Visit to whitestar
By John Bruce
The Whispering Ridge splits the country of Solaster in two. The icy slopes also poke their way into neighboring regions, but this mountain range stretches across the whole of the central Human country and is considered by most to be a defining landmark of the land. A Dwarven poet once described them as ‘the gods stretching their arms across the world after a long rest.’
On this particular morning in April, the Southern Ridge was especially chilly. It had rained over the evening, but it had only been a light sprinkle; though, it was just enough to make the ground a slight bit slippery. Clouds still obscured the sky, however, light had no problem muscling its way through. Around mid-morning, the clouds broke and the sun enveloped the snowy tips. Light pushed down the mountain as the recent three-day storm spread out and dissolved.
In these mountains, there is a cave with a road leading away from that cave. On this road, as the light shone upon it, a small rabbit with brown fur pranced about, making its way down the hill. It wasn’t in a hurry, but it was still moving quickly. As it ran, it would climb the–
now melting–snowbanks, kick off trees, and slide along the frosted dirt. The animal scampered down the hill in search for some sort of food or provisions. This routine was typical for the rabbit. When it got about halfway down the road from the cave, it stopped. The hare’s hind legs clawed into the cold ground. Its floppy ears perked up and listened intently to the sounds of the forest. The rabbit believed there to have been some sort of stirring in the trees. The sound was so small that only a being with its ears that close to the ground could have noticed it. The rabbit ran through the possibilities in its head. Perhaps it was a fly falling into a spider’s web. Maybe it could have been another animal springing a trap set by a hunter. It could also have been–
With a small and quiet thwip! of his bow, a boy stood up and approached the fallen hare from the forest. The death had been quick and painless, he saw. The arrowhead pierced its eye and stuck out the other side. Pulling the arrow out, he picked the animal up by its ears and slung it into a game bag already bursting with fresh kills of the week. He ruffled the feathers back out on the end of the arrow and flung the little bits of insides off of the shaft. With that, the boy put the arrow back into his quiver and retrieved his walking stick.
Thuras had only left just this morning, but he had made good time. Judging by the sun’s position above the glistening pines, it was only about ten and a half or so. Usually when he makes this trip, it’s already midday when he gets here. By that logic, the boy figured he had about another hour and a half until he reached the village at the bottom. At the base of this section of the Ridge, there lay a town. It used to be a mining town, but that was almost as long ago as the Second Era. Since then, the dwarves and gnomes had gone, leaving the town to the humans who transformed the small residential village to a staple of trade for the capital province.
Since Thuras had been but a child, he had made this journey every other weekend for food and other such supplies. During the past year, however, it’s felt different. His grandfather died just before the last snowmelt. One morning, he woke up to find a stiff, cold body lying on the bedroll. Thuras buried him just uphill from the river bank on the opposite side of the stream. That was his favorite place to rest. He used to say that he was far enough away from home to feel like he had traveled, but close enough to still feel the comfort of the hearth. That was a year ago, but now Thuras makes the trip down the mountain with only his dog to keep him company.
Semore, a large, black shepherd dog lumbered along next to him, sniffing the bag of animals slung over his owner’s shoulder. The dog’s heavy paws padded into the morning snow. Thuras yanked the bag away and the hound bounded off the trail and into the forest. After a moment, he heard a rustle and a very small whimper. Feet charged back to the trail and, from Semore’s maw, there dangled a freshly slain rabbit. Thuras praised the dog and patted him on the head. He and his grandfather had found the mutt when he was only a pup. One evening, Emry went outside to fetch some firewood and the dog had found his way in the cave. Thuras awoke to find a pair of wide brown eyes and a big, floppy tongue slobbering all over his face. Being just a kid, when Emry came back, Thuras begged him to let the dog stay. Not bearing to see the hurt in his grandchild’s eyes if he said no, the old man crumpled. It had been a good 11 years since then and Semore was beginning to grow weary and frail. Thuras expected that this would be his last spring.
For another hour and a half, Thuras and his faithful companion marched until they reached the sleepy town of Whitestar. Today was a Saturday and there was a lull that rested upon the village. Shops and taverns were open, but the liveliness wouldn’t pick up until later this evening. For such a small town, it always surprised Thuras how many goods and people passed through on a daily basis. In Whitestar, there was a forge, a butcher, a baker, a general store that specialized in works like soap, candles, and silver, a tavern that doubled as an inn, a bookstore, an apothecary that also dealt in jewels, and a town hall.
However, something was different today. In the Commons, there was a white and gold tent pitched. On the front, it had the symbol of the Vispabik. In Solaster, there was the military and then there was the Vispabik. Most often, the organization would study the ancient Brothers and their ways of magic, but in times of war and need, the Vispabik would serve as agents and elite warriors. The group was religious in nature, but it differed from the Elder Creed in the fact that instead of a deity, the organization studied intently the Seven Brothers of Magic. Wherever they went, the monks of the order were treated with the utmost respect. They were, at the same time, revered and feared. Now they had come to Whitestar.
The sun had, by this time, reached its crux in the sky. Light shone down upon the town through the remnants of grey that night had brought with it. In coming down with his grandfather, Thuras had fallen into a routine that he had unwittingly kept up. Every other Saturday, he would first visit old Mav at the tavern to reserve a room and set down his things. Then, he would go to see Thad at the butcher’s shop. He wasn’t very good at cutting up the meat and keeping it fresh, which Thuras had found out the first time he came down on his own, but he would accept any sort of game that Thuras brought in. He traded in the animals for gold so that he could buy his other things. Then, he made his rounds to the apothecary and restocked on basic herbal remedies. He stopped in at the forge to get his arrows sharpened and to buy a new quiver altogether. He went into the book store and returned one of the novels he had borrowed the last time he visited town and picked up another that caught his eye.
The last store that Thuras went to that day was the general home goods store. He always stopped in and met with the couple that owned the shop. They were sweet people who had met at a very young age and grew old together in this small village. This was often the last store Thuras came to because this place had the least important wares for him to buy and, at the end of the day, the couple would usually invite him in for tea. A few moments later, Thuras had picked up some fuel for his lanterns, a blanket, and a couple new pieces of flint. Prices were better here than over at the forge. He stepped up to the counter.
“Will that be all?” Jeyms, the coin-counter smiled at him.
“Yes, it will. Where’s Agni and Yudis?” Thuras looked in the back room of the shop.
“Oh, they’re right over-” Jeyms began to answer, but a loud, shrill voice overcame his.
“Is that Thuras?! Let him behind the counter!”
“Stop it, Yudis, you’ll scare off the customers.” A calmer voice attempted to soothe the loud voice.
“No one will pay attention to us when the Vispabik are in town.” The loud voice produced a body from behind the back room boxes.
“Yudis!” Thuras’ voice carried an air of delight. He was looking forward to today’s conversation. Behind her came another woman who didn’t say anything, but beamed at Thuras.
“Oh, my dear! How have you been? Come, come, let’s have tea together.” Yudis began moving back, still gesturing at Thuras to join her. Jeyms slid the boy’s money into a pouch and marked down his purchase. As Thuras passed the counter, Agni followed him. She closed the door and took a seat as Yudis started preparing the tea. Thuras sat down and a cup was slid into his hand.
“2 lumps, right?” Yudis looked at him for confirmation and Thuras nodded his head. “I know you too well, boy.” They laughed and Agni chuckled softly as the sugar disintegrated into the tea. The three of them caught up and chatted for a good hour and a half, talking about life, business, and love. Eventually, after a lull in the conversation, Thuras asked a question that had been bothering him all day long.
“What’s with the Vispabik in town?” As Thuras spoke, the two old women, as if prompted by something unseen, shifted uncomfortably and sat silent. Sensing the tension in the room, Thuras brought his voice down. “Oh, what’s happened?”
“You must not have heard about the governor of Elman, huh?” Agni looked up with her big blue eyes.
“No! What happened?” Thuras was shocked. I hope she’s okay he thought to himself. The governor of Elman had spent most her time in the position cutting down on businesses abusing laborers and pestering the king about giving the Bulgund a proper place to live. She was beloved by all of Solaster.
“Two months ago, she went to her son’s wedding in Golindel where she was assassinated.” Yudis explained. “Rumor has it they found her body all carved up with magic symbols and ancient runes.”
“Well those are just rumors, right?” Thuras inquired.
“The Family nor the Vispabik has denied it yet.” Agni spoke with a tone of apprehension.
“So, the holies are here to, what? Investigate?”
Agni and Yudis both laughed. “No, they’re just passing us on their way through to Elman. They’re going all the way to the province capital to conduct a full investigation.”
Thuras sipped his tea. “Well, at least they’re being thorough.”
There was silence for a moment, then Yudis spoke in an uncharacteristically soft voice. “I envy you, Thuras, for living so far away from civilization.” The boy’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Whatever happens here doesn’t affect you. Every day, you just go out and hunt and come back. If we have war, the next day, you’ll just go out and hunt. If we have famine or drought, the next day, you’ll just go out and hunt. You have it easy.”
Thuras considered the woman’s remarks for a long time and looked out the window. He saw that the sun was setting. He excused himself with the usual niceties and left the back room. He nodded to Jeyms and whistled Semore along. The boy sauntered back to the center of town and saw all the lanterns were lit along the perimeter of the tent and in each building. Patrons of the various businesses bustled in the receding daylight carrying bags of purchased goods. Thuras heard the crack of the whip from the driver of the last cart out of town. The sound of a fiddle at the tavern permeated the air of the night. He moved toward the inn and past the fiddler, throwing a few coins into his case. It was only then that Thuras realized how tired he was. The music carried him up the stairs and into his room. All his goods slumped off of his shoulder just as the boy slumped onto the bed. Semore grabbed a piece of dried meat from the sack and jumped up on the bed with Thuras.
* * *
The following morning, Thuras woke up with a splitting headache. He threw his legs over
the side of the bed and stood up. Semore jumped off the bed by his side with a whimper. Brushing dog hair off his clothes, the boy grabbed his bags and went downstairs. There, he ate a hearty breakfast of eggs and sausages with a biscuit for a side. All of it he washed down with water. After he ate, he paid his fees and walked out the door.
He was greeted with the same sleepy town he saw yesterday. Whatever raucous behavior had occurred the night previous was disposed of. The only movement were the people in and around the canvas tent in the middle of town. For a long moment, he watched, waiting for something to happen. He had heard so many tales of the Vispabik from generations before that he came to associate the order with great wars and fantastical tales of adventure, but gazing upon the tent now, Thuras realized his ideas were childish. Nobody nowadays has any sort of adventure as described in the stories. They were just that. Stories. Lost in the tenets of government and politics. No great wars have been fought since the Third Era and for good reason. Though, Thuras sometimes wished that another great war would happen and that he may be a part of it so as to have his own fantastical tales of adventure to share with his friends and family.
The boy did what he needed to do in preparation to leave, a few menial tasks and favors he had to complete. Then, he started towards Agni and Yudis’ store to wish them goodbye, but he considered what they had said yesterday and he decided otherwise. Now walking towards the mountain range in the distance, he began his trek back to his life in the forest.
On this particular morning in April, the Southern Ridge was especially chilly. It had rained over the evening, but it had only been a light sprinkle; though, it was just enough to make the ground a slight bit slippery. Clouds still obscured the sky, however, light had no problem muscling its way through. Around mid-morning, the clouds broke and the sun enveloped the snowy tips. Light pushed down the mountain as the recent three-day storm spread out and dissolved.
In these mountains, there is a cave with a road leading away from that cave. On this road, as the light shone upon it, a small rabbit with brown fur pranced about, making its way down the hill. It wasn’t in a hurry, but it was still moving quickly. As it ran, it would climb the–
now melting–snowbanks, kick off trees, and slide along the frosted dirt. The animal scampered down the hill in search for some sort of food or provisions. This routine was typical for the rabbit. When it got about halfway down the road from the cave, it stopped. The hare’s hind legs clawed into the cold ground. Its floppy ears perked up and listened intently to the sounds of the forest. The rabbit believed there to have been some sort of stirring in the trees. The sound was so small that only a being with its ears that close to the ground could have noticed it. The rabbit ran through the possibilities in its head. Perhaps it was a fly falling into a spider’s web. Maybe it could have been another animal springing a trap set by a hunter. It could also have been–
With a small and quiet thwip! of his bow, a boy stood up and approached the fallen hare from the forest. The death had been quick and painless, he saw. The arrowhead pierced its eye and stuck out the other side. Pulling the arrow out, he picked the animal up by its ears and slung it into a game bag already bursting with fresh kills of the week. He ruffled the feathers back out on the end of the arrow and flung the little bits of insides off of the shaft. With that, the boy put the arrow back into his quiver and retrieved his walking stick.
Thuras had only left just this morning, but he had made good time. Judging by the sun’s position above the glistening pines, it was only about ten and a half or so. Usually when he makes this trip, it’s already midday when he gets here. By that logic, the boy figured he had about another hour and a half until he reached the village at the bottom. At the base of this section of the Ridge, there lay a town. It used to be a mining town, but that was almost as long ago as the Second Era. Since then, the dwarves and gnomes had gone, leaving the town to the humans who transformed the small residential village to a staple of trade for the capital province.
Since Thuras had been but a child, he had made this journey every other weekend for food and other such supplies. During the past year, however, it’s felt different. His grandfather died just before the last snowmelt. One morning, he woke up to find a stiff, cold body lying on the bedroll. Thuras buried him just uphill from the river bank on the opposite side of the stream. That was his favorite place to rest. He used to say that he was far enough away from home to feel like he had traveled, but close enough to still feel the comfort of the hearth. That was a year ago, but now Thuras makes the trip down the mountain with only his dog to keep him company.
Semore, a large, black shepherd dog lumbered along next to him, sniffing the bag of animals slung over his owner’s shoulder. The dog’s heavy paws padded into the morning snow. Thuras yanked the bag away and the hound bounded off the trail and into the forest. After a moment, he heard a rustle and a very small whimper. Feet charged back to the trail and, from Semore’s maw, there dangled a freshly slain rabbit. Thuras praised the dog and patted him on the head. He and his grandfather had found the mutt when he was only a pup. One evening, Emry went outside to fetch some firewood and the dog had found his way in the cave. Thuras awoke to find a pair of wide brown eyes and a big, floppy tongue slobbering all over his face. Being just a kid, when Emry came back, Thuras begged him to let the dog stay. Not bearing to see the hurt in his grandchild’s eyes if he said no, the old man crumpled. It had been a good 11 years since then and Semore was beginning to grow weary and frail. Thuras expected that this would be his last spring.
For another hour and a half, Thuras and his faithful companion marched until they reached the sleepy town of Whitestar. Today was a Saturday and there was a lull that rested upon the village. Shops and taverns were open, but the liveliness wouldn’t pick up until later this evening. For such a small town, it always surprised Thuras how many goods and people passed through on a daily basis. In Whitestar, there was a forge, a butcher, a baker, a general store that specialized in works like soap, candles, and silver, a tavern that doubled as an inn, a bookstore, an apothecary that also dealt in jewels, and a town hall.
However, something was different today. In the Commons, there was a white and gold tent pitched. On the front, it had the symbol of the Vispabik. In Solaster, there was the military and then there was the Vispabik. Most often, the organization would study the ancient Brothers and their ways of magic, but in times of war and need, the Vispabik would serve as agents and elite warriors. The group was religious in nature, but it differed from the Elder Creed in the fact that instead of a deity, the organization studied intently the Seven Brothers of Magic. Wherever they went, the monks of the order were treated with the utmost respect. They were, at the same time, revered and feared. Now they had come to Whitestar.
The sun had, by this time, reached its crux in the sky. Light shone down upon the town through the remnants of grey that night had brought with it. In coming down with his grandfather, Thuras had fallen into a routine that he had unwittingly kept up. Every other Saturday, he would first visit old Mav at the tavern to reserve a room and set down his things. Then, he would go to see Thad at the butcher’s shop. He wasn’t very good at cutting up the meat and keeping it fresh, which Thuras had found out the first time he came down on his own, but he would accept any sort of game that Thuras brought in. He traded in the animals for gold so that he could buy his other things. Then, he made his rounds to the apothecary and restocked on basic herbal remedies. He stopped in at the forge to get his arrows sharpened and to buy a new quiver altogether. He went into the book store and returned one of the novels he had borrowed the last time he visited town and picked up another that caught his eye.
The last store that Thuras went to that day was the general home goods store. He always stopped in and met with the couple that owned the shop. They were sweet people who had met at a very young age and grew old together in this small village. This was often the last store Thuras came to because this place had the least important wares for him to buy and, at the end of the day, the couple would usually invite him in for tea. A few moments later, Thuras had picked up some fuel for his lanterns, a blanket, and a couple new pieces of flint. Prices were better here than over at the forge. He stepped up to the counter.
“Will that be all?” Jeyms, the coin-counter smiled at him.
“Yes, it will. Where’s Agni and Yudis?” Thuras looked in the back room of the shop.
“Oh, they’re right over-” Jeyms began to answer, but a loud, shrill voice overcame his.
“Is that Thuras?! Let him behind the counter!”
“Stop it, Yudis, you’ll scare off the customers.” A calmer voice attempted to soothe the loud voice.
“No one will pay attention to us when the Vispabik are in town.” The loud voice produced a body from behind the back room boxes.
“Yudis!” Thuras’ voice carried an air of delight. He was looking forward to today’s conversation. Behind her came another woman who didn’t say anything, but beamed at Thuras.
“Oh, my dear! How have you been? Come, come, let’s have tea together.” Yudis began moving back, still gesturing at Thuras to join her. Jeyms slid the boy’s money into a pouch and marked down his purchase. As Thuras passed the counter, Agni followed him. She closed the door and took a seat as Yudis started preparing the tea. Thuras sat down and a cup was slid into his hand.
“2 lumps, right?” Yudis looked at him for confirmation and Thuras nodded his head. “I know you too well, boy.” They laughed and Agni chuckled softly as the sugar disintegrated into the tea. The three of them caught up and chatted for a good hour and a half, talking about life, business, and love. Eventually, after a lull in the conversation, Thuras asked a question that had been bothering him all day long.
“What’s with the Vispabik in town?” As Thuras spoke, the two old women, as if prompted by something unseen, shifted uncomfortably and sat silent. Sensing the tension in the room, Thuras brought his voice down. “Oh, what’s happened?”
“You must not have heard about the governor of Elman, huh?” Agni looked up with her big blue eyes.
“No! What happened?” Thuras was shocked. I hope she’s okay he thought to himself. The governor of Elman had spent most her time in the position cutting down on businesses abusing laborers and pestering the king about giving the Bulgund a proper place to live. She was beloved by all of Solaster.
“Two months ago, she went to her son’s wedding in Golindel where she was assassinated.” Yudis explained. “Rumor has it they found her body all carved up with magic symbols and ancient runes.”
“Well those are just rumors, right?” Thuras inquired.
“The Family nor the Vispabik has denied it yet.” Agni spoke with a tone of apprehension.
“So, the holies are here to, what? Investigate?”
Agni and Yudis both laughed. “No, they’re just passing us on their way through to Elman. They’re going all the way to the province capital to conduct a full investigation.”
Thuras sipped his tea. “Well, at least they’re being thorough.”
There was silence for a moment, then Yudis spoke in an uncharacteristically soft voice. “I envy you, Thuras, for living so far away from civilization.” The boy’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Whatever happens here doesn’t affect you. Every day, you just go out and hunt and come back. If we have war, the next day, you’ll just go out and hunt. If we have famine or drought, the next day, you’ll just go out and hunt. You have it easy.”
Thuras considered the woman’s remarks for a long time and looked out the window. He saw that the sun was setting. He excused himself with the usual niceties and left the back room. He nodded to Jeyms and whistled Semore along. The boy sauntered back to the center of town and saw all the lanterns were lit along the perimeter of the tent and in each building. Patrons of the various businesses bustled in the receding daylight carrying bags of purchased goods. Thuras heard the crack of the whip from the driver of the last cart out of town. The sound of a fiddle at the tavern permeated the air of the night. He moved toward the inn and past the fiddler, throwing a few coins into his case. It was only then that Thuras realized how tired he was. The music carried him up the stairs and into his room. All his goods slumped off of his shoulder just as the boy slumped onto the bed. Semore grabbed a piece of dried meat from the sack and jumped up on the bed with Thuras.
* * *
The following morning, Thuras woke up with a splitting headache. He threw his legs over
the side of the bed and stood up. Semore jumped off the bed by his side with a whimper. Brushing dog hair off his clothes, the boy grabbed his bags and went downstairs. There, he ate a hearty breakfast of eggs and sausages with a biscuit for a side. All of it he washed down with water. After he ate, he paid his fees and walked out the door.
He was greeted with the same sleepy town he saw yesterday. Whatever raucous behavior had occurred the night previous was disposed of. The only movement were the people in and around the canvas tent in the middle of town. For a long moment, he watched, waiting for something to happen. He had heard so many tales of the Vispabik from generations before that he came to associate the order with great wars and fantastical tales of adventure, but gazing upon the tent now, Thuras realized his ideas were childish. Nobody nowadays has any sort of adventure as described in the stories. They were just that. Stories. Lost in the tenets of government and politics. No great wars have been fought since the Third Era and for good reason. Though, Thuras sometimes wished that another great war would happen and that he may be a part of it so as to have his own fantastical tales of adventure to share with his friends and family.
The boy did what he needed to do in preparation to leave, a few menial tasks and favors he had to complete. Then, he started towards Agni and Yudis’ store to wish them goodbye, but he considered what they had said yesterday and he decided otherwise. Now walking towards the mountain range in the distance, he began his trek back to his life in the forest.
another Sunday
By Alex Moos
Ofelia didn’t have much to do on Sundays. Her parents worked the same job, with their work week starting on Sunday and ending on Thursday. She wasn’t sure what they did exactly, and she never cared to question it. She only cared about whether they left enough peanut butter for her to make a sandwich.
Ofelia sighed and checked the clock.
3:09 PM.
About five hours. Ofelia knew they stopped working at 8:00, but it took around 11 minutes for them to come home. Ofelia was old enough to take care of herself—and proud of it—but she was starting to miss the days when a babysitter would play pretend with her or remind her to brush her teeth.
Ofelia checked the clock again.
3:11 PM.
She slumped onto the couch and began searching for the TV remote. She reached into the side of the couch cushion. Her eyes gleamed with success, and she pulled out the remote and turned on the television.
“…have no business here! If we keep letting the—”
“…so call our number now and get on free—”
“…viously on Sup--”
Ofelia continued channel surfing. Just the same old news. Just the same old reruns. She had grown tired of the repeated cat commercials and overused laugh tracks. It was about time to go outside and play pretend. Alone. Again. She liked to imagine herself as a warrior princess, fighting evil demons and freeing cursed souls. Everyone in the backyard, from the garden gnome to the lemon tree, was her enemy. Her trusty sword of justice, a stick from the neighbor’s tree, and her crown, made of twigs and flowers, were her only comrades.
Before she knew it, Ofelia had played the day away and the sun was beginning to set. Ofelia could hear her stomach growling, but she didn’t care to fill it. In fact, she was feeling a bit more adventurous than usual and peered between the fence boards at the rushing canal behind her house. Ofelia imagined there to be water nymphs (like the ones she read about in her mythology books) and freshwater serpents. If she listened closely to the sound of the water, she could almost hear laughter.
No. Ofelia turned around, about to head towards her house. She was too old to believe in fairy tales. Then, she stopped. She could have sworn there was something making noise in the bushes beyond the fence. A squirrel probably. Or, thought Ofelia, could it be…
Ofelia carefully made her way back to the fence, making sure to not step in any leaves or twigs. Her imagination went wild with fantasies of fairies and magical creatures. She could almost see their glowing wings. The human eyes of a frog prince. The tail of a baby gryphon.
She made her way to the big hole at the bottom of one of the fence boards, which had been broken through when Ofelia’s family owned a dog. He escaped last year. Ofelia now grabbed her mighty sword and slowly poked it through the hole. Then, she saw it. In a flash, something darted towards the stick and back into the bushes. Surprised, Ofelia inhaled and pulled it back.
Summoning her courage, she slowly pointed it through the opening. Again, something bolted to the stick. This time, it lingered a bit longer and Ofelia caught a better glimpse of it. Was that…fur?
Ofelia searched through the library of her mind, trying to find some information as to what this mysterious creature could be. Certainly not a gnome or brownie, and she hadn’t heard of any furry fairies. Ofelia wiggled the stick.
This time, the paw slammed the stick to the ground and kept it in its place. Ofelia stared. Now she knew what type of beast she had been playing with. She carefully wiggled the stick out of the kitten’s grasp and dragged the end back into her own territory. Excitedly, the kitten continued to paw at it and moved closer until the cat was right at the hole of the fence.
Ofelia wiggled the stick again. The kitten sat still stubbornly, but now Ofelia could see its eyes. The pupils were large and stared directly at the stick. Ofelia stopped. The kitten looked up at her until they made eye contact. The kitten backed away and tried to hide itself behind the next board over.
However, Ofelia wouldn’t give up that easily. She dropped her sword and threw off her crown. She walked quickly into the house, an image of the kitchen’s contents already in her mind. She considered giving the kitten her cereal, but she knew cats weren’t supposed to have marshmallows. What went with cereal? Milk. She pulled out a bowl, opened the fridge, and quickly filled the bowl with milk.
Ofelia walked carefully back out the door, past her crown, and to the fence, making sure not to spill any milk. She set the bowl down and backed away. She counted her steps: one, two, three. She slowly knelt to the ground and sat with her legs crossed, waiting. Ofelia watched as the kitten’s head poked through and stared at Ofelia, then it turned its gaze towards the bowl. Slowly, the kitten walked into the yard and up to the bowl. As the kitten lapped up the milk, Ofelia watched with amusement. She tried to creep closer to get a better look.
Suddenly, the cat noticed her inching nearer and zoomed back into the bushes behind the fence. Proud, yet slightly disappointed, Ofelia stood up and stared at the bowl. The kitten drank about half of the bowl. Ofelia smiled gently and walked inside. Her thoughts raced, telling stories of befriending the kitten and going on adventures together as they grew older. It would be a slow process, but with her parents gone so often, she had all the time in the world.
Ofelia’s grin grew wider. Thank goodness for Sunday, she thought.
Ofelia sighed and checked the clock.
3:09 PM.
About five hours. Ofelia knew they stopped working at 8:00, but it took around 11 minutes for them to come home. Ofelia was old enough to take care of herself—and proud of it—but she was starting to miss the days when a babysitter would play pretend with her or remind her to brush her teeth.
Ofelia checked the clock again.
3:11 PM.
She slumped onto the couch and began searching for the TV remote. She reached into the side of the couch cushion. Her eyes gleamed with success, and she pulled out the remote and turned on the television.
“…have no business here! If we keep letting the—”
“…so call our number now and get on free—”
“…viously on Sup--”
Ofelia continued channel surfing. Just the same old news. Just the same old reruns. She had grown tired of the repeated cat commercials and overused laugh tracks. It was about time to go outside and play pretend. Alone. Again. She liked to imagine herself as a warrior princess, fighting evil demons and freeing cursed souls. Everyone in the backyard, from the garden gnome to the lemon tree, was her enemy. Her trusty sword of justice, a stick from the neighbor’s tree, and her crown, made of twigs and flowers, were her only comrades.
Before she knew it, Ofelia had played the day away and the sun was beginning to set. Ofelia could hear her stomach growling, but she didn’t care to fill it. In fact, she was feeling a bit more adventurous than usual and peered between the fence boards at the rushing canal behind her house. Ofelia imagined there to be water nymphs (like the ones she read about in her mythology books) and freshwater serpents. If she listened closely to the sound of the water, she could almost hear laughter.
No. Ofelia turned around, about to head towards her house. She was too old to believe in fairy tales. Then, she stopped. She could have sworn there was something making noise in the bushes beyond the fence. A squirrel probably. Or, thought Ofelia, could it be…
Ofelia carefully made her way back to the fence, making sure to not step in any leaves or twigs. Her imagination went wild with fantasies of fairies and magical creatures. She could almost see their glowing wings. The human eyes of a frog prince. The tail of a baby gryphon.
She made her way to the big hole at the bottom of one of the fence boards, which had been broken through when Ofelia’s family owned a dog. He escaped last year. Ofelia now grabbed her mighty sword and slowly poked it through the hole. Then, she saw it. In a flash, something darted towards the stick and back into the bushes. Surprised, Ofelia inhaled and pulled it back.
Summoning her courage, she slowly pointed it through the opening. Again, something bolted to the stick. This time, it lingered a bit longer and Ofelia caught a better glimpse of it. Was that…fur?
Ofelia searched through the library of her mind, trying to find some information as to what this mysterious creature could be. Certainly not a gnome or brownie, and she hadn’t heard of any furry fairies. Ofelia wiggled the stick.
This time, the paw slammed the stick to the ground and kept it in its place. Ofelia stared. Now she knew what type of beast she had been playing with. She carefully wiggled the stick out of the kitten’s grasp and dragged the end back into her own territory. Excitedly, the kitten continued to paw at it and moved closer until the cat was right at the hole of the fence.
Ofelia wiggled the stick again. The kitten sat still stubbornly, but now Ofelia could see its eyes. The pupils were large and stared directly at the stick. Ofelia stopped. The kitten looked up at her until they made eye contact. The kitten backed away and tried to hide itself behind the next board over.
However, Ofelia wouldn’t give up that easily. She dropped her sword and threw off her crown. She walked quickly into the house, an image of the kitchen’s contents already in her mind. She considered giving the kitten her cereal, but she knew cats weren’t supposed to have marshmallows. What went with cereal? Milk. She pulled out a bowl, opened the fridge, and quickly filled the bowl with milk.
Ofelia walked carefully back out the door, past her crown, and to the fence, making sure not to spill any milk. She set the bowl down and backed away. She counted her steps: one, two, three. She slowly knelt to the ground and sat with her legs crossed, waiting. Ofelia watched as the kitten’s head poked through and stared at Ofelia, then it turned its gaze towards the bowl. Slowly, the kitten walked into the yard and up to the bowl. As the kitten lapped up the milk, Ofelia watched with amusement. She tried to creep closer to get a better look.
Suddenly, the cat noticed her inching nearer and zoomed back into the bushes behind the fence. Proud, yet slightly disappointed, Ofelia stood up and stared at the bowl. The kitten drank about half of the bowl. Ofelia smiled gently and walked inside. Her thoughts raced, telling stories of befriending the kitten and going on adventures together as they grew older. It would be a slow process, but with her parents gone so often, she had all the time in the world.
Ofelia’s grin grew wider. Thank goodness for Sunday, she thought.
Method to My Madness
By John Bruce
Chapter I:
I distinctly remember one point in my childhood where a few of my friends were over at my house.
As ten-year-olds are wont to do when allowed free time, one Mr. Chavez challenged me to a breathing contest. I, of course, accepted. The rules of the game was this: you must hold your breath for as long as you can. If the other person holds their breath longer than you do, then you lose. If the inverse happens, you win.
Now, if I was a betting man at that age, I would have bet on myself and, unfortunately, I would have lost a lot of money.
After Mr. Wilkinson counted us off, both Chavez and I inhaled. I expected this challenge to be easy. After all, who couldn’t hold their breath. I recall the feeling of capacity hit me at about thirty seconds, much earlier than I had expected, but I was a tough kid. I wouldn’t let some measly poisonous gas let me lose a bet.
At about forty seconds, I remember my vision going blurry and for twelve seconds after that, I passed out. When I came to, I saw my mother kneeling over me and Mr. Chavez was making sure that I was okay as well. However, I vividly recall that I inhaled as much air as I could because my breathing was irregular. This situation is similar to the one in which we find one Levi Silverman.
* * *
Levi awoke in a hospital with a long, sharp metal rod inserted inside his left arm. Some sort of plastic clamp rested on his right index finger and there was a beeping that he was sure had increased now that he was wrested from his sleep. An abnormal amount of crust had accumulated near his tear ducts giving Levi the impression that he had been resting for quite some time.
Gathering the strength to move, he sat up. Yanking the needle from his arm and throwing the plastic clamp aside, Levi threw his legs from the bed. A small droplet of blood pooled at the puncture wound and his finger was purple and wrinkled from the clamp. After rubbing his face and clearing his eyes, Levi tried and failed to stand. When he commanded his knees to lock, they failed him and caused him to fall back into the bed. Successfully knocking over the IV bag, the vitals monitor and the bed itself, he found himself on the floor.
Using the bedside table to prop himself up, he was finally able to force compliance from his body. A wallet and a glass of water laid on the surface of the makeshift nightstand. Interestingly enough, Levi was not thirsty; instead, he reached for his wallet. Other than his name, Levi knew nothing about himself. A form of amnesia? Maybe. Hopefully this would give him some idea of who he was.
Inside, there was an identification card. At the top in bolded font, the card proclaimed “California”. Apparently, his DOB was 3/7/1987, whatever that meant. There were several other cards that told Levi he was a part of several organizations called “UnionBank”, “Costco”, and “Regal”. He must have been important. As he was examining the leather case, a deafening roar shook the very foundations of the hospital.
Very quickly, Levi scrambled under the bed. He heard glass shattering and trays clattering to the floor. When the thunderous rumble ceased, the young man climbed out from under the bed and went to the door where he experienced a sense of inexplicable dread. His hand trembled as he reached for the knob, but nonetheless, he turned it.
Levi peered into the hallway. He felt that if he stuck his head out too far, the source of the thunder would hurt him in some way. After looking both left and right, Levi felt safe enough to leave the room. He stepped warily out of the door as if he were a mouse afraid of a lurking cat.
The man found himself standing outside of a nurse’s station only, there were no nurses. Now that he thought about it, Levi hadn’t heard anyone else since he’d woken up. Brushing that peculiarity off, he moved toward the station. Behind the work desk, he found a package of band-aids; he took one and adhered the patch to the puncture wound in his arm.
Now that Levi had recognized the distinct lack absence of other humans, it disturbed him. Looking down the fluorescently lit hallway that lived past the nurse’s station, the young man searched for even the smallest hint that another person had walked these halls in the past week. Nothing. The hospital was totally intact, but it was as if all life had vanished. Levi drew steadily distressed as he cautiously scuttled down the hall.
Along his walk down, he decided to inspect a few of the rooms. The young man stopped at room 2506 and craned his head inside. He found that this was the room he had left not five minutes ago. The bed, IV bag, and the vitals monitor were all fallen over. There was his wallet and the unemptied glass of water. If Levi hadn’t been scared enough before he was now. Next to the room was a flight of stairs. Quickly, he threw open the door and descended the steps. Bursting out into another hallway, he frantically rushed down and found another room, this one was 1321 and Levi saw the same things. It was as if the exact same room was repeated over and over. It was at this point that he felt the need to leave the building.
As soon as he thought about leaving, he turned and saw an exit door. Something prevented him though. A wall of fire stood between him and the outside. It crackled and popped with intensity and began to snake forward. Tendrils of fire jumped from the door to the wall and floor. It snaked its way up to Levi who, at this point began running. However, it travelled fast. The tongues of fire grabbed him and began burning. It had caught up with Levi and started consuming him. The fire surrounded him and his body betrayed his will. He collapsed and the young man could do nothing but sit there and feel the charred flesh bubble and pop. He felt like a marshmallow that was beginning to brown too quickly. Soon, he would have an outside of pure charred skin and a gooey, liquefied inside. Levi felt pressure relieved from his leg and realized that part of the muscle had been burned off and it showed bone and blackened tissue. Levi closed his eyes and braced himself for death. It never came.
Soon, Levi opened his eyes and he was fine. His skin was back to the way it was before. He reached down and felt his leg, expecting to feel bone, but he grabbed a fleshy substance. Standing up, horrified at what he just went through, Levi sprinted towards the door and pushed it open. The scene he was faced with was rather unsettling. A parking lot sat in front of him, and only a lone car was in it. The compact vehicle was smashed and mangled and looked like it had been rammed into a light post. Light from the dusky sky shone down and reflected back up.
Levi began cautiously approaching the car when there was a sudden cry that penetrated the overwhelming silence. The baby’s cry rang throughout the lot like a bell. It was so intense and guttural that as Levi heard it, the sound made his stomach churn and twist with empathy and sympathetic pain. Moving quicker now, Levi glided across the asphalt, but as he did, the cry got distorted and deeper. When he finally reached the car, the cry seemed droopy and marble-mouthed.
Mustering all his confidence and expecting to see something awful, Levi glanced into the car and saw the baby unharmed and completely fine. He went around to the other side and tried to break the driver’s window with his fist and shoulder, no luck. There was a baseball bat that he hadn’t noticed before that rested behind the back-left wheel of the car so he busted out the window with that. Glass shattered into the seat and when he reached into the car to unlock it, he cut himself along his forearm accidentally with the glass, but he got the car unlocked. He went around to the other side of the car where the baby was and pulled it out. Comforting the child, he was able to quell the sadness and it stopped crying.
Levi turned around and saw an old, angry, evil-looking, banshee. Long, translucent, grey hair swirled around her head, rising above and all around as if gravity was suspended from just that point. Rags shrouded her ethereal blue-grey body as if she had risen from the grave. Her face looked as if someone stretched worn leather over her head and vacuum sealed it to her skull. Where her eyes would have been, there were two orbs of light that were shining brightly. To Levi, they appeared to be white hot balls of fire that burned with both hatred and sadness. The woman’s mouth was probably the scariest of all. The jaw seemed to be unhinged, but not in a way that Levi expected from a shambling zombie, but instead, it allowed for a gaping hole right in the middle of the face. From this opening, the lady emitted a scream that would have shattered the strongest glass.
When the shriek hit Levi, it immediately made him think of all the times he had been utterly miserable. He recalled one time when he was six, he got lost in the store and thought his parents had disowned him. Another time when his eighth grade English teacher had ripped into him in front of the whole class for not completing a project on time. In college, when his best friend passed away because of a car accident. When he lost the company he worked for a large customer. The biggest fight he ever had with his wife. These thoughts hadn’t been here before, but they were now. There was some semblance of a life that this young man once had, but he felt as if there were still pieces missing. Levi only came to his senses when he realized that the woman was rushing towards him.
With unnatural speed, the banshee shifted up from the hospital doors to him and unleashed its wail once again. The baby, too, began to cry, but this time with its unnatural, distorted cry. The child’s skin began to boil and melt in Levi’s arms, but the hag distracted him. She grabbed his face with both hands and her claws dug into his cheeks, drawing blood. Where she touched him, it burned like her hands were made of solid fire. Levi felt his grip on the child loosening and when he looked at it, the kid had bubbled down to a human mush of bone, blood, muscle, and skin. He threw it aside and the harridan started to make sense.
“My baby! What have you done with my baby! You murdered him! How could you do that?” Her voice deepened and she too started to melt down into a puddle. As soon as her grip fell from his cheeks, Levi backed up and started to run as fast as he could. He closed his eyes and kept running. After about two minutes, he opened his eyes again. It was still twilight outside, but now he was in a forest at the foot of a cliff.
Levi felt his cheek where the banshee had wounded and burned him, but it had already scabbed and scarred and even those were fading he felt. Looking up at the cliff, he saw a pair of legs dangling over and something was rushing towards him. Without even registering what it was, Levi was hit in the face with something. Staggering back, he saw that it was an apple core. The next time he blinked, he was on top of the cliff. Behind him was a man overlooking the forest. Strangely, Levi saw no hospital in the distance.
He walked up to the man.
“Hello?” He turned around and Levi recognized him instantly. It was his old high school bully Mark Johnson.
He stood towering over Levi with his short, crew-cut blonde hair and piercing electric blue eyes. His mouth curled into a sneer when he saw which showed off twisted yellow kernels of teeth. His jaw was square and protruding which mirrored the rest of his body. Johnson was a typical high school jock. He wore a blue and white letterman’s jacket that barely covered the width of the slab of meat that was his body. He was tall, but stocky, a football coach’s dream. He had won Evergreen the state championship all four years. There were even rumors that Mr. Vogle, the mean brute of a wrestling coach, cried at his graduation.
In a gruff voice, Mark said “Hey, everyone! It’s Crybaby Levi!” Roaring laughter filled the air almost as if he was on a sitcom. Johnson pushed Levi back. “What’cha gonna do about it, Crybaby?” Johnson shoved him again. “Huh? What’re you gonna do about it?”
Levi geared up to try and defend himself, but he made the mistake of punching Mark in the stomach. He gasped a moment, but recovered quickly. Mark smiled, reared back and a club of flesh made contact with Levi’s temple.
* * *
When Levi woke up, Mark was gone. Instead, there was a suited man sitting on the cliff, dangling his legs. He could hear the man crunch into an apple. Levi stood up shakily and walked over to the man. “Who are you?”
The man turned around, saw Levi, and stood up. He brushed himself off, tossed the apple core over his shoulder, and stuck out his left hand.
“Hello. Satan’s the name.”
As ten-year-olds are wont to do when allowed free time, one Mr. Chavez challenged me to a breathing contest. I, of course, accepted. The rules of the game was this: you must hold your breath for as long as you can. If the other person holds their breath longer than you do, then you lose. If the inverse happens, you win.
Now, if I was a betting man at that age, I would have bet on myself and, unfortunately, I would have lost a lot of money.
After Mr. Wilkinson counted us off, both Chavez and I inhaled. I expected this challenge to be easy. After all, who couldn’t hold their breath. I recall the feeling of capacity hit me at about thirty seconds, much earlier than I had expected, but I was a tough kid. I wouldn’t let some measly poisonous gas let me lose a bet.
At about forty seconds, I remember my vision going blurry and for twelve seconds after that, I passed out. When I came to, I saw my mother kneeling over me and Mr. Chavez was making sure that I was okay as well. However, I vividly recall that I inhaled as much air as I could because my breathing was irregular. This situation is similar to the one in which we find one Levi Silverman.
* * *
Levi awoke in a hospital with a long, sharp metal rod inserted inside his left arm. Some sort of plastic clamp rested on his right index finger and there was a beeping that he was sure had increased now that he was wrested from his sleep. An abnormal amount of crust had accumulated near his tear ducts giving Levi the impression that he had been resting for quite some time.
Gathering the strength to move, he sat up. Yanking the needle from his arm and throwing the plastic clamp aside, Levi threw his legs from the bed. A small droplet of blood pooled at the puncture wound and his finger was purple and wrinkled from the clamp. After rubbing his face and clearing his eyes, Levi tried and failed to stand. When he commanded his knees to lock, they failed him and caused him to fall back into the bed. Successfully knocking over the IV bag, the vitals monitor and the bed itself, he found himself on the floor.
Using the bedside table to prop himself up, he was finally able to force compliance from his body. A wallet and a glass of water laid on the surface of the makeshift nightstand. Interestingly enough, Levi was not thirsty; instead, he reached for his wallet. Other than his name, Levi knew nothing about himself. A form of amnesia? Maybe. Hopefully this would give him some idea of who he was.
Inside, there was an identification card. At the top in bolded font, the card proclaimed “California”. Apparently, his DOB was 3/7/1987, whatever that meant. There were several other cards that told Levi he was a part of several organizations called “UnionBank”, “Costco”, and “Regal”. He must have been important. As he was examining the leather case, a deafening roar shook the very foundations of the hospital.
Very quickly, Levi scrambled under the bed. He heard glass shattering and trays clattering to the floor. When the thunderous rumble ceased, the young man climbed out from under the bed and went to the door where he experienced a sense of inexplicable dread. His hand trembled as he reached for the knob, but nonetheless, he turned it.
Levi peered into the hallway. He felt that if he stuck his head out too far, the source of the thunder would hurt him in some way. After looking both left and right, Levi felt safe enough to leave the room. He stepped warily out of the door as if he were a mouse afraid of a lurking cat.
The man found himself standing outside of a nurse’s station only, there were no nurses. Now that he thought about it, Levi hadn’t heard anyone else since he’d woken up. Brushing that peculiarity off, he moved toward the station. Behind the work desk, he found a package of band-aids; he took one and adhered the patch to the puncture wound in his arm.
Now that Levi had recognized the distinct lack absence of other humans, it disturbed him. Looking down the fluorescently lit hallway that lived past the nurse’s station, the young man searched for even the smallest hint that another person had walked these halls in the past week. Nothing. The hospital was totally intact, but it was as if all life had vanished. Levi drew steadily distressed as he cautiously scuttled down the hall.
Along his walk down, he decided to inspect a few of the rooms. The young man stopped at room 2506 and craned his head inside. He found that this was the room he had left not five minutes ago. The bed, IV bag, and the vitals monitor were all fallen over. There was his wallet and the unemptied glass of water. If Levi hadn’t been scared enough before he was now. Next to the room was a flight of stairs. Quickly, he threw open the door and descended the steps. Bursting out into another hallway, he frantically rushed down and found another room, this one was 1321 and Levi saw the same things. It was as if the exact same room was repeated over and over. It was at this point that he felt the need to leave the building.
As soon as he thought about leaving, he turned and saw an exit door. Something prevented him though. A wall of fire stood between him and the outside. It crackled and popped with intensity and began to snake forward. Tendrils of fire jumped from the door to the wall and floor. It snaked its way up to Levi who, at this point began running. However, it travelled fast. The tongues of fire grabbed him and began burning. It had caught up with Levi and started consuming him. The fire surrounded him and his body betrayed his will. He collapsed and the young man could do nothing but sit there and feel the charred flesh bubble and pop. He felt like a marshmallow that was beginning to brown too quickly. Soon, he would have an outside of pure charred skin and a gooey, liquefied inside. Levi felt pressure relieved from his leg and realized that part of the muscle had been burned off and it showed bone and blackened tissue. Levi closed his eyes and braced himself for death. It never came.
Soon, Levi opened his eyes and he was fine. His skin was back to the way it was before. He reached down and felt his leg, expecting to feel bone, but he grabbed a fleshy substance. Standing up, horrified at what he just went through, Levi sprinted towards the door and pushed it open. The scene he was faced with was rather unsettling. A parking lot sat in front of him, and only a lone car was in it. The compact vehicle was smashed and mangled and looked like it had been rammed into a light post. Light from the dusky sky shone down and reflected back up.
Levi began cautiously approaching the car when there was a sudden cry that penetrated the overwhelming silence. The baby’s cry rang throughout the lot like a bell. It was so intense and guttural that as Levi heard it, the sound made his stomach churn and twist with empathy and sympathetic pain. Moving quicker now, Levi glided across the asphalt, but as he did, the cry got distorted and deeper. When he finally reached the car, the cry seemed droopy and marble-mouthed.
Mustering all his confidence and expecting to see something awful, Levi glanced into the car and saw the baby unharmed and completely fine. He went around to the other side and tried to break the driver’s window with his fist and shoulder, no luck. There was a baseball bat that he hadn’t noticed before that rested behind the back-left wheel of the car so he busted out the window with that. Glass shattered into the seat and when he reached into the car to unlock it, he cut himself along his forearm accidentally with the glass, but he got the car unlocked. He went around to the other side of the car where the baby was and pulled it out. Comforting the child, he was able to quell the sadness and it stopped crying.
Levi turned around and saw an old, angry, evil-looking, banshee. Long, translucent, grey hair swirled around her head, rising above and all around as if gravity was suspended from just that point. Rags shrouded her ethereal blue-grey body as if she had risen from the grave. Her face looked as if someone stretched worn leather over her head and vacuum sealed it to her skull. Where her eyes would have been, there were two orbs of light that were shining brightly. To Levi, they appeared to be white hot balls of fire that burned with both hatred and sadness. The woman’s mouth was probably the scariest of all. The jaw seemed to be unhinged, but not in a way that Levi expected from a shambling zombie, but instead, it allowed for a gaping hole right in the middle of the face. From this opening, the lady emitted a scream that would have shattered the strongest glass.
When the shriek hit Levi, it immediately made him think of all the times he had been utterly miserable. He recalled one time when he was six, he got lost in the store and thought his parents had disowned him. Another time when his eighth grade English teacher had ripped into him in front of the whole class for not completing a project on time. In college, when his best friend passed away because of a car accident. When he lost the company he worked for a large customer. The biggest fight he ever had with his wife. These thoughts hadn’t been here before, but they were now. There was some semblance of a life that this young man once had, but he felt as if there were still pieces missing. Levi only came to his senses when he realized that the woman was rushing towards him.
With unnatural speed, the banshee shifted up from the hospital doors to him and unleashed its wail once again. The baby, too, began to cry, but this time with its unnatural, distorted cry. The child’s skin began to boil and melt in Levi’s arms, but the hag distracted him. She grabbed his face with both hands and her claws dug into his cheeks, drawing blood. Where she touched him, it burned like her hands were made of solid fire. Levi felt his grip on the child loosening and when he looked at it, the kid had bubbled down to a human mush of bone, blood, muscle, and skin. He threw it aside and the harridan started to make sense.
“My baby! What have you done with my baby! You murdered him! How could you do that?” Her voice deepened and she too started to melt down into a puddle. As soon as her grip fell from his cheeks, Levi backed up and started to run as fast as he could. He closed his eyes and kept running. After about two minutes, he opened his eyes again. It was still twilight outside, but now he was in a forest at the foot of a cliff.
Levi felt his cheek where the banshee had wounded and burned him, but it had already scabbed and scarred and even those were fading he felt. Looking up at the cliff, he saw a pair of legs dangling over and something was rushing towards him. Without even registering what it was, Levi was hit in the face with something. Staggering back, he saw that it was an apple core. The next time he blinked, he was on top of the cliff. Behind him was a man overlooking the forest. Strangely, Levi saw no hospital in the distance.
He walked up to the man.
“Hello?” He turned around and Levi recognized him instantly. It was his old high school bully Mark Johnson.
He stood towering over Levi with his short, crew-cut blonde hair and piercing electric blue eyes. His mouth curled into a sneer when he saw which showed off twisted yellow kernels of teeth. His jaw was square and protruding which mirrored the rest of his body. Johnson was a typical high school jock. He wore a blue and white letterman’s jacket that barely covered the width of the slab of meat that was his body. He was tall, but stocky, a football coach’s dream. He had won Evergreen the state championship all four years. There were even rumors that Mr. Vogle, the mean brute of a wrestling coach, cried at his graduation.
In a gruff voice, Mark said “Hey, everyone! It’s Crybaby Levi!” Roaring laughter filled the air almost as if he was on a sitcom. Johnson pushed Levi back. “What’cha gonna do about it, Crybaby?” Johnson shoved him again. “Huh? What’re you gonna do about it?”
Levi geared up to try and defend himself, but he made the mistake of punching Mark in the stomach. He gasped a moment, but recovered quickly. Mark smiled, reared back and a club of flesh made contact with Levi’s temple.
* * *
When Levi woke up, Mark was gone. Instead, there was a suited man sitting on the cliff, dangling his legs. He could hear the man crunch into an apple. Levi stood up shakily and walked over to the man. “Who are you?”
The man turned around, saw Levi, and stood up. He brushed himself off, tossed the apple core over his shoulder, and stuck out his left hand.
“Hello. Satan’s the name.”
The Morties
By Angel Sanchez
Once upon of time there was a magical man named Mort the Mortician. A little history about him; He is 3,666 years old, and was born in the Underworld. When he 340 he was blessed with power of resurrection meaning he could bring anything back to life. At the age of 910 he met his wife Morticia. He fell in love with her jolly personality. They were wedded at the lost river of souls. Hades, the god of the Underworld let them leave his domain to live their lives in the world above. They now reside happily in a quiet village named Undioplosis. They have a pet dog named Cerberus who was once dead, he was a wedding gift from Hades himself.
On a foggy morning Mort goes out for a walk in the forest of dirty socks for his usual water run. He stumbles upon a very repulsive corpse. He pities the poor fellow, so a light bulb lit up on top of his head, and he came up with this brilliant idea or so thought. He decides to resurrect him using his mortician powers. He brings it back to life, but soon regrets his decision. Turns out that corpse was actually a socially awkward person named Greg, when people hear his name they cower for that name sounds like a person with a not so great personality. Greg, out of panic starts an awkward conversation with Mort. Mort not being able to handle no more, punches Greg’s face, and Greg now injured retreats into the cave of certain boringness to recover, and cry in a corner.
After that painfully awkward encounter, Mort goes home to rest, and think about what he had done. He later on talks to his wife about what he went through. She reassures him that it’s not Mort’s fault, “that’s what Greg gets for having zero people skills,” Morticia says laughing. Mort does not know how to defeat Greg, he does not want other people to go through as something as awkward as he did, so he makes a vow to defeat Greg, and send him back to the underworld where he belongs. Hence he begs Morticia to help him on his quest. Morticia whispers, “Lazy Susan… go to her, she will help you, you can find her in the forest of dirty socks, she lives in a cottage you'll be able to find it, it stands out.” Mort leaves the house, he takes Cerberus, his most trusted companion along with him.
It only takes Mort 13 minutes to find Lazy Susan’s cottage. He enters the house with caution. A strange soft voice whispers, “Who dares enter the Great Lazy Susan’s cottage.”. Out in the shadows a faint figure slowly starts to manifest. Then out of nowhere the figure runs towards Mort, and tackles him. “Ahahaha” the mysterious figure laughs loudly. It reveals itself, and it turns out it is just an old wrinkly, but strangely fit lady. She creepily says “what is a handsome fellow like you doing out here in the forest?” Mort replies “I come here seeking help to defeat the terrible Greg, legend says you killed him eons ago”. Lazy Susan tells him everything, her last words to Mort before he departs is “use the dirty underwear, it is the only way”. He then returns to Undioplolis, and takes a nap.
Mort awakens, knowing he must face the most socially awkward person he has ever met. He makes his way towards the cave of certain boringness, and looks for Greg. He eventually finds Greg crying in the corner and ambushes him. Mort then battles Greg, it only lasts 23 seconds, he manages to overpower Greg when they were puppy fighting. Mort grabs Gregs hair, and makes him inhale the aroma of the underwear. The last time the underwear was washed was 3,809 years ago, so it was really stinky, because of this Greg dies in an instant, which is understandable.
In the end Mort kills Greg, and they live happily ever after the end! Not yet actually, Greg dies, but Mort decides to hold a funeral for poor Greg. No one attends his funeral. Mort has some words to say “We are gathered here today to witness the burial of our deceased Greg… he might have been socially awkward, but he was still a semi great person” Greg then buries him. The funeral was only 3 minutes. To conclude this tale, Greg dies, and Mort lives happily ever after with his wife and pet, the end.
On a foggy morning Mort goes out for a walk in the forest of dirty socks for his usual water run. He stumbles upon a very repulsive corpse. He pities the poor fellow, so a light bulb lit up on top of his head, and he came up with this brilliant idea or so thought. He decides to resurrect him using his mortician powers. He brings it back to life, but soon regrets his decision. Turns out that corpse was actually a socially awkward person named Greg, when people hear his name they cower for that name sounds like a person with a not so great personality. Greg, out of panic starts an awkward conversation with Mort. Mort not being able to handle no more, punches Greg’s face, and Greg now injured retreats into the cave of certain boringness to recover, and cry in a corner.
After that painfully awkward encounter, Mort goes home to rest, and think about what he had done. He later on talks to his wife about what he went through. She reassures him that it’s not Mort’s fault, “that’s what Greg gets for having zero people skills,” Morticia says laughing. Mort does not know how to defeat Greg, he does not want other people to go through as something as awkward as he did, so he makes a vow to defeat Greg, and send him back to the underworld where he belongs. Hence he begs Morticia to help him on his quest. Morticia whispers, “Lazy Susan… go to her, she will help you, you can find her in the forest of dirty socks, she lives in a cottage you'll be able to find it, it stands out.” Mort leaves the house, he takes Cerberus, his most trusted companion along with him.
It only takes Mort 13 minutes to find Lazy Susan’s cottage. He enters the house with caution. A strange soft voice whispers, “Who dares enter the Great Lazy Susan’s cottage.”. Out in the shadows a faint figure slowly starts to manifest. Then out of nowhere the figure runs towards Mort, and tackles him. “Ahahaha” the mysterious figure laughs loudly. It reveals itself, and it turns out it is just an old wrinkly, but strangely fit lady. She creepily says “what is a handsome fellow like you doing out here in the forest?” Mort replies “I come here seeking help to defeat the terrible Greg, legend says you killed him eons ago”. Lazy Susan tells him everything, her last words to Mort before he departs is “use the dirty underwear, it is the only way”. He then returns to Undioplolis, and takes a nap.
Mort awakens, knowing he must face the most socially awkward person he has ever met. He makes his way towards the cave of certain boringness, and looks for Greg. He eventually finds Greg crying in the corner and ambushes him. Mort then battles Greg, it only lasts 23 seconds, he manages to overpower Greg when they were puppy fighting. Mort grabs Gregs hair, and makes him inhale the aroma of the underwear. The last time the underwear was washed was 3,809 years ago, so it was really stinky, because of this Greg dies in an instant, which is understandable.
In the end Mort kills Greg, and they live happily ever after the end! Not yet actually, Greg dies, but Mort decides to hold a funeral for poor Greg. No one attends his funeral. Mort has some words to say “We are gathered here today to witness the burial of our deceased Greg… he might have been socially awkward, but he was still a semi great person” Greg then buries him. The funeral was only 3 minutes. To conclude this tale, Greg dies, and Mort lives happily ever after with his wife and pet, the end.
Afterlife
By John Bruce
The man laid in the hospital bed, vaguely aware of his surroundings. There was someone next to him, he reached out a wrinkled, shaking hand and felt smooth flesh. The hand gripped his and he set his down on the bed. He wondered how much longer he had to lay here before he could get up and go home. He wanted to see his wife again. The man was sure he had been married. Her face was still imprinted on his mind, though he hadn’t seen her since… That frequent beeping sure is annoying when was the last time? Must have been just a couple days ago when they sat across from the deli table with a little girl next to them. He felt similarly smooth hands from both that little girl and his wife. A daughter? No he had never had kids. Did he?
He smelled lilacs. The flowers had piled up in his room during his time here and every so often, he would find something odd about the flowers as if they had slightly changed. Maybe it was card woman changing the flowers. Two women visited him almost every day. There was the woman who brought the cards. He didn’t know her. Then there was the woman who gave him the medication. Is my breathing getting shallower? I don’t remember doing anything too physical. She changed him and took care of him. The man saw her more often than flower woman. It seemed pointless. She would come in, set the flowers down, say a few words, then sit with him for a while. After about an hour, she’d say something about Jacob and soccer or Jacob and science club and she’d get up and walk out the door. Who Jacob was, he’d never know.
Everything seemed to get slower. The man’s already blurred vision got further and further out of focus, almost as if he was falling down a pit. The smooth hand gripped his. Was it raining? Goodness, that alarm is irritating. It’s just a flat tone. He felt several drops of water hit his hand and was half aware of someone’s head on his stomach.
Eventually, the man closed his eyes and began to sleep. He felt light headed and he couldn’t see anything. He heard a young man say in a decisive tone, “Time of death: 22:36, Tuesday, April 19th.” The man drifted away.
….
….
….
….
….
….
….
….
….
Suddenly, he drew breath. The man clutched his chest and gasped for air. He reached to hold on to something for stability and realized he was sitting. It was an adirondack patio chair. The man’s nails dug into the wood as if it were the only thing holding him to this area. After he caught his breath, he looked around. The chair was positioned like a city council meeting. Next to the large, middle chair were four other smaller chairs.
At the center of the council, sitting in the largest chair was an cinnamon colored man with almond shaped eyes. He wore a fine suit with a trimmed beard and short hair. A tie draped untied around his neck and his shirt was partially untucked. He looked tired. In the two smaller chairs to his left were two men. One looked like he might have been an ancient scholar while the other was an extremely old man with a white robe. To the right were two more men. One looked like a hippie that lost his way back to the hostel and the other seemed more put together than the rest except maybe the scholar. He wore the same fine suit as the big chair man, but he looked more like a used car salesman than anything else. His hair was slicked back and his olive colored skin seemed very oily. If he’d approached the man in the adirondack in a dark alley, he would have turned away.
The big man addressed the man in the center. “James David,” the very old man chuckled and put a notch on the iPad he was holding. The big man glanced aside and he quieted. “Lived in New York City, New York, United States. Born 1934. Married 1952. One adopted child at 39 after finding out that wife can not have children. Child is now a lawyer living in Los Angeles. In his late life, he became CEO of a business which gave back to the community. You have all been sent a full dossier on James, please open it.” He swiped up on his iPad and there were four notification noises.
Up until this point, Jim had been unable to speak. “What is this?” He was frantic for answers. In exchange, the greasy man spoke.
“May the record reflect that he stole a chocolate bar from the local supermarket when he was three.”
“Mother made him return it even with a bite taken out of it.” The scholar rebutted.
James was so confused. Who were these people and how did they know so much about him? Was this heaven?
“Am I dead?”
The big man looked up for a moment, paused, looked back at his iPad, and said simply, “Yes.”
“Wait…. what?”
The large figure closed his eyes, sighed, and looked up. “You’re dead.”
“I… I’m dead. I’m dead?”
The old man squinted his already squinty eyes and began to say something about his wedding, but the big man moved a finger and he stopped.
“Not now, Abraham.” The squinty-eyed man went back to his iPad. “You’re dead, James David. This is your Judgement Day.”
“My Judgement Day? You mean… Are you God?”
“I go by many names, God, Yahweh, Allah, Jehovah, Kyrios, Lord, Father. I could go on.”
It didn’t register with James that he was standing in front on an all powerful being. “So, the Christians got it right?”
“Not exactly.” A similar voice spoke, but it was much softer and gentler, almost like a dove landing on a tree branch. “I am Christ, but this is God.”
“Wait a minute. So, who are these people.”
The scholar looked up. “I am Muhammad”
Next, the squinty-eyed old man. “I am Abraham.”
The hippie spoke again and confirmed his identity. “I am Jesus of Nazareth.”
And finally, the greasy looking man spoke with a sneer. “I am Lucifer.”
A wave of fear set in on James. “L-Lucifer?”
The greasy man waved his hand and began a nonchalant, but braggadocious list. “Lucifer, Satan, Morning Star, Shaytan, Beelzebub, Abaddon. I’ve got as many names as this guy over here.” He spoke with a thick New York accent and jabbed a thumb at God.
“Does that mean i’m going to hell?”
“That’s what we’re about to find out, James. Now, what did you say Abraham?”
Abraham moistened his lips and spoke. He had a high-pitched raspy voice. “This guy eloped. Didn’t have a wedding.”
God retorted. “You know I don’t care about that.”
“The laws of religion are important.”
“I beg to differ.” Jesus looked over at Abraham. “It doesn’t matter as long as you have a good relationship with God and you are kind to others.”
“That’s important,” began the scholar. “But what about art and poetry and literature? Expressing your beliefs to the world is important too.”
“No.” Abraham was firm. “The laws of the religion are crucial.”
“Then why did God create me to get rid of those?”
“Don’t you see?” Lucifer stood up. “None of this matters. Most of humanity is in Hell anyways.”
“Is that true?” James spoke up quietly and sheepishly.
“I can’t tell you Jim.” God’s voice boomed over all the rest without even trying.
“It’s true though.” Lucifer winked at him.
“Don’t believe him.” Jesus spoke with a calm voice.
“As these four were bickering, I finished your judgement.” James’s stomach churned. What was it going to be? Where would he go? What was his eternal fate? God looked at his iPad. His eyes squinted and his brow furrowed. “Undetermined,” he whispered. “T-T-That’s… never happened. I-I didn’t even think this could happen.”
“Well, what does that mean?” James grew nervous.
God stared at his iPad for a while before speaking. The Four Prophets weren’t talking either. “I don’t know.” The men around God erupted in chattering. James couldn’t even pick out a single word. Eventually, God boomed “Quiet!” with the force of a thousand volcanoes. He looked at James with an intense fury. “I don’t know how this happened, but I know what we’re going to do about it. Choose.”
“Choose what?”
“Choose where you go. You aren’t good enough for my Heaven, but you aren’t evil enough for Hell. You didn’t have a relationship with Jesus. You didn’t follow the laws of either Islam or Judaism. Therefore, choose.”
“Isn’t there some sort of Purgatory or something?”
God’s anger grew slightly. “I despise that word. That is a Catholic word that is not true. Dante the Idiot wrote that damned book and it’s never been the same.”
“Don’t forget about The Inferno or Paradise Lost,” Lucifer chimed in.
God snapped his head over to him and he quieted up. “Choose, James David of New York.”
“What if I don’t?”
The Prophets looked at God. “Wh-Wh… You can’t d-... I won’t allow-...”
“What if he stayed here with Peter?” Jesus suggested. An ancient man came forth wearing a long flowing robe. He had a shepherd’s crook and was hobbling forward. The steps he took echoed on the marble floor. From the thin drawstrings of the robe, dangled a large, ornate key followed by other, smaller keys. This was the first time that James had noticed that behind the Four and God were human-sized doors. They were all gilded, white colored oak except one: Lucifer’s. His was black and red. The paint job was shoddy, almost like he did it himself and didn’t have the time.
In a very old, hoarse voice, Peter whispered “I can take him until he decides, my Lord.”
God turned his attention back to James. “Is this what you choose? To stay here until you have decided?”
James thought it over. Behind Muhammad's door would be a great world full of literature and poetry and great wealth, but, as with Abraham’s door, there would be rules. James didn’t like those. Behind Jesus’ door would be a great place, but then he thought of all the Southern Baptist bible belt preachers and discarded it. Then, there was Hell. The great mystery. No one knew what it was and if they did, they couldn’t tell you because that’s where they’d stay. James had a feeling he wouldn’t like it if he stayed there.
“Yes, that’s what I choose.”
“Very well, we shall reconvene in 300 years. You will be able to see everything that goes on in the world, but until you choose, you will not be able to go anywhere else. Are you sure this is your choice?”
James again thought about it. “Yes.”
“Very well, I hope you enjoy yourself.” Peter beckoned James forward and he followed him into a room. There was a bed that looked enticing, a mini-fridge that looked sustaining, and a television that showed a first-person view of a life which looked entertaining.
“Seven point six billion channels, and growing every day.” Peter said this as he handed James the remote. He left the room.
James took a moment to look around the apartment-like space and for what felt like the first time in his life, he smiled.
He smelled lilacs. The flowers had piled up in his room during his time here and every so often, he would find something odd about the flowers as if they had slightly changed. Maybe it was card woman changing the flowers. Two women visited him almost every day. There was the woman who brought the cards. He didn’t know her. Then there was the woman who gave him the medication. Is my breathing getting shallower? I don’t remember doing anything too physical. She changed him and took care of him. The man saw her more often than flower woman. It seemed pointless. She would come in, set the flowers down, say a few words, then sit with him for a while. After about an hour, she’d say something about Jacob and soccer or Jacob and science club and she’d get up and walk out the door. Who Jacob was, he’d never know.
Everything seemed to get slower. The man’s already blurred vision got further and further out of focus, almost as if he was falling down a pit. The smooth hand gripped his. Was it raining? Goodness, that alarm is irritating. It’s just a flat tone. He felt several drops of water hit his hand and was half aware of someone’s head on his stomach.
Eventually, the man closed his eyes and began to sleep. He felt light headed and he couldn’t see anything. He heard a young man say in a decisive tone, “Time of death: 22:36, Tuesday, April 19th.” The man drifted away.
….
….
….
….
….
….
….
….
….
Suddenly, he drew breath. The man clutched his chest and gasped for air. He reached to hold on to something for stability and realized he was sitting. It was an adirondack patio chair. The man’s nails dug into the wood as if it were the only thing holding him to this area. After he caught his breath, he looked around. The chair was positioned like a city council meeting. Next to the large, middle chair were four other smaller chairs.
At the center of the council, sitting in the largest chair was an cinnamon colored man with almond shaped eyes. He wore a fine suit with a trimmed beard and short hair. A tie draped untied around his neck and his shirt was partially untucked. He looked tired. In the two smaller chairs to his left were two men. One looked like he might have been an ancient scholar while the other was an extremely old man with a white robe. To the right were two more men. One looked like a hippie that lost his way back to the hostel and the other seemed more put together than the rest except maybe the scholar. He wore the same fine suit as the big chair man, but he looked more like a used car salesman than anything else. His hair was slicked back and his olive colored skin seemed very oily. If he’d approached the man in the adirondack in a dark alley, he would have turned away.
The big man addressed the man in the center. “James David,” the very old man chuckled and put a notch on the iPad he was holding. The big man glanced aside and he quieted. “Lived in New York City, New York, United States. Born 1934. Married 1952. One adopted child at 39 after finding out that wife can not have children. Child is now a lawyer living in Los Angeles. In his late life, he became CEO of a business which gave back to the community. You have all been sent a full dossier on James, please open it.” He swiped up on his iPad and there were four notification noises.
Up until this point, Jim had been unable to speak. “What is this?” He was frantic for answers. In exchange, the greasy man spoke.
“May the record reflect that he stole a chocolate bar from the local supermarket when he was three.”
“Mother made him return it even with a bite taken out of it.” The scholar rebutted.
James was so confused. Who were these people and how did they know so much about him? Was this heaven?
“Am I dead?”
The big man looked up for a moment, paused, looked back at his iPad, and said simply, “Yes.”
“Wait…. what?”
The large figure closed his eyes, sighed, and looked up. “You’re dead.”
“I… I’m dead. I’m dead?”
The old man squinted his already squinty eyes and began to say something about his wedding, but the big man moved a finger and he stopped.
“Not now, Abraham.” The squinty-eyed man went back to his iPad. “You’re dead, James David. This is your Judgement Day.”
“My Judgement Day? You mean… Are you God?”
“I go by many names, God, Yahweh, Allah, Jehovah, Kyrios, Lord, Father. I could go on.”
It didn’t register with James that he was standing in front on an all powerful being. “So, the Christians got it right?”
“Not exactly.” A similar voice spoke, but it was much softer and gentler, almost like a dove landing on a tree branch. “I am Christ, but this is God.”
“Wait a minute. So, who are these people.”
The scholar looked up. “I am Muhammad”
Next, the squinty-eyed old man. “I am Abraham.”
The hippie spoke again and confirmed his identity. “I am Jesus of Nazareth.”
And finally, the greasy looking man spoke with a sneer. “I am Lucifer.”
A wave of fear set in on James. “L-Lucifer?”
The greasy man waved his hand and began a nonchalant, but braggadocious list. “Lucifer, Satan, Morning Star, Shaytan, Beelzebub, Abaddon. I’ve got as many names as this guy over here.” He spoke with a thick New York accent and jabbed a thumb at God.
“Does that mean i’m going to hell?”
“That’s what we’re about to find out, James. Now, what did you say Abraham?”
Abraham moistened his lips and spoke. He had a high-pitched raspy voice. “This guy eloped. Didn’t have a wedding.”
God retorted. “You know I don’t care about that.”
“The laws of religion are important.”
“I beg to differ.” Jesus looked over at Abraham. “It doesn’t matter as long as you have a good relationship with God and you are kind to others.”
“That’s important,” began the scholar. “But what about art and poetry and literature? Expressing your beliefs to the world is important too.”
“No.” Abraham was firm. “The laws of the religion are crucial.”
“Then why did God create me to get rid of those?”
“Don’t you see?” Lucifer stood up. “None of this matters. Most of humanity is in Hell anyways.”
“Is that true?” James spoke up quietly and sheepishly.
“I can’t tell you Jim.” God’s voice boomed over all the rest without even trying.
“It’s true though.” Lucifer winked at him.
“Don’t believe him.” Jesus spoke with a calm voice.
“As these four were bickering, I finished your judgement.” James’s stomach churned. What was it going to be? Where would he go? What was his eternal fate? God looked at his iPad. His eyes squinted and his brow furrowed. “Undetermined,” he whispered. “T-T-That’s… never happened. I-I didn’t even think this could happen.”
“Well, what does that mean?” James grew nervous.
God stared at his iPad for a while before speaking. The Four Prophets weren’t talking either. “I don’t know.” The men around God erupted in chattering. James couldn’t even pick out a single word. Eventually, God boomed “Quiet!” with the force of a thousand volcanoes. He looked at James with an intense fury. “I don’t know how this happened, but I know what we’re going to do about it. Choose.”
“Choose what?”
“Choose where you go. You aren’t good enough for my Heaven, but you aren’t evil enough for Hell. You didn’t have a relationship with Jesus. You didn’t follow the laws of either Islam or Judaism. Therefore, choose.”
“Isn’t there some sort of Purgatory or something?”
God’s anger grew slightly. “I despise that word. That is a Catholic word that is not true. Dante the Idiot wrote that damned book and it’s never been the same.”
“Don’t forget about The Inferno or Paradise Lost,” Lucifer chimed in.
God snapped his head over to him and he quieted up. “Choose, James David of New York.”
“What if I don’t?”
The Prophets looked at God. “Wh-Wh… You can’t d-... I won’t allow-...”
“What if he stayed here with Peter?” Jesus suggested. An ancient man came forth wearing a long flowing robe. He had a shepherd’s crook and was hobbling forward. The steps he took echoed on the marble floor. From the thin drawstrings of the robe, dangled a large, ornate key followed by other, smaller keys. This was the first time that James had noticed that behind the Four and God were human-sized doors. They were all gilded, white colored oak except one: Lucifer’s. His was black and red. The paint job was shoddy, almost like he did it himself and didn’t have the time.
In a very old, hoarse voice, Peter whispered “I can take him until he decides, my Lord.”
God turned his attention back to James. “Is this what you choose? To stay here until you have decided?”
James thought it over. Behind Muhammad's door would be a great world full of literature and poetry and great wealth, but, as with Abraham’s door, there would be rules. James didn’t like those. Behind Jesus’ door would be a great place, but then he thought of all the Southern Baptist bible belt preachers and discarded it. Then, there was Hell. The great mystery. No one knew what it was and if they did, they couldn’t tell you because that’s where they’d stay. James had a feeling he wouldn’t like it if he stayed there.
“Yes, that’s what I choose.”
“Very well, we shall reconvene in 300 years. You will be able to see everything that goes on in the world, but until you choose, you will not be able to go anywhere else. Are you sure this is your choice?”
James again thought about it. “Yes.”
“Very well, I hope you enjoy yourself.” Peter beckoned James forward and he followed him into a room. There was a bed that looked enticing, a mini-fridge that looked sustaining, and a television that showed a first-person view of a life which looked entertaining.
“Seven point six billion channels, and growing every day.” Peter said this as he handed James the remote. He left the room.
James took a moment to look around the apartment-like space and for what felt like the first time in his life, he smiled.
TSa
By Alexandra Feller
I just had quite an experience with TSA. I feel bad because they get such a bad reputation. I think TSA officers are actually pretty funny, eyes glazed over from running the same routine check over and over. Busting people left and right for water bottles, toiletries over 3.5 Oz, and don't even get them started about belt buckles through the metal detector. I wish I was related to a TSA agent so I could get the inside scoop. Going through TSA is like going to the DMV. Its fast, rushed, and you just get orders shouted at you the whole time. Please stop yelling at me! I swear it was just the phone I accidentally left in my back pocket not a knife.
We sit at the gate, and TSA calls my name. I left my suitcase on the conveyer belt. Oops. Until next time TSA. The plane takes off.
We sit at the gate, and TSA calls my name. I left my suitcase on the conveyer belt. Oops. Until next time TSA. The plane takes off.