Stories....

Hi!
Sorry I haven't posted in so long... I've been having trouble getting back into the groove since NaNoWriMo. I'm going to put up a new schedule soon. Thanks for bearing with me on all this, everyone.

Anyway!...

Recently, I wrote a couple short stories with some writing friends of mine. It was actually really interesting, because I would write for a while, then send it off to one of them. Then, one of them would write for a bit, then send it off to the next person. And when I got it back again to read, it would have grown into something totally different then I imagined it could be. My meaningless "Doodling" got turned into a story. So here they are, the three stories we wrote-

The jungle foliage snaps across my face, slicing gashes on my cheeks. Thin lines of blood begin to form, dripping onto my torn white shirt and causing stains that would probably never come out. The air is humid and dank, and beads of moisture and perspiration begin to form on my forehead. I hear the thunderous heartbeat of heavy feet charging after me, getting closer and closer while their owner thirsts for my blood.

Despite the commotion, the golden timepiece on my wrist stays intact and connected to me, my last keepsake from home. I remember my grandmother wrapping my hands around its metallic finish, smiling into my eyes on the day that I left. But then, with my grandfather dead and the original mission for exploration completely lost, I regret ever leaving London.

The wild whoops of spider monkeys and the booming stomps of the rhinos echo in the forest, only feeding my fear and remorse. They speak in unison with my mind, the nerve-racking feeling of imminent death peeling away at my consciousness as I duck behind a large fern, hoping that the rabid animals won’t find me. But just as I think that I am safe I hear a rustling just to my left. I gasp and turn around, my eyes trying to jump out of my head and find a safe place to hide. I wipe the sweat and tears from my face and see a little girl sitting there, looking scared.

“Hello,” I whisper, my voice raspy and tired. “Are you okay?” She shakes her head.

“They are trying to get me.” I shiver and try to keep calm. My heart starts beating at the speed of a cheetah racing for his prey.

“Who? Who is trying to get you?” My voice has a squeak in it, and I resist the urge to clear my throat. The girl’s eyes widen with fear, and I feel a sudden presence behind me. I say a last prayer, turn around, and scream. In front of me is a huge, terrifying, spider lion. Now, I don’t know if you’ve ever seen a spider monkey, this is ten times worse. I scream and close my eyes as I wait for inevitable death. My heart, if it’ s possible, starts beating even faster, and the cuts on my cheek start to sting even more. I clutch my watch, holding on to the last bit of home I will ever see again. But the blow of pain and endings never comes. Finally, I open my eyes and see the monster that had been in front of me, running off with the girl, who is frozen with fear.

I must get up, must go save that girl. She looked no older than ten, almost the same age as Ema when she went. The thought only makes me feel even more lightheaded and I’m feeling woozy. But I can’t seem to snap out of it, the fatigue and fright has caught up to me at last. I slump and lean against the plant, which creaks and shudders under my weight. Shutting my eyes, I try to regain my spent breath as my mind is a whirlwind, thinking about everything, all the time, all at once.

That girl looked like Ema, too, I think. She was the same height, had the same hair, the same vibrant eyes, filled with fear, just like hers that day I let her die. A strangled sob escapes my lips, and I fight to keep quiet, or I know the spider monkeys will surely find me. It’s getting harder now, though, as I close my eyes and the only thing I can see is her last expression, petrified. She probably has a family to get back to, the all knowing voice in my head says. I tell it to shut up, but it doesn’t. She’s probably going to die with that spider lion, and she isn’t even eleven years old yet.

Against my better judgement, I stand up unsteadily, the world spinning so that I can’t tell up from down. Then I brush the dirt off myself, however useless I know it will be, and start running in the direction she was taken. I’m going to save the girl that looked like my sister, because maybe if I do, just maybe, I can forgive myself from failing to save her.

Ema.

Alright. That is the first one, which, if you care, I wrote the middle part of. The next one, if you'll bear with me, is a bit odd, but was lots of fun to write.

I take a deep breath and close my eyes. The smell of the saltwater sea caresses my heart as I try not to think about last time I was here. I almost died, I’m sure of it. As hard as I try not to think about it, the memories float back in to my mind, pushing me likes the waves I stand so close to. After fighting with the painful part of my life, I open my eyes, face the sea, and let the flashback overtake me.

I jump out of the car, grinning to myself. I spin in a circle and sing the song that’s been running through my head for so long I can’t contain it anymore. Besides, I think to myself, No one is here yet anyway. I listen to the sound of my hair blowing in the wind for a moment, then begin to sing.

“You think you're so small

Like you're itty bitty.

Just one match in the lights of the city

Walking by strangers on the side of the street

Like a quarter in a cup'll get 'em up on their feet, like

You think you're never gonna make your mark

Sit back and watch the world while it falls apart, like

Out of sight, out of mind, like, like

It's just a waste of time,

Like, like, like”

I hear a sound behind me and stop singing. "Oh, hello," I say, smiling into the face of the stranger. "Who are you? And what are you doing here?"

His face is impassive, hard. He's got a hat on, plus a scarf that's wrapped around his neck and his hands are safely stowed away in his pockets, like he doesn't want to show more skin than necessary. He says nothing and stares at me. I can feel the intensity of his gaze.

"What do you want?" I say, my smile slipping. His demeanor is unnervingly stoic and it's starting to scare me. Only a little bit, though, because I have learned to contain my feelings since the incident. A brief thought crosses my mind, but now is not the time to think of such things. "Who are you?"

For the first time, the man breaks eye contact. He dips his head and the brim of his cap shades half of his face. Then he looks up at me again and his expression looks almost human now. "I'm Vince Larson," he says. "I'm a police detective for the state department, and I'm afraid you're going to have to come with me." He pulls a hand out of his coat pocket, extending it to me and I step away instinctively. "What do you want?" My voice sounds shrill.

“Whatever you have in your pocket,” he says. “A timepiece, I believe, passed down from generation to generation to you. It’s an… important artifact.” His voice was calm and threatening, kind of like identity.

“It’s mine. What gives you the right to take it from me?” The timepiece had been in my family for generations, I wasn’t going to give it up this easily. I reached my hand into my pocket, opening and closing the faded gold pocket watch with my thumb.

All of the sudden the wind begins to whip, sending the sharp scent of wafting seawater through the air. The clouds grew dark and ominous, and hooded figures began to appear around me. I did die here. This is the memory. This is where my moment will end. But how can I remember where I am? I’m certainly not here. I’m in a jungle, nowhere near this place. The hooded figures enclose around me until my vision goes black…

There is a faint voice. If you could, would you choose to know when, and how, you would die?

Yes, yes, that one was a bit out there, but still fun, right? Again, if you care, I wrote the beginning of it.

Alright now, this is my favorite one that we did. IT IS AMAAAZING. Really good. Please sit back and enjoy it, take your time to read it.

If you could, would you choose to know when, and how, you would die?

Bear with me here; I know it's a strange question.

But really think about this for a minute. If you said yes, you would know when you would die, maybe have a chance to prepare. You could say goodbye on your own terms, live out your last wishes. If you said yes, you would know the exact situation in which you would be delivered into Death's hands. Maybe you would meet your end in a car crash that resulted in a fatal blow to the skull. Maybe it would be in an explosion, maybe in the sea, or possibly you would trip and fall and tumble off a cliff. Maybe you would die peacefully in your sleep like you, and everyone else, had always assumed. Say that, for this instance, this is a real offer. Some take it, some don't.

Whatever the case, there's always those few people who decide they don't like the way they go. They feel cheated of a full life, of everything they had dreamt of for the future. You're one of them. That's why you're here now, talking with me, isn't it?

But possibly, what if I could tell you right now, all in speculation, what the cause of your death will be? And what if I told you that I could sense it? What if you were to die tonight? Remember, this is all in theory, but would you want to know? You’re all the way out here, and your family is far away and you wouldn’t get to say hello to them and tell them your last dying wishes and say your goodbyes. You’d be here with me instead, and that would be all right, I suppose, but you probably wouldn't like that.

But if I were to do that, then I would have just eliminated the entire idea of choice, creating it nearly impossible for you to choose, because I already would have told you. So what is your choice? Well, the problem is that none of this is speculation. I have told you the truth. You are to die tonight, in this very room, and by a very peculiar cause. Your death will not be because of a car crash or a deadly fall off of a cliff. You see, you have something that I want, and your death will be on my account. Because of what I have done, you will fall. Maybe I’ll be able to change it, but the chances are so unlikely it hurts me. Because when you knock on that door, everything will end. And I’m sorry. I’m so very, very, sorry. I wish I could have known who you were, or what you looked like when you smiled. But I can’t even think about that, because I know that when you die, I will rush forward, not to say goodbye, but to take the small item in your pocket. “But why?” You will ask. I will shake my head and walk away, clutching the stolen item in my hand. But now, moments before you walk through the door, I ask myself, why? Why would I kill you? someone I don’t even know, someone who has a family, who has a life, that I know nothing about. I would kill for something I think I need? But I do need it…. I need this; I need to be able to see my mother again. But I never will. Even if I get this, I won’t make it in time. But why not try? Why not try? What’s the point in doing this, anyway? Running around in circles, trying to find something to live for, trying to figure out the right the right thing to do. I close my eyes, trying to comprehend this. I hear a noise, and my eyes flash open. And you’re walking through the door.

So those are the stories we wrote, a little raw, I know. But It makes me really happy. Thanks for reading, and have a great Christmas!

Still Writing,

Elsie