horrifying effigy of his approaching death, now hung limp from the elbowed end of the pipe. The pipe itself buried deep into the left side of it’s skull, having forced it’s way a quarter deep into it’s head, crushing it’s horrifying face. Dark and thick blood oozed slowly from the gaping wound now made in it’s skull. The blood slid slowly down the pipe like molasses toward his still tightly gripping hands.

Quickly, he dropped the pipe, allowing his sore arms to swing worthlessly to his sides. His hands shook at their current resting spots, eyes wide and staring at the dropping body of the now dead creature. With a light thud, it’s head impacted with the asphalt, forcing the pipe deeper into it’s already destroyed skull

‘I-I killed it…’ he slowly thought, ‘ I killed it without even a thought!’

His breathing picked up, hyperventilating in the mixture of panic and shock. His heart raced even faster, trying to keep up with the rapid influx of oxygen now being introduced into his body.

‘That thing was once a human! It had feelings, a family, it had a life! I took away any chance for for it to return to his life! What have I done!?’

He fell to his knees before the body of the creature. His hands gripped at his hair, pulling at it as his eyes stared unseeingly at the body.

‘It was chasing me… I had to do it! If it had caught me… it would’ve eaten me alive… I had no choice! I had to kill it!’

He stopped pulling at his hair, arms falling limply to his sides again. His eyes refocused, this time of the pipe sticking out from it’s skull. Shaking, he raised his arm, and gripped the pipe, painting his palm with it’s thick blood.

“Besides,” he mumbled, “It was dead anyway.” with his piece said, and his raging mind mostly calmed, he ripped the pipe from it’s skull. It’s crushed head was lifted a few inches from the ground, only to thump against the asphalt when the pipe was suddenly removed with a sickening crunch.

A slowly stood on unsteady and shaking feet, staring down at the bloodied pipe gripped tight in his hand. His eyes followed a slow moving droplet as it slid down the pipe and splash against the asphalt. He quickly looked away and swung the pipe to his side, an arch of dark blood tracing its path. He had heard it, the telltale sound of an approaching horde. The sounds of many unsteady feet crunching against broken asphalt ground, and the nightmare orchestra of uncountable moaning voices ringing out into the alleyway.

Glancing one last time at the fallen body, he took off down the alleyway, and away from the approaching hell.


Flashback End


He shook himself from his memories, he really had to stop doing that. Setting the pipe down on the nearby countertop, he did one last scan of the house. He had all he needed. Chancing a glance past a crack between the planks boarding up the windows, he saw it was nearing noon. He’d need to get moving soon if he was going to leave the city before nightfall.

Now, he’s left with a choice. He could either leave now with his already packed items, and leave the city before nightfall, or take the time to bury the leftover supplies and losing precious daylight. With a small disappointed sigh, he came to his decision.

Slinging the black backpack over his shoulders, he frowned at the sudden weight. It was a little more than he’d expected. Shrugging, he slung the two canteens around his neck, placing them so he could close his arm and cut off the noise from them if he had to. Taking a finale look around the room to be sure he had absolutely everything, he grabbed his pipe and headed to the door.

This was going to be a long journey.


Darkness in the Game: Electric Shock – Chapter 3: Power Outage

Brent and Issac had played for what seemed like hours to them. Brent had never played PlayStation before, but he tried to play like he had. He felt that Issac may have known, but Issac’s eyes were glued to the t.v. screen. Brent felt uneasy. He remembered what had happened what he thought was a week ago. One week ago, his Xbox had come to life and tried to take over the world. Luckily, Brent, Kris, Brooke and his other friend he still couldn’t remember the name of, destroyed it before it could.

He had a feeling something terrible was about to happen, but wasn’t sure if he was going insane or if it was actually true. He had been playing for awhile until his stomach growled. He couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten. He asked Issac, “do you mind if I go grab a quick snack from the kitchen?”

Issac responded. “Not at all. Help yourself to anything you want down there.”

Brent dropped his controller and walked downstairs to the kitchen. He looked in a couple cupboards until he found a box chocolate chip cookies. His stomach growled louder. His mouth started to water from the scent of the cookies. He opened the box and shoveled the cookies into his mouth. He couldn’t think of a time he had tasted something so good.

As Brent continued to eat a few more cookies, the lights in the kitchen started to flicker. “oh, no,” Brent said, with a mouth full of cookies. Then, the thing Brent didn’t want to happen occured. The power went out. He heard Issac from his bedroom.

“Brent!” Issac yelled out to him. “Come up here!”

Brent didn’t like the sound of that. He went back upstairs, carrying the box of cookies with him. “What?” Brent asked.

Issac pointed to the t.v. with a shaking finger. “Look!” he said, terrified.

Brent turned to where Issac was pointing. It was the PlayStation. “Not again…” Brent mumbled to himself. He watched as the PlayStation fell from the table it had sat on. Then it started talking, which wasn’t a shock to Brent but to Issac, it was a totally new and weird experience.

Issac turned pale. Brent watched Issac’s face lose its color as he fell to the floor. “Great. He passed out,” Brent said to himself. He returned his attention to the PlayStation. “So… you’re going to try to take over the world, too?”

The PlayStation told Brent, “correct. I will be unstoppable!”

Brent’s face was blank. “That’s what the Xbox said” he said.

“Really… the Xbox? Please, the Xbox is a worthless piece of technology if you ask me. Plus, it has that stupid Xbox Live… what’s the point in that anyway?” the PlayStation said, coldly.

“It’s really fun,” Brent said.

“Quiet!” the PlayStation screamed.

Brent became quiet.

“So… you stopped the Xbox?” the PlayStation asked.

“Well, it wasn’t just me… my friends helped,” Brent said.

“Either way, you’ve proven that the Xbox was weak, but I am much wiser than the Xbox,” the PlayStation said.

“I highly doubt it,” Brent said, matter-of-factly.

“We shall wait and see…” the PlayStation trailed off. The PlayStation vanished immediately. The lights returned along with the T.V. screen showing a black picture. The same picture Brent’s T.V. screen had shown when his Xbox left.

Brent returned his attention to Issac. “Issac, get up. Wake up, Issac!”

Issac started to regain consciousness. “Huh… what? What happened?” Issac asked, groggily.

“Just calm down and don’t freak out when I tell you this, but your PlayStation came to life and is planning to take over the world,” Brent told Issac.

“Really?” Issac was silent for a few seconds. Then he exclaimed, “awesome!”

Brent thought to himself, “here we go again….”

“I guess this means we can’t play video games anymore,” Issac said, disappointedly.

“For now.. but the only thing we can do now is destroy your PlayStation,” Brent said.

“What?! No, that’s the only system I’ve played ever since I was six years old!” Issac screamed. “What’s wrong with you?”

Brent thought to himself again. “Well, there’s a lot of things wrong with me, but this isn’t something I take lightly anymore.”

“What do you mean?” Issac asked. Brent realized he hadn’t said anything about the Xbox to Issac. “What do you mean you don’t take this lightly?”

Brent hesitated. “Uh… I…” he trailed off. “I haven’t been completely honest with you. This has happened to me before, except it was with my Xbox. Now it’s happening again, but with your PlayStation.”

Issac seemed confused. “Okay? I don’t really understand this so…”

Brent explained. “When my Xbox came to life, it planned to rule the world like your PlayStation is now. The only way me and my friends could stop it was by destroying it and its minions.”

“Minions?” Issac asked.

“Oh, yeah. There may be some minions that your PlayStation might create just so that it ensures itself about ruling the world. It didn’t work so well with the Xbox,” Brent said.

“Alright, I’m almost there…” Issac said.

“So… the only way for your PlayStation to not rule the world is if we can destroy it,” Brent said. “Can you do this… please?” Brent held out his hand.

Issac grabbed Brent’s hand and shook it. “Sure, I can try,” Issac said, uneasily.

“Thanks, Issac, but honestly I don’t think we can do this on our own. Do you happen to know someone who may be able to help us?” Brent asked.

Issac nodded. “Yeah, my friend Xavier. He’s not a big fan when it comes to PlayStation, he’s more of an Xbox guy himself. I’m sure he’ll be excited about destroying a PlayStation!” Issac said.

“Great, do you think we could get him now?” Brent asked.

“Of course,” Issac said. “Let’s go!”

Darkness in the Game: Electric Shock – Chapter 2: Temporary Guest

Issac stepped back. He wondered if he should see if this person was okay. He cautiously stepped towards the body. “Um… hello? Are you alright?” Issac asked the body.

The body was not responding. Issac started to walk away. “W-w-wait. Who… are… you?” the body mumbled.

Issac turned around. “Excuse me?” he asked.

The body repeated, “who are you?”

Issac responded, “My name’s Issac.” He hesitated before continuing. “What’s yours?” The body struggled to stand up. Issac hurried over to help. “Can you stand okay?”

The body nodded. “Yeah.” The body put his hand against his head. “By the way… I’m Brent. Nice to meet you.”

“Hi, Brent,” Issac greeted. He gazed towards the red shape. “By any chance, do you know what this is?” he asked Brent, pointing towards the red shape.

Brent nodded. “Yeah, I do. Sadly. It’s a vortex. It brought me here… I think.”

Issac became concerned. “You don’t remember?”

“Not really. I just know who I am. And my friends… Kris, Brooke, and… what’s his name?” Brent said, pondering the forgotten name of his third friend.

“Well, you look pretty banged up. Let me take you to my place. I’m sure my parents won’t mind having you until you remember where you came from,” Issac said.

“Are you sure? I don’t won’t to be a bother…” Brent said, unsurely.

“Of course!” Issac said. “Come on.” He draped one of Brent’s arms over one of his shoulders. “It’s not far. It’s only a few yards away.” Issac and Brent eventually arrived to Issac’s house. Issac pulled out the key and unlocked the door. He helped Brent into the living room and layed him on the couch. He walked over to the kitchen and closed the front door. Issac glanced upwards to the clock. “It’s 6:00 a.m. now. My parents are probably up now. I’ll tell them what happened.”

Issac climbed the staircase and returned to the living room in a few minutes with what Brent guessed were Issac’s parents. “Brent, these are my parents,” Issac said, motioning his parents.

“Hi,” Brent said, politely.

“Hello. I’m Melissa… Issac’s mother,” Melissa said. She shook Brent’s hand.

Issac’s father stepped forward. “Hi. I’m Randy… Issac’s father.” He shook Brent’s hand as well.

Melissa noticed Brent’s right arm. “Oh, my! You’re bleeding. I’ll get you a wet paper towel to clean that up.”

Brent tried to object but figured it was rude considering that he was their guest.

Melissa returned moments later and handed Brent a wet paper towel. “Here you go, Brent,” she said.

“Thank you,” Brent said. He lightly dabbed the paper towel on the blood that was running down his arm. Every now and then he grimaced from the pain of the paper towel and his blood making contact.

“Brent…” Randy was speaking now. “Just know that you’re welcome to stay as long as you want. If you need anything, we’ll get it for you. It’s no problem.”

Brent nodded his thanks. Issac’s parents smiled and returned upstairs. Issac sat down next to Brent on the couch. “Hey, would you like to play video games?”

Something clicked in Brent’s mind. Video games… He thought hard to himself. He had remembered something. An Xbox flashed through his mind. “You don’t have an Xbox, do you?” he asked.

Issac shook his head. “No, I have a PlayStation. Why?” Issac asked, curiously.

“Oh… I just don’t like playing Xbox, that’s all,” Brent lied.

“Oh, okay. Let’s go. The PlayStation is in my room,” Issac said, getting off of the couch. Brent got up carefully from the couch and walked over to the kitchen and threw the wet paper towel, now colored lightly with blood, into the trash can.

“Lead the way,” Brent said. He followed Issac up the stairs and enterd his bedroom.

“Um… what would you like to play?” Issac asked.

Brent shrugged. “Play whatever you like.”

Issac looked at two games and moments later placed one back in a box filled with various games. “I hope you’re good. My friend has never beaten me yet.”

Brent thought to himself again. Friend. He wished he could remember what his one friend’s name was. He set the thought aside and grabbed a controller from a table sitting beside Issac’s bed.

“So, Brent… about the, uh, vortex… what’s the story behind that?” Issac asked.

Brent turned to Issac and said, “it’s a long story.” He then thought of something that he never thought would happen that involved him and Issac. He decided not to tell Issac just yet. He figured he would tell him when the time was right.

Darkness in the Game: Electric Shock – Chapter 1: The Body

Issac awoke from his sleep and turned to his alarm clock. It was 4:00 a.m. Issac got out of his bed and put on his Adidas sneakers. He walked downstairs and picked up the key on the counter and unlocked the front door. He shoved the key in his pocket and left the house.

Issac walked through the thick fog as it rolled over his development. There was a light wind coursing through his hair. He swept his hand through his blond hair then shoved his hands into his pockets. Issac looked around as he walked. Things in the city were very different from when he used to live in the countyside of the town. Issac and his family had moved six weeks ago. His parents had said something about starting out fresh… why? Issac didn’t need a fresh start. He wanted to move back to his old home in the countryside.

Issac wasn’t popular. He was an A+ student his whole life and the jocks obviously didn’t care about that. Back at his old school his friends didn’t care about grades, they liked Issac for himself. He spoke to himself. “It doesn’t matter what they think.” At his new school Issac only had one friend. His name was Xavier. Ever since his first day at his new school, Lonsion High School, Xavier had been the only kid in school who hadn’t teased him or pushed him around.

Issac continued to walk around. He squinted through the fog. He saw a blurry, red shape that was hard to make out from the fog. He walked towards it. He gazed up to the red shape and felt pressure of wind to start blowing around him. “What is this?” Issac asked himself. With not wanting to find out, Issac ran back to his house. He opened the door and pulled the key out of his pocket. He locked the door and ran up the staircase and covered his body with blankets. He stared at his alarm clock. “It’s only been five minutes?” he asked himself, surprisingly. He drifted off into his sleep again. In was silent. His eyes closed closer… and closer… and closer….

Issac woke up startled. It was only a dream, and a strange one at that. He rubbed his eyes and put on his sneakers like he had in his dream. He walked downstairs and grabbed the keys off of the counter. No one was awake. He glanced at the clock in the kitchen. It showed that it was 5:30 a.m. He quickly unlocked the door and left. He shut the door and locked then shoved the key in his pocket. He walked slowly for a few feet until he became bored. He retrieved the keys from his pocket and started to swing them around.

He arrived at the red shape that was in his dream. “What’s going on?” he asked himself.

He approached the red shape and gazed up at it. The wind started to blow. He let his hair blow around furiously. He continued to stare at the red shape. He became calm until he heard something.

A maniacal laugh came from the red shape. Issac jumped and dropped the keys and ran to his house. He pulled at the door handle. It was locked. He reached into his pocket for the key, but his pocket was empty. “Darn it!” Issac said. He quickly ran back to where the red shape was. He searched for the key, but he had no luck. He was locked out of his own house and there was nothing he could do about it.

The red shape surged with electricity. Issac took a few steps back. A strong wind was released from the red shape and threw Issac into the air. He landed roughly on the cement and looked at his leg. A piercing pain ran through his leg as a little bit of blood trickled out. “Ow,” Issac grumbled to himself. He picked himself up from the ground and wiped off his pants. He looked around for the key again. He noticed something shimmer on the ground. It was the key.

He walked over to it and picked up the key then noticed something laying next to the key along with it. He glanced up to it and saw something laying motionless on the cement. It was a body….

Lockheart Chronicles by Jenna Brooks

Chapter One

London 1837

Snow flittered down from the silver clouds and dusted the cobblestone streets. Smoke plumed out of factory chimneys and immense cogs as tall as twenty men cranked in tandem; powering machines the size of titans. No workers manned them though. The factories were empty, yet their machines still spit fire and ash into the sky.

Clack, clack, clack. A sound echoed through the hauntingly empty streets. Clack, clack, clack. The sound came again, but this time closer. A figure rounded a corner into the open square. It was a man clad in a raven black, three piece suite. He had a cane that was clearly used for decoration than assistance, but it did prove to be the source of the noise. He came close enough for his narrow jaw to be seen and it was seen that white feathers fanned out around his feet. He knelt down and his top hat shrouded from his eyes to the bridge of his nose. All that could be seen was his burning, fire colored eyes that had pupils resembling starbursts. A golden chain hung around the man’s neck and a jewel dangled at its end. Upon closer inspection the jewel was a glistening red diamond; its shape was carved into a royal lion grasping a human heart in one paw and a key in the other. His lips parted and he spoke with eccentricity,

    “These streets are filled to the brim with scrapped projects as is. You’re going to be the one that can be salvaged and made into something even greater than these machines.” He said with a gesture of his hand. “Now, wake up!”

Ryder bolted upright in her cot. A shiver ran through her as snowflakes stung at her exposed neck. She wiped away the moisture and hand took its place. Ryder jumped out of her cot and drew her makeshift dagger. A familiar lighthearted chuckle made her muscles relax and caused her to throw her head back with a sigh of relief and slight anger.

    “Well good morning siren sleeper. You’re lucky it was me that woke you and not one of the guards with all the noise you were making.” Dulicus said playfully. Ryder sheathed her dagger back in her cord belt and tossed her ragged nightshirt off. She heard a giggle escape Dolicus’s mouth and she turned sharply toward him.

    “And just what is so funny?” Ryder snapped. The skinny boy smiled wickedly and poked at Ryder’s developing chest. “Looks like you itched your mosquito bites too much Ryder deary.” Ryder’s mouth dropped open as he curled over into laughter. Enraged she kicked him off the edge of their shabby hut into a heap of snow. She shrugged on her thicker wool shirt as Dulicus tumbled out of the snow.

     “Done making snow angels already funny boy?”

      “Shut it, Ryder. That wasn’t funny or nice of you to do. You know my clothes don’t handle snow well like yours.”

       “Well maybe if someone had made their clothes out of wool..” He cut her off,

        “Oh, you mean the last scrap of wool I gave up for you?” She stayed silent as he scowled at her. Ryder turned her gaze towards her feet to hide her shame. It was true. Dulicus managed to steal high priced wool from one of the higher end boutiques so they could make winter clothes, but he had only managed to get enough to make two pairs of pants and one shirt. They had argued about it for hours but Ryder finally gave in and took the last scrap. What he didn’t know is that she had made it a size that they could both fit, or at least till she fully developed. The two were close in that sense. Even though they were not blood they found comfort and family in one another.

They were both at least 12; orphaned and left to the streets. They had met on a calm summer’s day three years back. Ryder had been escaping the guards after stealing a cooked turkey leg from a local meat cart, and just as she veered into an alleyway she plowed right into Dulicus. They toppled over into pile of wilted flowers and that’s when Ryder had stumbled upon Dulicus’s little shack.

He had built it by himself out of driftwood that washed up at the small beach by the docks and fastened it together with scrapped ropes and nails that crewmen tossed overboard. For such a young boy he was smart enough to nestle the makeshift home in between two connected townhouses whose ends perturded out so far as to almost touch the stone wall, which mainly kept the drunken homeless from falling into the bay, and as they righted themselves Ryder saw that she hadn’t run into just any normal boy. The boy that stood before her had skin that glistened like the gold coins that they used as currency, his eyes were resembled yellow opal and his hair was silvery white.

     “Now look what you did, you ninny!” He shrieked. “That was six gold that I earned fair and square, and now it’s lost in these blasted flowers!” Ryder remember how they knelt and dug in those flowers for almost two hours. She felt like a normal kid for once. A normal child that had a simple life and she wasn’t some poor girl who had no parents and didn’t have horns sprouting from the top of her head, or perform acts, only to be labeled as tricks, with a wave of her hand.

A hand tilted her chin back up and she met the softened eyes of Dulicus. He smiled warmly and pulled her into his arms. He whispered an I’m sorry and squeezed her tight against him.

      “Hey,” she said with as he wrung out his shirt, “how ’bout I snag us some breakfast? You could make Mrs. Wendelton’s chickens get loose again, and I could sneak in and snag one of her apple pies.” He grinned and grabbed his boots and started to walk off, but Ryder grabbed hold of his shoulder before he could leave.

      “Hey, before we go I want you to take my shirt. I can’t risk you catching sick.”

       “Ryder no, I won’t do that. You’ll freeze.”

       “I’ll be fine. You know I always run warm anyhow.” Before Dulicus could argue any further she slipped out of the warm wool and tossed it to him; taking it reluctantly. Tugging on her boots and tucking her cloth shirt into her pants Ryder joined Dulicus at the opening of their alley.

        “You know you don’t have to risk this just to make it up to me, right?” He said as they walked through into the snow dusted town square. Ryder nudged him with her shoulder with a quick smile. He understood their bond, but he still had yet to see how dedicated Ryder was, whether he liked it or not, to keeping him safe and happy. It was a promise she intended to keep till the day they died.

As they rounded the corner to the street to Mrs. Wendelton’s the two stopped a block ahead of the house. They had done this several times before; it was a fun ritual of theirs. Dulicus said he’d get to the coop in five minutes, which was exactly when the clock in the square would ring, and that’s when Ryder was to rush on to the scene and run in through the front door.

     “Now no messing about, you hear? I know Wendelton has lots of stuff that you want to snag, but food is more important and remember that.”

       “Yea, yea. I know what I’m doin’. I’ll be in and out before Wendelton is even wary.” Ryder said cockily. Dulicus rolled his eyes and disappeared between two houses. Ryder went instantly into action mode; from a small girl to a master thief. She crept along the shadows until she reached the corner of her stoop. Looking back over her shoulder she had a clear view of the clock tower; only two minutes to spare. Ryder heard a cawing sound and knew instantly that Dulicus had reached the chicken coop. Checking back over her shoulder once more Ryder saw the clock was in its final moments before going off. The giant iron work hand ticked closer to the golden twelve mark; seconds were left before she had to spring into action. Four, three, two…and the clock bonged. Ryder heard the chickens begin to squak and flap their wings and sure enough Mrs. Wendelton herself came racing out of her home. Ryder made a mad dash to the door as it tried to slide close behind its owner and made it through the closing gap just before it clicked shut.

       “Well, looks like I’m not getting out that way.” Ryder said to herself. Not paying much mind to the minor setback she padded over to the window to see how much time she had before Wendelton restored order to her coop. Peering out she found Mrs. Wendelton in a fluster as she raced around in circles to gather up her chickens. Ryder could see almost half of them had already made it down the street; time was clearly not an issue at this point, so why not explore?

Leaving the window Ryder casually took in all of Mrs. Wendelton’s parlor room. It was illuminated by a brass, candlelit chandoler. A small, fine oak table and high backed chairs to match. A cupboard rested against the far wall that held an assortment of tea cups, serving trays, and other items for servicing guests, though Ryder doubted the old widow had many guests anymore. All the decor was nestled around a stone fireplace. Above it rested a wooden mantle that was brimming with bobbles and trinkets of the widow’s past. A doorway opened up next to the cupboard and Ryder drank in the scent of cooked meat and fresh apple pie. Ryder quickened her pace towards the kitchen when a glint from an empty shelf of the cupboard caught her eye. She shook her head as her feet tried to take her to the glint, but in her mind she knew better. Dulicus would be infuriated if she got distracted over something that may just turn out to be meaningless jewelry. It wasn’t worth it, she decided, food and a happy Dulicus was more important.

Ryder entered the kitchen and was enveloped by the intoxicating scent of fresh cooked food. On the windowsill sat an assortment of freshly baked pies, and all looked big enough to feed five people. Resting on top of the iron woodstove was two trays of boar meat. Ryder knew she came in for just pie, but the boar was far too tempting to turn away from. Fishing into her pocket Ryder pulled out a handkerchief she used to carry trinkets and procured goods in. This’ll do nicely to carry at least one tray of meat, but I better find something else to carry the rest. She thought to herself. After carefully slipping the meat off its tray into her handkerchief Ryder began poking around to find a way to get the rest out of the house. Remembering the cupboard in the parlor room Ryder scrambled out of the kitchen remembering she was still strapped for time.

       “Ah, here we go. This’ll do jolly good!” Ryder exclaimed to herself. A wicker basket sat on the empty shelf at the bottom of the cupboard, but then something clicked in her mind and she remembered what else was on that shelf; the mystery jewel. Not being able to restrain herself Ryder reached over to where she had seen the glint and picked up the jewel. She slowly turned over her hand and, one by one, moved her fingers. She jumped and clasped back down on the jewel as the sound of stomping came from outside. Mrs. Wendelton was back, and the stomping was her knocking the snow off her boots. Hooking the basket on her arm Ryder dashed back to the kitchen and started hurriedly stuffing things in it. First the meat, then the pie, forks, knives, and to top it off she snatched up a bottle of wine. Alright, now I’ll just climb out the window and…The door creaked open. Just as Ryder had walked into the parlor room so had Mrs. Wendelton, and there she stood. Her jaw was agape and her nightgown was soaked at its hem from snow. Ryder’s eyes went wide. Realizing she still clasped the jewel she saw no other option than to quickly jam it into the pie.

      “You, I should’ve known! It was you and that blonde headed rat! I’ll have you arrested this time for sure! Guards!” She screeched. Ryder gasped and panicked as the widow picked up random belongings and flung them at Ryder. There was only one way she could get out of this. As Mrs. Wendelton turned and opened her door Ryder threw her hand up and it slammed shut.

       “That’ll be enough out of you Widow Wendelton.” Ryder said shakily as Mrs. Wendelton spun around.

        “What did you do? You didn’t even touch the door. Witch! You’re a witch! I knew there was something strange about you!”

         “I said that’s enough!” Ryder screamed. Ryder was beyond infuriated now. Witch? How dare she.

          “Now I’ll have you see here Widow Wendelton, I am no witch! I am something beyond a witch. Something greater, and born to make the world better. I’d tell you that you’ll see someday, but I’m afraid you’ll never even remember this moment.” And with a flick of her wrist Mrs. Wendelton’s terrified expression smoothed out into a blank stare. She then turned and walked upstairs. Now free to go, Ryder sighed heavily and walked out the door. Ryder was no witch. Witches were withered, old hags that had been twisted and rotted by doing the Devil’s work. She may be a devilish type, but she has never conspired with Lucifer. No one understood her; except Dulicus. They both knew what it was like to be different, and it wasn’t easy in the slightest.

Ryder shuffled along the streets in silence. She didn’t like using her abilities. They caused trouble, and just like Mrs. Wendelton had mistaken them for witchcraft Ryder knew others would too. Using her abilities made her depressed, but she managed to get over it quickly as it was replaced with shock and terror. As she was making her way out of Mrs. Wendelton’s street into the town square a familiar figure came stepped out of the inn. The man in black from her dreams stood right before her.

Ryder’s feet were frozen where she stood.

      “This can’t be possible. You’re a bloody dream aren’t…” A booming voice cut her off.

       “Excuse me young miss, but may I ask you where you got that basket?” Ryder whipped around and found a tall, broad shouldered man in a guard’s uniform. He bent forward slightly to see her over his brooding chest and raised an eyebrow. Quickly she stuttered out:

        “W-Widow Wendelton, sir.”

        “Oh, is that so? I never took the widow for a giving type. Not since her husband died, but even then I don’t think she’d give anything to a troublemaking type like yourself.”

        “Troublemaking type, sir? I haven’t raised any kain.”

        “No, no you haven’t. Not yet at least. I’m having a hard time believing that Widow Wendelton gave that to you. You know what I think?”

         “That I’m her poor granddaughter who feeds off scraps?”

He snorted and grinned. Reaching to his side the guard pulled out a small club and loomed over Ryder. With a gasp Ryder spun around and scrambled away from the guard. Ryder heard him call out, “Stop, theif!” as she ran, but there wasn’t a chance of her stopping any time soon. A whistle rang out behind her and she heard numerous boots thud out from alleyways and hidden posts; the chase was on.

Hundreds of guards must be on her tail Ryder thought. She wasn’t going to bother turning around to actually count; that was too risky. Ryder could estimate that she had been running a long time though. Her lungs burned from exhaustion and the stinging cold air, and the guards didn’t seem to be letting up. Ryder had led them through every alleyway that she knew trying to shake them, but there were too many that could keep up. Finally Ryder decided to take a chance and began a course for the square; maybe then she could lose them in the crowd. Making a sharp right Ryder heard one of the guards skid into the wall and fall to the ground; bringing down three others with him. Taking a quick look over her should Ryder counted six left. She got out to the main street and ducked quickly as a construction worker swung around with a large sack of bricks, and all but one guard managed to get around him. Five left.

Rushing out into the square Ryder felt a wave of relief. Monday Market was brimming with people, and brimming with opportunities to escape. A leather skinned, worn looking man pulled his jewel cart out in front of Ryder and her pursuers and with lightning fast reaction Ryder tossed her basket high into the air and tumbled under the cart; two more of the guards weren’t so lucky. Ryder stopped briefly as she caught her basket and saw the three remaining guards trying to weave their way through people. Seeing that she had time Ryder bent over and caught her breath. Dulicus is probably worried sick. I have to lose them.

Ryder’s head shot up as one of the guards broke through the crowed and snickered menacingly at her. Without thought Ryder held her basket tight to her and took off once more. She ducked and twisted through the throng of bodies but to no avail; the guards were still right behind her. The inn, she thought. She could cut through the inn and out the back. With a fake turn to the right Ryder jerked left and bound straight for the inn. The crowed dangerously thinned out as she got closer to the inn, but she had to keep going. No sooner did she break free of the crowed did she look back over her shoulder with a smile and not see the oncoming leg that she ran right into. Knocked flat on her back Ryder gasped for breath and clenched her eyes shut. The wind, what little was left of it, was knocked out of her.

           “Oh heavens! I’m terribly sorry my dear. I didn’t see you there.” Said an eerily familiar voice. No, it can’t be. Her eyes flew open, and there he was. Kneeling over her. The man in black.


Me, Myself, and I by Elliott Marlowe

My mind bursting of ideas with everything and anything rushing through my brain. I let the child inside of me run around poking my teenage-self who is complaining to my adult-self. People like to be with others because they think it keeps us civilized, but in my mind I find every different versions of everyone then I will never be lonely and I also will never be alone. Write what you care about because when you and yourself is written on a piece of paper then they maybe famous someday.


Memory Timeline by Elliott Marlowe

There’s a distinct memory I have not yet had. It has the sound of church bells quieting at my wedding. Each memory of it changes as I live my life and as she lives hers. Will there be blue or red flowers? Will there be a jazz band or a stringed quartet?Will she have brown or blonde hair? Will we live happily ever after? Everything will change and I don’t know the answer.

Janet was Early by Elliott Marlowe

Janet was early in my life, but she changed every second after. It started when I was at the train station with my last thoughts drifting away before I walk off the gloomful edge of the platform. Then I saw her, paralyzed with curiosity, I hesitated as she danced around without a care in the world. Not having a second to decide, the train comes and I lose her. I jump onto the train to find her, combing every row and chair, but I sadly watched her on the platform as I set off to the train’s next destination. Janet changed me inside and out, she didn’t  mean to. Did she?