Molly-Final Assignment

I padded into the living room, and spotted Santa Clause. He was lying on the floor, blood oozing out of a large gash on his thick neck, staining his snowy-white beard the same color as his suit. His eyes were wide with a look of horror, and his face deathly pale. I grabbed his wrist, and checked for a pulse; Nothing.
Santa Clause was dead, in my living room.
His sack of presents lay next to his lifeless body, and clutched in his left hand, was his list. The list that he'd so carefully made, and painstakingly checked.
Twice.
I pryed it from his cold, beefy fingers, and took a look. As soon as I saw how many names were left, I knew: I would find his murderer, and bring him to justice, that killer of joy, that distroyer of Christmas!
But first, I had a job to do.

I was going to finish poor Santa's noble, hard work...

Christy-Final Assignment-Santa Claus

I padded into the living room and spotted Santa Claus…
He was bending down by the Christmas tree, which was hung with gold garland and family ornaments. The moment I walked in, he stood up very suddenly without turning to face me. I could only see his back, and on that furry red suit was an embroidered patch that said “if you read this, you’re definitely getting coal.” I saw Santa’s bag lying on the carpet, I blinked, thinking I was tired, but I wasn’t mistaken; there really was a shotgun poking out between the presents.
Santa was very still, and then he said
“Ho…ho…ho…”
My mouth was as dry as beef jerky, and that was before Santa turned to face me. With his big, black-booted foot, he turned on the spot and looked right at me. It didn’t make me feel any better when I saw that his boots had spikes on them and silver spurs on the back.
By the light radiating from the tree, I saw his eyes, piercing my own, they were not brilliant blue, but dark as a cave. Santa said nothing. He strode forward and grasped my arm with surprising force and dragged me from the room. He took me to the chimney, “thank goodness I put out the fire” I thought. He kept a tight grip on my arm as we scrambled up through the soot. My breath started to condense in the air, and as I looked over the rim of bricks, I did not see reindeer. I heard a roaring sound, the starting of engines, and a dozen people, dressed in leather jackets with red velvet trim. I crawled out of the hole, covered in soot and shivering like crazy. The gang of Santa bikers whooped and hollered as they saw me. The biggest and most expensive bike was Santa’s, of course. He thrust at me a jewel encrusted helmet that said “Prancer” on it, and stuck me in the sidecar.
The sound of engines was tremendous, as the flock, led by Santa roared off my roof-top.

Teen Writing Group - Last Assignment of the Fall

Write ONE of the following (maximum of one page)

1. I padded into the livingroom and spotted Santa Claus...

2. Use these words in a very short story: Santa, spy, crunchy, Gunther, Cheerios, lights

Enjoy!

The final session is this Friday, December 18th from 10:30 to noon. We will meet in the John Murray Room (the room with the big table and comfy chairs).

Unlike other classes, we will NOT have food on the last day (it is too difficult to write and munch). However, please feel free to bring along hot chocolate or your favorite beverage (in travel cups, please).

Writing Assignment: Ready or not, Here I come!

I knew they would eventually find me, that I was just delaying the inevitable, but I hid anyway. And I’ll admit it wasn’t the best hiding spot to begin with, but I was desperate. Under no other circumstances would I consider hiding in a coffin. Although I suppose that’s what I get for suggesting we play hide and seek in a funeral home. I’ve no idea what on earth I could’ve POSSIBLY been thinking, and can only imagine how stupid I must’ve sounded when I uttered the words “Oh, hey, I have an idea! Lets play hide and seek in the funeral home!!!” Great idea, Charlene, great idea. NOT!!! I suppose I should just finish counting, and get my turn as ‘it’ over with.

“98, 99, 100!!! READY OR NOT, HERE I COME!!!”

**NOTE**
The words in italics are being thought.

Christy--November 6, 2009--College Admission Essay

The reason why I should go to Copy U

Dear Copywriting University,
Thank you for considering my application for your school. I come from a long line of writers and copiers. For generations, my family has been proud to uphold the oldest copywriting business in Northern North Dakota. My great-great-grandfather, Copernicus Wigglesmore, founded the first copywriting institute, and my second-cousin on my mother’s side is President of the National Copywriting Center for Copywriting and for Writingcopy (NCCCW).
In 1864, grandpa Wigglesmore was the first native Algonquin tribal chieftan to be accepted into the “Instituto internazional di copiowritio.” There is even a plaque that hangs in our ancestral home which is engraved with Grandpa’s slogan “Do some copying, and then do some writing.”
Grandpa is a fascinating man, his character is renowned, but his whereabouts for the majority of his life were mysterious. At the age of 17 he emerged from the Brazilian jungle, fully grown, with command of fourteen languages, and carrying a typewriter which he constructed out of palm fronds and mango seeds.
So, please let me into to Copy U, because if I don’t at least try to get in, grandpa Wigglesmore will roll over in his grave.

POLICE FILE

Police File
Charles littlefoot
G: M
Age: 20
Cause of Death: Got tangled in French blinds while robbing an EMS store of twenty pairs of gloves.
Biography: Charles Littlefoot was an accomplished swing dancer and part of the Broadway production of My Little Pony. Mr. Little had the lead role. He was also the proud owner of the International Glove Museum in Idaho. Mr. Little was married to Gladys little. They had two children, Jimmy and Yurty. Apparently Mr. Little had to sell his collection of gloves from his museum to pay his mortgage. He then went to a nearby EMS store to replenish his collection. Mr. little was entangled in the French blinds during his escape and died of dehydration.

A Night at Ravensmoor Manor

It was a dark, quiet night, as I drove toward the imposing façade of the old Ravensmoor family home.
All of my friends had stayed the night there one time or another, but not me, I had heard the stories, that place was HAUNTED. I had my sleeping bag and a flashlight and was ready to stay the night no matter what spooks I might encounter. As I drove up the overgrown drive, I remembered the atmosphere of the house. It looked different than the repetitive suburban houses in the neighborhood where I lived, the house stuck out like a black dot on a colored background. I stopped the car in front of the door, grabbed my stuff, and walked up the steps. The house had been abandoned for years, so there was a lock on the door to keep vandals out, however my friend’s father owns the property and loans us keys for our overnight stays. Walking inside I locked the door behind me, an ominous event even though I have the key. I swept the beam of my flashlight around the room trying to get a good look of the place. The entrance hall was just as spooky as I remembered it, when I visited during daylight, the staircase on the left wall and large fireplace toward the center. The room would have been beautiful when it was still in good shape, but recently part of the stairway had collapsed and no one had been upstairs for years. I laid my sleeping bag on the floor and decided to go exploring on the first floor. To the right was the library, it shelves had been emptied of its contents long ago, when the family that lived here, the Ravensmoors, mysteriously moved away without telling anyone leaving the house to decay. The piano that still sat in the corner, far too heavy to bother moving, sat quietly. As I turned to look elsewhere I heard a key being played on the instrument and turned sharply to face it, but it had just been a piece of plaster falling from the ceiling that landed on the keys…Or was it. I decided to stop exploring and get some rest, just to get this whole thing over with. I got into my sleeping bag and turned off my flashlight. The darkness swallowed up the entire room in seconds, and it was disturbingly quiet, not a sound from outside or in. Then I heard what sounded like a combination between an uncoiling spring and a pig squealing coming from upstairs. I lay there motionless, unable to see anything, unable to do anything, just waiting for something horrible to happen. I was startled out of my trance by a clock somewhere chiming the hour, I counted the chimes. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13? I felt a chill run down my spine, but the clock continued to chime. I sighed with relief, the thing must be broken I thought to myself. That’s when I heard the rumbling noise coming from the basement, except is wasn’t just a noise, you could feel it. The sound of glasses clinking nearby assured me that the rumbling was real. Then I heard a creak, and a cracking, as the floor beneath me gave way and I plummeted down endlessly into a dark void. I heard voices of unseen spirits mocking me as I fell. I sat up yelling for help. The darkness was gone and I was sitting on the floor in the entrance hall. I stood up feeling relief that I was free from that awful nightmare. It was still early in the morning, but I decided that I had stayed here long enough. I went to the door to unlock it, when I realized that the key was gone! I searched around where I had slept, when I had a chilling thought. The basement door creaked open, and I descended into the musty underworld and there, in the middle of the floor, was the key.

The Halloween Party That Molly Went To 2 Years Ago

My favorite Halloween memory was one year when Erin Anderson’s parents had an anniversary costume party. All of us kids had a blast. With poker games in the chair and table storage room, soda, candy, fake cigarettes, and music. It got especially exciting when they played Bohemian Rhapsody, by Queen, and we lip-synced dramatically.
That will always go down in my memory as one of the most fun nights of my life.

Christy--October 30, 2009--Favorite Halloween Memory

I don’t have just one favorite Halloween memory. I must say, I enjoy Halloween much more these days than I did when I was knee-high to a grasshopper. When I was very young, someone else usually figured-out how to make my costume, and I never went to many parties. But these days it’s different, and in early spring I like to start thinking about perspective costume ideas for the upcoming October.
When I was about four-years-old, I was entirely captivated by horses and cowgirls. My parents took pity on me, and found me a little, blue, felt, cowgirl hat and a checkered outfit to wear with it. I need to admit that I really don’t remember any of this at all, but if I did remember it, I’m sure I would look back on it very fondly.
I don’t remember many great costumes from my early childhood, but I mostly remember the costumes my brothers wore, because I thought my brothers and their costumes were the height of cool. One year my brother Phil dressed as an alien, with a really scary plastic alien mask (which deeply bothered me, and still sort of does), and another year he dressed as a convict. Tom will be eternally famous for the Halloween he dressed as a bundle of grapes. He wore all green, and then duct-taped tons of green balloons onto his clothes. Another year, Tom dressed as a mummy and so I did also. We wrapped toilet paper and cheese cloth around each of us until we looked thoroughly mummified.
For the last few years, I haven’t gone trick-or-treating in my own neighborhood, but I’ve attended parties at friend’s houses. One especially vivid memory of mine was made on a Wednesday in 2007, which was Halloween night. My friends and I were walking around a very dark, very quiet neighborhood once darkness had completely fallen. It was very cold outside, but everyone was so excited that it didn’t bother us. That night, the stars were especially spectacular; gleaming and twinkling. I decided to lay-down in the middle of the street so as to get a better view of the stars, and everyone followed. I remember being very happy, with my buddies, and the stars on that Halloween.

An Outbreak: By Sam

(Audio Log of Dr. Kline: Head of Medical, Alaskan Facility)
First sign of outbreak: We lose contact with The Archetype facilities in Sheffield U.K
There are reports from the surrounding towns that there are people running extremely fast and devouring others. They run with incredible speed and almost look dead.
Second sign of Outbreak:They quarantine London and NATO is notified.
The same circumstances are happening along the east coast of The U.S
Third sign of Outbreak: U.S Military begins surgical strikes on the cities of Boston, and New York.
Last sign of Outbreak: Contact is lost with all of east coast and they move the remaining Archetype staff including myself to our Alaskan facilities. Contact cannot be made with any foreign government or military and we are running out of food,supplies,and power......John?........John!?...OHMYGOD!!!!! QUARANTINE THE MEDICAL BAY..AGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH (Radio static...)

Christy--My Obituary

Christina Rozek, age 16, died at Bishop Feehan high school, surrounded by strangers wearing plaid school uniforms. Officials say she died from acute PSAT syndrome. She was found sprawled on the tiled floor, with ten number-two Ticonderoga pencils, all sharpened, clutched in her still warm hand.
She was a ducky and fantastic sister, daughter, friend, and chemistry student. She lived a long and happy life, at least half of which was occupied by activities run by a certain Mrs. L. Christina enjoyed coloring, skiing, and instant miso-soup packets. She was admired by all of her family and friends for her obvious devotion to an establishment named McGuckin Hardware which is centered in Boulder, Colorado.
At the scene of the incident on Wednesday, October 14, 2009, fellow student and test-taker Hunter P.W. claims that while he was reading a particularly confusing problem concerning gumballs, polar bears, and quadratic functions, Christina fell right out of her chair, after marking her multiple choice answer. “It was totally epically weird, dude” says Hunter, age 16.

The Amazing Adventures of Lightning Man!

(For those of you who were not in class when we did this prompt, it was for the girls to write a story that would appeal to young boys, and the guys to write a story for young girls. So this is my attempt at a "boy story")

Lightning streaked across the sky! It was Lightning Man, shooting lightning from his eyes to destroy the evil mucilaginous being that was coating the entire city with saliva, vomit, snot, and other bodily fluids. Lightning Man grabbed Mucus Man in his iron fist, but the slimy creature just slipped out of his hand. So Lighting Man called in his super friends, Boulder Man, Fire Hair Man, and Lobster Claw man. Boulder Man threw rocks at Mucus Man. Fire Hair Man used his flaming hair to try and melt Mucus Man. Lobster Claw Man used his lobster claw to try and cut Mucus Man to pieces. But none of it worked. There appeared to be no hope! Lightning Man threw his lightning spear at Mucus Man, and it killed Mucus Man. The city was safe at last!

Peruvian Mushrooms

Beth Allard arrived at the lake, with her small motorboat in tow. She had gotten a call 15 minutes earlier from her friend John Randolph. He had been out fishing in his rowboat, when his oars where sent overboard in a strange chain off events, and floated far away. He had been attempting to reel in what felt like a very big fish. John tugged furiously at the line, and finally pulled up what turned out to be a 9-pound bowling ball, that had been stuck on a rock. It went flying off his hook and knocked the hammer he had the fish into the water. Apparently, it had sunk quickly to the bottom, and had hit an old, fairly small land mine that had been sitting there since 1942, when the lakebed had originally been an army training camp during World War II. Needless to say, the small blast shook the boat just enough to knock both the oars clear out of his reach.
So anyway, Beth backed her boat into the water, and jumped in. She started her boat, and found John with her binoculars. She sped off, and arrived there within minutes.

“Are you okay, John?” she asked.

“Why, I’m not John, I’m Neil Armstrong!” he replied.

Beth thought about this. Then she realized something.

“Did you get hungry?”

“Yes.”

“Did you eat the Peruvian Mushrooms over there?”

“If you mean those orange things, then yup.”

Beth sighed with frustration.

“Those mushrooms only make you think you’re Neil Armstrong. They do that to everybody. I’ve no idea why.”

Christy--Assignment #5--When I Discovered My Superpower

I discovered my superpower on a freezing, rainy day in October. I have to admit, I was sort of expecting to wake up that morning with a superpower. I’ve heard from all of my friends that standardized testing actually does change your life. So, when I went to bed in the evening of the day I took the PSAT exam, I knew that I would wake up a different person.
That night, I dreamed strange dreams, many of them involving George Clooney. When I awoke, that fateful and dreary day, I looked at my hands to see if they had webbing, and at my wrists, because perhaps I could shoot spider’s silk from them, but I couldn’t. I meandered down the stairs to make my morning tea, and I found out that, after all, I couldn’t light things on fire with my brain.
My spirits were high and I was determined to find my superpower, so I went outside, shivering and sneezing, and I crawled on top of the garage. I figured that most superhero abilities involve doing cool things on top of buildings, so this really was the place to start. Further investigation led me to conclude that I could not change my appearance at will, grow scales, or make anything I touched turn into gold.
I slid off the roof and went inside to make myself a baked potato. I rummaged around in the pantry, but the potato I found was really old, so I decided to throw it into the woods. I grasped it in my right hand and headed for the front door. When I got outside, I prepared myself to chuck the potato as far as I could, but something was very wrong. The potato looked…different. I got scared, so I dropped it, and it landed on the front step with a squeal. “Dude, did that potato just squeal?” I knelt down to get a better look at it, and the potato looked right back at me.
So, that was the day I discovered my superpower. I suppose my unique ability to bring moldy potatoes into an animated form of life can be called a special gift.

The Speck of Dirt

I weird story I wrote in class, but didn't end up sharing.

The moment I found that teeny tiny little piece of dirt, I freaked out. That horrible little dirtball would ruin my beautiful painting! My painting was of a green grassy field so the dirt was blatantly visible. Since the painting was still wet I blew ever so softly on the dirt to make it fall off. It didn’t budge. Then, I tried poking it with my brush, still nothing. At this point I was very angry, so I just got out a meat cleaver and scraped furiously! After that the dirt was gone but my painting had been ruined. I should really learn not to overreact. So here I am with my smudgy painting thinking about what to do now, then inspiration struck. I went outside grabbed a huge ball of dirt and hurled it at my canvas. Then I splashed various paints all over it. When I was done it turned out as a brilliant piece modern art.

Crazy Grandmother robs a Mc Donald’s

This live broad cast is brought to you by the, Old People Gone Crazy Channel. The grandmother in question was, in fact grandma fanny. Sources say that she was trying to enter the building but they would not let her in because she had slippers, on not shoes. By not letting her in they angered her in such a way that she ran threw the door, and stole all the fries. This made her even more mad because they weren’t French, they were just fries. On her next round she stole all of the frosty mix, accept for the strawberry she didn’t like strawberry. That concludes this. Wait what is that? Oh no is grandma fanny in a big slipper shaped tank. Well this seems to be the last broad cast on the Old People Gone Crazy Channel, until next ti BANG!!

Christy--October 9, 2009--Why I Write

First of all, I write because I have now signed-up for Teen Writing Group three semesters in a row, and writing is definitely a part of the class. I also write because I enjoy it, and I think that it is a skill that any well rounded person should work-on.
To really get down to the deep, dark truth, there’s a reason why I signed up for Teen Writing Group. The advent of my illustrious writing career in the mid 1990s was with my first work, “Mousey and Squeaky.” This was a captivating tale about two young mouse children and their yearnings for cheese.
Throughout my youth, I have been surrounded by a family of fantastic writers. As I have grown-up, I have watched my brother, Tom pursue the craft of creative writing with an imagination and persistence that has always amazed me. I have always wanted to pursue creative writing, but I could never get on my feet, and I didn’t have any confidence that what I wrote would ever be any good.
So to get to the meat of the matter, the reason why I decided to take-up writing, and to therefore join writing group, is that I was utterly terrified. I thought that writing impromptu short stories in class, and having to read them to other people would be my most horrific experience. That is why I decided to join, and I’m glad that I did. It’s wonderful getting to share stories and funny ideas with my classmates.
Writing is a wonderful, fabulous thing. Without it, we would not be able to communicate through space and time with people who lived hundreds, and sometimes thousands of years ago. Through writing a person can convey ideas and subtleties of thought that cannot be portrayed through other forms of communication.

Hey, this isn't so hard: Number One

OK, if I recall correctly I’ve never done this before…
This will take a while.
First of all was the trip to Michigan. Having not seen that side of my family in longer than is acceptable it was decided that my father and I should make this journey. This was the first real road trip I have been on, 2 days of driving each way.
After the driving I actually met my grandparents and aunt for the first time in a while. Largely they proved to be fine people and I found no mailmen stuffed beneath the floorboards that had aged enough to smell.
After several days of adventure there my father and I set out to return to New England. Creating yet another adventure!
After that came my mother’s kidney stones. So about the middle half of the summer involved my mother being in hospitals or on pain medications.
While this happened I was taking a pair of online classes at BCC. I’m sure I learned something as I apparently did well. Not that I remember what I learned anymore…
Also there was the Eagle Scout Project that several people in this room helped with. I got to interview over 15 veterans for the Library of Congress Veteran’s History Project, and memorize both the name and acronym of the VHP by saying and writing it many times.
I sent out more emails than I can remember, and managed to create a blur of activity involving lots of cameras, people in uniforms, and writing just as my assignments started to come due for the online classes.
Still, in less than three weeks my board of review will be had. I got As in both classes. And I saw my grandparents. An accomplished summer.

Managed to find number 2

Yes, I finally did stake a vampire with a pencil. I've been meaning to do that for years, ever since I saw it on Buffy the Vampire Slayer, but you don't get the opportunity to stake a vampire often, most of the time you need to go for bigger targets than the heart, and use bigger weapons than a pencil. And when you finally take a vampire down it isn't pretty. The point of taking a vampire isn't actually killing it, wood through the heart does nothing. You stake a vampire like you stake down a tent, you do it so the monster doesn't crawl back out of the grave.

That's what annoys me about modern undead monsters in fiction. Real vampires are already dead, they're something really bad that can walk around in a dead body after it's gone cold and stiff.

Sparky was holding the thing down. I didn't like working with Sparky, a Black Dog, a creature of death. But we were on the same side, neither of us wanted a vampire walking around Scotland.

But she sheer violence of the Dog. I looked at the piece I was staking to the ground. Yes, a pencil was needed for this small a piece.

I examined my kill. Cut into separate pieces, stuffed with garlic, every bone broken and holy water poured over every inch. Even buried in a real churchyard.

Not going to be walking around again, ever.

I sighed and walked away, Sparky was gone, and I hoped never to be back here again, I was scared of their kind.

I sighed and flew back, over the water towards home. I stopped off in Maine for an ice cream cone, I deserved a treat after that. And I got back to work once I reached home, I'd left my computer on.

I saw the pumpkins outside the window. And almost cried. It was almost Halloween again, I'd forgotten.

It had been another year. Another Night was coming, and it would be Hell again.

I assume saying I forgot how to post is out, number three

Hm...

Interesting question. I seem to be viewed as older than I am when I take classes, nearly everyone who I have mentioned my age to has been surprised in class. This has happened often enough to make me assume that this has at least some basis in fact, that I look older than I am.

I think some of this is really situational, there is little expectation of an age of 16 or 17 when I am in a class at BCC. Also I think my dressing habits may have something to do with it, my usual dress for class probably seems somewhat old.

To an extent, acne seems to limit the upward limit of my age, as do my dental appliances. Generally I don't think I look old yet, I doubt I would assume myself to be 30.

I think I would assume I was a little older than 18 or 19 if I were to guess. I don't really fit with most of my assumptions about my fellow teenagers, and to be honest I don't really identify myself with them. For a long time I've interacted with adults more than my peers, so at a guess I would assume I was one of them.

Christy--Assignment #3--What age am I?

If I were still who I am, and I did not know my actual age, I would be a very confused person. If I were judging my physical appearance, I think I would guess that I was about sixteen. However, if I were a disconnected brain, floating in a liquid preservative, I would be very conflicted. I think I would think that I was either a very young person, or a very old person. It is hard to picture myself as a middle aged adult.
I am not a childish person, but I am a childlike person. I enjoy very simple things, like coloring, visiting playgrounds, and being barefoot. I always try to see things with the freshness that a young child would see something; unhindered by life experience and opinions.
On the other hand, I like to fancy myself as a person who has gained some wisdom over the years. I would be very well suited as an octogenarian because I would be able to give people advice without being told that I’m too young to know anything about life. I enjoy teaching other people, and I feel that a lifetime’s experience is a valuable commodity to anyone who cares to hear about it.
On the whole, I think that I am an ageless person. Anyway, if I were a detached brain, I would be thinking about things other than my age.

Christy--Assignment #2--80-year-old using a computer

I sat there, gaping at the mirror. “Matilda, where did you put that rat?” A woman in her fifties, my daughter walked into the room. “Mom! It’s called a mouse, not a rat!...and here it is.” I looked at this newfangled device, and wondered which end I should wire to the computing machine. Why in the world had my daughter spent so much money on such a small device, and it couldn’t even spit-out slips of paper! I felt almost like a NASA aero-scientist as I plugged a queer looking little thing into what my daughter, (or butterscotch as I call her) calls a “…something…port,” I wondered how even the smallest ship could fit into this sized port. Oh well. After we managed to make curses fly across the screen “MOM…it’s called a ‘curser!’”
I thought a nice nap would be in order. I had no need to remove my fake-teeth, because unless it’s meal time, I usually don’t bother putting them on. I drifted into dreams about the past. It was 1943, and I was fourteen-years-old. I sat by the fire in my living room, listening to President Roosevelt’s speech about the war. The next morning was going to be my first day of senior high school. I looked at my slide-rule and thought about how advanced technology was becoming these days. I got up, and made my way over to the box that butterscotch claims will fulfill all my wildest dreams.

Christy--How I Spent My Summer Vacation--9/11/09

This summer I did a lot more things than I can mention in this paper. Like the last two years, this year Ana Arena and I have visited the acclaimed town of Grand Lake Stream Maine. However, that is all I can say, because what happens in Grand Lake Stream, stays in Grand Lake Stream.
I turned sixteen-years-old. Although it was quite technically my “sweet sixteen,” I did not have a lavish party (nor did I want one), and I didn’t scamper over to the Registry of Motor Vehicles for my permit.
I did a lot of things during my summer vacation. I did not attend or work at any summer camps, but I somehow managed to do all the things that are usually offered at summer camps. This year is the first time that I can remember where I did not go swimming in a pool once. I went to lakes and the ocean this year, but I never ventured into chlorine.
My eldest brother (Phil) and his fiancée (Stefanie) came home from college in the spring. We took them back to school almost two weeks ago, and everything has been much quieter and less celebratory since then.
In June, Stefi and I took a sculpture class at Bristol Community College. It was taught by Professor Steven Tegu. I do not mean to comment on any other teachers, but Professor Tegu was one of the best teachers I have ever had.
My family went on hiking adventures every Saturday for about two months. We visited every Audubon society within a twenty-five mile radius of our house. We took literally hundreds of photographs on these hikes, and became regulars at Bliss Brothers’ Dairy.
One of the best and most important things my family did this summer was pick pounds of wild blueberries from our favorite camp in New Hampshire. With these, we were able to make a blueberry pie, two batches of blueberry scones, homemade blueberry ice cream, and two jars of blueberry jam. After this affair, we still had some blueberries left to enjoy, and we weren’t even sick of them.
Last but not least, this summer I did a drawing of my house, which has been affectionately named Blinkingham Manor by its residents. Overall, I have had a very enjoyable vacation.

Christy--Assignment #8--Short Poem

There is no debate,
It must be my fate,
A poem for writing group it due,
Though the hour draws late.

I live next to a zoo,
It has many a kangaroo,
I’ve not gone there for a year,
Sometimes I wish I do.

Uneven are my ears
This has always been my fear,
They don’t grow at a steady rate,
Though when I listen I can hear.

I wonder what I’d write,
If my sight did not grow lousy,
All my time I spent tonight,
Playing cards and feeling drowsy.

Page two of b=Bartholomew's final Enjoy

The next to arrive was Madame Abershnakcle, an annoying old lady that lives in another estate rather close to where Bartholomew lived. She was dressed as if attending a funeral. She wore a black dress and clutched a small fur trimmed purse in which she carried around a can of pepper spray in. She was still in mourning over the loss of her cat. Just last week Bartholomew had ran over her cat “Princess” while he was on his way to the market to pick up some shotgun shells.
Bartholomew is a gun fanatic. He loves everything weapons. He has an arsenal more diverse than most Army Barracks. Over the years he has acquired such weapons as an AI flamethrower, a 1940s bazooka, and a browning automatic rifle. His favorite gun however was his pump shotgun that he carriers around almost everywhere he goes. More often than not Bartholomew had been forced to hide his weapons during police searching’s that had been organized by none other than Madame Abershnakcle.
Anyway, Madame Abershnakcle ended up informing the humane society and Bartholomew was fined 200 pounds for “cruelty to animals”. The only reason he invited her to his party was to publicly embarrass her by passing around some Photoshopped pictures of her stuffing her face with donuts. Bartholomew had become rather good with a computer, especially considering he was 94 years old.
When she walked into the door she was greeted by Bartholomew’s attack hound Killer who happened to be a wiener dog that she was ready to squish if he had not leveled his shotgun at her.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing you crazy old hag?” exclaimed the old man as she raised her foot to stamp on the dog.
“Exacting my revenge for poor Princess you evil old man!” She barked back at him as she stepped back noticing the shotgun in his hands. Bartholomew chuckled at the comment. The label of “evil” never seemed to bother him.
“Don’t you touch Killer or I’ll have them humane society beating down your door before you can say ‘I’ll sue you’.” He then let McGregor take over and he escorted her to the dining room. Bartholomew returned to his T.V room.
The next one to arrive was a man by the name of Simon Wilson, Edgar’s brother. He was a very rich businessman. He owned a company that bought and refurbished old furniture. He had made a lot of money that way and was without doubt was the richest member of Bartholomew’s family. He was, until he had taken over half of his fortune in an organization that was planning on building a hotel empire all over the world. The unusual bit about the hotels was that they would be in exotic and dangerous locations. One was planned to be in the middle of the Sahara, another was to be built in Antarctica.
Everything looked promising until the founder had died in an accident on at the building site; he was attacked by a hoard of baboons in Africa. Everything went downhill from there. Simon’s furniture business tanked and he fell into economic turmoil. Bartholomew who was independently wealthy had given him only 100 pounds for food and clothing when Simon came to him for help. Tonight, Simon was hoping that Bartholomew might announce his will. Unfortunately for him, Bartholomew was probably the healthiest 95 year old on the whole planet.
“Hullo uncle,” began Simon with as much class as he could muster. He extended a hand to greet him. Bartholomew looked down at the hand and then looked back at him. He shook his head slowly.
“No money.” He quickly said. Bartholomew was thrifty and cheap and did not feel like sacrificing any more money to someone who invested unwisely. He had not yet gotten over donating the meager 100 pounds to him when he needed help.
“Hotels…” the old man muttered to himself, but just loud enough for Simon to hear him. Simon shuddered; he didn’t think he would be getting much out of the will, even if there was one.

Christy Rozek--Assignment #7--10 Things I WIsh I Could Change

(Warning: many items on this list I may end up accomplishing after all.)

1. Mold time.

2. Change bodies (without any lasting commitments here), so that I can see what it’s like to experience what other people experience.

3. Wear my hair down without it interfering with my current activities.

4. I wish I could tamper with evolution just a little bit, so that it is possible for life to exist without eating other life (because eating flavored cardboard is still eating trees).

5. I wish I could change the fact that sugar is bad for one’s teeth.

6. I wish I could change the fact that I am not actually from Harry Potter, and I can’t cast spells.

7. I Wish I could change the fact that humans are not built with wings.

8. I wish I could invent colors.

9. I wish I could change the fact that the ocean needs to be salty, because I find it unpleasant to swim in salt.

10. I wish I could change the fact that it is difficult to speak with other species of animals.

Christy Rozek--Assignment #7--Pistol, sunflower, professor, salt shaker, studebaker

My hand hesitated as I reached for my pistol “hands behind your head, give me all the salt shakers you’ve got!” The store clerk thought I was crazy, but he loaded-up a bag with all the salt shakers (with no salt in them, of course), and handed it to me cautiously. This was my second heist, I’ve moved up in the world, from electrical plugs, to salt shakers. I stood there, with my gun raised, arms extended, ready to get scary if anyone tried to call the cops. I felt my gun being grabbed from someone behind me, and I turned around to see my chemistry professor. I tried to grab the pistol back from her, but she recoiled and fired two shots at me, I looked down to see two sunflower seeds; split upon impact against my rock-hard abs. I was shocked that my professor would ruin everyone’s belief that I had real bullets in there. I ran for it, across the parking lot, and into a nearby Laundromat. “Okay kid “screamed my professor “put down the salt shakers and nobody will get hurt” I thought that was an unreasonable request, after all, she had given me a c on my paper about sodium chloride. “I won’t, I won’t do it! “Not until you let me rewrite my paper!” I fled again, now into the Studebaker lot, they seemed to have an inordinate amount of wagons willed with produce for these modern times. I hid behind a bronze statue of Henry Studebaker and tried to reassess my options.

Page one of Bartholomew's final story ignore the spelling and grammer please

“Who the hell could that be?” growled Bartholomew Erasmus impatiently responding to the soft tap of the door. He spoke with a heavy Scottish accent.
He waddled down the winding stairs, his black heavy army boots pronounced his movements over the old creaking steps. He was a short and thin old man of about five feet four inches. He wore tan corduroys held up by geeky red suspenders that he was always re-adjusting. He also wore a plain white shirt that had a ketchup stain on the right collar, left over from his afternoon snack of a cheese burger and fries. There was a messy handkerchief stuffed in the front pocket that also had a stain from wiping his face earlier. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up over his shoulders exposing a scar that remained from his encounter with a grizzly bear during his world travels.
There was another tap on the door, more impatient than the last.
“Open the darn door McGregor, fer cryin out loud!” he called to his butler and caretaker Lawrence McGregor. He was a tall man of 56, partially bald with an unsightly growth to the right of one of his nostrils. He wore a black vest over a wrinkle free shirt, a black bowtie that he was an expert at tying, and long black pants that came down over his ankles. He walked in a brisk upward motion, almost as if he were climbing stairs.
He grasped the door knob lightly and stepped to the side as he opened the door. On the steps were Bartholomew’s nephew Edgar Wilson, accompanied by his wife Edna and their son Rupert.
“Good evening sirs and madam” he announced in a phrase he probably practiced in the mirror, “may I take your coats?”
“Of course my good man,” began Edgar with a chuckle “Now where’s my uncle, I haven’t seen him in ages!”
Edgar was short and plump at age 50. He had a fake smile constantly spread across his face under his bushy mustache. He wore a very expensive looking tuxedo and had a top hat tilted to one side on his completely bald head. His wife opposite him was rather tall and frail. She had short hair and a long green dress and a scarf made out of the pelt of a fox. She looked at everything with the same cheap smile as her husband. Their son was nine years old and a spitting image of his dad, short and plump only he had hair. He wore the same clothes with a stupid yellow beanie on his head which made him look completely ridiculous in a black tuxedo.
“What the hell are you doing here?” exclaimed Bartholomew as he looked down at them from the stairs in the lobby. Bartholomew owned a huge estate in the middle of Scottish farmland. It stood on top of a hill and had a total of 27 rooms, more than enough for an old man who rarely left his T.V room. The T.V room was composed of three 56 inch flat screen televisions and an armchair with a single super remote to control it all.
“Oh uncle, you were always such a kidder,” started Edgar putting on an extra toothy smile “It’s your birthday remember?” Edgar spoke in a low English accent that had annoyed the heck out of Bartholomew every time he had seen him.
“Oh right, forgot about that,” He mumbled, itching his head as he walked down to great them. “Who’s this?” He exclaimed, pointing a bony finger at Rupert. A scowl crossed the little boys face as he folded his arms in disgust.
“You remember Rupert don’t you?” said Edna, offended that he had forgotten his grandnephew. Bartholomew had never married, his older brother on the other hand had married and Edgar was their first son. His older brother had long since died and Edgar was Bartholomew’s most immediate family.
“Sure, I remember you had a kid, but this is more like a hippopotamus!” laughed Bartholomew, surprised at the size of Rupert and how much weight he had put on. He continued, “What do you feed him, pork at every meal.” Bartholomew had doubled over laughing while Edna was trying to hide her fury the best she could.
“This way please,” said Lawrence, trying to guide the guests away from storming out of the house. They were only the first to arrive of 8 (Bartholomew hates large amounts of people) who would be attending the old mans 95th birthday party not including the butler of course.

The end of Bartholomew

I'm sorry to do this but all good things (talking in literary terms not in terms of Bartholomew) must come to an end. I am announcing that I have been working on Bartholomew's final story. It will be very long and I will be posting by page. Please not that I have changed some of his physical characteristics. Don't worry, he is still the same Bartholomew on the inside and I have also introduced more characters to the story and a permanent setting. *SPOILERS AHEAD*
I am sorry to announce he does die in the story. Like I said all good things must come to an end.
Just so you can gauge how long it is, chapter one is six pages so far and not yet finished. I could post by page if that would work. Comment your opinions on the story and whether or not you think he actually should die.

Thank you and enjoy the final story of Bartholomew Q. Erasmus.
Alex

Christy Rozek--Assignment #6--Ten Thing I Will Do

1. I will attend a sleep away college.

2. I will make sure I strive to be a self-actualized person.

3. I will enjoy fresh coconut.

3.5. I will try not to yell at people.

4. I will write a book.

5. I will continue to work on my drawing and painting technique.

6. I will always be enthusiastic to try new things.

7. I will make sure a hearty amount of my genes are passed on.

8. I will be able to carry on a coherent and fluent conversation in Italian (and know what the other person and I are actually saying).

9. I will meet and hopefully study under Professor Alex Filippenko.

10. I will peruse a job that I enjoy.

Christy Rozek--Assignment #6--Astronaut, blue staircase, kitten, palm tree

Astronaut, blue staircase, kitten, palm tree.


I am a palm tree; I see many interesting things. I have seen things from the ground up to the sky, and I’ve even made a few coconuts in my time. You may picture me on some corporate campus, put there to make the atmosphere tropical, but in fact I am not one of those palm trees. I live in Florida, in the United States, in ‘gator land. My prime purpose is to watch over those coconut devouring fiends, and to make sure that crazy Italian tourists don’t try to bring in blue staircases and try to pose with the alligators on them.
If this were an interview and you the reader were asking in-depth question of me, the palm tree, I’d have some in-depth answers for you. Like for example, what is the scariest thing I ever encountered? Once a kitten managed to climb up my trunk, and nestle himself in my leaves. He meowed a bunch, and all these people started calling law enforcement. Finally the Southern Floridian fire department arrived and stuck ladders all over me and things were just fine.
Now, if you asked me if I’ve had any extra-terrestrial experiences lately, I would have to say that…I haven’t. If your question were, what is the coolest thing you’ve ever seen? Well! Because I’m located in ‘gator land, I’m obviously in Florida, and because I’m in Florida, there are spaceship launches. Neil Armstrong actually got his picture taken with me! He made me a wood burning (with some other tree’s wood) that has both our signatures on it, and built a fountain for pets to drink out of at my base.

Christy Rozek--Assignment #5--10 Things I Will Never Do

1. I will never murder anybody.

2. I will never apply eyeliner on a regular basis

2.5 I will also never apply eyeliner on the inside part of my eyelid

3. I will never idle my car if I do not have a viable reason to do so.

4. When I am slightly more elderly, I will wear my grey hairs with pride.

5. I will never become a person who texts all the time.

6. I will never do a strenuous activity and go to bed afterwards without having taken a shower, only to take one in the morning.

7. I will never blindly follow a specific political party.

8. I will never knowingly be a shabby conversationalist, unless the situation calls for such measures.

9. I will never completely disregard someone else’s opinions.

10. I will never become a person who follows fashion trends.

Christy Rozek--Assignment #5--60-year old photograph

I strolled through the museum, stopping to admire the repulsive modern art. I made my way from the wing with all the “good” art, into the modern art section. On my way there, I passed a nine foot canvas with a single paint splatter on it. It was titled “Goog.” There were some other things, abstract photographs, scary sculptures… But this wasn’t really modern art anymore, because none of this stuff was under fifty-years-old. Hey, this is pretty weird, there’s a piece in here titled “untitled” that is of a person who looks JUST LIKE my mother? The woman seems to be in her forties, she has long amber hair, wearing one of of my mother’s iconic peasant skirts, and standing on top of my house. Except the weird thing is there’s a horse drawn carriage going by in the background. Under “untitled” it has “artist name: Anonymous, 1949.” I opened-up my bag and pulled out my cell phone, hit the number that said “mom,” and waited for her voice. While I was standing there I noticed that the woman in the picture was wearing the necklace that I made for her when I was seven. It was a pretty big print of the photo; I could even barely see my very young signature that I attached to the necklace.
Ten minutes later, I found myself in handcuffs being stuffed into a police car. Apparently cell-phones are not supposed to be used in the museum, and you aren’t supposed to take the art off the wall and stick it in your bag. I was explaining to the police why I was grabbing the picture, but fifteen minutes later I was sat down in a small room with an officer who had a big stack of papers and a very smoky cigar.

Christy Rozek--Assignment #4--Alien Invasion

As I stepped out of my UFO, I felt like everyone was staring at me. I walked down the ramp, my motorcycle boots making a rough noise on the steel. Before I took my first step on this foreign world, I thought about how completely awesome it is, finally meeting another species, just in our same galaxy. I stepped off the ramp, bowed and said through my universal translator “greetings from Earth.”
A while later, I was cozied-up by a slime fountain, having a cup of bubble-tea with the Plutonian ambassador. She was definitely a woman, which shocked me, because I always imagined that life on other planets would be far different from ours. I said to her “Thank you so much for your tremendous hospitality, we on Earth never could have dreamed of coming to another world only to be greeted as old friends.” She gave a slight nod and thought for a moment. “Well, I suppose we really are old friends in a way, here on Pluto, we’ve known for many generations that our planet and yours started as one sphere. We don’t know why, but 300 millions years ago they split apart; Earth went careening towards the center of the galaxy, and you were gracefully swept into a closer orbit around the sun. Pluto was flung into the reaches of the milky way, only to be brought back and established on the perimeter of the solar neighborhood.” In deep thought, I stroked where a goatee would be if I had one, “This is very surprising to me, on Earth we are able to observe much of your planet, but we can never reach into your history books, or your fables.”
We walked side by side in the Mystical Gardens of the Global Plutonion Conservatory. “Now what did you say this is called, again?” She plucked a flower from a navy blue stem, extending the shimmering peddles towards me so I could take in the aroma “it’s called a Posiemat, they’re one of our most common variety of weed, they’re comparable to the dandelion of Earth.” I looked around, trying to take in every moment of this. I pointed to a flower, which grew, give or take a centimeter, exactly twelve-inches above ground. The ambassador earlier told me about these plants; upon maturation, the petals change color from a tufty-white into a brilliant gold. During the course of precisely 36-hours they spiral down around the crimson stem until they barely brush against the soil. Here there are ants, a lot like the ones back home, and when the petals brush the Pluto, these ants travel to the top of the flower and make their colony in its center. At the same time, we both said “these Antallamora flowers are my favorite.” The ambassador continued, “here on Pluto we have a festival celebrating the Antallamora, it’s quite a bit like the Religious holidays that you told me about on Earth, except this is a far more serious affair.”

Christy Rozek--Assignment #3--Seven good reasons to bathe

One of the early cues for when it is time to bathe is when dirt, dust, or slime is visibly on the skin. This is an especially influential factor when one can make drawings on the arm when rearranging filth.
Another important factor is the upkeep of the hair. Hair is a major factor in looking clean and decent, and unstylish dishevelment or obvious grime is often not conducive to looking yummy. It is a bad sign when hair looks like it recently stepped from the shower when it is just fantastically oily.
It is a good time to bathe directly after a person attends the annual tomato festival in Spain. This festival consists of many people tossing around, eating, swimming in and dancing in thousands of pounds of tomatoes. Unless a person resists wearing a hazmat suit or if Spain has a very different kind of tomato, this would be a great time to clean up.
If you are on a swim team that practices frequently in a chlorinated pool you probably don’t feel very dirty after working out in such antibacterial water. But the fact of the matter is, if a person doesn’t bathe frequently between practices that person hair will stand up of its own accord and eventually fall out.
A very important factor is how the person feels. If he or she feels very unclean than it is time to bathe. But if that person is for instance, a mountain man, and can work all day catching fish in his beard and feel perfectly refreshed, he should not feel obliged to bathe.
It certainly is an occupational hazard for a massage therapist to smell or look dirty. When you are in a very confined space with someone who is rubbing oil all over your body, no amount of scented candles can make up for poor hygienic upkeep.
One of the most important rules, and an obvious one, is how the person smells. If he or she smells like a fresh picked daisy, or a clear mountain stream then they are all set. However, if the person is at all unpleasant to be in close proximity with, it is definitely time to bathe.

Christy Rozek--Assignment #3--Being chased by the cat

I’m sitting here, in a box, on the floor in Arkansas. I hear the lady of the house say “Bill, you don’t have to practice your saxophone in the garage, unless you like it out there or something.” Hmmm, she’s taking the cover off of the box now…she grabs a ball of yarn right next to me, I would call it sky blue, but nothing can really be the color of the sky. She sticks two very pointy looking knitting needles in it, and then chucks it out of the second floor window. Oh no, I hope I’m not next! Claw like fingernails dig into some of my outer threads, I can feel the very doom of my fibers approaching. Oh! Thank goodness! It’s only Socks the cat! He overturns the box, sending us all rolling. It seems that Socks is especially interested in me this time. He bats me with his paw, sending my conglomeration of strings towards the mirror leaning against the wall. He stops; I come to a rolling halt. We gaze into the mirror. He turns around, and his tail flicks me across the room, out the doorway, to the top of the stairs. I’m over the crest of the top step and now I’m falling down the stairs. Socks hurries after me, he really doesn’t need to rush, I have no acceleration without his force acting on me. I finish the last step, somebody left maple syrup on the floor again.

Christy Rozek--Writing Assignment #2--Short Prompt

Beth Allard and John Randolph meet on a lake. One of them is pretending to be someone else.

As the lake shone beneath the sun, Beth Allard lay on the shore. She took out her hairpins, shook-free her hair, and stood. In every moment she thought she could feel each inch of her body soaking-up more vitality than a turtle soaks up in a whole day of sunning. She dove into the water, feeling as though a world was born when she fell beneath the silky surface. She lay on her back, allowing the lake to move her. When she reached out her hand, she found the corner of the dock. Each grain of sand was defined and real. She slowly lifted herself up to the dock. When she stood up, she heard a woman approaching. Beth walked towards her, confident in her own stature. She could hear how familiar the footsteps were “Beth! Darling!” “Amanda! Sugar-pie, how I’ve missed you!” They embraced. Beth placed her hand on Amanda’s face, it was a familiar sight to her fingertips. They lay on the dock. They had no need for anything but to be in each other’s presence. Amanda crawled over to Beth and took her hand. Beth asked “sweetie, because I can’t see you, please tell me how you’ve changed?” Amanda paused, having all too succinct of an answer to this question. “Well, of course we all change and grow, but, I’ve er…but I think it’s really what stays the same that defines who we are. “hmm…I agree, honey, that’s terribly profound, but you really didn’t answer my question…” “Beth dear, do you remember that acting gig I had a while back, where there weren’t any female parts left and I had to play a dude?” “Yeah, sure I do,” “well, that role I played wasn’t too divorced from reality…actually…” “What?...you’re not making any sense.” “Well, I played a man…right? And….that’s why we always thought it was so silly…but I actually am a…” Amanda stopped, and Beth contained “Oh MAN!?”

Christy Rozek--Writing Assignment #2--Elephant, Airplane, Shampoo, Laptop, Banjo

I sat there, strumming on my banjo. Some of the other people in the airplane looked at me, over their laptop…tops. Sometimes I feel like nobody understands how things really are. Its way more widely accepted to say that you enjoy shampooing your rug than to say you’re interested in elephant herding. Even though elephants are way more fun. Anyway, I’m goin’ to visit my favorite elephant. She lives in the Nairobi zoo, and I often travel to see her, with my banjo for company. About this guy sitting next to me; sometimes I feel like having a little animated airplane float across his laptop would be as real to him as if someone made him sit, with his eyes fixed on the plane in which he is traveling. I got out a 3 ounce bottle of hair shampoo, it was strawberry, and I balanced it on top of his head. He neither saw me move my arm to do this, nor did he notice his new appendage.

Sean by Robert Loggains

Sean sat there nursing the drink, beer he thought though he wasn’t honestly sure, he didn’t really care.
He stared at the TV as reports came in from Milton, Maine.
Ryan had done it, he had actually done it.
Sean knew Ryan must have gone insane by now, or even if he hadn’t he just needed to be put down like a rabid animal, that is the closest thing to what he was now.
Sean might be able to do it, he had power too.
But Sean was a coward, or so he thought.
He didn’t think about how Ryan could kill him before he made a move, how Ryan could destroy him before Sean could do anything.
Sean could only see the flaws in himself right now, the lives he might be able to save if he was in New York.
Sean could hear something, a thought, he could hear a man following a woman down the hall of the building, the man planned to end her life in the most sadistic and cruel fashion possible.
Sean laughed as he heard those thoughts, knowing how petty the man really was, how little imagination he had.
But it would still be bad enough for the woman, even the man would suffer from it, his plans were sloppy and murders have a high rate of being solved.
Sean broke into the man’s mind, erasing memories, changing thoughts and feelings, the man cried out, he didn’t know what was happening to him.
A few minutes later the man got up, his life forever changed, a good man now, one who would save lives, who would help his community, who would have a life and loving family, it had all been inside the monster before Sean had found it, just buried so deep it couldn’t have come out any other way.
Sean was a coward, he wouldn’t fight Red Death.
But he was a member of the True Seven himself, and with that came a bit of power, but more than that.
Sean was still a hero, he would still do good in the world as best he could.
His mind probed the outside the building’s walls, searching for another life and soul to save.
It kept his mind from what was coming next.

For the Sky to Turn Red

I was running.
I had been running for a long time, too long.
I had been running since I was last at the sea, and now I reached a new one.
I wept into the ocean, and vomited all into it as I wept. I kept vomiting until I had nothing left inside of me.
I kept crying as I lay there, for there was nothing left for me, and never would be.
I couldn’t do the one thing I should to give myself a normal life. What she would have wanted, what they all would have wanted.
So I cried into the sea.
I was alone here. I had nothing on me but my robe, my Scythe, and the Key, Which wasn’t that bad when you got right down to it.
I kept crying for some time, but finally I was all cried out.
I wasn’t wearing shoes, not that it mattered, if it did I couldn’t have run this far.
Kneeling on the rocky beach I screamed up at the sky, it showed a promise, it showed a lie.
I fell asleep on the rocky beach, I don’t know for how long I slept, but it was sunrise when I awakened.
There was no one near this place, it was isolated and undesirable, which is exactly what I wanted for now.
I needed to think, there had to be a way to fight back, somehow there always was if you could pay the price.
Sometimes it wasn’t worth it, but I had nothing left to lose.
I got up. The tears on my face had dried.
“RED!” I screamed to the open sky.
You will know what that means.
Remember it.


I did my morning exercises, I had fallen out of practice but this would be a good way to focus myself.
I started out by breathing, again and again I breathed in and out until the world itself seemed to follow the rhythm of my breathing, I sped I up, but as I did I ordered the world away from me, or myself away from it.
I felt the world around my slow down, or at least that is what it was to me.
I ran up and down the beach, I went faster and faster as I did so, much faster than any human could run.
It was one advantage I had, and my greatest one.
I practiced with my Scythe, cutting off tree branches and cutting the sand, always making sure not to catch the Scythe on anything.
I didn’t want to tear my arm off.
I danced like this for just over an hour, it was peaceful, almost normal for me.
Finally I stopped, holding the Scythe above my head for a moment before dropping it.
I was never going to fence with it. Anything that could fence with me could kill me before I raised my Scythe.
The Scythe had only one purpose, to kill, to murder those lesser than you for good or ill, and it was all that I needed it to do.
I was setting out for New York today, it was the center of this country’s mind, it was the only place I could do what I needed to do, which was to slaughter everyone I met until something stopped me.
Not the best plan of course, but the only one I had.
I started running, soon I found a town, the highway signs had said I was in Maine, this was on the other side of the nation I had ran across, which was where I wanted to be.
At a glance I am human, my heart beats like yours does, I am warm to the touch, and no doctor could find anything to say differently, unless I run.
When I run I am faster than anything land based in the world, and most airplanes and submarines, I have power inside me, which can be used for good or ill.
I chose ill today as I slashed a man in the street.
The cut wasn’t deep, he should have lived a long and healthy life even after I slashed him, but he fell to the ground dead.
I couldn’t have easily killed him with the Scythe, if I had got it caught on a bone I could have had my arm broken or worse, but I have more than one power, as does my Scythe.
It was my father’s.
Now with only a simple cut on his arm the man was dead, if he had a family it would grieve for him, their lives would never be the same, neither would mine.
But don’t worry about them. I would probably kill them today.
I moved hundreds of times faster than anyone in the world, slashing and cutting and dashing and screaming silently about the town, killing all the while.
“RED!” I screamed again, tearing the town with my cry.
I came to a glass door, a supermarket was here, I could see the people behind them, I was moving to faster to dodge or survive hitting it, there was no way I could have survived if I hadn’t turned into crimson smoke.
I moved under the doorway pressed flatter than a pancake and ran through the aisles killing my way through them, returned to human form.
Half an hour later I was done, everyone in the town I could find was dead, I had searched every house and found many, and all were now dead except for those hiding under beds and such.
I had killed everyone.
I felt empty, though not as bad as I did last night, compared to that emptiness was a blessing
I ran to the center of town and pulled out a large golden key, and in the center of town I wrote a letter in the asphalt of the street.
“None of us want this, I want to reverse it, I am looking for the one who can.”
“If you can stop this, either through killing me or raising the dead, go to New York City tomorrow morning, I will be there.”
“See you all very soon.”
“RED DEATH.”
I ran from the town, in case it was nuked by a panicky government.
That was the only thing that had a good chance of getting me.




Sometime later I was watching the news. Sometimes the government might be able to cover it up, but not something like this.
Thousands had died, low thousands of course, but still so many.
Over a hundred had survived by hiding, and they had called for every conceivable kind of help, I had torn through the Masquerade in a single bloody stroke.
That worried me, if nothing had stopped it yet nothing could stop it, everything had to care about not being known, or else they would be known in some way, or too weak to be of much notice.
Now would be the perfect time, maybe the only time, to save themselves from witch-hunts and genocides that will follow my action, but so far they were all too stupid to do it.
If you have the power to raise the dead, or make people forget about them, you show yourself now, not when the fires are burning and they are out for your blood.
But nothing in this entire God-Forsaken world had stepped forward.
Well New York is next, and they will have to step forward then.

Red Death 2

We were driving.
Kansas was pretty here. I had always liked looking at the scenery outside the window as we rushed past. I didn’t really care what it looked like but I loved watching things as we rushed by, the speed felt so good.
It was one of the reasons I loved to run.
Of course I wasn’t really seeing it now as we drove by, my mind on other matters.
I shuddered, not wanting to cry.
I hadn’t said a word in the last several hours as I dwelled on things I should never dwell on
I didn’t really know why I trusted this man as we drove, but I felt no fear even though what I had done was insane. I had gone with a man I didn’t know for no discernable reason besides the fact that he seemed to be able to read my mind or something.
Maybe he was a telepath?
If you are a telepath sorry for being so gloomy, it must be hard to hear something like this, but screw you I am going to dwell on it.
If he had heard me he showed no response and I went back to brooding.

It was night by now, it had been hours since it had happened, I was getting tired and I hadn’t spoken since I got in the van, neither had Michael.
I wondered what we would do when he got tired and couldn’t drive anymore, but it didn’t seem worth it to ask, I fell asleep in the seat.
When I woke up it was morning again and we were still driving. Had we stopped while I slept or had we never stopped at all?
I didn’t know, or really care much.
It was easier just to sit and brood.
Ten hours later I was pretty sure that whatever Michael was he didn’t need to stop for gas, and he probably didn’t need to sleep.
And I was finally starting to care that I hadn’t eaten in 24 hours.
I wondered if he would notice or not, this seemed like a good test of his telepathic powers.
15 minutes later I realized if he knew I was hungry he wasn’t going to say anything.
“I’m hungry.” I said.
“Then we shall eat.” He responded
I kept quiet as we pulled through a drive through and got two burgers, he also fed but I did doubt he actually needed to eat.
Unless he was just a guy who didn’t want to stop to eat?
Maybe we were in some kind of hurry?
But still that didn’t explain the lack of a need for gas.
To my surprise it turned out we did need gas, so either he was fooling me by driving in or we had gotten gas last night.
I went to the bathroom, and I wondered why I hadn’t done it earlier, I had never gone that long before.
I went back to brooding when we left the gas station.

We had traveled for days, making our way across the country in much the same way as before, mostly silent. Rarely eating and stopping for gas, somehow able to keep going on longer than we should have.
I was left to brood as I wished, Michael did almost nothing besides drive.
And I was slowly piecing myself back together, at least to realize what I had done was stupid beyond words.
I had left my little brother behind to go with a strange man because he had guessed what a young boy would name an old farming tool he found. I was stupid.
But still something strange was going on, I could feel it as we drove, there was simply nothing to justify my own behavior, but his was inexplicable.
Why would anyone fake knowing about a boy he never met and drive for thousands of miles without sexually assaulting him?
I just couldn’t explain what was going on, but I tried, brooding turned to worrying as we drove in silence and the days stretched on and on.

Hello Sarah by Robert Loggains

“Hello Sarah.”

I stared at her. She had come to me as I knew she would.

“Hello Ryan.” She answered me.

“That isn’t my name anymore Sarah and you know it.”

“Does that have to be true Ryan? You can still be who you were. Come back to us and we will help you.”

“Juniper is dead Sarah, Anastasia is dead, he killed them Sarah! Michael killed them!”

“We didn’t kill them Ryan, we will still take you back.”

“No you won’t Sarah, I won’t let him win. That is what he wanted.”

“Michael is dead Ryan. Don’t let his actions determine how you live your life or else he really will have won.”

“No, he has lost Sarah, look around you and tell me that Michael hasn’t failed.”

She looked around at the bodies and didn’t blink.

“You have committed evil Ryan, I see it all around us, but you can still return and do good, atone for your past sins and forge a new path and name for yourself.”

“I already made a name for myself Sarah, Ryan isn’t it.”

She laughed without humor as she walked towards me.

“You would actually have me call you that name?”

“Yes, Ryan died with his wife and daughter.”

“I will not call you that name. Ryan is my friend, Ryan. Jordan. Anderson.”

She said the last words with such force it made me quiver. I wanted to go to her so badly, to let myself forget what had happened…

“MY NAME IS RED DEATH!”

I screamed this as I lunged at her at my full speed.

She dodged The Scythe but she knew she didn’t have the strength to parry my strange blade, and not enough speed to dodge me once I was ready for her.

“Is that who you are now Red Death a man who would kill his best friend?”

“You know that as well as I do” I spat.

“This is your last chance Ryan, come with me and we can hide you forever from those you have wronged!”

She was afraid now, I could see it in her eyes, she didn’t think I would actually be able to kill her when it came right down to it, and she was right in her own way.

Ryan could never have killed her, but I was Red Death.

And she saw it in my eyes.

“Curse you Red Death! Curse you for all the people you have killed! Curse you for every family you have rent apart! Curse you for letting Juniper die!”

The last one burned inside me.

“You are a monster Red Death! You will find no redemption now for we will never take you in! You will never be redeemed now, you will wander the Earth forever, you will never find what you are looking for.”

“I already know that Sarah.”

She flinched at those words now.

“Then why do you still fight Red Death?” She knew she was about to die, and she was afraid.

“Because if I stop they died for nothing” I whispered to her.

And I killed her with a single blow from The Scythe.

And I started to laugh madly, I knew I was Red Death now and that I was nothing else, I was the boogey man of a thousand nightmares for a thousand years to come.

And it was all for nothing at all.

Red Death 1

I was running.
I was crying.
This was the only place that felt right now after what happened.
I remembered the blood spilling on the floor. I remembered shock and horror. And I repressed it.
I ran into this clearing, it was a miracle that I hadn’t broken something after running all this way, yet I hadn’t even tripped.
I slowed down as I reached it and walked into the place, and I saw it.
The Scythe.
It was stupid to name it, and doubly stupid to name a scythe The Scythe but I was 8 at the time, cut me some slack.
Well don’t cut me any slack, but that is because of what happens later on in this story.
I reached it and looked at it. I didn’t know why I was drawn to The Scythe but I was, it was a dark fascination with something I had found old and lying on the ground. But something was odd about it.
The Scythe had never rusted in all the time I had visited it here.
I stared at it, the cool black wood and the glinting steel blade, it had to be old, I had found it buried in dirt when I was digging one day out here I had found the sharp metal and I had carefully excavated it, I was glad my parents never knew what I had found.
And never would.
I started to cry as I looked at it, a curious memento of a childhood just slain, and heard a voice.
No one was ever out here, who could it be?
And why today of all days?
“Hello Ryan.” He said. His voice was soothing even though I didn’t know it.
“Are you a police man?” I asked, guessing he was here to take me wherever it was new orphans go, I didn’t really know where that would be.
“No.” He said, his voice having the same soothing tone, but nothing should sooth me today.
“So you are some kind of rescue worker?” I was surprised they had already started searching for me, my brother wouldn’t be home yet, who could have found out what happened?
I shuddered.
“No, something a bit less respectable than that” He said smiling. I wasn’t in the mood for smiling people, or any people for that matter.
“Than what the heck are you?” I asked this man. It didn’t occur to me to wonder how a man could know where I would go in all this property when no one knew this place existed.
“Someone here to help you in a way no one should be able to.”
“My father is lying in his bedroom with a shotgun in his mouth.”
“You can’t help me.”
“I can if you will let me.”
I should have been crying but no tears came, this was something insane, it was from a nightmare.
I spat at him, too bad my spit didn’t reach him.
“I am here to help you Ryan, just come with me and everything will become clear.”
“You’re a nutcase.” I said, and I prepared to run.
“Where will you go Ryan, without The Scythe?”
I froze, I could feel that he had named it somehow, not just said what it was.
He had named something I never had spoken.
“What are you?” I asked, backing away.
“Michael.”
“That isn’t an answer Michael.”
“It wasn’t supposed to be.”
He picked up The Scythe, he handled it carefully as the weapon I had always pretended it was, and light gleamed off of it.
“You have already run too far Red Death. Let yourself rest for a time and come with me.”
“My name is Ryan Anderson.”
“For now.”
I stared at him again wondering what he could possibly mean.
“Why should I trust you?”
“Because I am the only man in this world who can help you at all right now Ryan, just come with me and The Scythe.”
I followed him for a time, not really thinking about where I was going.
I was still in shock. Otherwise I wouldn’t have gone with him.
I wouldn’t have even gone there if I was thinking straight.
After a while we came to a van.
“Seriously a van? Do you normally go around picking up teenagers who lost their families and take them off to some Happy Place?” I was starting to wonder if I was being abducted by a pedophile.
Well a mind reading pedophile.
“You’re the fourth this week” He said smiling.

Paris by Robert Loggains

Paris, the city of light, it was lovely even when uninhabited, most of the time Shannon would have heard the great throng of people living and laughing and loving their hearts out in this city.
But not today, today was a reckoning.
“Hello Trinity” Shannon called to her old and dear friend, the two embraced for a moment before separating. They could both feel the melancholy in the other.
“Where is Aaron” Trinity asked, surprising to see that Shannon was alone.
“Oh he’ll be back in a few, just meeting with a few of our more interesting allies.”
“So did Sean come” Asks Shannon as she remembered her old friend.
“I tried Shannon, I begged, I pleaded, but he wouldn’t come for this, he said he couldn’t bear it.”
“I wish I could have done the same Trin, Aaron wanted to leave this all behind so badly, but we couldn’t let Ryan do it alone.”
“That’s not his name anymore Shannon and you know that.”
“You actually think I should call him that name you gave him?” Shannon laughed a bit before realizing that Trinity was dead serious.
“Come on Trin, that name is disgusting, no way am I calling him-”
“Red Death Shannon” Trinity shouted it “his name is Red Death now, he forfeited his name after what he did, he lost whatever he was so the name he had was sullied, Red Death is all that fits after that!” Trinity was seething now, remembering old betrayals and losses.
“But you came here today Trinity, you came for her” Shannon whispered it and as she did so Sarah calmed visibly.
“I did, I know, I think I’m going to Hell Shannon but he was right for all of it Shannon he was right about everything, he did it all and he is about to get what we all want more than anything.”
“I’ve been to Hell Trinity, it isn’t for people like us, it isn’t even for people like Red Death, no one can fall far enough to deserve the Pit and last time I checked God was still a pretty nice guy.”
The two stared at the group gathering, Trinity didn’t even know most of the strange allies gathered there, a blond girl, a handsome black haired boy with red eyes, and a good looking Arab man with a long curved sword…”
And standing in the center is Red Death, his arm around someone she knew all too well.
A person she had seen bleed to death.
She was talking and laughing the rest of the group, her hair dancing in the sunlight.
Juniper was alive again.
“Miracles do happen in this world Trinity, I’ve caused enough of them to know what I am talking about, Ryan did one himself, but he needs our help for the next one.”
Trinity was crying a bit as she watched the dead woman laugh and talk with her old friends.
But she knew why they were here.
“We need to bring her back Shannon, I’ve known it since I got your call, she was just a baby, she didn’t deserve what Michael did to her.”
“He’s back you know, Michael is coming with us on the mission, he got his foot in the door when Juniper returned, and we need his power to do anything now.”
“And I thought this day couldn’t get any worse Shannon” Trinity laughed a little at that, knowing just how much worse it would get.
“So are you ready Sarah” whispered Shannon, using Trinity’s true name, one she hadn’t used in a long time.
This was a day for changes, and burying old wounds.
“Yes I am, let us open the Gates of Hell and take back what we have lost.”
“Why else would we be here?”
And the two old friends joined their real family, preparing to reclaim the child of their prodigal son.