We don't write for fun.

We don't find pleasure in spending hours, days, weeks

Poring over our laptops, our notebooks

Sketching and redrawing our characters

Fixing our plot holes and adding in detail.

We hate the sight of the dreaded red ink

Scribbled all over carefully written paper

Wrecking the simple black and white

And our sanity.

We loathe the writing blocks

The inevitable hurdles we must face

The difficult decisions that must be made:

Will he live - or must he die?

We don't write for fun.

We write because it's a part of us.

The rhythm of the keys.

The scratching of the pencil.

The rustle of the pages.

The dreaded red ink showing our errors.

We know we aren't perfect, and neither is our writing.

But we continue to let our minds fill the paper, and someday...

Maybe we will inspire someone else to embrace the writer in themselves too.

   “Hunter, come on!” She was laughing, dancing down the driveway. She called to me, a million miles away in her own galaxy of stars. Even now, I still can’t believe this bright, twinkling, shining star is - was - mine.

   I couldn’t help but smile as I followed her, led along by a slender, light hand. She was guiding me to my own car, an old and rusted 1998 Chevy Silverado.

   Stones crunching and boots thundering, we reached it, and I opened her passenger door with a bow. She laughed her gorgeous, twinkling laugh as she swung into my truck, and I shut her door with a loving smile.

   We rolled the windows down, turned the radio way up, and went for a drive that night. I was planning to give her my class ring -- a promise ring. I wanted to live with her for the rest of my days… I guess I got my wish.

   Eventually I turned down the music, pulling off the country road into the dirt. She turned to me, eyes sparkling, and took my hand gently.

   “I’m so thankful I have you,” she told me then. She leaned in, and we kissed briefly.

   “Hop on out,” I replied after we broke apart. I was so excited; it was almost time.

   I landed on the ground and was up in the bed of my Chevy before she even began to climb. I grasped for her hand. I pulled quickly, and she fell on top of me. When she recognized what was around her, she was almost speechless with happiness: I had filled the bed with blankets, comforters, and pillows, making it as cozy as could be. I was totally - well, mostly prepared.

   She hugged me tight, and as she let go, she flopped next to me, sending a red pillow flying. She laughed again; she was the sun in my sky.

   I placed my arm around her as she settled, and then she rested her head on my chest. She will certainly remember this, I had thought.

   “Wait just a second,” I told her. I twisted around and turned off the flashlight I had brought out from the glove compartment. As quickly as my light went off, the natural lights of the galaxy were illuminated, and Juliet was stunned.

   “They’re beautiful,” she whispered. They shimmered and danced, just like her, all over the inky blackness. One in particular was especially bright, and I pointed it out.

   “That’s the North Star,” I told her. “If you ever get lost, follow that and you’ll come home to me.”

   She buried her face in my neck, and I could hear her mumble, “I’ll always come back to you.”

   We could have stargazed and laid like that for hours, and I would have forgotten all about giving her my ring, but time was not kind to us that fateful night. We didn’t get hours. Hell, we barely got seconds.

   A blazing white light shattered the calm. We both started, sitting up abruptly. A truck - a real Mack truck - was barreling towards us. We could see through the windshield, it was that close: the driver was asleep.

   “Quick!” I yelled to her, and I could see the terror in her eyes. I grabbed her hand and tossed her off the side of the bed into the dirt. She rolled away, into the brush lining the road like a row of spectators. My stupid, last thought was that she was extremely light. Then, the collision…

***

   Juliet, after I sent her flying out of the bed and onto the ground, screamed for me. I remember that. It was the worst sound I had ever heard.

   The truck honked; apparently, the driver woke himself up, but not before its front grill plowed through the side of the truck. I threw my hands up over my head in an effort to protect myself, but the powerful beast couldn’t be stopped. I was thrown out of the truck, like Juliet, but not so lovingly. My Chevy rolled as it crumpled with me underneath. Juliet was still screaming, but she was yards away - I was able to get her out in time.

   The Silverado became indistinguishable. It was like a paper ball, mashed together and tossed about. The Mack was now on top of me, wheels rolling over ribs and tons of cargo crushing a body… my body. I had given myself for Juliet, but she was worth it. She would always be worth it.

   The world grew dark and silent.

***

   I remember waking up, too. Everything was black, jet black. I remember feeling so alone, feeling so lost, like I was floating away from it all, into oblivion; it consumed me. It drove me nearly mad, but I focused on the one person that gave me happiness in life: Juliet, my beautiful, shining sun.

   Suddenly, there was a pinprick of light in that dark sea, and I pushed myself to move towards it, cling to it. I needed to get home, back to Juliet, back to… life, I guess. I screamed for help, but none came. I was alone - completely and utterly alone.

   That dot of brightness in the black grew larger and larger the more I fought to get away from the dark. I forced myself to ignore the pain and the suffering. Nothing would stop me from getting home - nothing.

   Eventually, the brightness became half of the space around me. I took a deep breath and I used all of the energy I had to reach that bright light. At long last, it accepted me and folded upon me until light was all that I saw. I passed out from the effort, and I continued to zoom away from the pitch black into the searing white.

***

   I was still lying under the truck when the white subsided, but it was different. The pressure and weight on me was gone. I tried to stand up, and I found that I was weightless. In fact, I wasn’t even sure that I was human anymore; I flew right through the Mack.

   I shot towards the sky, flailing around helplessly. The descent was even more disturbing, as I realized I couldn't feel the wind rushing past. Before I hit the ground, something forced me upright, and I landed gracefully.

   I could see everything about the accident from where I was standing, some twenty feet from my own truck. Internally, I was screaming, but in reality, I couldn’t find my voice.

   The Mack had a huge dent in the front. Its hood was crumpled like a battered soda can, stomped on and crinkled. There were splatters of blood all over it like a bright splash of paint on an artist’s easel.

   My truck was worse: pieces of my taillights were strewn everywhere, there weren’t any wheels on the back end, and the bed was twisted like a wet towel. My seats were in shreds all over the road, my stereo was pummelled, my engine was crushed, and wires were sticking out everywhere. I loved that truck, but not as much as I loved Juliet, who was still lying, probably unconscious, in the dirt and brush.

   The other truck driver had awakened, but if he hadn’t, I can’t say I would have been concerned. While I was in darkness, another car had pulled over, and one of the two people from it was running towards him to try to help. The other was by Juliet, trying to wake her up. Police lights flashed in the distance, shocking the scene with flashes of red and blue. The most disturbing part, though, was that the stars were still twinkling in the pit of night. They were still shining, even though Juliet’s eyes were not.

   I tried to run over to Juliet, to help the stranger in waking her up. I found that not only could I run, but I could sprint just as well as I had jumped earlier. I was definitely not human anymore - who can sprint after they just got mowed over by a gigantic, commercial truck?

   “Juliet!” I had found my voice. In seconds, I went from too far away to see the grass that surrounded her to close enough that I could see all of the small, almost unperceivable freckles on her nose. I stared at myself, at my legs that shouldn’t have been functioning. What the hell is happening? I thought.

   I looked back at Juliet, trying to forget that I had just ran, oh, probably thirty or forty feet in less than two seconds. Her eyes were shut, as if she were sleeping in the middle of the mess. There was glass all around her, and the stranger was trying to pick some out of her hair. There were dirt streaks on Juliet’s face from when she rolled, and it looked like she had landed on a rock on her one side; her t-shirt had torn a bit. Her jeans, too, were dusty and muddy, and there were some places where the thread had gotten a little too scraped. One of her boots was tossed to the side during the commotion, and it looked sad and lonely. I glanced back at her face, lit up by the now very close police and ambulance lights. Her lips were slightly parted, but it didn’t look like they were lifeless yet. Her dark hair was tossed about her, and it was knotted and matted. It almost blended in with the dirt. Shell-shocked, I remember saying out loud, “Juliet, I - ”

   The stranger didn’t hear me, and neither did Juliet: the woman was too busy screaming for the paramedics. “She isn’t breathing! Someone! Get over here! This girl isn’t breathing!”

   I stopped looking over Juliet to see if she was okay. If she wasn’t breathing, she was not okay. I sprinted to the ambulance. Once again, I was there within seconds, but this time, I wasn’t shocked at all. I was too worried.

   “Juliet is going to die if you don’t get over there soon! Come on! Don’t you hear that woman screaming? Can’t you hear me?” I yelled. The paramedic I was talking to didn’t even flinch. “Get your ass moving! Please, save her! Get over there now! Save her!”

   I nearly went insane as the paramedic continued about his business, ignoring me. I stared at the rush around. A policeman headed for the Mack driver walked right into me, and he didn’t even flinch. Why couldn’t they see me? I was right there, in front of their faces!

   The stranger had gotten the paramedic, and Juliet was being rushed to the ambulance for care. Not wanting to be left behind, I sprinted to the van, waking from my shock. Within a minute or two of settling in, we left the terrible collision scene for the hospital.

***

   I heard the doctors say that Juliet was going to live, but they also said she had a nasty concussion and a few bruised ribs along with minor scrapes and such. She was basically going to be chained to her bed in tubes for a few weeks.

   I stayed at the hospital with Juliet for her entire stay, but since she was sleeping most of the time, I watched the news a lot. The day after the accident, I wasn’t really paying attention to the television. I was staring at Juliet, watching her sleep serenely in that gown of white.

   “There was an accident last night on Fordham Road between a drowsy commercial truck driver and Hunter McKay.” Here I lifted my head and paid attention to the news anchor. “McKay and his girlfriend, Juliet Wilcox, were parked on the side of the road when the commercial driver, John Goodwill, went off-course. Wilcox is currently in the hospital, luckily in stable condition, but McKay was, unfortunately, crushed to death after shoving his girlfriend out of the way.”

   To death?

***

   “That can’t be right,” I said aloud. The reporter continued her newsreel, but naturally, my focus was lost.

   My head felt concussed; I couldn't think straight. If I was dead, why wasn’t I “in the light” with George Washington and my great-aunt Bernadette? Why was I still here, on Earth, standing next to Juliet in room 214 in the Northeast Hailwood Hospital?

   I was confused, scared, and worried. If I was dead, who would wheel my girl around to see the world? If I was dead, what would happen to my parents, who only had one son? And what would happen to Juliet? How would she know I still loved her if I’m loving her from the grave?

   I needed some fresh air.

   When I decided I couldn’t stand feeling so stuffy anymore, naturally the weather was subpar. It rained. It poured and poured for hours. I took one long look at Juliet in her hospital bed, still unconscious, and I forced myself to turn away. Nothing would change in the span of ten minutes.

   I floated down the hallway in a daze, shocked by the harsh light compared to the relative darkness of Juliet’s room. I still couldn’t believe I was dead. Everything still seemed so real. My mind was in a fog, and unlike in calculus class, I couldn’t get a tutor to clear it.

   Outside of the doors to the lobby, it was still raining like God himself was crying. I resolved to try to think positively and about anything other than the fact that I was deceased. I decided to step outside. If I couldn’t be heard or seen, did that mean that I couldn’t feel anything either?

   I pushed the doors open. I should have taken that simple movement as a sign that yes, I could still feel things even though I was dead. Instead, I stepped out from under the awning, with the rain still coming down in torrents.

   “Here we go,” I muttered to myself.

   Long story short: I got soaked.

***

   Back inside, shaking wet droplets out of my hair, I half-walked, half-slid into the lobby’s bathroom. I got the floor all wet, but Lord knows what everyone else would think. Paper and hand towels helped dry me a little, but I was still soaked. I was shivering. I grabbed another hand towel and put it under hot water, then pressed it to my face. Much better. I looked up into the mirror, expecting to see a ragged, drenched senior high schooler. I certainly looked like I had just drowned a bit, but I did not look like a normal, average teen. Not even a little.

   In the mirror, I saw someone else, something else. There was not a single pimple on my face. Who even knew that was possible? Surprisingly, that was my first thought. Next came the hair: it was wet, dripping onto the floor, but it was cut shorter than I remembered it. Did the truck do that? The truck, then, should have torn my shirt, pants, and shoes to muddy shreds, but all three were pearly, heavenly white and clean. My tee did seem a little heavier, though. On a second glance, I realized that it wasn’t my shirt that was heavy. I had grown a pair: a pair of wings. What the hell?

- "The Guardian"

- Fiction, romance

- High school / college

- 2557 words

- Author: M. Foight

- Love stories, to me, are always stereotypical and predictable. I wanted to give others something that wasn't predictable, that was outside the norm.

- I've always been pretty good with description and detail, and so I used that power to craft a starting paragraph that showed off that style, along with a clue to the main conflict.

- Hunter and Juliet were high school lovers, but a night spent stargazing turned deadly for the pair. Hunter died in the incident, but somehow he fought his way back to the only one that mattered to him: her. His "new life" is centered around trying desperately to make a connection with her again, but sometimes love doesn't work the way we want it to.

- Target: high school and college age

- I have been obsessed with writing for as long as I can remember. I am interested in creative and professional writing, getting involved with the latter more so in the last year and a half or so. I am of high school or college age, and I have been promoted to a co-editing position for my school's literary magazine. I am also a co-editor for the editorials section of my school's newspaper.

- I can connect most easily with high school and college age young adults as I am one of them, but I am mature enough to connect with adults on deep, meaningful levels and with children (for my current profession, I am privileged to spend time with youth often).

- I have won a few small-town creative competitions, but I mostly write for myself as a way to give my thoughts and feelings to someone else in order to look at my problems in an objective manner.

- High school (so far)

- I prefer to write descriptively, focusing on the smaller details in life. If we don't have time to gaze around us at the wonders of this world, I believe that we don't have time to truly live.

- I love to write and swim. Usually when I get frustrated with work or anything else that's going on, I turn to the water to calm me.

- Reading, PA

Pencil in hand,

Hair tucked back,

I venture into night,

Dreams in my head,

So many wishes in mind,

I find it difficult to remember later.

Nevertheless,

I try to recreate it,

The scene of life with you, but,

I can never seem to get it quite right - 

All the dreams cloud my judgement,

And the wishes all reality,

So I always erase the story - 

The one set in a world of fiction, not fact - 

And I brush everything away,

Just to start it all over again.

Whispers in the wind

And conversations in the creek

I overhear as I walk along.

They speak of the Lord above,

Who tells them the time is near

To escort me to the heavenly gates.

But the storm clouds looming in my mind

Growl there's no such thing

And threaten my future with loud crashes...

I ignore the fear inside me,

Despite the lightning and rain falling,

And I remain, steady as stone

For the man who controls my deeds

And strengthens my will when I despair

Is not a man, but God,

And He has told me,

"Have faith."

Wipe it away

Out of the eyes

Don’t want it at all

Hidden with headbands

Kept in the shadows

Shouldn’t be seen at all

Shame or pride

That is the question

It’s up to you -- decide

It means dedication

Hard work and effort

Not feelings to hide away

Don’t disguise prizes won

Even if not gold

There is success in your trials

Walking in moonlight

Under the twinkling stars

I was walking the path

To nowhere

Everything was quiet

Everything was still

Nothing stirring

Besides my wandering feet

The sky was dark

But not threatening

I was at peace

I stopped for just a second

To admire it all

To take it all in

Every small droplet of beauty

Continuing on my way

Wide eyes looking all around

I saw another in the distance

I could tell it was a man

For he was gazing at a woman

With love in his eyes

Even I could tell at great length

How much he truly adored her

I could tell it was a man

For he was gazing at a woman above

From where he was on the ground

Kneeling in the moonlight

Coming into existence meek and lowly, they

Have no say in their lives.

In fear of new life, their creators turn to an ultimatum.

Live with their choice, women must, so they

Delve far within themselves to decide.

Really, the only option should be clear.

Even with protests and opposition, these humans

Never realize how deep their choice cuts into their humanity.

The clock strikes seven

And the army files in

Hundreds of men and women together

They separate to their divided companies

Soaking in plays and plans

The clock strikes an hour later

And the army is mobile again

Faces of gloomy surrenders drawn

They shift into different brigades

Preparing for war and battle

Again and again the army practices

Once an hour shifting exercises

Lines of soldiers saluting as one

They continue on till sunset draws close

Marching on and on and on

Every morning they rise in pale light

Twice checking their gear

Swarms soon enter through a single door

They collect in a group as a force formidable

Preparing to guard the world’s future

I’m holding on too long

You can tell

I’m sure

I just want to spend time with you

As much as I can before you leave

The time is approaching fast

And I’m terrified of what’s to come

I love you so much

And it’s my love that fills me with fear

You can’t stay here forever

I know

But I wish you could

I’m afraid that once you leave

You’ll leave for good

And I’ll never get to see

My little girl

Again