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We are a literary agency seeking fresh talent. In 200 words or more, demonstrate your writing talent. We will be in touch with any and all promising participants throughout the rest of this quarter.
Written by Ickopech

Forever Young

She was outgoing and imaginative.

He loved to listen to her thoughts.

The stories she told weren't hers, but he didn't know better.

When she spoke, her words danced across the room.

He was in awe of the routines her words preformed.

One day he came up with his own story,

She decided to listen.

He took her on an adventure across many seas.

She met different people who had different customs,

And she learned that not everyone is what they seem.

One day they had a falling out.

She didn't know it, but she was falling in love with him

And him with her.

He denied it as much as he could.

She tried to show him that it was okay.

Still, he pushed her away, but he couldn't shake that feeling.

So, he gave her a choice him or reality.

She chose reality as much as it pained her to do so.

Their adventure ended and he returned her home.

Only for her to kiss him goodbye.

He returned to the place he came from only to return to her every other night.

She never saw him again, but he saw her.

For the rest of eternity he loved her so.

Yet she did not know.

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Juice
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Donate coins to Ickopech.
Juice
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We are a literary agency seeking fresh talent. In 200 words or more, demonstrate your writing talent. We will be in touch with any and all promising participants throughout the rest of this quarter.
Written by Ickopech
Forever Young
She was outgoing and imaginative.
He loved to listen to her thoughts.
The stories she told weren't hers, but he didn't know better.
When she spoke, her words danced across the room.
He was in awe of the routines her words preformed.
One day he came up with his own story,
She decided to listen.
He took her on an adventure across many seas.
She met different people who had different customs,
And she learned that not everyone is what they seem.
One day they had a falling out.
She didn't know it, but she was falling in love with him
And him with her.
He denied it as much as he could.
She tried to show him that it was okay.
Still, he pushed her away, but he couldn't shake that feeling.
So, he gave her a choice him or reality.
She chose reality as much as it pained her to do so.
Their adventure ended and he returned her home.
Only for her to kiss him goodbye.
He returned to the place he came from only to return to her every other night.
She never saw him again, but he saw her.
For the rest of eternity he loved her so.
Yet she did not know.


2
0
0
Juice
11 reads
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We are a literary agency seeking fresh talent. In 200 words or more, demonstrate your writing talent. We will be in touch with any and all promising participants throughout the rest of this quarter.
Written by omgitskeba7

A Sweet Melody

Tick. Tick. Tick. The clock ticked so loudly that it began to infuriate Melody. She anticipated for the bell to ring, though she knew it would not ring for hours. She never understood why she still had to go to school. Teachers could care less what could happen to the orphans in their classes. It’s not very often you see teachers that didn’t give long lectures on what they were teaching. Instead, the class waited for their teacher to notice they were there. A teacher in a normal school would’ve been overjoyed to teach such well-mannered and diligent children. On the contrary, it was obvious, Mr. Liken could care less whether they were quarrelsome and belligerent or quiet and pensive. All the orphans wanted to do was learn, but all the teacher could do was sit there and read his newspaper while casually enjoying his potato chips. Every teacher was the same. All the teachers come into the classes and relax nonchalantly. This wasn’t like a regular old middle school, but it was an orphan’s school that was specifically set up to teach orphans so they never succeeded like the children with parents.

Melody knew everything about the plans that the government put into place. Every single city in Russia knew that. The town of Yagslavich was only there to make children so poor, they couldn’t even afford to leave. The cloud that had covered the raggedy city had prevented the outside world from knowing. Only world leaders knew. That’s how she and a few others got there. They were imported from America to Russia. Even so, Melody loved to read books. The tiny black words would amuse her. She never found T.V. interesting nor did she find playing. She was rather fond of conversation and learning. All the kids in the school were. But not a single teacher cared.

“This is going to be the worst week ever.”

The bell finally rang. The teacher happily sprang to his feet, pushed all the kids out, locked the door, and left. Melody sighed and walked through the crowded halls. The halls were so narrow that a person could get claustrophobic just looking at them. Melody heard a chalkboard being written on in a classroom. “All the teachers are gone,” she thought inquisitively. Melody felt curiosity build up inside of her. She ran her hand down the rough wooden door. Suddenly, she felt a prick on her finger. “Great. A splinter from this raggedy door.” She turned the door handle with her opposite hand. The handle fell off. Melody rolled her eyes and pushed the door open. A boy with curly, black hair stood in front of her. It was Chase, from Class A-1, which was her class. Melody tip-toed towards him and stumbled on her feet. Chase looked at Melody. Before she could stand back up, he covered up what he had been working on. “What is that behind your back?”

“N-Nothing! It’s Nothing, Melody,” he replied while waving his hands and fidgeting suspiciously.

“You know you’re a horrible liar, right? I can see the numbers sprawled across the board.” She shoved him out of the way and looked at the intricate equation on the board. She put her hand on the chalkboard and felt white powder stain her fingers. The place where her splinter was, stung. Melody groaned in agony. “Who knew splinters could hurt that bad?”

“You’re hurt.”

“No, really. It’s nothing— “

Chase took a Band-Aid and wrapped it around her finger. Melody’s heart got caught in her throat. Her thoughts were jumbled up in a bunch. She forgot what to say and she ended up just staring at him. She quickly looked away. “Who taught you this math? This is amazing!”

Chase looked to his feet and kept quiet for a while.

“My dad taught me.”

He gripped the chalk in his hands frowning in the memory of his dad. His caramel colored hands became stained with chalk. She suddenly regretted asking. Melody pecked his cheek, hoping to make him feel better. His face flushed with embarrassment and surprise. “What’s he embarrassed for? I care for him, so that’s what you’re supposed to do. Right?” The clock struck 2:30 pm and the church bells began to ring. Melody took Chase’s hand and rushed him outside the school. She felt herself lift off of the ground a little as she felt wings sprout from her back. A gasp escaped Chase’s lips. Melody put a finger to her lips and rushed into the air. Melody flew higher just for the thrill of it. She did flips and twist in the air. She was having so much fun, she almost forgot he was there with her. Melody let him on the ground. Chase had an enormous grin plastered on his face. She smiled back and tucked her hair back into place. “How?”

“It’s called Musician’s Will. It’s the only magic that exists besides Dark Quarrel. You play the cello, right?”

“Yes. We play in the band together… If you could even call it that.”

Melody giggled. “Then you possess Musician’s will. All you have to do is think about your instrument and leap into the air.” He leaped and felt something come out of his back. It was painful and exciting all at the same time. He felt something gross and shriveled come out.

“Eww! Why is it slimy?!”

“It is the first time you’ve used them, so they’re going to look like that.”

She showed him how to flip in the air and shape clouds. Every moment Chase spent with her made him happier. His laugh was in his eyes, in a way that it was a vision of unrestrained mirth and bliss. Melody would feel serenity and joy, two feelings she rarely felt with other people. Her heart would beat vigorously when he was around but she tried to stay away from her intuition on what it meant. She kicked at the clouds, watching them swirl around her feet as she pleased.

“Chase?”

He looked at her. “Yes?”

“Don’t play around black wings, okay? They’ll find you and do anything they possibly can to destroy pure wings like us, okay?”

Chase nodded his head and continue to mold. Then an idea came to mind. Chase quickly flew down towards the ground grabbed his cello. He played a single note on his way back up to Melody. She heard him come back up to the sky and quickly straightened out her puff. "What am I doing? I shouldn't care what he thinks!"

Melody threw her thoughts aside. She directed her attention to Chase who was playing her favorite Suite from Bach. She closed her eyes and swung her feet to the rhythm of the song. She felt her worries evaporate into thin air, like morning dew on a hot car. Chase put his cello down on the ground and flew back up to Melody. Melody walked on the clouds towards Chase. She was debating on what she should do. She felt like the options were tearing her up on the inside. Melody hugged Chase. He looked at her in shock. He had no idea what she was doing. Chase wasn’t complaining though. He embraced her back and buried his face in her black hair. Melody pulled away from him and smiled warmly. They both headed back down towards the “Child’s Home” orphanage.

Melody stared at the ceiling. It was caving in, so she could see almost the entire night sky. She couldn’t sleep, nonetheless try in the conditions that orphanage was in. Her back was aching on the hard wooden floor. Sure, she had a sleeping bag, but that didn’t make sleep any easier for her. Melody heard a “Snap” then a ‘Slam’. She looked back from where she laid only to see Chase. He wasn’t shocked the door fell down, in fact, it was pretty common the doors fell. “Chase? What are you doing up this late?”

“I’m just like you. Couldn’t sleep.”

“Oh. Why’d you come in here then? It’s not like I can lull you to sleep,” Melody whispered, trying not to be heard by Ms. Barnett. Chase tip-toed over to her and sat down on her sleeping bag. “I know, but you're interesting. Plus, it became boring just sitting around in my room.”

He looked up at the roof. Clouds began covering up the stars as rain trickled down from the sky. Next thing they knew, there was a huge storm above them. Lightning boomed from afar. The wind became insane. What began as a howl, became a shriek. The rain didn’t show mercy on the torn down orphanage. The storm became worse as time began to progress. The trees did not sway, but instead, they snapped as the winds pulled at their thin limbs. The roof creaked and groaned then fell in between them.

“What the—What was that!?”

Chase shrugged while trying to cover his head from getting pelted with rain. “I guess the storm wanted to say hello?”

He took off his jacket, placed it on her head, and rushed her into another room. It was damp and kind of cold, but it was better than the room they were once in. There was a small window that sat in an odd place for a window. It was placed low in the room and could be looked through by a 5-year-old without them having to stand on their tippy-toes. Melody took the jacket off of her head and looked at the storm. The skies were dark and gray. The moon couldn’t be seen. Stars that would typically sparkle in the night sky, were gone. She missed them. Melody felt something form in the corners of her eyes. It rolled down her cheeks slowly, falling and touching the floor. “Tears?” There was a sickness in her stomach that made her feel— Sad. Melody wasn’t familiar with sadness. She was used to either being mad or feeling nothing at all. She seldom was happy. More tears fell. She turned around and buried her face in her hands. "What if Chase sees me like this? What will he do? What if he thinks I’m weak,”she thought.

Chase pulled Melody’s hands from her face. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I just need— “

“There has to be something wrong for you to be crying.”

“So that’s what it’s called, crying,” she mumbled under her breath. “I just need sleep. Then, maybe this thing will be over!” Melody grinned optimistically. Chase removed his hands from Melody’s and ran out the door to grab 2 sleeping bags. The orange-hued rays of sunrise peeked out from the horizon. They were supposed to bring warmth and happiness to the room but only made Melody writhe in agony. It was obviously 3:00 in the morning. She wanted to sleep, not see the sun. She covered the window with Chase’s jacket and let her back rest against the walls. She closed her eyes, happily drifting off into oblivion.

She was enjoying her sleep…Until she heard the screeching call of the beast. Otherwise known as Ms. Barnett. It was 10:30. Melody groaned and turned on her side only to meet the cold floor. “WAKE UP,” Ms. Barnett nagged. She rushed to her feet and slipped on her clothes. They had a uniform, but why bother if nobody even cares enough to even see if you’re wearing it. Melody grimaced at the mirror, not liking that all she could see was the rust. She’d check her appearance in the puddles. She walked out the bathroom and into the living room. She reached for the handle, but then stopped as an image of Chase popped into her mind. Melody smiled and shook the image out of her head. She rushed out the door. She flew towards the school, feeling freedom from that claustrophobic little shack for an orphanage. Just as she was about to land, Chase greeted her with a warm hug. She stood there in shock. Her brain was flooded with thoughts. Her pulse raced. Melody pushed him away. “What’s wrong?”

“Sorry. I just need to get to class,” she nervously rambled.

“But— “

She was gone. Melody couldn’t focus. Not that there was anything to focus on. There were random thoughts buzzing through her mind. The teacher called on her for no reason, and of course, it was at the wrong time.

“Melody, what are you thinking about? Don’t lie to me. If you do, you’ll get a zero on your report card, and you don’t want that. Do you?” His eyes were glued to his newspaper.

“No,” she sighed. “I was just— “

“Correction Mister, but Melody can’t think,” a voice from the back of the room proclaimed.

“Excuse me?”

“She’s incapable of thinking if she doesn’t have a brain.”

The class snickered at what Phineas, a boy from Japan announced. Melody glared at him, but then turned back around. “Just look at those eyes. So huge and brown. Their like frog eyes! Ha, stupid Americans.”

She stopped. Chase and Melody were the only American’s in the class. She realized how different she was from the other kids. Melody started to feel tears well up in her eyes. “This feeling, again.” She ran out the classroom and into the chilly outdoors. Autumn brought an early evening, showing that there would be loneliness and frostbite. Melody sat in the back of the dingy school, her back pressed against cold tile and hands shivering along the lined edges of jagged brick. She remembered first getting in Russia. The state of raw abandonment swallowing her sanity whole; dawn by dusk feeling reason slipping between her stiff and frigid fingers. Puffs of warm, shaky breath thread out of her lips. She’d do anything to feel warm or to feel the radiating heat from a fresh fire or something… Or someone. Melody’s eyes grew in size when she thought about that. She smiled. Melody rushed to the auditorium. She skipped to her piano and sat on the plump stool. The leather was kind of worn down, but the stool was still useable. She heard the door fly open as someone flew in the door, twirling and spinning in the air. “Hey, Melody!”

“Hi, Chase. What are you doing in here? Did you even take your wings down in the presence of the black wings?!”

“What? There are black wings here?!”

“Yes! Mr. Roger and Mr. Hampshire are black wings,” Melody stood up while slamming her hands down on the keys. Chase stared at his feet and stayed silent. She rushed towards the window then ducked down.

“HE’S COMING! Get your cello and hide it behind your back.”

Without hesitation, he hid his cello behind his back and plastered a synthetic smile on his face. Mr. Roger walked in with pitch black wings, a sly smirk, and horrible fashion sense. He grabbed Melody’s collar. “Just who do you think you are, pure musician?” Chase played a song by Beethoven. Mr. Rodger immediately put Melody down. He covered his ears. She scampered to her piano and played along. Mr. Roger ran out the door and all the way home. Melody picked up the piano.

“What the—How did you do that?

“It’s surprisingly light. Anyway, we need to broadcast this across Russia and get us back to America! We need to clear the cloud that’s covering Yagslavich.”

“After we eat, right?”

Melody sighed and grabbed both of their empty backpacks. They flew back to the orphanage, looking at Mr. Hampshire. His arms were crossed and he had a very abhorrent expression in his face. In other words, he did not look happy. Chase flew around back. Mr. Roger was madder than ever. He was obviously at the breaking point of his patience. Some kids had previously made fun of him and disrespected him because he used to tell kids to do ridiculous things for him. At that moment, he was blinded by a five-course serving of rage that tasted acrimonious, yet sufficient. His ears were red. Mr. Roger was fuming from one little song that Chase had played. He cracked his knuckles.

Melody and Chase flew over to a cloud and sat on it. Melody sighed and looked at Chase. “They mustn’t know we are here. We need to use the will now, but the teleportation is risky. They could interfere if they know. Russia is corrupt, so I know the government knows about the teleportation.”

Chase smiled at her. “We’re going to make it.”

“Are you sure you want to teleport because we could just beat him up the best we can.”

“We want to help these people without violence. I promise everything is going to be okay, just trust me.”

Melody stared into his eyes. “Yeah, okay.”

Mr. Hampshire and Mr. Roger started to talk. “Okay, Chase. You have to say ‘Yoagsde’. It’s pronounced, You-age-a-day. Okay?”

“Alright. That’s not hard at all.”

“The crazy part is that when you say this, you have to k-kiss s-someone.”

Chase’s eyes got as big as saucers. He scratched the back of his neck and stared at Melody. She counted out 1-2-3 just as they had practiced.

“Yoasde!” Just as they said it, Chase felt something press against his lips. It was so soft, in that moment it reminded him of marshmallows. The ‘something’ was Melody. He couldn’t stop his heart from pounding in his chest. He kissed back and rubbed her hand with his thumb. Melody intertwined her fingers in his hair, before releasing.

“Melody… I love you,” Chase whispered.

Melody smiled and pressed her forehead against his. “I love you too.” But quickly after, Melody ended up in the living room of her home. She anticipated for him. “Chase? Did you end up somewhere else?”

She looked around. Until she stopped. “No… They couldn’t have.” She couldn’t believe they’d stoop so low. Mr. Hampshire chuckled, then let out a very unattractive snort. She sunk to her knees. Melody felt tears fall. “It’s all my fault… I shouldn’t have told him about the teleportation.”

Whilst she was crying, she spotted something on the counter. There was a sign above it, signed with Chase’s name. She got up and looked closer at the note. Melody touched his signature. It was fresh ink. She looked below the note and spotted a tape recorder. She pressed play.

“Hey, Melody. Stop crying, please? I’m probably not here anymore, but just know I made this for you. I want you to go tell the world about everything Russia’s government has done. Tell them about everything all the leaders of the world have done. They’ve locked us up in Yagslavich. They’ve obliterated millions of children, and the leftover children were sent here. Please, Melody, do it for the world.”

Melody felt more tears spill over. She heard a long silence before she heard last words.

“Because every time you fly in the sky and touch the clouds, I’ll be there.”

Fin.

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We are a literary agency seeking fresh talent. In 200 words or more, demonstrate your writing talent. We will be in touch with any and all promising participants throughout the rest of this quarter.
Written by omgitskeba7
A Sweet Melody
Tick. Tick. Tick. The clock ticked so loudly that it began to infuriate Melody. She anticipated for the bell to ring, though she knew it would not ring for hours. She never understood why she still had to go to school. Teachers could care less what could happen to the orphans in their classes. It’s not very often you see teachers that didn’t give long lectures on what they were teaching. Instead, the class waited for their teacher to notice they were there. A teacher in a normal school would’ve been overjoyed to teach such well-mannered and diligent children. On the contrary, it was obvious, Mr. Liken could care less whether they were quarrelsome and belligerent or quiet and pensive. All the orphans wanted to do was learn, but all the teacher could do was sit there and read his newspaper while casually enjoying his potato chips. Every teacher was the same. All the teachers come into the classes and relax nonchalantly. This wasn’t like a regular old middle school, but it was an orphan’s school that was specifically set up to teach orphans so they never succeeded like the children with parents.

Melody knew everything about the plans that the government put into place. Every single city in Russia knew that. The town of Yagslavich was only there to make children so poor, they couldn’t even afford to leave. The cloud that had covered the raggedy city had prevented the outside world from knowing. Only world leaders knew. That’s how she and a few others got there. They were imported from America to Russia. Even so, Melody loved to read books. The tiny black words would amuse her. She never found T.V. interesting nor did she find playing. She was rather fond of conversation and learning. All the kids in the school were. But not a single teacher cared.
“This is going to be the worst week ever.”
The bell finally rang. The teacher happily sprang to his feet, pushed all the kids out, locked the door, and left. Melody sighed and walked through the crowded halls. The halls were so narrow that a person could get claustrophobic just looking at them. Melody heard a chalkboard being written on in a classroom. “All the teachers are gone,” she thought inquisitively. Melody felt curiosity build up inside of her. She ran her hand down the rough wooden door. Suddenly, she felt a prick on her finger. “Great. A splinter from this raggedy door.” She turned the door handle with her opposite hand. The handle fell off. Melody rolled her eyes and pushed the door open. A boy with curly, black hair stood in front of her. It was Chase, from Class A-1, which was her class. Melody tip-toed towards him and stumbled on her feet. Chase looked at Melody. Before she could stand back up, he covered up what he had been working on. “What is that behind your back?”
“N-Nothing! It’s Nothing, Melody,” he replied while waving his hands and fidgeting suspiciously.
“You know you’re a horrible liar, right? I can see the numbers sprawled across the board.” She shoved him out of the way and looked at the intricate equation on the board. She put her hand on the chalkboard and felt white powder stain her fingers. The place where her splinter was, stung. Melody groaned in agony. “Who knew splinters could hurt that bad?”
“You’re hurt.”
“No, really. It’s nothing— “
Chase took a Band-Aid and wrapped it around her finger. Melody’s heart got caught in her throat. Her thoughts were jumbled up in a bunch. She forgot what to say and she ended up just staring at him. She quickly looked away. “Who taught you this math? This is amazing!”
Chase looked to his feet and kept quiet for a while.
“My dad taught me.”
He gripped the chalk in his hands frowning in the memory of his dad. His caramel colored hands became stained with chalk. She suddenly regretted asking. Melody pecked his cheek, hoping to make him feel better. His face flushed with embarrassment and surprise. “What’s he embarrassed for? I care for him, so that’s what you’re supposed to do. Right?” The clock struck 2:30 pm and the church bells began to ring. Melody took Chase’s hand and rushed him outside the school. She felt herself lift off of the ground a little as she felt wings sprout from her back. A gasp escaped Chase’s lips. Melody put a finger to her lips and rushed into the air. Melody flew higher just for the thrill of it. She did flips and twist in the air. She was having so much fun, she almost forgot he was there with her. Melody let him on the ground. Chase had an enormous grin plastered on his face. She smiled back and tucked her hair back into place. “How?”
“It’s called Musician’s Will. It’s the only magic that exists besides Dark Quarrel. You play the cello, right?”
“Yes. We play in the band together… If you could even call it that.”
Melody giggled. “Then you possess Musician’s will. All you have to do is think about your instrument and leap into the air.” He leaped and felt something come out of his back. It was painful and exciting all at the same time. He felt something gross and shriveled come out.
“Eww! Why is it slimy?!”
“It is the first time you’ve used them, so they’re going to look like that.”
She showed him how to flip in the air and shape clouds. Every moment Chase spent with her made him happier. His laugh was in his eyes, in a way that it was a vision of unrestrained mirth and bliss. Melody would feel serenity and joy, two feelings she rarely felt with other people. Her heart would beat vigorously when he was around but she tried to stay away from her intuition on what it meant. She kicked at the clouds, watching them swirl around her feet as she pleased.
“Chase?”
He looked at her. “Yes?”
“Don’t play around black wings, okay? They’ll find you and do anything they possibly can to destroy pure wings like us, okay?”
Chase nodded his head and continue to mold. Then an idea came to mind. Chase quickly flew down towards the ground grabbed his cello. He played a single note on his way back up to Melody. She heard him come back up to the sky and quickly straightened out her puff. "What am I doing? I shouldn't care what he thinks!"
Melody threw her thoughts aside. She directed her attention to Chase who was playing her favorite Suite from Bach. She closed her eyes and swung her feet to the rhythm of the song. She felt her worries evaporate into thin air, like morning dew on a hot car. Chase put his cello down on the ground and flew back up to Melody. Melody walked on the clouds towards Chase. She was debating on what she should do. She felt like the options were tearing her up on the inside. Melody hugged Chase. He looked at her in shock. He had no idea what she was doing. Chase wasn’t complaining though. He embraced her back and buried his face in her black hair. Melody pulled away from him and smiled warmly. They both headed back down towards the “Child’s Home” orphanage.
Melody stared at the ceiling. It was caving in, so she could see almost the entire night sky. She couldn’t sleep, nonetheless try in the conditions that orphanage was in. Her back was aching on the hard wooden floor. Sure, she had a sleeping bag, but that didn’t make sleep any easier for her. Melody heard a “Snap” then a ‘Slam’. She looked back from where she laid only to see Chase. He wasn’t shocked the door fell down, in fact, it was pretty common the doors fell. “Chase? What are you doing up this late?”
“I’m just like you. Couldn’t sleep.”
“Oh. Why’d you come in here then? It’s not like I can lull you to sleep,” Melody whispered, trying not to be heard by Ms. Barnett. Chase tip-toed over to her and sat down on her sleeping bag. “I know, but you're interesting. Plus, it became boring just sitting around in my room.”
He looked up at the roof. Clouds began covering up the stars as rain trickled down from the sky. Next thing they knew, there was a huge storm above them. Lightning boomed from afar. The wind became insane. What began as a howl, became a shriek. The rain didn’t show mercy on the torn down orphanage. The storm became worse as time began to progress. The trees did not sway, but instead, they snapped as the winds pulled at their thin limbs. The roof creaked and groaned then fell in between them.
“What the—What was that!?”
Chase shrugged while trying to cover his head from getting pelted with rain. “I guess the storm wanted to say hello?”
He took off his jacket, placed it on her head, and rushed her into another room. It was damp and kind of cold, but it was better than the room they were once in. There was a small window that sat in an odd place for a window. It was placed low in the room and could be looked through by a 5-year-old without them having to stand on their tippy-toes. Melody took the jacket off of her head and looked at the storm. The skies were dark and gray. The moon couldn’t be seen. Stars that would typically sparkle in the night sky, were gone. She missed them. Melody felt something form in the corners of her eyes. It rolled down her cheeks slowly, falling and touching the floor. “Tears?” There was a sickness in her stomach that made her feel— Sad. Melody wasn’t familiar with sadness. She was used to either being mad or feeling nothing at all. She seldom was happy. More tears fell. She turned around and buried her face in her hands. "What if Chase sees me like this? What will he do? What if he thinks I’m weak,”she thought.
Chase pulled Melody’s hands from her face. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I just need— “
“There has to be something wrong for you to be crying.”
“So that’s what it’s called, crying,” she mumbled under her breath. “I just need sleep. Then, maybe this thing will be over!” Melody grinned optimistically. Chase removed his hands from Melody’s and ran out the door to grab 2 sleeping bags. The orange-hued rays of sunrise peeked out from the horizon. They were supposed to bring warmth and happiness to the room but only made Melody writhe in agony. It was obviously 3:00 in the morning. She wanted to sleep, not see the sun. She covered the window with Chase’s jacket and let her back rest against the walls. She closed her eyes, happily drifting off into oblivion.
She was enjoying her sleep…Until she heard the screeching call of the beast. Otherwise known as Ms. Barnett. It was 10:30. Melody groaned and turned on her side only to meet the cold floor. “WAKE UP,” Ms. Barnett nagged. She rushed to her feet and slipped on her clothes. They had a uniform, but why bother if nobody even cares enough to even see if you’re wearing it. Melody grimaced at the mirror, not liking that all she could see was the rust. She’d check her appearance in the puddles. She walked out the bathroom and into the living room. She reached for the handle, but then stopped as an image of Chase popped into her mind. Melody smiled and shook the image out of her head. She rushed out the door. She flew towards the school, feeling freedom from that claustrophobic little shack for an orphanage. Just as she was about to land, Chase greeted her with a warm hug. She stood there in shock. Her brain was flooded with thoughts. Her pulse raced. Melody pushed him away. “What’s wrong?”
“Sorry. I just need to get to class,” she nervously rambled.
“But— “
She was gone. Melody couldn’t focus. Not that there was anything to focus on. There were random thoughts buzzing through her mind. The teacher called on her for no reason, and of course, it was at the wrong time.
“Melody, what are you thinking about? Don’t lie to me. If you do, you’ll get a zero on your report card, and you don’t want that. Do you?” His eyes were glued to his newspaper.
“No,” she sighed. “I was just— “
“Correction Mister, but Melody can’t think,” a voice from the back of the room proclaimed.
“Excuse me?”
“She’s incapable of thinking if she doesn’t have a brain.”
The class snickered at what Phineas, a boy from Japan announced. Melody glared at him, but then turned back around. “Just look at those eyes. So huge and brown. Their like frog eyes! Ha, stupid Americans.”
She stopped. Chase and Melody were the only American’s in the class. She realized how different she was from the other kids. Melody started to feel tears well up in her eyes. “This feeling, again.” She ran out the classroom and into the chilly outdoors. Autumn brought an early evening, showing that there would be loneliness and frostbite. Melody sat in the back of the dingy school, her back pressed against cold tile and hands shivering along the lined edges of jagged brick. She remembered first getting in Russia. The state of raw abandonment swallowing her sanity whole; dawn by dusk feeling reason slipping between her stiff and frigid fingers. Puffs of warm, shaky breath thread out of her lips. She’d do anything to feel warm or to feel the radiating heat from a fresh fire or something… Or someone. Melody’s eyes grew in size when she thought about that. She smiled. Melody rushed to the auditorium. She skipped to her piano and sat on the plump stool. The leather was kind of worn down, but the stool was still useable. She heard the door fly open as someone flew in the door, twirling and spinning in the air. “Hey, Melody!”
“Hi, Chase. What are you doing in here? Did you even take your wings down in the presence of the black wings?!”
“What? There are black wings here?!”
“Yes! Mr. Roger and Mr. Hampshire are black wings,” Melody stood up while slamming her hands down on the keys. Chase stared at his feet and stayed silent. She rushed towards the window then ducked down.
“HE’S COMING! Get your cello and hide it behind your back.”
Without hesitation, he hid his cello behind his back and plastered a synthetic smile on his face. Mr. Roger walked in with pitch black wings, a sly smirk, and horrible fashion sense. He grabbed Melody’s collar. “Just who do you think you are, pure musician?” Chase played a song by Beethoven. Mr. Rodger immediately put Melody down. He covered his ears. She scampered to her piano and played along. Mr. Roger ran out the door and all the way home. Melody picked up the piano.
“What the—How did you do that?
“It’s surprisingly light. Anyway, we need to broadcast this across Russia and get us back to America! We need to clear the cloud that’s covering Yagslavich.”
“After we eat, right?”
Melody sighed and grabbed both of their empty backpacks. They flew back to the orphanage, looking at Mr. Hampshire. His arms were crossed and he had a very abhorrent expression in his face. In other words, he did not look happy. Chase flew around back. Mr. Roger was madder than ever. He was obviously at the breaking point of his patience. Some kids had previously made fun of him and disrespected him because he used to tell kids to do ridiculous things for him. At that moment, he was blinded by a five-course serving of rage that tasted acrimonious, yet sufficient. His ears were red. Mr. Roger was fuming from one little song that Chase had played. He cracked his knuckles.
Melody and Chase flew over to a cloud and sat on it. Melody sighed and looked at Chase. “They mustn’t know we are here. We need to use the will now, but the teleportation is risky. They could interfere if they know. Russia is corrupt, so I know the government knows about the teleportation.”
Chase smiled at her. “We’re going to make it.”
“Are you sure you want to teleport because we could just beat him up the best we can.”
“We want to help these people without violence. I promise everything is going to be okay, just trust me.”
Melody stared into his eyes. “Yeah, okay.”
Mr. Hampshire and Mr. Roger started to talk. “Okay, Chase. You have to say ‘Yoagsde’. It’s pronounced, You-age-a-day. Okay?”
“Alright. That’s not hard at all.”
“The crazy part is that when you say this, you have to k-kiss s-someone.”
Chase’s eyes got as big as saucers. He scratched the back of his neck and stared at Melody. She counted out 1-2-3 just as they had practiced.
“Yoasde!” Just as they said it, Chase felt something press against his lips. It was so soft, in that moment it reminded him of marshmallows. The ‘something’ was Melody. He couldn’t stop his heart from pounding in his chest. He kissed back and rubbed her hand with his thumb. Melody intertwined her fingers in his hair, before releasing.
“Melody… I love you,” Chase whispered.
Melody smiled and pressed her forehead against his. “I love you too.” But quickly after, Melody ended up in the living room of her home. She anticipated for him. “Chase? Did you end up somewhere else?”
She looked around. Until she stopped. “No… They couldn’t have.” She couldn’t believe they’d stoop so low. Mr. Hampshire chuckled, then let out a very unattractive snort. She sunk to her knees. Melody felt tears fall. “It’s all my fault… I shouldn’t have told him about the teleportation.”
Whilst she was crying, she spotted something on the counter. There was a sign above it, signed with Chase’s name. She got up and looked closer at the note. Melody touched his signature. It was fresh ink. She looked below the note and spotted a tape recorder. She pressed play.
“Hey, Melody. Stop crying, please? I’m probably not here anymore, but just know I made this for you. I want you to go tell the world about everything Russia’s government has done. Tell them about everything all the leaders of the world have done. They’ve locked us up in Yagslavich. They’ve obliterated millions of children, and the leftover children were sent here. Please, Melody, do it for the world.”
Melody felt more tears spill over. She heard a long silence before she heard last words.
“Because every time you fly in the sky and touch the clouds, I’ll be there.”

Fin.
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Written by Hannahforrester

Mongols

When I lay in the bath tub on Tuesday nights, Richard will cook the kids dinner and bathe them. Sometimes I'll drink wine in the tub with the jets on, and sometimes I'll read my poetry books and let the bubbles pop until my toes are wrinkled and I'm left staring at my legs, or at least that's what Richard thinks. Being in hiding is probably one of the most boring things I've ever done, after the lifestyle I've lived in. Drugs and money are what I miss the most, Richards accounting job provides for this family, but not enough for the lifestyle I crave to live. In the closet, on my side, there is a shoe box filled with all the things I escaped from, pictures of me and Rox on his bike, old needles, small baggies for expensive things, Canadian dollars, and my favorite sticker that was on the back of Roxs helmet that I scraped of at the sticks bar and grill at a pit stop in Montana. When our rival gang the mongols, stabbed my favorite member of hells angels, Rox, I was taken into witness protection and placed in a small town in Idaho, where I know live with my kids and husband whom ill never love as much as the time I spent with people who probably don't even remember me. Why am I like this?

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Written by Hannahforrester
Mongols
When I lay in the bath tub on Tuesday nights, Richard will cook the kids dinner and bathe them. Sometimes I'll drink wine in the tub with the jets on, and sometimes I'll read my poetry books and let the bubbles pop until my toes are wrinkled and I'm left staring at my legs, or at least that's what Richard thinks. Being in hiding is probably one of the most boring things I've ever done, after the lifestyle I've lived in. Drugs and money are what I miss the most, Richards accounting job provides for this family, but not enough for the lifestyle I crave to live. In the closet, on my side, there is a shoe box filled with all the things I escaped from, pictures of me and Rox on his bike, old needles, small baggies for expensive things, Canadian dollars, and my favorite sticker that was on the back of Roxs helmet that I scraped of at the sticks bar and grill at a pit stop in Montana. When our rival gang the mongols, stabbed my favorite member of hells angels, Rox, I was taken into witness protection and placed in a small town in Idaho, where I know live with my kids and husband whom ill never love as much as the time I spent with people who probably don't even remember me. Why am I like this?
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Written by katjajean101

"I will see you soon,"

Her hand was small and pale. It rested weakly on the side of the bed, limp and useless.

He took the small hand in his. His was much larger than hers. It was so big, in fact, that he could easily encompass the fragile fingers within his palm. A sharp choking overcame him as his warmth elicited no response from her. It was then that he became aware that her hand would never squeeze his back again.

His fingers reached up to stroke her face, reveling at the marvelous features of the woman he had loved for so long. He had memorized each aspect of her body. He knew it so well, he most likely had a memory corresponding to each part of her.

His thumb traced her lips, the motion bringing him back in time to a different time and place.

They were young when they got married, something that had been very common at the time. It was one of the most amazing days of his life. Nothing could have prepared him for the beauty that had radiated from that young woman on the day she walked down the aisle to stand by his side. He remembered the soft touch of her lips that had followed their vows and the feeling in his chest as he realized that would not be the last time he would hold the woman he loved.

The bittersweet memory gave way to reality as he let out a small sigh. Carefully, his finger brushed the raised scar on the woman’s cheek.

They hadn’t known about the condition until she had come to the hospital for what they had thought was a completely different reason. She had fallen down the stairs. Thankfully, the only thing needed to fix her that time were some stitches on her face, something she had been very self-conscious about. Time and time again he needed to reassure her that she was beautiful no matter what, and that the scar just showed she was strong.

While she was at the hospital they noted strange behavior. After a variety of tests, they slammed the love of his life with a label and a condition. They were forced to look at options for the future, when the only option they cared about was spending each remaining moment together.

In the present, his fingers brushed through her short hair.

She had always insisted on longer hair. After he was needed to send her to a facility better able to help her, they insisted instead on shorter. They had repeatedly told him that it was getting too difficult. “She fights us when we brush it!” They had claimed. Begrudgingly, he had allowed the haircut to take place.

He couldn’t help but regret the decision as he realized she would be buried with short hair.

Only one child still came to visit, although the child had been too busy working to show up for their mother’s last moments. All the other children lived too far away or had lives of their own. They were too preoccupied with their own issues. He was certain they didn’t have a grasp on the gravity of the situation. At times he felt bitter about their lack of care for their mother, as none were there for her final breaths, but he understood that they were busy.

Besides, he did enjoy spending some time alone with her.

Their children had told him it was too hard to see her the way she was. They were determined to retain the mother from their memories. His view on the situation was different.

Despite the dementia, she was still the same woman. Things change, but she would always be the love of his life and a mother to them. He couldn’t imagine having lived with anyone else.

His hand squeezed hers again, assuring her lifeless frame that he was still there.

At that moment, the hospice nurse entered the room. He gave his wife one last smile as he took in the beauty she still retained, even to the end.

“I will see you soon,” He said, as he let her hand fall back to the soft mattress.

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Written by katjajean101
"I will see you soon,"
Her hand was small and pale. It rested weakly on the side of the bed, limp and useless.

He took the small hand in his. His was much larger than hers. It was so big, in fact, that he could easily encompass the fragile fingers within his palm. A sharp choking overcame him as his warmth elicited no response from her. It was then that he became aware that her hand would never squeeze his back again.

His fingers reached up to stroke her face, reveling at the marvelous features of the woman he had loved for so long. He had memorized each aspect of her body. He knew it so well, he most likely had a memory corresponding to each part of her.

His thumb traced her lips, the motion bringing him back in time to a different time and place.

They were young when they got married, something that had been very common at the time. It was one of the most amazing days of his life. Nothing could have prepared him for the beauty that had radiated from that young woman on the day she walked down the aisle to stand by his side. He remembered the soft touch of her lips that had followed their vows and the feeling in his chest as he realized that would not be the last time he would hold the woman he loved.

The bittersweet memory gave way to reality as he let out a small sigh. Carefully, his finger brushed the raised scar on the woman’s cheek.

They hadn’t known about the condition until she had come to the hospital for what they had thought was a completely different reason. She had fallen down the stairs. Thankfully, the only thing needed to fix her that time were some stitches on her face, something she had been very self-conscious about. Time and time again he needed to reassure her that she was beautiful no matter what, and that the scar just showed she was strong.

While she was at the hospital they noted strange behavior. After a variety of tests, they slammed the love of his life with a label and a condition. They were forced to look at options for the future, when the only option they cared about was spending each remaining moment together.

In the present, his fingers brushed through her short hair.

She had always insisted on longer hair. After he was needed to send her to a facility better able to help her, they insisted instead on shorter. They had repeatedly told him that it was getting too difficult. “She fights us when we brush it!” They had claimed. Begrudgingly, he had allowed the haircut to take place.

He couldn’t help but regret the decision as he realized she would be buried with short hair.

Only one child still came to visit, although the child had been too busy working to show up for their mother’s last moments. All the other children lived too far away or had lives of their own. They were too preoccupied with their own issues. He was certain they didn’t have a grasp on the gravity of the situation. At times he felt bitter about their lack of care for their mother, as none were there for her final breaths, but he understood that they were busy.

Besides, he did enjoy spending some time alone with her.

Their children had told him it was too hard to see her the way she was. They were determined to retain the mother from their memories. His view on the situation was different.

Despite the dementia, she was still the same woman. Things change, but she would always be the love of his life and a mother to them. He couldn’t imagine having lived with anyone else.

His hand squeezed hers again, assuring her lifeless frame that he was still there.

At that moment, the hospice nurse entered the room. He gave his wife one last smile as he took in the beauty she still retained, even to the end.

“I will see you soon,” He said, as he let her hand fall back to the soft mattress.




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We are a literary agency seeking fresh talent. In 200 words or more, demonstrate your writing talent. We will be in touch with any and all promising participants throughout the rest of this quarter.
Written by chrisconnolly

The Speed of Light and How it Cannot Help Us

We’ve visited our son almost every week for the past sixteen years. In the region of 800 times, or thereabouts. We’ve driven somewhere around 265,000 miles, which is more than the distance to the moon, more than the circumference of this entire planet, times ten. It’s roughly the same amount of time it might take you to run 900 marathons at a slow jog.

We sit usually for a few minutes, in the parking lot, before we go in. Decompressing from the journey and steeling ourselves for the rigmarole of security screening, the perpetual waiting for Eli to be brought through to us, uniformed and shackled, so we can talk to him by telephone through a reinforced mesh-glass window.

I do this each week for Jack, for my husband, as much as for Eli or myself.

People tend to say things like this lightly – but Jack loved that boy more than you’d think was possible. He loved both of them that way, Eli and Jacob, and still does.

I’ve been asked before if I really believe it, deep down. That he didn’t do it. You’d be surprised what people will ask you, right to your face. People you don’t even know. I’ve been asked – and told – far worse than that, as it happens, especially in the beginning, but by now it no longer bothers me. I’ve asked myself the same things afterall, more times than you could count, and those questions don’t ever go away, even when you think you know the answers.

When it happened – when we found out at first, I mean, when we arrived home like any other evening, when we arrived to the chaos and turmoil on our quiet street and assumed, naturally, that the turmoil, whatever it was, must belong to someone else, to some unlucky neighbour – when we were told and informed and notified, none of it making any sense, standing outside our own home like strangers watching a car wreck, before it had even begun to sink in, it was just getting dark outside, and all those lights and people–– I can remember thinking it resembled some odd Christmas scene; as if there might be carol singers and a manger in there somewhere, in amongst all the bright blue and red lights, with the spectators shuffling their feet in the cold and the yellow tape just then being strung about the place by two men in uniforms.

This was at the house – outside the house. With Eli’s face pleading out at us from the back window of one of the police cars – handcuffed, I think, though I don’t recall actually seeing them, the handcuffs. It was more the way his body seemed so rigid, his neck so odd-angled as he strained just to see us. He was only fifteen.

He is now more than twice that.

They wouldn’t let us speak to him, the police, or even go near him.

‘Why can’t we just talk to him?’ Jack kept kept yelling, kept begging, even after they had explained, or tried to, what had happened. Nothing made sense.

‘Where’s Jacob?’ we kept asking them too – where was our other son?

And why can’t we go inside?

There is a lot of time to think, on the drives; our conversations have turned steadily more sparse and sporadic since earlier days, and as Jack grips the wheel beside me, thinking his own thoughts, I find my mind filled with numbers. As a girl, on long journeys or in bed seeking sleep, I would toy with random calculations in my mind and think endlessly about things like time and space and the universe. It was a habit that never fully faded, and when given these gaps to revive itself it does.

Eight minutes is roughly how long it takes, you might remember from school, for light from the sun to reach the earth. I think about those infinite particles streaming towards us, directed dead-set, faster than anything else that can ever exist. And yet eight minutes… I think about how far light would have travelled in the time that it took. From the beginning of it, I mean – of the incident. To its end.

Eight minutes is probably not even close.

The light emitted from the sun when it began was proably not even half way here by the time it was finished.

Jacob was moved, they said. Between the intial instigation of the incident and its culmination. Carried, they said they could tell. From the bottom of our staircase into the kitchen, where the stabbings occurred. They could also tell, they said, these experts, that he was most likely unconscious by this point. And it’s that detail, of all of them, which visits me most. The image of Jacob unconscious, as if asleep, being carried, cradled, that short distance, thirteen steps – almost one for each year of his life – and placed on the cold tile floor; perhaps gently, perhaps not.

I think it’s true what they say about women sometimes, about us being more emotional. A broader emotional spectrum, they’d probably call it now. A mother knows her children the way only a mother can – we notice certain things that men don’t, in the same way that the opposite is also true.

Not that Jack isn’t emotional. Weighed up I’d say he’s more emotional than most, myself included. He’s always been that way, and it was one of the things I loved about him first. But it’s a forward-moving, driven sort of a thing, entirely focused. Whereas my own emotions feel more like a fog, drifting and amorphous.

Jack’s initial reaction was… He said to me: ‘Sarah,’ he said, and then his expression turned into an expression I’d never seen before, one that lived only once, for just those few seconds, and never again after that, he said: ‘Jesus, Sarah, I think he did this, I think Eli––’

Or maybe that was at the hospital. After they’d finally let us see Jacob, our other little boy, laid out on cold steel, his small form visible beneath a spotless white sheet, just like you see on television.

I said something to Jack like, How could you. How could you even think it, your own son? I may even have slapped him. I think I did. Because love, real love, the love of a mother – if you love another human being in such a way, the force of it is a physical, primal thing, and you would bleed all your blood, and believe that night was day, if it could help them even just a little.

And I think I needed Jack to be the one without any doubt; in effect it was not just Jacob’s life we had lost that day, but mine and Jack’s too. And of course Eli’s.

Four lives in just a few short minutes; even the sun couldn’t work fast enough to make any true sense of that.

The recording of the 911 call lasted over seven minutes. I didn’t hear it until the trial itself. Eli’s voice – the broken tremor in it. The terror. And those interspersed moments of silence on the line before the dull sound of sirens arrived in the background, the pauses, where all you could do was picture him there in the kitchen, phone in hand, standing over his little brother, waiting for help that was already too late in coming. By now I know it by heart, the recording. I obtained a copy.

I don’t tell Jack, but I listen to it still, all the time.

After that one moment of weakness from Jack, about Eli doing it, being responsible for it, for this thing that was done, there was never another. His drive – his entirety, I think – went into Eli’s innocence. There was never any question of it again, even during the trial, after all the endless hours of evidence and specimens and photographs and testimonies.

When we were finally allowed to see Eli at the police station, after we’d been to the hospital, after we’d seen Jacob, I remember Jack saying over and over, We will get you out don’t worry we will, we will get you out we will, we believe you we love you we believe you.

Jack says it still – that we will get him out. And he believes it, too.

Eli said – and his story never changed, never wavered, not a single detail, even during the interrogations by the police, with those grown men prodding and threatening and terrifying the wits out of him, just a child; and nor has it changed in the sixteen years since – that when he heard noises he came downstairs from his bedroom and found Jacob lying there in the kitchen, the back door open, the back door left ajar, his little brother covered in blood, the knife discarded there beside him.

I estimate we’ve burned through almost 8,000 gallons of fuel on our trips. That’s as much, if you’re interested, as those great big tubular gasoline trucks can hold, filled to the brim.

I told a therapist about all of this a few years back – about the counting, the calculations. About what she was probably correct in terming a somewhat obsessive fixation. I told her in particular, I remember, about the speed of light, and about how time and space can change, can alter – or so they say, these scientists with minds that work on different frequencies, at different levels to the rest of us. I don’t entirely understand it. But such things take my mind away from where it is, and where it sometimes goes.

She called it a coping mechanism. ‘Whatever helps,’ she said.

I paced it out myself, the distance between the stairs and the kitchen. It would’ve taken in the region of ten seconds, under the circumstances, to cover those thirteen steps; and for such a short time it’s an awfully long time, too.

But these things, distance or time or light, these concepts – in the end they’re not a whole lot of use. It doesn’t make anything better, does it, the world turning, light and space and time. The things that simply are, or have been. And why would it?

He will be eligible for parole in nineteen years, Eli, at the age of fifty.

The statistical life expectancy rate dips by almost twenty-five years for those in long-term incarceration – incarceration from youth, that is. The suicide rate rises by a factor of four, and more than half are hangings.

Bedsheets, presumably.

These are yet more numbers and statistics that fill my mind on the long drives. More often than just then, in truth; they flow uncontrolled as if separate from me, these ones, these thoughts – the darkest of daydreams.

I imagine getting the call one night, from the prison authorities. I try not to, but I imagine how it might feel.

Sometimes I think I am a terrible person.

There is a sound, if you listen very closely, about four minutes into the recording. Just barely. It went unmentioned, unnoticed, at the trial. The kind of sound that’s barely a sound at all, the kind of sound so slender and so buried beneath the other sounds of the recording, the static and the operator’s voice and the strangled utterings of Eli, my son, that only someone who has heard it a million times before, who knows it, who has it subconsciously embedded in the back of their brain, could ever possibly discern or distinguish.

That sound is very much like the sound of the handle on the back door of our home being pushed down, and then unlatched; it is very much like the sound of the back door being opened, the back door being left ajar.

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Written by chrisconnolly

The Speed of Light and How it Cannot Help Us



We’ve visited our son almost every week for the past sixteen years. In the region of 800 times, or thereabouts. We’ve driven somewhere around 265,000 miles, which is more than the distance to the moon, more than the circumference of this entire planet, times ten. It’s roughly the same amount of time it might take you to run 900 marathons at a slow jog.
We sit usually for a few minutes, in the parking lot, before we go in. Decompressing from the journey and steeling ourselves for the rigmarole of security screening, the perpetual waiting for Eli to be brought through to us, uniformed and shackled, so we can talk to him by telephone through a reinforced mesh-glass window.
I do this each week for Jack, for my husband, as much as for Eli or myself.
People tend to say things like this lightly – but Jack loved that boy more than you’d think was possible. He loved both of them that way, Eli and Jacob, and still does.

I’ve been asked before if I really believe it, deep down. That he didn’t do it. You’d be surprised what people will ask you, right to your face. People you don’t even know. I’ve been asked – and told – far worse than that, as it happens, especially in the beginning, but by now it no longer bothers me. I’ve asked myself the same things afterall, more times than you could count, and those questions don’t ever go away, even when you think you know the answers.

When it happened – when we found out at first, I mean, when we arrived home like any other evening, when we arrived to the chaos and turmoil on our quiet street and assumed, naturally, that the turmoil, whatever it was, must belong to someone else, to some unlucky neighbour – when we were told and informed and notified, none of it making any sense, standing outside our own home like strangers watching a car wreck, before it had even begun to sink in, it was just getting dark outside, and all those lights and people–– I can remember thinking it resembled some odd Christmas scene; as if there might be carol singers and a manger in there somewhere, in amongst all the bright blue and red lights, with the spectators shuffling their feet in the cold and the yellow tape just then being strung about the place by two men in uniforms.
This was at the house – outside the house. With Eli’s face pleading out at us from the back window of one of the police cars – handcuffed, I think, though I don’t recall actually seeing them, the handcuffs. It was more the way his body seemed so rigid, his neck so odd-angled as he strained just to see us. He was only fifteen.
He is now more than twice that.
They wouldn’t let us speak to him, the police, or even go near him.
‘Why can’t we just talk to him?’ Jack kept kept yelling, kept begging, even after they had explained, or tried to, what had happened. Nothing made sense.
‘Where’s Jacob?’ we kept asking them too – where was our other son?
And why can’t we go inside?

There is a lot of time to think, on the drives; our conversations have turned steadily more sparse and sporadic since earlier days, and as Jack grips the wheel beside me, thinking his own thoughts, I find my mind filled with numbers. As a girl, on long journeys or in bed seeking sleep, I would toy with random calculations in my mind and think endlessly about things like time and space and the universe. It was a habit that never fully faded, and when given these gaps to revive itself it does.
Eight minutes is roughly how long it takes, you might remember from school, for light from the sun to reach the earth. I think about those infinite particles streaming towards us, directed dead-set, faster than anything else that can ever exist. And yet eight minutes… I think about how far light would have travelled in the time that it took. From the beginning of it, I mean – of the incident. To its end.
Eight minutes is probably not even close.
The light emitted from the sun when it began was proably not even half way here by the time it was finished.

Jacob was moved, they said. Between the intial instigation of the incident and its culmination. Carried, they said they could tell. From the bottom of our staircase into the kitchen, where the stabbings occurred. They could also tell, they said, these experts, that he was most likely unconscious by this point. And it’s that detail, of all of them, which visits me most. The image of Jacob unconscious, as if asleep, being carried, cradled, that short distance, thirteen steps – almost one for each year of his life – and placed on the cold tile floor; perhaps gently, perhaps not.
I think it’s true what they say about women sometimes, about us being more emotional. A broader emotional spectrum, they’d probably call it now. A mother knows her children the way only a mother can – we notice certain things that men don’t, in the same way that the opposite is also true.
Not that Jack isn’t emotional. Weighed up I’d say he’s more emotional than most, myself included. He’s always been that way, and it was one of the things I loved about him first. But it’s a forward-moving, driven sort of a thing, entirely focused. Whereas my own emotions feel more like a fog, drifting and amorphous.

Jack’s initial reaction was… He said to me: ‘Sarah,’ he said, and then his expression turned into an expression I’d never seen before, one that lived only once, for just those few seconds, and never again after that, he said: ‘Jesus, Sarah, I think he did this, I think Eli––’
Or maybe that was at the hospital. After they’d finally let us see Jacob, our other little boy, laid out on cold steel, his small form visible beneath a spotless white sheet, just like you see on television.
I said something to Jack like, How could you. How could you even think it, your own son? I may even have slapped him. I think I did. Because love, real love, the love of a mother – if you love another human being in such a way, the force of it is a physical, primal thing, and you would bleed all your blood, and believe that night was day, if it could help them even just a little.
And I think I needed Jack to be the one without any doubt; in effect it was not just Jacob’s life we had lost that day, but mine and Jack’s too. And of course Eli’s.
Four lives in just a few short minutes; even the sun couldn’t work fast enough to make any true sense of that.

The recording of the 911 call lasted over seven minutes. I didn’t hear it until the trial itself. Eli’s voice – the broken tremor in it. The terror. And those interspersed moments of silence on the line before the dull sound of sirens arrived in the background, the pauses, where all you could do was picture him there in the kitchen, phone in hand, standing over his little brother, waiting for help that was already too late in coming. By now I know it by heart, the recording. I obtained a copy.
I don’t tell Jack, but I listen to it still, all the time.

After that one moment of weakness from Jack, about Eli doing it, being responsible for it, for this thing that was done, there was never another. His drive – his entirety, I think – went into Eli’s innocence. There was never any question of it again, even during the trial, after all the endless hours of evidence and specimens and photographs and testimonies.
When we were finally allowed to see Eli at the police station, after we’d been to the hospital, after we’d seen Jacob, I remember Jack saying over and over, We will get you out don’t worry we will, we will get you out we will, we believe you we love you we believe you.
Jack says it still – that we will get him out. And he believes it, too.
Eli said – and his story never changed, never wavered, not a single detail, even during the interrogations by the police, with those grown men prodding and threatening and terrifying the wits out of him, just a child; and nor has it changed in the sixteen years since – that when he heard noises he came downstairs from his bedroom and found Jacob lying there in the kitchen, the back door open, the back door left ajar, his little brother covered in blood, the knife discarded there beside him.


I estimate we’ve burned through almost 8,000 gallons of fuel on our trips. That’s as much, if you’re interested, as those great big tubular gasoline trucks can hold, filled to the brim.
I told a therapist about all of this a few years back – about the counting, the calculations. About what she was probably correct in terming a somewhat obsessive fixation. I told her in particular, I remember, about the speed of light, and about how time and space can change, can alter – or so they say, these scientists with minds that work on different frequencies, at different levels to the rest of us. I don’t entirely understand it. But such things take my mind away from where it is, and where it sometimes goes.
She called it a coping mechanism. ‘Whatever helps,’ she said.

I paced it out myself, the distance between the stairs and the kitchen. It would’ve taken in the region of ten seconds, under the circumstances, to cover those thirteen steps; and for such a short time it’s an awfully long time, too.
But these things, distance or time or light, these concepts – in the end they’re not a whole lot of use. It doesn’t make anything better, does it, the world turning, light and space and time. The things that simply are, or have been. And why would it?


He will be eligible for parole in nineteen years, Eli, at the age of fifty.
The statistical life expectancy rate dips by almost twenty-five years for those in long-term incarceration – incarceration from youth, that is. The suicide rate rises by a factor of four, and more than half are hangings.
Bedsheets, presumably.
These are yet more numbers and statistics that fill my mind on the long drives. More often than just then, in truth; they flow uncontrolled as if separate from me, these ones, these thoughts – the darkest of daydreams.
I imagine getting the call one night, from the prison authorities. I try not to, but I imagine how it might feel.
Sometimes I think I am a terrible person.

There is a sound, if you listen very closely, about four minutes into the recording. Just barely. It went unmentioned, unnoticed, at the trial. The kind of sound that’s barely a sound at all, the kind of sound so slender and so buried beneath the other sounds of the recording, the static and the operator’s voice and the strangled utterings of Eli, my son, that only someone who has heard it a million times before, who knows it, who has it subconsciously embedded in the back of their brain, could ever possibly discern or distinguish.
That sound is very much like the sound of the handle on the back door of our home being pushed down, and then unlatched; it is very much like the sound of the back door being opened, the back door being left ajar.





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We are a literary agency seeking fresh talent. In 200 words or more, demonstrate your writing talent. We will be in touch with any and all promising participants throughout the rest of this quarter.
Written by solipsist

si son siluetas.

looking out of the mirror is a boy

biting blood out of roses and kissing strangers. that is the same.

somehow, through the rise and fall

of twenty years — twenty years, and that is the same.

that has not changed, unlike everything else.

and yet the sorrow does not come. black suits stand in grey rain before white casket and upturned earth, and yet the sorrow does not come. that is the same. it has hurt more and it has hurt less, and if there is no surging, no storm-flood of memory, then there is nothing to be remembered.

it must be enough to be alone.

stars waver in thin air and an open mouth

breathes in, breathes out. no motion.

under all these city lights, a hearse

with a single white face is all that moves, soundless.

no motion before a window: but a breath, soundless,

what rises like smoke but is filled with a memory of life —

then this is enough, to be alone

and to remember the past and what lay between.

nothing between two bodies,

a hurricane of grey skin and grey words,

meaningless, kissed into the undersides of hanging jaws, no motion.

so that is what it is like to love. and should that be forgotten now, in the grey light of the morning after a body was laid under white marble? no hands, no words, no tender eyes and blue lilacs. looking out of a stranger's bedroom window, the city lights extinguish themselves, soundless.

slipping in and out of prose reduces sorrow,

prevents the gradual amalgamation of memory into loss,

of someone else's dreams into despair.

one should remember nothing of the past.

it is the dawn that matters, it is the mouth and red lipstick

that have not yet been buried.

it is easier to stop visiting: say, no more flowers.

after grief, then, what next? when bodies have left homes and taken leave of their caravans, what next? and there are no voices in the morning. and without the smell of coffee, without the smell of wood-smoke, where is home? without home, what next?

what next? (for boys with white flowers forgetting girls they met in budapest?)

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We are a literary agency seeking fresh talent. In 200 words or more, demonstrate your writing talent. We will be in touch with any and all promising participants throughout the rest of this quarter.
Written by solipsist
si son siluetas.
looking out of the mirror is a boy
biting blood out of roses and kissing strangers. that is the same.

somehow, through the rise and fall
of twenty years — twenty years, and that is the same.
that has not changed, unlike everything else.

and yet the sorrow does not come. black suits stand in grey rain before white casket and upturned earth, and yet the sorrow does not come. that is the same. it has hurt more and it has hurt less, and if there is no surging, no storm-flood of memory, then there is nothing to be remembered.

it must be enough to be alone.
stars waver in thin air and an open mouth
breathes in, breathes out. no motion.

under all these city lights, a hearse
with a single white face is all that moves, soundless.

no motion before a window: but a breath, soundless,
what rises like smoke but is filled with a memory of life —

then this is enough, to be alone
and to remember the past and what lay between.
nothing between two bodies,

a hurricane of grey skin and grey words,
meaningless, kissed into the undersides of hanging jaws, no motion.

so that is what it is like to love. and should that be forgotten now, in the grey light of the morning after a body was laid under white marble? no hands, no words, no tender eyes and blue lilacs. looking out of a stranger's bedroom window, the city lights extinguish themselves, soundless.

slipping in and out of prose reduces sorrow,
prevents the gradual amalgamation of memory into loss,
of someone else's dreams into despair.

one should remember nothing of the past.
it is the dawn that matters, it is the mouth and red lipstick

that have not yet been buried.
it is easier to stop visiting: say, no more flowers.

after grief, then, what next? when bodies have left homes and taken leave of their caravans, what next? and there are no voices in the morning. and without the smell of coffee, without the smell of wood-smoke, where is home? without home, what next?

what next? (for boys with white flowers forgetting girls they met in budapest?)
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We are a literary agency seeking fresh talent. In 200 words or more, demonstrate your writing talent. We will be in touch with any and all promising participants throughout the rest of this quarter.
Written by 11165

The Nature of Talent

tal·ent

noun

natural aptitude or skill

If they believe you have no talent you will be discouraged from the pursuit of it. If you believe you have no talent you will be discouraged from the pursuit of it. You will brood over the dim prospect of being talentless. Of not possessing an elusive something, a natural gift. The something that allows so many to do great things. To express themselves, in beautiful breathtaking ways. To make many, jump with excitement, and many seethe with envy. You long to be able to expose your deepest joys, loves, and even fears in a way that urges others to feel as you do. Maybe, you simply desire to make a good wage. Or you wish to make your family proud. But you can't. You can't go to this university, you can't get this job because you are inadequate. You want to be appreciated for your ideas, but you can't because you lack the talent needed to express them. Generally, during one's childhood, they are told that they can be anything they want to be. They can be a heroic firefighter or a benign princess. But when one grows older the cynical nature of society is revealed. They say you should lower your expectations, that you should think smaller. Maybe consider a more realistic career path. Even if you do work hard you won't be able to do it because you're not skinny enough, you're not smart enough, you're not talented enough, you're not enough. And so the cycle of discontent is perpetuated by the bitter. But what if they're wrong? What if the quality that actually leads to success is bravery. The bravery to have confidence in yourself even if no one else does. The bravery to pursue your dreams with unbridled enthusiasm, and fervor. The bravery to break out of the cycle of discontent and pursue your own version of happiness. 

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We are a literary agency seeking fresh talent. In 200 words or more, demonstrate your writing talent. We will be in touch with any and all promising participants throughout the rest of this quarter.
Written by 11165
The Nature of Talent
tal·ent
noun
natural aptitude or skill
If they believe you have no talent you will be discouraged from the pursuit of it. If you believe you have no talent you will be discouraged from the pursuit of it. You will brood over the dim prospect of being talentless. Of not possessing an elusive something, a natural gift. The something that allows so many to do great things. To express themselves, in beautiful breathtaking ways. To make many, jump with excitement, and many seethe with envy. You long to be able to expose your deepest joys, loves, and even fears in a way that urges others to feel as you do. Maybe, you simply desire to make a good wage. Or you wish to make your family proud. But you can't. You can't go to this university, you can't get this job because you are inadequate. You want to be appreciated for your ideas, but you can't because you lack the talent needed to express them. Generally, during one's childhood, they are told that they can be anything they want to be. They can be a heroic firefighter or a benign princess. But when one grows older the cynical nature of society is revealed. They say you should lower your expectations, that you should think smaller. Maybe consider a more realistic career path. Even if you do work hard you won't be able to do it because you're not skinny enough, you're not smart enough, you're not talented enough, you're not enough. And so the cycle of discontent is perpetuated by the bitter. But what if they're wrong? What if the quality that actually leads to success is bravery. The bravery to have confidence in yourself even if no one else does. The bravery to pursue your dreams with unbridled enthusiasm, and fervor. The bravery to break out of the cycle of discontent and pursue your own version of happiness. 




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We are a literary agency seeking fresh talent. In 200 words or more, demonstrate your writing talent. We will be in touch with any and all promising participants throughout the rest of this quarter.
Written by L_Kearney

The Island of Dragons

Many years ago, Zelf a young prince of Orpth, had escaped another attempt at his life by his brother Dern. This was the third time Dern had tried to kill Zelf, every time Dern tried to kill him something went awry at the very last moment. Their eldest brother, Kent, tried to reason with Dern but there was no changing his evil heart. Kent then went to Zelf and pleaded with him to leave Orpth for the sake of sparing his life.

"Dern will stop at nothing until you are dead, brother."

Zelf knew that Kent was right. There was a band of Wizards leaving by ship the very next morning. They were leaving on an expedition in search of the Island of Dragons. Dragons were merely a myth to most Wizards but there were some who believed the legends to be true. The legend said that only one with a worthy heart would be able to discover the Island of Dragons. The Island of the Dragons is under a veiling spell and only the one with a worthy heart would be able to see it. If the one with a worthy heart did in fact discover the Island of Dragons, they would become a friend of the Dragons and forever be in their favour.

"I will go on this expedition in search of the dragons." Zelf told his brother Kent decidedly.

"Brother, you mustn't! That is a death sentence, no one has ever come back alive from one of those ridiculous expeditions!" Kent pleaded.

Although Kent was right Zelf, couldn't help but wonder if this was in fact his destiny. This could be the very reason he was born, to befriend the dragons. Zelf did not view animals the way most wizards did. Zelf thought them to be equal and just as valuable as Wizards. Zelf observed that there was a constant struggle for power between man and beast. He wondered why that was, and why Wizards didn’t seek to learn from beasts and work along side them. Zelf thought that animals didn’t need to be beaten into submission in order to be useful to Wizards. Zelf truly believed that if Wizard and beast could learn to trust each other they could work together in perfect harmony. Man and beast alike posses a soul and within every soul is magic. One soul must not hold ill intent towards the other soul or the relationship would not be one trust. Zelf knew he held no ill intent towards the Dragons he only hoped that they held no ill intent towards him.

The next morning Zelf was hired as a deck hand and set sail with the expedition. Zelf worked hard during the voyage that spanned over three months. He did any job that was given to him by the first mate. It was humble and grueling work but Zelf felt glad that he was finally out from under the constant turmoil Dern brought upon him. He felt free and truly happy for the first time in a very long while. Zelf enjoyed the conversations he overheard while aboard the ship, the Wizards were confident that they would not return home empty handed. Zelf admired their bravery; he too hoped that the expedition would be successful.

On a very clear night, the Harvest moon shone brightly over the sea. Zelf sat perched at the very top of the mast and admired the majestic presence of the orange moon. The stars glowed brightly, much brighter than Zelf had ever seen before. Zelf began to meditate and thankfulness exuded from his heart. The sky was never this clear in the Orpthian countryside. From where he sat, Zelf felt like he was in the sky itself and if he just reached out he could catch a star. The thought came to him in his meditation that if his brother Dern hadn’t tried to kill him he would have never beheld the glory of this night. “Thank you Dern.” Zelf whispered into the night.

Moment’s later rain began to fall and a surge of wind blew through the deck. The waves became choppy and the ship started to rock. The choppy waves turned into mountains and valleys of violent waves tossing the ship to and fro. Below, the crew was frantically trying to gain control of the ship. All Zelf could do was hold on for dear life, he knew that if he moved one inch he would be thrown into the sea and die. The wind whipped at him and the rain fell harder, Zelf began to lose his grip. The ship jolted abruptly hitting something solid. The force of the blow threw Zelf from the mast, he hit the water and everything went dark.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Zelf came to awareness water was ebbing and flowing at his feet. He was lying on a sandy beach. Zelf sat up and took account of himself, no broken bones, and no soreness, not even a scratch. He was however; terribly thirsty his mouth was parched and tasted of salt. He found himself sitting on the shore of what appeared to be a heavily wooded island. He looked out at the ocean and saw nothing but water on the horizon. There was no sign of wreckage from the ship anywhere in sight. Zelf turned around to survey his surroundings. The heavily forested island was green, lush and bursting with life. This meant there was fresh water on the island. Zelf knew he must go in search of fresh water if he was to survive. Zelf slowly stood to his feet and was surprised by his sturdiness. As he headed into the forest Zelf picked up a large stick to use as a walking staff. It was comforting to have something in his hands to claim as his own.

Zelf navigated his way over moss-covered rocks and large spindling tree roots. The walking staff gave him balance in the unfamiliar terrain. The trees of the island were massive and like nothing, he’d ever seen. Some were tall enough to touch the sky with their tops disappearing into the clouds. The tree trunks were bright red and as wide as a ship’s girth. Zelf stopped for a moment and listened very intently. He could very faintly hear the sound of water flowing just ahead. Moments later he came to a creek. Zelf ran to it; when he got to the bank he stooped down to get a drink. He cupped his hands and filled them with fresh water. After he did this, three times his thirst was quenched. Zelf felt joy because he knew he would not die of thirst. He passed by almost a dozen fruit bearing trees on his way to the creek so he knew he would have food to eat as well.

Zelf sat down near the bank of the creek and leant against one of the massive red trees. He closed his eyes to meditate with his focus on goodwill and gratefulness that his thirst was quenched. Zelf felt an overwhelming sense of joy that he had managed to live through the storm. Possibilities seemed innumerable now that he had found water, now he would not only live, but he would have a life. He thanked destiny for his good fate. Zelf looked up into the sky and felt very small but not with a shadowing of insignificance. The smallness Zelf felt stemmed from a feeling that he was a part of something much greater and much bigger than he could have designed himself. He knew instantly that his part, no matter how small, was important. He was determined to honor his destiny no matter how small the role may play in the grand scheme of things.

Zelf was still gazing at the heavens when he felt a light tickle of an insect crawling up his forearm. He glanced down and watched as a spider made its way to his shoulder. Zelf was amazed at the detail of this small creature, a round middle with eight furry legs. There appeared to be a large red dot on the underbelly of the spider and Zelf knew this meant the spider was very poisonous. Instead of smashing the spider to bits, Zelf picked up a large leaf and held it to his shoulder. The spider didn’t move at first but after a moment, it climbed onto the leaf ever so slowly. Zelf carried the spider to the creek and placed the leaf on the gentle current sending the creature to the next part of its destiny. “Live in peace,” Zelf whispered as he watched the leaf float out of sight.

Zelf sat down against the enormous red tree again and closed his eyes, this time to rest. Only moments past when suddenly the ground began to shake. Zelf stood up at once; never had he felt the earth quake beneath him. The giant tree began to move and twist as if it was pulling itself out of the ground. Thinking quickly, Zelf grabbed his walking stick, focused his goodwill into the stick, swirled it around himself, and yelled, “Let it be so.” Zelf enclosed himself in a bubble and levitated far above the ground.

The massive red tree began to shed its bark, the roots and branches continued to twist and turn. Finally the root was completely free of the ground that had once encumbered it, it lifted high into the air. It came crashing back down to the ground and when it made contact, the root transformed into a giant scaly foot. Four more roots did the very same thing; the tree began to take the shape of a four-legged creature with a whipping tail nearly twice the length of the body. The long trunk of the tree, now horizontal, shook violently and as it did it transformed into the head of a dragon. Gargantuan wings broke away from the back of the dragon and flapped the remaining bark from its surface.

Zelf couldn’t believe his eyes, or mind for that matter. He was actually here, on the Island of Dragons.

The dragon stood on its hind legs coming face to face with Zelf.

“Zelf Prince of Orpth, I am William, King of Dragons and we welcome you to our island. Young wizard,” the deep and majestic voice continued, “you have been chosen because you are the one with a worthy heart. For centuries, wizards have been in search of our Island but they have done so without purity of intent. You, young Zelf have not only come with pure intent but you have past the final and most important test.”

“I have?” Zelf said almost inaudibly.

“Yes, my son, you most certainly have. You displayed the most difficult power there is for a wizard to perform.” The Dragon said.

“What kind of power is that?” Zelf asked sincerely.

“Meekness. You chose to spare the life of one of nature’s most despised creatures, a poisonous spider. Instead of using your, strength, size and ability to destroy the creature you chose to send it down a new path with every intention of good in your heart. And because of this gracious choice, you Zelf, have been chosen to be a friend of the Dragons.”

Every one of the massive red trees surrounding Zelf and the dragon began to transform, turning the once dense forest into a gathering a of no less than one hundred dragons.

Zelf floated to the ground where he bowed graciously to the dragon and said, “I, Zelf of Orpth, would be honored to walk among the dragons as their humble friend and servant.”

“Come then my son, there is much to learn.” The enormous creature lowered himself to the ground; his giant red wing gracefully flitted up and then down touching the ground. “Climb upon my back young Zelf.” The young prince eagerly heeded the dragon’s words and gingerly made his way up the wing and onto King William’s back. Zelf perched himself between the massive shoulder blades of the dragon. Zelf marveled at the beauty of the creature he sat upon, every scale, while appearing red at first glance, had an iridescent quality that reflected the light and color around it. Zelf placed his hand flat upon a scale at the base of the King’s neck, and suddenly the revelation of his purpose came to the mind of this young wizard. See past what is, to see what is more, he thought.

“King William flew high into the air until the island became a tiny speck in the midst of the sea. The wind whipped at Zelf’s hair filled with delight he outstretched his arms and closed his eyes embracing the freedom he felt to be in flight with this mighty dragon. They began to descend and as they did, Zelf was able to take in the landscape of the island in its entirety. In the very center of the island was a massive lake, the island as a whole was much larger than Zelf thought it was. It was much longer than it was wide as was the lake. They landed on the rocky moss covered cliffs on the perimeter of the lake, Zelf climbed off his friend dragon and tried to digest all that had just happened to him. The expanse of this lake was like none he had ever seen, the water was so deep causing the color to appear black at the center and fade out gradually to a cobalt blue at the shore.

“I’ve never seen anything like this,” Zelf murmured, “This is phenomenal. How deep is this lake Your Majesty.” Zelf said to the King Dragon.

“Please, you must call me William. The depth, my son is infinite, it does not end for where it ends it begins again. This is no ordinary lake.” Of that, Zelf was quite certain, the dragon went on, “This lake is imbued with magic and leads to another world.”

Zelf’s eyes were wide with wonder. “Another…wo…world?” he managed to say.

“Yes my son,” William replied, “we call these other worlds, realms. The realm to which this lake leads is called earth, and it is were beings with out magic reside. They are a vulnerable people who scare quite easily and it is our duty to ensure they are not harmed. As you might have gathered by this point, this is the very reason only one with a worthy and truly compassionate heart can be entrusted with this information.”

“Because, those who are hungry for power may seek to use their advantage to cause harm to these beings.” Zelf said.

“That is correct young wizard. The magic in this portal to Earth can be recreated elsewhere and eventually it will be indeed. Your brother Dern, is hungry for power and will stop at nothing to expand his kingdom and conquer the weak. He believes the legends about the doors that lead to where they should not go. Only you stand in his way and of that you are quite aware. Dern despises you for your goodness and he knew that quite possibly you may be the very one who would be chosen by dragons as the one with a worthy heart. What he did not anticipate is that, in his attempt to end your life and remove you as an obstacle to his rise to power, you would be lead to the very destiny for which you were made.”

“To walk with Dragons?” Zelf asked.

“No my son, to love.”

Zelf, did not at first understand how love could be a destiny, however noble a calling it may be in the general sense. Seeing the disconnect on Zelf’s face, William explained, “Zelf, to love is not simply a feeling of goodwill or passion, it is a choice. It is a choice that not many make when it is difficult. More often than not, it is a decision that is made only when it is easy. To love the unlovable is not common but it is something that you are quite familiar with, you chose love when you left Orpth so as not to tempt your brother to kill you once again. You chose love when you decided to forgive your brother on that starry night. You chose love when you let an innocent being live despite its venomous nature. You see, when you choose love, the world opens wider, the light from the sun shines brighter, and good magic is made. It’s made and preserved in the moment when love is chosen.

Zelf felt troubled by this explanation because in those particular moments that King William described, the first was utterly painful, leaving everything he knew for an uncertain future. And the second felt like surrender, he didn’t understand why his brother hated him so, but he realized he didn’t have to hate him back. The third instance felt like fear mixed with relief that the venomous spider had not bitten him. Zelf rubbed his shoulder absently over the spot where the spider had been minutes earlier.

“Must love always require pain?” Zelf asked.

“Not always young prince. However, pain is the seasoning that gives joy a flavor so divine that the taste will bring tears to your eyes. There are many grievous things in our world, greed, jealousy, hatred,” the Dragon sighed deeply,” and death, but there are also many rapturous things in our world, benevolence, friendship, love’s first glance, the miracle of life. You see the sun must rise upon a back drop of night sky or the glory to which the sun so deserves would go unseen.”

“Surely you can not mean that we must have evil to enjoy the good!” Zelf exclaimed in disbelief.

King William smiled patiently, “Certainly not. However, just as surely as the night will come so surely the sun will rise again. Pain will come, evil will be done, but rest assured your pain while seemingly insensible, will be redeemed in your moments of joy so spectacularly that you will know without doubt that choosing love is always the answer.”

Zelf felt as though a weight had been lifted from his heart. So surely the sun will rise again, he repeated to himself.

“There is much to learn of our kind, young Zelf, but first you must meet your companion.” King William said.

“My companion? Is it not you?” Zelf asked.

The enormous Dragon shook the earth with his rumbling laughter, “No, no, not I, but she is the next best thing. Actually, she is better, much better.

King William turned his head toward the lake and called out something that sounded like another language “Yeh vah ness!”

Zelf walked to the edge of the cliff and gazed out over the water. He stared for a moment seeing nothing and then off in the distance he could see a creature swimming beneath the water at a rapid speed leaving white ripples in its wake. The creature stopped and began to emerge from the water flapping its wings rising itself just above the lake. The dragon’s large wings waved up and down gracefully as it hovered over the water towards him. The setting sun momentarily blinded Zelf’s vision as it reflected off the water. He rubbed his eyes and as the blur subsided, his eyes seemed to have deceived him, for the dragon had transformed into a beautiful woman in white, with a mass of unruly fiery red hair. Her wings were still out stretched as she floated higher and set her bare foot onto the cliff. Zelf stepped backwards instinctually. The woman continued to walk towards him and her wings gradually shrank and faded from sight. Zelf couldn’t breath; his heart was pounding painfully in his chest. At once, everything up until this moment made sense but yet he could not fathom what life had been like before this moment.

“Prince Zelf, May I have the honor of introducing you to my daughter, Princess Yvahness,” Zelf dropped to his knees upon this announcement. He placed his fist over his heart as a pledge of fealty.

“Your humble servant Madame,” Zelf managed to say breathlessly. He looked up into her eyes, the color of emeralds, she held out her ivory hand to which Zelf took in his and brushed the top with his lips. He stood to his feet. Yvahness did not release his hand. She smiled at him.

“Come, there is much I must show you.”

“Of course your highness.” Zelf replied.

“Please, you must call me Nessie.”

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Written by L_Kearney
The Island of Dragons


Many years ago, Zelf a young prince of Orpth, had escaped another attempt at his life by his brother Dern. This was the third time Dern had tried to kill Zelf, every time Dern tried to kill him something went awry at the very last moment. Their eldest brother, Kent, tried to reason with Dern but there was no changing his evil heart. Kent then went to Zelf and pleaded with him to leave Orpth for the sake of sparing his life.

"Dern will stop at nothing until you are dead, brother."

Zelf knew that Kent was right. There was a band of Wizards leaving by ship the very next morning. They were leaving on an expedition in search of the Island of Dragons. Dragons were merely a myth to most Wizards but there were some who believed the legends to be true. The legend said that only one with a worthy heart would be able to discover the Island of Dragons. The Island of the Dragons is under a veiling spell and only the one with a worthy heart would be able to see it. If the one with a worthy heart did in fact discover the Island of Dragons, they would become a friend of the Dragons and forever be in their favour.

"I will go on this expedition in search of the dragons." Zelf told his brother Kent decidedly.

"Brother, you mustn't! That is a death sentence, no one has ever come back alive from one of those ridiculous expeditions!" Kent pleaded.

Although Kent was right Zelf, couldn't help but wonder if this was in fact his destiny. This could be the very reason he was born, to befriend the dragons. Zelf did not view animals the way most wizards did. Zelf thought them to be equal and just as valuable as Wizards. Zelf observed that there was a constant struggle for power between man and beast. He wondered why that was, and why Wizards didn’t seek to learn from beasts and work along side them. Zelf thought that animals didn’t need to be beaten into submission in order to be useful to Wizards. Zelf truly believed that if Wizard and beast could learn to trust each other they could work together in perfect harmony. Man and beast alike posses a soul and within every soul is magic. One soul must not hold ill intent towards the other soul or the relationship would not be one trust. Zelf knew he held no ill intent towards the Dragons he only hoped that they held no ill intent towards him.


The next morning Zelf was hired as a deck hand and set sail with the expedition. Zelf worked hard during the voyage that spanned over three months. He did any job that was given to him by the first mate. It was humble and grueling work but Zelf felt glad that he was finally out from under the constant turmoil Dern brought upon him. He felt free and truly happy for the first time in a very long while. Zelf enjoyed the conversations he overheard while aboard the ship, the Wizards were confident that they would not return home empty handed. Zelf admired their bravery; he too hoped that the expedition would be successful.

On a very clear night, the Harvest moon shone brightly over the sea. Zelf sat perched at the very top of the mast and admired the majestic presence of the orange moon. The stars glowed brightly, much brighter than Zelf had ever seen before. Zelf began to meditate and thankfulness exuded from his heart. The sky was never this clear in the Orpthian countryside. From where he sat, Zelf felt like he was in the sky itself and if he just reached out he could catch a star. The thought came to him in his meditation that if his brother Dern hadn’t tried to kill him he would have never beheld the glory of this night. “Thank you Dern.” Zelf whispered into the night.

Moment’s later rain began to fall and a surge of wind blew through the deck. The waves became choppy and the ship started to rock. The choppy waves turned into mountains and valleys of violent waves tossing the ship to and fro. Below, the crew was frantically trying to gain control of the ship. All Zelf could do was hold on for dear life, he knew that if he moved one inch he would be thrown into the sea and die. The wind whipped at him and the rain fell harder, Zelf began to lose his grip. The ship jolted abruptly hitting something solid. The force of the blow threw Zelf from the mast, he hit the water and everything went dark.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Zelf came to awareness water was ebbing and flowing at his feet. He was lying on a sandy beach. Zelf sat up and took account of himself, no broken bones, and no soreness, not even a scratch. He was however; terribly thirsty his mouth was parched and tasted of salt. He found himself sitting on the shore of what appeared to be a heavily wooded island. He looked out at the ocean and saw nothing but water on the horizon. There was no sign of wreckage from the ship anywhere in sight. Zelf turned around to survey his surroundings. The heavily forested island was green, lush and bursting with life. This meant there was fresh water on the island. Zelf knew he must go in search of fresh water if he was to survive. Zelf slowly stood to his feet and was surprised by his sturdiness. As he headed into the forest Zelf picked up a large stick to use as a walking staff. It was comforting to have something in his hands to claim as his own.

Zelf navigated his way over moss-covered rocks and large spindling tree roots. The walking staff gave him balance in the unfamiliar terrain. The trees of the island were massive and like nothing, he’d ever seen. Some were tall enough to touch the sky with their tops disappearing into the clouds. The tree trunks were bright red and as wide as a ship’s girth. Zelf stopped for a moment and listened very intently. He could very faintly hear the sound of water flowing just ahead. Moments later he came to a creek. Zelf ran to it; when he got to the bank he stooped down to get a drink. He cupped his hands and filled them with fresh water. After he did this, three times his thirst was quenched. Zelf felt joy because he knew he would not die of thirst. He passed by almost a dozen fruit bearing trees on his way to the creek so he knew he would have food to eat as well.

Zelf sat down near the bank of the creek and leant against one of the massive red trees. He closed his eyes to meditate with his focus on goodwill and gratefulness that his thirst was quenched. Zelf felt an overwhelming sense of joy that he had managed to live through the storm. Possibilities seemed innumerable now that he had found water, now he would not only live, but he would have a life. He thanked destiny for his good fate. Zelf looked up into the sky and felt very small but not with a shadowing of insignificance. The smallness Zelf felt stemmed from a feeling that he was a part of something much greater and much bigger than he could have designed himself. He knew instantly that his part, no matter how small, was important. He was determined to honor his destiny no matter how small the role may play in the grand scheme of things.

Zelf was still gazing at the heavens when he felt a light tickle of an insect crawling up his forearm. He glanced down and watched as a spider made its way to his shoulder. Zelf was amazed at the detail of this small creature, a round middle with eight furry legs. There appeared to be a large red dot on the underbelly of the spider and Zelf knew this meant the spider was very poisonous. Instead of smashing the spider to bits, Zelf picked up a large leaf and held it to his shoulder. The spider didn’t move at first but after a moment, it climbed onto the leaf ever so slowly. Zelf carried the spider to the creek and placed the leaf on the gentle current sending the creature to the next part of its destiny. “Live in peace,” Zelf whispered as he watched the leaf float out of sight.

Zelf sat down against the enormous red tree again and closed his eyes, this time to rest. Only moments past when suddenly the ground began to shake. Zelf stood up at once; never had he felt the earth quake beneath him. The giant tree began to move and twist as if it was pulling itself out of the ground. Thinking quickly, Zelf grabbed his walking stick, focused his goodwill into the stick, swirled it around himself, and yelled, “Let it be so.” Zelf enclosed himself in a bubble and levitated far above the ground.

The massive red tree began to shed its bark, the roots and branches continued to twist and turn. Finally the root was completely free of the ground that had once encumbered it, it lifted high into the air. It came crashing back down to the ground and when it made contact, the root transformed into a giant scaly foot. Four more roots did the very same thing; the tree began to take the shape of a four-legged creature with a whipping tail nearly twice the length of the body. The long trunk of the tree, now horizontal, shook violently and as it did it transformed into the head of a dragon. Gargantuan wings broke away from the back of the dragon and flapped the remaining bark from its surface.

Zelf couldn’t believe his eyes, or mind for that matter. He was actually here, on the Island of Dragons.

The dragon stood on its hind legs coming face to face with Zelf.

“Zelf Prince of Orpth, I am William, King of Dragons and we welcome you to our island. Young wizard,” the deep and majestic voice continued, “you have been chosen because you are the one with a worthy heart. For centuries, wizards have been in search of our Island but they have done so without purity of intent. You, young Zelf have not only come with pure intent but you have past the final and most important test.”

“I have?” Zelf said almost inaudibly.

“Yes, my son, you most certainly have. You displayed the most difficult power there is for a wizard to perform.” The Dragon said.

“What kind of power is that?” Zelf asked sincerely.
“Meekness. You chose to spare the life of one of nature’s most despised creatures, a poisonous spider. Instead of using your, strength, size and ability to destroy the creature you chose to send it down a new path with every intention of good in your heart. And because of this gracious choice, you Zelf, have been chosen to be a friend of the Dragons.”

Every one of the massive red trees surrounding Zelf and the dragon began to transform, turning the once dense forest into a gathering a of no less than one hundred dragons.

Zelf floated to the ground where he bowed graciously to the dragon and said, “I, Zelf of Orpth, would be honored to walk among the dragons as their humble friend and servant.”

“Come then my son, there is much to learn.” The enormous creature lowered himself to the ground; his giant red wing gracefully flitted up and then down touching the ground. “Climb upon my back young Zelf.” The young prince eagerly heeded the dragon’s words and gingerly made his way up the wing and onto King William’s back. Zelf perched himself between the massive shoulder blades of the dragon. Zelf marveled at the beauty of the creature he sat upon, every scale, while appearing red at first glance, had an iridescent quality that reflected the light and color around it. Zelf placed his hand flat upon a scale at the base of the King’s neck, and suddenly the revelation of his purpose came to the mind of this young wizard. See past what is, to see what is more, he thought.


“King William flew high into the air until the island became a tiny speck in the midst of the sea. The wind whipped at Zelf’s hair filled with delight he outstretched his arms and closed his eyes embracing the freedom he felt to be in flight with this mighty dragon. They began to descend and as they did, Zelf was able to take in the landscape of the island in its entirety. In the very center of the island was a massive lake, the island as a whole was much larger than Zelf thought it was. It was much longer than it was wide as was the lake. They landed on the rocky moss covered cliffs on the perimeter of the lake, Zelf climbed off his friend dragon and tried to digest all that had just happened to him. The expanse of this lake was like none he had ever seen, the water was so deep causing the color to appear black at the center and fade out gradually to a cobalt blue at the shore.

“I’ve never seen anything like this,” Zelf murmured, “This is phenomenal. How deep is this lake Your Majesty.” Zelf said to the King Dragon.

“Please, you must call me William. The depth, my son is infinite, it does not end for where it ends it begins again. This is no ordinary lake.” Of that, Zelf was quite certain, the dragon went on, “This lake is imbued with magic and leads to another world.”

Zelf’s eyes were wide with wonder. “Another…wo…world?” he managed to say.

“Yes my son,” William replied, “we call these other worlds, realms. The realm to which this lake leads is called earth, and it is were beings with out magic reside. They are a vulnerable people who scare quite easily and it is our duty to ensure they are not harmed. As you might have gathered by this point, this is the very reason only one with a worthy and truly compassionate heart can be entrusted with this information.”

“Because, those who are hungry for power may seek to use their advantage to cause harm to these beings.” Zelf said.

“That is correct young wizard. The magic in this portal to Earth can be recreated elsewhere and eventually it will be indeed. Your brother Dern, is hungry for power and will stop at nothing to expand his kingdom and conquer the weak. He believes the legends about the doors that lead to where they should not go. Only you stand in his way and of that you are quite aware. Dern despises you for your goodness and he knew that quite possibly you may be the very one who would be chosen by dragons as the one with a worthy heart. What he did not anticipate is that, in his attempt to end your life and remove you as an obstacle to his rise to power, you would be lead to the very destiny for which you were made.”

“To walk with Dragons?” Zelf asked.

“No my son, to love.”

Zelf, did not at first understand how love could be a destiny, however noble a calling it may be in the general sense. Seeing the disconnect on Zelf’s face, William explained, “Zelf, to love is not simply a feeling of goodwill or passion, it is a choice. It is a choice that not many make when it is difficult. More often than not, it is a decision that is made only when it is easy. To love the unlovable is not common but it is something that you are quite familiar with, you chose love when you left Orpth so as not to tempt your brother to kill you once again. You chose love when you decided to forgive your brother on that starry night. You chose love when you let an innocent being live despite its venomous nature. You see, when you choose love, the world opens wider, the light from the sun shines brighter, and good magic is made. It’s made and preserved in the moment when love is chosen.

Zelf felt troubled by this explanation because in those particular moments that King William described, the first was utterly painful, leaving everything he knew for an uncertain future. And the second felt like surrender, he didn’t understand why his brother hated him so, but he realized he didn’t have to hate him back. The third instance felt like fear mixed with relief that the venomous spider had not bitten him. Zelf rubbed his shoulder absently over the spot where the spider had been minutes earlier.

“Must love always require pain?” Zelf asked.

“Not always young prince. However, pain is the seasoning that gives joy a flavor so divine that the taste will bring tears to your eyes. There are many grievous things in our world, greed, jealousy, hatred,” the Dragon sighed deeply,” and death, but there are also many rapturous things in our world, benevolence, friendship, love’s first glance, the miracle of life. You see the sun must rise upon a back drop of night sky or the glory to which the sun so deserves would go unseen.”

“Surely you can not mean that we must have evil to enjoy the good!” Zelf exclaimed in disbelief.

King William smiled patiently, “Certainly not. However, just as surely as the night will come so surely the sun will rise again. Pain will come, evil will be done, but rest assured your pain while seemingly insensible, will be redeemed in your moments of joy so spectacularly that you will know without doubt that choosing love is always the answer.”

Zelf felt as though a weight had been lifted from his heart. So surely the sun will rise again, he repeated to himself.

“There is much to learn of our kind, young Zelf, but first you must meet your companion.” King William said.

“My companion? Is it not you?” Zelf asked.

The enormous Dragon shook the earth with his rumbling laughter, “No, no, not I, but she is the next best thing. Actually, she is better, much better.

King William turned his head toward the lake and called out something that sounded like another language “Yeh vah ness!”

Zelf walked to the edge of the cliff and gazed out over the water. He stared for a moment seeing nothing and then off in the distance he could see a creature swimming beneath the water at a rapid speed leaving white ripples in its wake. The creature stopped and began to emerge from the water flapping its wings rising itself just above the lake. The dragon’s large wings waved up and down gracefully as it hovered over the water towards him. The setting sun momentarily blinded Zelf’s vision as it reflected off the water. He rubbed his eyes and as the blur subsided, his eyes seemed to have deceived him, for the dragon had transformed into a beautiful woman in white, with a mass of unruly fiery red hair. Her wings were still out stretched as she floated higher and set her bare foot onto the cliff. Zelf stepped backwards instinctually. The woman continued to walk towards him and her wings gradually shrank and faded from sight. Zelf couldn’t breath; his heart was pounding painfully in his chest. At once, everything up until this moment made sense but yet he could not fathom what life had been like before this moment.

“Prince Zelf, May I have the honor of introducing you to my daughter, Princess Yvahness,” Zelf dropped to his knees upon this announcement. He placed his fist over his heart as a pledge of fealty.

“Your humble servant Madame,” Zelf managed to say breathlessly. He looked up into her eyes, the color of emeralds, she held out her ivory hand to which Zelf took in his and brushed the top with his lips. He stood to his feet. Yvahness did not release his hand. She smiled at him.

“Come, there is much I must show you.”

“Of course your highness.” Zelf replied.

“Please, you must call me Nessie.”









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We are a literary agency seeking fresh talent. In 200 words or more, demonstrate your writing talent. We will be in touch with any and all promising participants throughout the rest of this quarter.
Written by Sofia_Uerskaya

The Shy Girl.

The fragile body of the girl was jerking from cries. It’s over. Everything is over. These miserable people had ruined everything. Her world was crashed in small pieces; her true self which she was forced to reveal was thrown stones at and pierced by those painful words, stabbed by this gigantic amount of critic. How could they do this to her? All these people, didn’t they felt wrong while they were doing this? Didn’t they felt guilty?

She had realized that it was her fault; she knew that she should had put the notebook away, knew that she shouldn’t had left it on her desk in the classroom, while she went to the canteen. But, it doesn’t make their fault less, they shouldn’t have touched it. She remembered returning to the classroom and seeing The Big Bad Guy reading it, laughing at it, showing it to The Nasty Boys.

Who was she to argue? She was just a mouse-type girl with huge black glasses, which contrasted with her pale skin and dark brown hair. The Shy Girl. The Shy Girl should never stand up against The Big Bad Guy and The Nasty Boys. She should obey. And she knew it, knew it very well. But deep inside she was a rebel.

She grasped the notebook from their hands, kicked one of The Nasty Boys, slapped the other one and then she leaped like a wild cat on The Big Bad Guy, making him collapse on the floor. She brought her face close to his and uttered, “I can let you shatter my confidence, but I will never let you shatter my dreams.” Then she gave him such a wild look that he thought that The Shy Girl had become The Brave One. But The Big Bad Guy was so despicable that he couldn’t miss a chance on bringing her down back to The Shy Girl position, so he grinned at her. She didn’t understand his smile; she was scared. The Big Bad Guy shook her off his body like she was a dust, annoying dust that keeps sticking to you even if you don’t want it to stick. He got back on his feet and bellowed, “Listen to me. You are nobody, all your stupid poems are just a parody. I am the boss here.” And they laughed.

The Shy Girl stared in disbelief at her classmates, the ones who she counted as friends. She gazed at their laughing faces, and then, The Shy Girl became The Clown.

She couldn’t take it anymore, so she clutched her bag, snathed the notebook and rushed off. She was hurt, but she knew that her revenge is going to be sweet. Standing there, in the corridor of her school, her mascara running, her bag dirty from kicks it had received she got her plan.

It took her three days to write her favorite poem on the wall of The Big Bad Boy’s house with his own blood.

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We are a literary agency seeking fresh talent. In 200 words or more, demonstrate your writing talent. We will be in touch with any and all promising participants throughout the rest of this quarter.
Written by Sofia_Uerskaya
The Shy Girl.
The fragile body of the girl was jerking from cries. It’s over. Everything is over. These miserable people had ruined everything. Her world was crashed in small pieces; her true self which she was forced to reveal was thrown stones at and pierced by those painful words, stabbed by this gigantic amount of critic. How could they do this to her? All these people, didn’t they felt wrong while they were doing this? Didn’t they felt guilty?
She had realized that it was her fault; she knew that she should had put the notebook away, knew that she shouldn’t had left it on her desk in the classroom, while she went to the canteen. But, it doesn’t make their fault less, they shouldn’t have touched it. She remembered returning to the classroom and seeing The Big Bad Guy reading it, laughing at it, showing it to The Nasty Boys.
Who was she to argue? She was just a mouse-type girl with huge black glasses, which contrasted with her pale skin and dark brown hair. The Shy Girl. The Shy Girl should never stand up against The Big Bad Guy and The Nasty Boys. She should obey. And she knew it, knew it very well. But deep inside she was a rebel.
She grasped the notebook from their hands, kicked one of The Nasty Boys, slapped the other one and then she leaped like a wild cat on The Big Bad Guy, making him collapse on the floor. She brought her face close to his and uttered, “I can let you shatter my confidence, but I will never let you shatter my dreams.” Then she gave him such a wild look that he thought that The Shy Girl had become The Brave One. But The Big Bad Guy was so despicable that he couldn’t miss a chance on bringing her down back to The Shy Girl position, so he grinned at her. She didn’t understand his smile; she was scared. The Big Bad Guy shook her off his body like she was a dust, annoying dust that keeps sticking to you even if you don’t want it to stick. He got back on his feet and bellowed, “Listen to me. You are nobody, all your stupid poems are just a parody. I am the boss here.” And they laughed.
The Shy Girl stared in disbelief at her classmates, the ones who she counted as friends. She gazed at their laughing faces, and then, The Shy Girl became The Clown.
She couldn’t take it anymore, so she clutched her bag, snathed the notebook and rushed off. She was hurt, but she knew that her revenge is going to be sweet. Standing there, in the corridor of her school, her mascara running, her bag dirty from kicks it had received she got her plan.
It took her three days to write her favorite poem on the wall of The Big Bad Boy’s house with his own blood.


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We are a literary agency seeking fresh talent. In 200 words or more, demonstrate your writing talent. We will be in touch with any and all promising participants throughout the rest of this quarter.
Written by melissa-compton

Extract from Phoenix Love a novel I'm writing.

<p>Sammael was not a man that needed much sleep leading the hectic life of a lawyer.&amp;nbsp; Meant he lived on fast forward with little sleep and functioned very well that way.&amp;nbsp; It wasn't long before the sunshine was bursting through the window, lighting up the entire room and crawling over Sophia's face.&amp;nbsp; Sophia was still wrapped in Sammael arms with the blanket wrapped all around her.&amp;nbsp; Sophia slowly woke up and looked at the Sammael he was still sleeping, so she snuggled back into his arms and lay there a while.&amp;nbsp; She was living a fairy tale, a princess in her castle with her prince.&amp;nbsp; It was funny she couldn't help but wonder what comes next! Sammael was a dream come true, but he would probably have to go to work, what would she do? Sophia Didn't want to wander around this grand house by herself.&amp;nbsp; Eventually, she convinced herself just to enjoy the moment and live in the present.&amp;nbsp; Samael was slowly waking up now, he turned to Sophia brushed her hair to the side,</p><p>"Morning" Sammael announced</p><p>

</p><p>"Good Morning" Sophia said smiling</p><p>

</p><p>Sammael kissed Sophia gently on the head, she looked up at him smiling, Sophia was so content right now.</p>

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We are a literary agency seeking fresh talent. In 200 words or more, demonstrate your writing talent. We will be in touch with any and all promising participants throughout the rest of this quarter.
Written by melissa-compton
Extract from Phoenix Love a novel I'm writing.
<p>Sammael was not a man that needed much sleep leading the hectic life of a lawyer.&amp;nbsp; Meant he lived on fast forward with little sleep and functioned very well that way.&amp;nbsp; It wasn't long before the sunshine was bursting through the window, lighting up the entire room and crawling over Sophia's face.&amp;nbsp; Sophia was still wrapped in Sammael arms with the blanket wrapped all around her.&amp;nbsp; Sophia slowly woke up and looked at the Sammael he was still sleeping, so she snuggled back into his arms and lay there a while.&amp;nbsp; She was living a fairy tale, a princess in her castle with her prince.&amp;nbsp; It was funny she couldn't help but wonder what comes next! Sammael was a dream come true, but he would probably have to go to work, what would she do? Sophia Didn't want to wander around this grand house by herself.&amp;nbsp; Eventually, she convinced herself just to enjoy the moment and live in the present.&amp;nbsp; Samael was slowly waking up now, he turned to Sophia brushed her hair to the side,</p><p>"Morning" Sammael announced</p><p>
</p><p>"Good Morning" Sophia said smiling</p><p>
</p><p>Sammael kissed Sophia gently on the head, she looked up at him smiling, Sophia was so content right now.</p>
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