Sorry for the lousy quality
It began like any day at Golden Acres Resting Home. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, and the residents were up and about. But in the afternoon, it began. At precisely 4:00 Mr. George Wentworth was watching television when it suddenly cut out, nothing but static and white noise. He flipped through every channel, but it was still the same. A crowd began to gather round as if the television was a fire. Suddenly the staff cam running in, telling everyone to go back to their rooms immediately. Pandemonium and fright appeared as the residents went as fast as they could to their rooms. But a few stayed unnoticed to see what the trouble was. The staff now coming out with guns: pistols, shotguns, and rifles. A coat of gray covered the once bright sky, as smoke seemed to have blown from a distant horizon. The streets were all deserted and void. The staff stood at ready with itchy trigger fingers. From a few feet away, a group of at least 50 zombies appeared. The staff began firing away, trying to kill as much as they could. But it was to no effect as the zombies came closer. Finally it was too late, and the staff was chewed upon. The scant few had seen it all from inside, watching with cold silence. They then headed outside to get the weapons, and hoped that the staff would stay dead and not return as zombies. For a week, surviving on limited firepower, the few brave seniors defended their home from the zombie horde. Eventually the military came in, and the zombies were disposed of. The sky brightened again, and the seniors all in one group walked up to the military unit and spoke in one voice. “Can we please have some staff?”
Monday, May 5, 2008
Monday, March 31, 2008
Writing Assignment 7 Final draft
Perspective is a difficult and strange thing. We as humans can interpret events in different way, “two sides to every story.” But these perspectives can also be eroded away when they becomes memories or are affected by an emotional undertone, like shock and doubt. My name is Joe Cotton. This is my story.
It started with a phone call, as do all things. I had just been promoted to the title of detective, after busting my chops for ten years as a cop for our fair city. I was in the process of moving into my new office, when the phone rang. I stopped unpacking and picked it up. It was my superior officer Lieutenant Chief Officer Orville Oswald, or as we called him “Oreo”. He said there was a body found by the lake and I should head over there ASAP. His voice sounded strange to me, fears mixed with sadness; but with a firm believe in me. The river was about a fifteen-minute drive outside of the city. A stereotypical major police crime scene surrounded the river: yellow tape, officers galore, flashing cameras, a helicopter or two floating around. I got out of my car and found Oreo, looking as grim as a man with cancer. He then led me to the body. It wasn’t as gruesome as gruesome as I expected it to be, but it was still pretty mangled. Oreo listed all the damages to it: shattered kneecaps, multiple stab wounds, shots to the back of the head and shoulder blades, and his right index finger was cut off. The body lay sprayed out on the ground like a dead fish or if someone had threw it out of a plane. I turned it over. His face had a scared face, permanently frozen to his face. I noticed a nametag on his shirt: Robert Olivier. At least it was a start. As I walked back to my car with Oreo, he explained a few things to me; that since this case seemed big, he was assigning me a partner. I respected and trusted any official decision Oreo made, but me; I’m the solo type, the lone detective on the trail of the criminal. As long as he’s not a fool, I’m fine with having a partner.
Oh, the sweet irony. The next morning as I stepped into my office, I see my “partner”: a white guy who looked like he had just come from the Keanu Reeves impersonation school. He was twiddling his thumbs, looking extremely nervous. I sat down in my chair and offered him a brief hello. He looked up at me and as soon as the breath left his mouth, my spirit just groaned in pain. “It’s very nice to meet you and I’m extremely excited about this case.” Let me explain myself. I don’t mind optimism and joy, it’s just the way he said it and the voice behind it. I briefed him on what we had found and I decided to take him for a drive around and to the shooting range, so he could warm up for action. He shuffled out in an almost dazed focus. We got in the car and I started driving him around; showing him crime hot spots, good restaurants, and great buildings. He just smiled the whole time, nodding at the right moments; and starring out the window with as much grace and wonder as child looking out onto the world. After our scenic tour, I drove back to the station and we headed down to the shooting range. There were a few officers down there, but it was mostly empty. I’m a pretty good shot, but today I was off, missing a few good kill shots. He on the other hand, became the god of guns. He stood there in a firm straight stance like a samurai, his eyes dead focused on the target. His body didn’t flinch at all with each shot; it was like the gun had become an extra limb. When his target came back, I was blown away. All the major kill points hit with such perfect accuracy. If this were a person, they would have been dead before they could reach their gun. He walked over after I had starred at his target long enough. He started talking in such a dramatically different tone: strong, firm, and real; like a great public speaker. He apologized for acting like a nervous wreck, saying he wasn’t used to all the new surroundings. He said his name was Greg and put out a hand. We shook hands and were cool. He would prove to be a valuable asset, as I got deeper and deeper into the case.
Looking through the background of Robert Olivier, I discovered that he was a nuclear scientist from the Davidson Power Plant, just a few miles from where his body was found. His work history showed that he was a good hard worker. I noticed something strange though. A week before Olivier’s death, it was reported that the Davidson Power Plant was going to undergo major renovations. Rumors said that the plant was actually closing, because of faulty waste management. I pondered with Greg on this for hours on end. Who would want to kill one measly little scientist and why? Greg and I took another drive around the city, thinking endlessly over it. Greg sat there in the car silent. I was tired and exhausted. I dropped him off at the station, telling him I would talk to him later. He just nodded. Finally I was home. O, the things I could do. Take a shower, walk TV or maybe sleep for a million years; either one was fine by me.
As I walked up to my apartment, I noticed something strange. The door was almost all the way open. Now I never forget to lock the door when I leave. I slowly walked through the open door, creeping as best I could. Everything in my apartment was normal, but something strange was in the air. I walked up to the carpet and looked around. Suddenly a figure jumped from behind and grabbed me. He was choking me with something, but I couldn’t tell what. I was losing breath and dropped my pistol. Somehow I managed to muster enough strength to reverse out of the choke, take the shotgun from his hands and blow his head off.
His head exploded like a bleach watermelon, blood and brain sprayed all over the wall and nearby lamp. God, I hate to have to clean this up later. I was frantic now, the adrenaline pumping through my system as I searched around. I spotted a flashing red light near the top of a doorframe, so I grabbed a chair and picked it out. I was bugged; for how long I don’t know, but someone wanted me gone. My heart jumped even faster as I heard whispers by my front door. I needed to get out fast. I quickly slipped out the window and rushed all the way down the fire escape. I ran around a corner and stopped, hugging the wall. I slowly poked my head from around the corner, and saw another man dressed the same as my attacker; an almost mercenary type uniform. He was slowly walking toward me, but he was at a distance. Just then my cell phone started ringing. I freaked out, frantically searching for it. I jerked my head around the corner again. The mercenary was walking toward me faster; I don’t know if he heard the ring, but in my mind he did. The phone was ringing endlessly as he approached closer and closer. I hugged the wall, praying to dear life that phone would shut up. He was so close now, I could sense him. If I even glanced around the corner, I would be dead. The dead silence came like an angel with wings. There was finally a pause, then the sound of footsteps fading away. I sighed a breath of relief. I checked the phone to see who had called. It was Greg. I’m defiantly giving him a hard time for that. I called him back as I walked easily down the street. I egged him about his call that nearly got me killed. He told me he had a major breakthrough. He had found a man who could gives us all the answers and had a meeting set at 7.
Night fell easy as a blanket. Greg and me stood around, feeling the chill of the night. Finally a figure stepped from the darkness. He was a short stout man, bearded and wearing glasses. He introduced himself as Albert Rochester, head scientist at Davidson Power Plant. He explained that all of the scientists were told that was the plant would have renovations and they would be laid off until further notice. He also noted on the day of Olivier’s death, he acting very strange and scared. He paused a moment and looked around, checking the scenery before he revealed his secret. He explained that the plant was being turned into a crack factory, run by AJ “Carlito” Freeman; the most notorious drug lord in the city. A select few scientists were kept to be a part of the factory, and were going to be paid triple of what they got from the plant; as long as they kept quiet. Accidentally, Robert Olivier received an email that told all this in detail. He going to tell all about it, but he was killed before he ever could. The mercenaries I had encountered were the ones that had killed him, and Rochester explained they were from an outside party to help the change run smoothly. Olivier even left a clue before he died; his chopped off finger hand was pointing toward the plant. It all made sense, but one question remained; who provided the mercenaries? Just as Rochester was about to reveal the answer, shots ringed out. Rochester was struck by a sniper’s bullet and fell dead to the ground, the truth gone with him. Greg and I jumped behind cover, firing away at the unseen sniper. After a short while, we stepped back into the open. The shadow of a figure was against the moonlit wall. Greg and I saw it and went running. The figure seemed to have heard us, and also ran. The alley became blurred as I ran as fast as I could. We seemed to have the shadow, but I spotted two more. I put out my gun and yelled freeze. Greg shone a flashlight my way. Caught in the light were AJ Freeman and Governor Rolfe together. Suddenly the answers rushed to my head. It made sense. Governor Rolfe had a percentage of the crack profits, as long as he provided tight security and laundered the money through fake government programs. The sight just shocked me, a man of the people was in cahoots with a drug kingpin. A gun clicked from behind us. I turned around and to my complete shock and horror, there was Oreo pointing a gun at us. I just couldn’t take; the man who had trained and taught me all my police skills had betrayed me. I could muster only a few words, “You knew?” He didn’t answer, but his facial expressions were all I needed.
I don’t know what happened next, it’s such a blur. All I know is someone needed up dead and now I’m on the run. I’m at an undisclosed location in the middle of nowhere, far away with these ghosts of a past. So much for case closed.
It started with a phone call, as do all things. I had just been promoted to the title of detective, after busting my chops for ten years as a cop for our fair city. I was in the process of moving into my new office, when the phone rang. I stopped unpacking and picked it up. It was my superior officer Lieutenant Chief Officer Orville Oswald, or as we called him “Oreo”. He said there was a body found by the lake and I should head over there ASAP. His voice sounded strange to me, fears mixed with sadness; but with a firm believe in me. The river was about a fifteen-minute drive outside of the city. A stereotypical major police crime scene surrounded the river: yellow tape, officers galore, flashing cameras, a helicopter or two floating around. I got out of my car and found Oreo, looking as grim as a man with cancer. He then led me to the body. It wasn’t as gruesome as gruesome as I expected it to be, but it was still pretty mangled. Oreo listed all the damages to it: shattered kneecaps, multiple stab wounds, shots to the back of the head and shoulder blades, and his right index finger was cut off. The body lay sprayed out on the ground like a dead fish or if someone had threw it out of a plane. I turned it over. His face had a scared face, permanently frozen to his face. I noticed a nametag on his shirt: Robert Olivier. At least it was a start. As I walked back to my car with Oreo, he explained a few things to me; that since this case seemed big, he was assigning me a partner. I respected and trusted any official decision Oreo made, but me; I’m the solo type, the lone detective on the trail of the criminal. As long as he’s not a fool, I’m fine with having a partner.
Oh, the sweet irony. The next morning as I stepped into my office, I see my “partner”: a white guy who looked like he had just come from the Keanu Reeves impersonation school. He was twiddling his thumbs, looking extremely nervous. I sat down in my chair and offered him a brief hello. He looked up at me and as soon as the breath left his mouth, my spirit just groaned in pain. “It’s very nice to meet you and I’m extremely excited about this case.” Let me explain myself. I don’t mind optimism and joy, it’s just the way he said it and the voice behind it. I briefed him on what we had found and I decided to take him for a drive around and to the shooting range, so he could warm up for action. He shuffled out in an almost dazed focus. We got in the car and I started driving him around; showing him crime hot spots, good restaurants, and great buildings. He just smiled the whole time, nodding at the right moments; and starring out the window with as much grace and wonder as child looking out onto the world. After our scenic tour, I drove back to the station and we headed down to the shooting range. There were a few officers down there, but it was mostly empty. I’m a pretty good shot, but today I was off, missing a few good kill shots. He on the other hand, became the god of guns. He stood there in a firm straight stance like a samurai, his eyes dead focused on the target. His body didn’t flinch at all with each shot; it was like the gun had become an extra limb. When his target came back, I was blown away. All the major kill points hit with such perfect accuracy. If this were a person, they would have been dead before they could reach their gun. He walked over after I had starred at his target long enough. He started talking in such a dramatically different tone: strong, firm, and real; like a great public speaker. He apologized for acting like a nervous wreck, saying he wasn’t used to all the new surroundings. He said his name was Greg and put out a hand. We shook hands and were cool. He would prove to be a valuable asset, as I got deeper and deeper into the case.
Looking through the background of Robert Olivier, I discovered that he was a nuclear scientist from the Davidson Power Plant, just a few miles from where his body was found. His work history showed that he was a good hard worker. I noticed something strange though. A week before Olivier’s death, it was reported that the Davidson Power Plant was going to undergo major renovations. Rumors said that the plant was actually closing, because of faulty waste management. I pondered with Greg on this for hours on end. Who would want to kill one measly little scientist and why? Greg and I took another drive around the city, thinking endlessly over it. Greg sat there in the car silent. I was tired and exhausted. I dropped him off at the station, telling him I would talk to him later. He just nodded. Finally I was home. O, the things I could do. Take a shower, walk TV or maybe sleep for a million years; either one was fine by me.
As I walked up to my apartment, I noticed something strange. The door was almost all the way open. Now I never forget to lock the door when I leave. I slowly walked through the open door, creeping as best I could. Everything in my apartment was normal, but something strange was in the air. I walked up to the carpet and looked around. Suddenly a figure jumped from behind and grabbed me. He was choking me with something, but I couldn’t tell what. I was losing breath and dropped my pistol. Somehow I managed to muster enough strength to reverse out of the choke, take the shotgun from his hands and blow his head off.
His head exploded like a bleach watermelon, blood and brain sprayed all over the wall and nearby lamp. God, I hate to have to clean this up later. I was frantic now, the adrenaline pumping through my system as I searched around. I spotted a flashing red light near the top of a doorframe, so I grabbed a chair and picked it out. I was bugged; for how long I don’t know, but someone wanted me gone. My heart jumped even faster as I heard whispers by my front door. I needed to get out fast. I quickly slipped out the window and rushed all the way down the fire escape. I ran around a corner and stopped, hugging the wall. I slowly poked my head from around the corner, and saw another man dressed the same as my attacker; an almost mercenary type uniform. He was slowly walking toward me, but he was at a distance. Just then my cell phone started ringing. I freaked out, frantically searching for it. I jerked my head around the corner again. The mercenary was walking toward me faster; I don’t know if he heard the ring, but in my mind he did. The phone was ringing endlessly as he approached closer and closer. I hugged the wall, praying to dear life that phone would shut up. He was so close now, I could sense him. If I even glanced around the corner, I would be dead. The dead silence came like an angel with wings. There was finally a pause, then the sound of footsteps fading away. I sighed a breath of relief. I checked the phone to see who had called. It was Greg. I’m defiantly giving him a hard time for that. I called him back as I walked easily down the street. I egged him about his call that nearly got me killed. He told me he had a major breakthrough. He had found a man who could gives us all the answers and had a meeting set at 7.
Night fell easy as a blanket. Greg and me stood around, feeling the chill of the night. Finally a figure stepped from the darkness. He was a short stout man, bearded and wearing glasses. He introduced himself as Albert Rochester, head scientist at Davidson Power Plant. He explained that all of the scientists were told that was the plant would have renovations and they would be laid off until further notice. He also noted on the day of Olivier’s death, he acting very strange and scared. He paused a moment and looked around, checking the scenery before he revealed his secret. He explained that the plant was being turned into a crack factory, run by AJ “Carlito” Freeman; the most notorious drug lord in the city. A select few scientists were kept to be a part of the factory, and were going to be paid triple of what they got from the plant; as long as they kept quiet. Accidentally, Robert Olivier received an email that told all this in detail. He going to tell all about it, but he was killed before he ever could. The mercenaries I had encountered were the ones that had killed him, and Rochester explained they were from an outside party to help the change run smoothly. Olivier even left a clue before he died; his chopped off finger hand was pointing toward the plant. It all made sense, but one question remained; who provided the mercenaries? Just as Rochester was about to reveal the answer, shots ringed out. Rochester was struck by a sniper’s bullet and fell dead to the ground, the truth gone with him. Greg and I jumped behind cover, firing away at the unseen sniper. After a short while, we stepped back into the open. The shadow of a figure was against the moonlit wall. Greg and I saw it and went running. The figure seemed to have heard us, and also ran. The alley became blurred as I ran as fast as I could. We seemed to have the shadow, but I spotted two more. I put out my gun and yelled freeze. Greg shone a flashlight my way. Caught in the light were AJ Freeman and Governor Rolfe together. Suddenly the answers rushed to my head. It made sense. Governor Rolfe had a percentage of the crack profits, as long as he provided tight security and laundered the money through fake government programs. The sight just shocked me, a man of the people was in cahoots with a drug kingpin. A gun clicked from behind us. I turned around and to my complete shock and horror, there was Oreo pointing a gun at us. I just couldn’t take; the man who had trained and taught me all my police skills had betrayed me. I could muster only a few words, “You knew?” He didn’t answer, but his facial expressions were all I needed.
I don’t know what happened next, it’s such a blur. All I know is someone needed up dead and now I’m on the run. I’m at an undisclosed location in the middle of nowhere, far away with these ghosts of a past. So much for case closed.
Sunday, March 30, 2008
Writing Assignment 7 1st/2nd draft
I apologize for this arriving late. It just took me so long for it to come together.
Warning: Story contains strong language and graphic violence
Perspective is a difficult and strange thing. We as humans can interpret events in different way, “two sides to every story.” But these perspectives can also be eroded away when they becomes memories or are affected by an emotional undertone, like shock and doubt. My name is Joe Cotton. This is my story.
It started with a phone call, as do all things. I had just been promoted to the title of detective, after busting my chops for ten years as a cop for our fair city. I was in the process of moving into my new office, when the phone rang. I stopped unpacking and picked it up. It was my superior officer Lieutenant Chief Officer Orville Oswald, or as we called him “Oreo”. He said there was a body found by the lake and I should head over there ASAP. His voice sounded strange to me, fears mixed with sadness; but with a firm believe in me. The river was about a fifteen-minute drive outside of the city. A stereotypical major police crime scene surrounded the river: yellow tape, officers galore, flashing cameras, a helicopter or two floating around. I got out of my car and found Oreo, looking as grim as a man with cancer. He then led me to the body. It wasn’t as gruesome as gruesome as I expected it to be, but it was still pretty mangled. Oreo listed all the damages to it: shattered kneecaps, multiple stab wounds, shots to the back of the head and shoulder blades, and his right index finger was cut off. The body lay sprayed out on the ground like a dead fish or if someone had threw it out of a plane. I turned it over. His face had a scared face, permanently frozen to his face. I noticed a nametag on his shirt: Robert Olivier. At least it was a start. As I walked back to my car with Oreo, he explained a few things to me; that since this case seemed big, he was assigning me a partner. I respected and trusted any official decision Oreo made, but me; I’m the solo type, the lone detective on the trail of the criminal. As long as he’s not a fool, I’m fine with having a partner.
Oh, the sweet irony. The next morning as I stepped into my office, I see my “partner”: a white guy who looked like he had just come from the Keanu Reeves impersonation school. He was twiddling his thumbs, looking extremely nervous. I sat down in my chair and offered him a brief hello. He looked up at me and as soon as the breath left his mouth, my spirit just groaned in pain. “It’s very nice to meet you and I’m extremely excited about this case.” Let me explain myself. I don’t mind optimism and joy, it’s just the way he said it and the voice behind it. I briefed him on what we had found and I decided to take him for a drive around and to the shooting range, so he could warm up for action. He shuffled out in an almost dazed focus. We got in the car and I started driving him around; showing him crime hot spots, good restaurants, and great buildings. He just smiled the whole time, nodding at the right moments; and starring out the window with as much grace and wonder as child looking out onto the world. After our scenic tour, I drove back to the station and we headed down to the shooting range. There were a few officers down there, but it was mostly empty. I’m a pretty good shot, but today I was off, missing a few good kill shots. He on the other hand, became the god of guns. He stood there in a firm straight stance like a samurai, his eyes dead focused on the target. His body didn’t flinch at all with each shot; it was like the gun had become an extra limb. When his target came back, I was blown away. All the major kill points hit with such perfect accuracy. If this were a person, they would have been dead before they could reach their gun. He walked over after I had starred at his target long enough. He started talking in such a dramatically different tone: strong, firm, and real; like a great public speaker. He apologized for acting like a nervous wreck, saying he wasn’t used to all the new surroundings. He said his name was Greg and put out a hand. We shook hands and were cool. He would prove to be a valuable asset, as I got deeper and deeper into the case.
Looking through the background of Robert Olivier, I discovered that he was a nuclear scientist from the Davidson Power Plant, just a few miles from where his body was found. His work history showed that he was a good hard worker. I noticed something strange though. A week before Olivier’s death, it was reported that the Davidson Power Plant was going to undergo major renovations. Rumors said that the plant was actually closing, because of faulty waste management. I pondered with Greg on this for hours on end. Who would want to kill one measly little scientist and why? I had an idea of someone who could pop out the answers. Sonny G was about as sleazy and fake as a gang banger got. Gold chain, wifebeater; any kind of ghetto stereotype imaginable, you would probably find on Sonny G. He had done minor jail time for petty theft and attempted robbery. He was a lousy criminal, but he acted like he was hard. When we drove to where he was, I found him laughing and joking with his homies; probably telling some tall tales. I stepped out of the car very professional, with Greg behind me. Sonny spotted us, staring with a shit-faced grin on his face. “Well, if it isn’t the baddest cop that the city ever saw. What brings you to the hood?” he boasted. I walked up and got to the point. I asked him if he knew anything about Robert Olivier. Sonny just kept on smiling. “Do I look like a scientist to you?” He stared chuckling at his own joke. I edged him on, since he was the type of character who knew some secrets. He spoke slyly; “Maybe I do, maybe I don’t. But I wouldn’t tell it to no motherfucking Uncle Tom.” His friends lost it, laughing their dumb heads off. I waited and made my move. I rushed up to him and punched him as hard as I could muster. The power of that punch was one of the most satisfying things I’ve done. His head slammed against the door of the stoop. His friends scattered like seeds in the wind. Sonny turned around, his face bruised and bloody with shocked look on. I pulled out my gun and stuck it right in his face. His eyes bugged out of his face at the sight of the gun. I changed tone then, slightly letting down my professionalism. “Nigga, if you call me a Uncle Tom one more time; I’ll stick this gun so far you ass and blow your brains out like a fucking volcano, motherfucker!” I then let it all out and started pistol-whipping him. Blows went by, each getting harder then the last as Sonny started screaming. Finally after watching the whole time, Greg bolted up and pulled me away from Sonny; screaming that I was going to kill him. Sonny leaned against the door like a bruised raisin. He was still breathing. I walked back to him and pulled him up by the shirt. I was calm now. I finally questioned him on what he knew. Sonny coughed a bit and started talking. He was blabbing on about something like a conspiracy nut, saying it was bigger than I knew. I was tired of his shit. I walked away with him yelling at us about they were going to get us. His voice echoed in my head as I drove away. Greg sat there in the car silent. I was tired and exhausted. I dropped him off at the station, telling him I would talk to him later. He just nodded. Finally I was home. O, the things I could do. Take a shower, walk TV or maybe sleep for a million years; either one was fine by me.
As I walked up to my apartment, I noticed something strange. The door was almost all the way open. Now I never forget to lock the door when I leave. I slowly walked through the open door, creeping as best I could. Everything in my apartment was normal, but something strange was in the air. I walked up to the carpet and looked around. Suddenly a figure jumped from behind and grabbed me. He was choking me with something, but I couldn’t tell what. I was losing breath and dropped my pistol. Somehow I managed to muster enough strength to reverse out of the choke, take the shotgun from his hands and blow his head off.
His head exploded like a bleach watermelon, blood and brain sprayed all over the wall and nearby lamp. God, I hate to have to clean this up later. I was frantic now, the adrenaline pumping through my system as I searched around. I spotted a flashing red light near the top of a doorframe, so I grabbed a chair and picked it out. I was bugged; for how long I don’t know, but someone wanted me gone. My heart jumped even faster as I heard whispers by my front door. I needed to get out fast. I quickly slipped out the window and rushed all the way down the fire escape. I ran around a corner and stopped, hugging the wall. I slowly poked my head from around the corner, and saw another man dressed the same as my attacker; an almost mercenary type uniform. He was slowly walking toward me, but he was at a distance. Just then my cell phone started ringing. I freaked out, frantically searching for it. I jerked my head around the corner again. The mercenary was walking toward me faster; I don’t know if he heard the ring, but in my mind he did. The phone was ringing endlessly as he approached closer and closer. I hugged the wall, praying to dear life that phone would shut up. He was so close now, I could sense him. If I even glanced around the corner, I would be dead. The dead silence came like an angel with wings. There was finally a pause, then the sound of footsteps fading away. I sighed a breath of relief. I checked the phone to see who had called. It was Greg. I’m defiantly giving him a hard time for that. I called him back as I walked easily down the street. I egged him about his call that nearly got me killed. He told me he had a major breakthrough. He had found a man who could gives us all the answers and had a meeting set at 7.
Night fell easy as a blanket. Greg and me stood around, feeling the chill of the night. Finally a figure stepped from the darkness. He was a short stout man, bearded and wearing glasses. He introduced himself as Albert Rochester, head scientist at Davidson Power Plant. He explained that all of the scientists were told that was the plant would have renovations and they would be laid off until further notice. He also noted on the day of Olivier’s death, he acting very strange and scared. He paused a moment and looked around, checking the scenery before he revealed his secret. He explained that the plant was being turned into a crack factory, run by AJ “Carlito” Freeman; the most notorious drug lord in the city. A select few scientists were kept to be a part of the factory, and were going to be paid triple of what they got from the plant; as long as they kept quiet. Accidentally, Robert Olivier received an email that told all this in detail. He going to tell all about it, but he was killed before he ever could. The mercenaries I had encountered were the ones that had killed him, and Rochester explained they were from an outside party to help the change run smoothly. Olivier even left a clue before he died; his chopped off finger hand was pointing toward the plant. It all made sense, but one question remained; who provided the mercenaries? Just as Rochester was about to reveal the answer, shots ringed out. Rochester was struck by a sniper’s bullet and fell dead to the ground, the truth gone with him. Greg and I jumped behind cover, firing away at the unseen sniper. After a short while, we stepped back into the open. The shadow of a figure was against the moonlit wall. Greg and I saw it and went running. The figure seemed to have heard us, and also ran. The alley became blurred as I ran as fast as I could. We seemed to have the shadow, but I spotted two more. I put out my gun and yelled freeze. Greg shone a flashlight my way. Caught in the light were AJ Freeman and Governor Rolfe together. Suddenly the answers rushed to my head. It made sense. Governor Rolfe had a percentage of the crack profits, as long as he provided tight security and laundered the money through fake government programs. The sight just shocked me, a man of the people was in cahoots with a drug kingpin. A gun clicked from behind us. I turned around and to my complete shock and horror, there was Oreo pointing a gun at us. I just couldn’t take; the man who had trained and taught me all my police skills had betrayed me. I could muster only a few words, “You knew?” He didn’t answer, but his facial expressions were all I needed.
I don’t know what happened next, it’s such a blur. All I know is someone needed up dead and now I’m on the run. I’m at an undisclosed location in the middle of nowhere, far away with these ghosts of a past. So much for case closed.
Warning: Story contains strong language and graphic violence
Perspective is a difficult and strange thing. We as humans can interpret events in different way, “two sides to every story.” But these perspectives can also be eroded away when they becomes memories or are affected by an emotional undertone, like shock and doubt. My name is Joe Cotton. This is my story.
It started with a phone call, as do all things. I had just been promoted to the title of detective, after busting my chops for ten years as a cop for our fair city. I was in the process of moving into my new office, when the phone rang. I stopped unpacking and picked it up. It was my superior officer Lieutenant Chief Officer Orville Oswald, or as we called him “Oreo”. He said there was a body found by the lake and I should head over there ASAP. His voice sounded strange to me, fears mixed with sadness; but with a firm believe in me. The river was about a fifteen-minute drive outside of the city. A stereotypical major police crime scene surrounded the river: yellow tape, officers galore, flashing cameras, a helicopter or two floating around. I got out of my car and found Oreo, looking as grim as a man with cancer. He then led me to the body. It wasn’t as gruesome as gruesome as I expected it to be, but it was still pretty mangled. Oreo listed all the damages to it: shattered kneecaps, multiple stab wounds, shots to the back of the head and shoulder blades, and his right index finger was cut off. The body lay sprayed out on the ground like a dead fish or if someone had threw it out of a plane. I turned it over. His face had a scared face, permanently frozen to his face. I noticed a nametag on his shirt: Robert Olivier. At least it was a start. As I walked back to my car with Oreo, he explained a few things to me; that since this case seemed big, he was assigning me a partner. I respected and trusted any official decision Oreo made, but me; I’m the solo type, the lone detective on the trail of the criminal. As long as he’s not a fool, I’m fine with having a partner.
Oh, the sweet irony. The next morning as I stepped into my office, I see my “partner”: a white guy who looked like he had just come from the Keanu Reeves impersonation school. He was twiddling his thumbs, looking extremely nervous. I sat down in my chair and offered him a brief hello. He looked up at me and as soon as the breath left his mouth, my spirit just groaned in pain. “It’s very nice to meet you and I’m extremely excited about this case.” Let me explain myself. I don’t mind optimism and joy, it’s just the way he said it and the voice behind it. I briefed him on what we had found and I decided to take him for a drive around and to the shooting range, so he could warm up for action. He shuffled out in an almost dazed focus. We got in the car and I started driving him around; showing him crime hot spots, good restaurants, and great buildings. He just smiled the whole time, nodding at the right moments; and starring out the window with as much grace and wonder as child looking out onto the world. After our scenic tour, I drove back to the station and we headed down to the shooting range. There were a few officers down there, but it was mostly empty. I’m a pretty good shot, but today I was off, missing a few good kill shots. He on the other hand, became the god of guns. He stood there in a firm straight stance like a samurai, his eyes dead focused on the target. His body didn’t flinch at all with each shot; it was like the gun had become an extra limb. When his target came back, I was blown away. All the major kill points hit with such perfect accuracy. If this were a person, they would have been dead before they could reach their gun. He walked over after I had starred at his target long enough. He started talking in such a dramatically different tone: strong, firm, and real; like a great public speaker. He apologized for acting like a nervous wreck, saying he wasn’t used to all the new surroundings. He said his name was Greg and put out a hand. We shook hands and were cool. He would prove to be a valuable asset, as I got deeper and deeper into the case.
Looking through the background of Robert Olivier, I discovered that he was a nuclear scientist from the Davidson Power Plant, just a few miles from where his body was found. His work history showed that he was a good hard worker. I noticed something strange though. A week before Olivier’s death, it was reported that the Davidson Power Plant was going to undergo major renovations. Rumors said that the plant was actually closing, because of faulty waste management. I pondered with Greg on this for hours on end. Who would want to kill one measly little scientist and why? I had an idea of someone who could pop out the answers. Sonny G was about as sleazy and fake as a gang banger got. Gold chain, wifebeater; any kind of ghetto stereotype imaginable, you would probably find on Sonny G. He had done minor jail time for petty theft and attempted robbery. He was a lousy criminal, but he acted like he was hard. When we drove to where he was, I found him laughing and joking with his homies; probably telling some tall tales. I stepped out of the car very professional, with Greg behind me. Sonny spotted us, staring with a shit-faced grin on his face. “Well, if it isn’t the baddest cop that the city ever saw. What brings you to the hood?” he boasted. I walked up and got to the point. I asked him if he knew anything about Robert Olivier. Sonny just kept on smiling. “Do I look like a scientist to you?” He stared chuckling at his own joke. I edged him on, since he was the type of character who knew some secrets. He spoke slyly; “Maybe I do, maybe I don’t. But I wouldn’t tell it to no motherfucking Uncle Tom.” His friends lost it, laughing their dumb heads off. I waited and made my move. I rushed up to him and punched him as hard as I could muster. The power of that punch was one of the most satisfying things I’ve done. His head slammed against the door of the stoop. His friends scattered like seeds in the wind. Sonny turned around, his face bruised and bloody with shocked look on. I pulled out my gun and stuck it right in his face. His eyes bugged out of his face at the sight of the gun. I changed tone then, slightly letting down my professionalism. “Nigga, if you call me a Uncle Tom one more time; I’ll stick this gun so far you ass and blow your brains out like a fucking volcano, motherfucker!” I then let it all out and started pistol-whipping him. Blows went by, each getting harder then the last as Sonny started screaming. Finally after watching the whole time, Greg bolted up and pulled me away from Sonny; screaming that I was going to kill him. Sonny leaned against the door like a bruised raisin. He was still breathing. I walked back to him and pulled him up by the shirt. I was calm now. I finally questioned him on what he knew. Sonny coughed a bit and started talking. He was blabbing on about something like a conspiracy nut, saying it was bigger than I knew. I was tired of his shit. I walked away with him yelling at us about they were going to get us. His voice echoed in my head as I drove away. Greg sat there in the car silent. I was tired and exhausted. I dropped him off at the station, telling him I would talk to him later. He just nodded. Finally I was home. O, the things I could do. Take a shower, walk TV or maybe sleep for a million years; either one was fine by me.
As I walked up to my apartment, I noticed something strange. The door was almost all the way open. Now I never forget to lock the door when I leave. I slowly walked through the open door, creeping as best I could. Everything in my apartment was normal, but something strange was in the air. I walked up to the carpet and looked around. Suddenly a figure jumped from behind and grabbed me. He was choking me with something, but I couldn’t tell what. I was losing breath and dropped my pistol. Somehow I managed to muster enough strength to reverse out of the choke, take the shotgun from his hands and blow his head off.
His head exploded like a bleach watermelon, blood and brain sprayed all over the wall and nearby lamp. God, I hate to have to clean this up later. I was frantic now, the adrenaline pumping through my system as I searched around. I spotted a flashing red light near the top of a doorframe, so I grabbed a chair and picked it out. I was bugged; for how long I don’t know, but someone wanted me gone. My heart jumped even faster as I heard whispers by my front door. I needed to get out fast. I quickly slipped out the window and rushed all the way down the fire escape. I ran around a corner and stopped, hugging the wall. I slowly poked my head from around the corner, and saw another man dressed the same as my attacker; an almost mercenary type uniform. He was slowly walking toward me, but he was at a distance. Just then my cell phone started ringing. I freaked out, frantically searching for it. I jerked my head around the corner again. The mercenary was walking toward me faster; I don’t know if he heard the ring, but in my mind he did. The phone was ringing endlessly as he approached closer and closer. I hugged the wall, praying to dear life that phone would shut up. He was so close now, I could sense him. If I even glanced around the corner, I would be dead. The dead silence came like an angel with wings. There was finally a pause, then the sound of footsteps fading away. I sighed a breath of relief. I checked the phone to see who had called. It was Greg. I’m defiantly giving him a hard time for that. I called him back as I walked easily down the street. I egged him about his call that nearly got me killed. He told me he had a major breakthrough. He had found a man who could gives us all the answers and had a meeting set at 7.
Night fell easy as a blanket. Greg and me stood around, feeling the chill of the night. Finally a figure stepped from the darkness. He was a short stout man, bearded and wearing glasses. He introduced himself as Albert Rochester, head scientist at Davidson Power Plant. He explained that all of the scientists were told that was the plant would have renovations and they would be laid off until further notice. He also noted on the day of Olivier’s death, he acting very strange and scared. He paused a moment and looked around, checking the scenery before he revealed his secret. He explained that the plant was being turned into a crack factory, run by AJ “Carlito” Freeman; the most notorious drug lord in the city. A select few scientists were kept to be a part of the factory, and were going to be paid triple of what they got from the plant; as long as they kept quiet. Accidentally, Robert Olivier received an email that told all this in detail. He going to tell all about it, but he was killed before he ever could. The mercenaries I had encountered were the ones that had killed him, and Rochester explained they were from an outside party to help the change run smoothly. Olivier even left a clue before he died; his chopped off finger hand was pointing toward the plant. It all made sense, but one question remained; who provided the mercenaries? Just as Rochester was about to reveal the answer, shots ringed out. Rochester was struck by a sniper’s bullet and fell dead to the ground, the truth gone with him. Greg and I jumped behind cover, firing away at the unseen sniper. After a short while, we stepped back into the open. The shadow of a figure was against the moonlit wall. Greg and I saw it and went running. The figure seemed to have heard us, and also ran. The alley became blurred as I ran as fast as I could. We seemed to have the shadow, but I spotted two more. I put out my gun and yelled freeze. Greg shone a flashlight my way. Caught in the light were AJ Freeman and Governor Rolfe together. Suddenly the answers rushed to my head. It made sense. Governor Rolfe had a percentage of the crack profits, as long as he provided tight security and laundered the money through fake government programs. The sight just shocked me, a man of the people was in cahoots with a drug kingpin. A gun clicked from behind us. I turned around and to my complete shock and horror, there was Oreo pointing a gun at us. I just couldn’t take; the man who had trained and taught me all my police skills had betrayed me. I could muster only a few words, “You knew?” He didn’t answer, but his facial expressions were all I needed.
I don’t know what happened next, it’s such a blur. All I know is someone needed up dead and now I’m on the run. I’m at an undisclosed location in the middle of nowhere, far away with these ghosts of a past. So much for case closed.
Sunday, March 2, 2008
Writing Assignment 6 Final draft
The village was a bright flower, surrounded and protected by the might trees of the forest. Everyone who lived in it was happy and prosperous, but the happiest villager of all was young Sason. He lived a carefree life: running and playing in the fields, feasting on the foods of the land, experiencing life as a child. The morning began as usual; he ate in a hurry so he could go play with his friends. After playing for hours in the forest, he soon wandered off from his group and soon fell asleep by a mighty oak tree. Hours drifted away, before he was awaken by the smell of smoke. He jumped up, and saw that the smoke was coming from nearby. He rushed home and stopped to see what was before him. His village lay in chaos; houses burned, live stock rotting, corpses crisp, and the bodies; pounds and pounds of the dead scattered around. Some were mutilated, some were burned, others just lay there as skeletons. Sason’s mind couldn’t handle it. He ran forward in a frenzied panic, just hoping to find some life. He ran to his house, which was in turmoil. He found his family, in a state beyond imagination. Sason just stared at all the blood, flesh, and the burning fire. He then let out a scream that was like a mother having her just born baby being forced back inside her. Sason wandered the forest, crying all the tears he had him, staggering along in an emotional daze. He was later awoken after all his crying had put him to sleep, by an eagle headed stranger, serious in face and massive in physique. “I saw what happened to your village, and can understand all that is happening with you right now,” he spoke, “I too am among the few of my kind. Do you wish to learn how you may avenge your family and village?” Sason nodded and he got up and followed the eagle headed stranger.
The eagle man know simply as N took Sason in. For five years, Sason stayed in a dark cave, constantly being attacked by N until he could fully defend himself and knock N out of the cave. He was trained in the art of the sword, battle strategies, stealth, and other ways of the warrior. When he turned 21, N felt it was time for him to go on his journey. Sason left N with a few special items; a great sword made by N’s father, a crystal shard that gave him the power of invisibility, and the scrap from the flag of who was responsible for the death of his village; the Gul clan. For many endless years Sason wandered the lands, killing any creature or species that had any relation to the clan: goblins, ogres, trolls, giants, the list went on. He killed with perfection and accuracy, only slipping once in his travels; when he was captured by a group of goblins. He made the mistake of stepping on a branch while sneaking up on them, but that was corrected when he broke the guard goblin’s neck, and preceded to kill every last goblin that had held him. All the death and evil he saw before had killed his humanity, sometimes he found women held captured along with him and before he let them go, he would rape them. He looked older; his face was a crumbling sculpture, his hands raw with death. He had truly lost himself; he had even cut off the pointed part of his ears just to look human. He finally had a name when a troll he had cornered buttered out the names of the clan leaders and where their headquarters was. Sason soon found it, a dank fortress of solitude and deception. Taking a deep breath, he charged in; cutting away at the sight of any moving blurred figure. Bodies flied behind as he inched nearer and nearer to his ultimate desire. Finally, he made his way to the top of the fortress and burst in to the leaders’ room. They were of many races; goblin, human, ogre and wore very elegant armor. They drew faces of shock at their sudden intruder. Sason then preceded to chop, slice and cut away at the leaders as he imagined they did to his people. He left when he was done; all of the leaders heads were decapitated, their guts spilled out, and their blood painted on the walls. Sason just walked out of the fortress, accomplished yet numb in his heart. He continued walking on until he reached an ocean plain, where he saw the wondrous sight of the sun climbing past the dew that was the clouds. He broke down, crying for both the loneliness of himself, the sin he had done just in order to feel complete, and also for not seeing such beauty in life. He continued crying until a ripple appeared in the water. A beautiful goddess like spirit appeared from the lake. Her golden hair flowed long enough to touch the water from where she floated. Sason felt warmness with the sight of her, something he had not felt since he was young. She looked at him with her clear blue eye and softly spoke “Rest easy warrior. Though you have the blood of many upon your hands, you have achieved wisdom and understanding beyond any creature, which has lay hidden within you until now. Go now kind spirit, and spread your love through the land.” Sason then saw the spirits of his family next to the goddess, smiling at him. He began to shake and convulse, shaking with such intensity as if he was possessed. His heart stopped. His body laided on the ground as the ocean tide swept him away. Though dead, he was finally free from the prison of his misery, and allowed to be free in a beautiful place outside time and space.
The eagle man know simply as N took Sason in. For five years, Sason stayed in a dark cave, constantly being attacked by N until he could fully defend himself and knock N out of the cave. He was trained in the art of the sword, battle strategies, stealth, and other ways of the warrior. When he turned 21, N felt it was time for him to go on his journey. Sason left N with a few special items; a great sword made by N’s father, a crystal shard that gave him the power of invisibility, and the scrap from the flag of who was responsible for the death of his village; the Gul clan. For many endless years Sason wandered the lands, killing any creature or species that had any relation to the clan: goblins, ogres, trolls, giants, the list went on. He killed with perfection and accuracy, only slipping once in his travels; when he was captured by a group of goblins. He made the mistake of stepping on a branch while sneaking up on them, but that was corrected when he broke the guard goblin’s neck, and preceded to kill every last goblin that had held him. All the death and evil he saw before had killed his humanity, sometimes he found women held captured along with him and before he let them go, he would rape them. He looked older; his face was a crumbling sculpture, his hands raw with death. He had truly lost himself; he had even cut off the pointed part of his ears just to look human. He finally had a name when a troll he had cornered buttered out the names of the clan leaders and where their headquarters was. Sason soon found it, a dank fortress of solitude and deception. Taking a deep breath, he charged in; cutting away at the sight of any moving blurred figure. Bodies flied behind as he inched nearer and nearer to his ultimate desire. Finally, he made his way to the top of the fortress and burst in to the leaders’ room. They were of many races; goblin, human, ogre and wore very elegant armor. They drew faces of shock at their sudden intruder. Sason then preceded to chop, slice and cut away at the leaders as he imagined they did to his people. He left when he was done; all of the leaders heads were decapitated, their guts spilled out, and their blood painted on the walls. Sason just walked out of the fortress, accomplished yet numb in his heart. He continued walking on until he reached an ocean plain, where he saw the wondrous sight of the sun climbing past the dew that was the clouds. He broke down, crying for both the loneliness of himself, the sin he had done just in order to feel complete, and also for not seeing such beauty in life. He continued crying until a ripple appeared in the water. A beautiful goddess like spirit appeared from the lake. Her golden hair flowed long enough to touch the water from where she floated. Sason felt warmness with the sight of her, something he had not felt since he was young. She looked at him with her clear blue eye and softly spoke “Rest easy warrior. Though you have the blood of many upon your hands, you have achieved wisdom and understanding beyond any creature, which has lay hidden within you until now. Go now kind spirit, and spread your love through the land.” Sason then saw the spirits of his family next to the goddess, smiling at him. He began to shake and convulse, shaking with such intensity as if he was possessed. His heart stopped. His body laided on the ground as the ocean tide swept him away. Though dead, he was finally free from the prison of his misery, and allowed to be free in a beautiful place outside time and space.
Sunday, February 24, 2008
2nd draft Adventure story or 1st draft of new story
The village was a bright flower, surrounded and protected by the might trees of the forest. Everyone who lived in it was happy and prosperous, but the happiest villager of all was young Sason. He lived a carefree life: running and playing in the fields, feasting on the foods of the land, experiencing life as a child. The morning began as usual; he ate in a hurry so he could go play with his friends. After playing for hours in the forest, he soon wandered off from his group and soon fell asleep by a mighty oak tree. Hours drifted away, before he was awaken by the smell of smoke. He jumped up, and saw that the smoke was coming from nearby. He rushed home and stopped to see what was before him. His village lay in chaos; houses burned, live stock rotting, crops crisp, and the bodies; pounds and pounds of the dead scattered around. Some were mutilated, some were burned, others just lay there as skeletons. Sason’s mind couldn’t handle it. He ran forward in a frenzied panic, just hoping to find some life. He ran to his house, which in turmoil. He found his family, in a state beyond imagination. Sason just stared at all the blood, flesh, and the burning fire. He then let out a scream that was like a mother having her just born baby being forced back inside her. Sason wandered the forest, crying all the tears he had him, staggering along in an emotional daze. He was later awoken after all his crying had put him to sleep, by an eagle headed stranger, serious in face and massive in physique. “I saw what happened in your village, and can understand all that is happening with you right now,” he spoke, “I too am among the few of my kind. Do you wish to learn how you may avenge your family and village?” Sason nodded and he got up and followed the eagle headed stranger.
The eagle man know simply as N took Sason in. For five years, Sason stayed in a dark cave, constantly being attacked by N until he could fully defend himself and knock N out of the cave. He was trained in the art of the sword, battle strategies, stealth, and other ways of the warrior. When he turned 21, N felt it was time for him to go on his journey. Sason left N with a few special items; a great sword made by N’s father, a crystal shard that gave him the power of invisibility, and the scrap from the flag of who was responsible for the death of his village; the Gul clan. For many endless years Sason wandered the lands, killing any creature or species that had any relation to the clan: goblins, ogres, trolls, giants, the list went on. He killed with perfection and accuracy, only slipping once in his travels; when he was captured by a group of goblins. He made the mistake of stepping on a branch while sneaking up to them, but that was corrected when he broke the guard goblin’s neck, and proceeded to kill every last goblin that had held him. All the death and evil he saw before had killed his humanity, sometimes he found women held captured along with him and before he let them go, he would rape them. He looked older; his face was a crumbling sculpture, his hands raw with death. He had truly lost himself; he had even cut off the pointed part of his ears just to look human. He finally had a name when a troll he had corned buttered out the names of the clan leaders and where their headquarters was. Sason soon found it, a dank fortress of solitude and deception. He charged in, cutting away at the sight of a moving blurred figure. He made his away to the top of the fortress, burst in to the leaders’ room, and proceed to chop, slice and cut away at the leaders as he imagined they did to his people. He left when he was done; all of the leaders heads were decapitated, their guts spilled out, and their blood painted on the walls. Sason just walked out of the fortress, accomplished yet numb in his heart. He continued walking on until he reached an ocean plain, where he saw the wondrous sight of the sun climbing past the dew that was the clouds. He broke down, crying for both the loneliness of himself, the sin he had done just in order to feel complete, and also for not seeing such beauty in life. He continued crying until a ripple appeared in the water. A beautiful goddess like spirit appeared from the lake. Her golden hair flowed long enough to touch the water from where she floated. Sason felt warmness with the sight of her, something he had not felt since he was young. She looked at him with her clear blue eye and softly spoke “Rest easy warrior. Though you have the blood of many upon your hands, you have achieved a wisdom and understanding beyond any creature, which lay hidden within you until now. Go now kind spirit, and spread your love through the land.” Sason then saw the spirits of his family next to the goddess, smiling at him. He began to shake and convulse, and his heart stopped. His body lay on the ground as the ocean tide swept him away. Though dead, he was finally free from the prison of his misery, and allowed to be free in a beautiful place outside time and space.
The eagle man know simply as N took Sason in. For five years, Sason stayed in a dark cave, constantly being attacked by N until he could fully defend himself and knock N out of the cave. He was trained in the art of the sword, battle strategies, stealth, and other ways of the warrior. When he turned 21, N felt it was time for him to go on his journey. Sason left N with a few special items; a great sword made by N’s father, a crystal shard that gave him the power of invisibility, and the scrap from the flag of who was responsible for the death of his village; the Gul clan. For many endless years Sason wandered the lands, killing any creature or species that had any relation to the clan: goblins, ogres, trolls, giants, the list went on. He killed with perfection and accuracy, only slipping once in his travels; when he was captured by a group of goblins. He made the mistake of stepping on a branch while sneaking up to them, but that was corrected when he broke the guard goblin’s neck, and proceeded to kill every last goblin that had held him. All the death and evil he saw before had killed his humanity, sometimes he found women held captured along with him and before he let them go, he would rape them. He looked older; his face was a crumbling sculpture, his hands raw with death. He had truly lost himself; he had even cut off the pointed part of his ears just to look human. He finally had a name when a troll he had corned buttered out the names of the clan leaders and where their headquarters was. Sason soon found it, a dank fortress of solitude and deception. He charged in, cutting away at the sight of a moving blurred figure. He made his away to the top of the fortress, burst in to the leaders’ room, and proceed to chop, slice and cut away at the leaders as he imagined they did to his people. He left when he was done; all of the leaders heads were decapitated, their guts spilled out, and their blood painted on the walls. Sason just walked out of the fortress, accomplished yet numb in his heart. He continued walking on until he reached an ocean plain, where he saw the wondrous sight of the sun climbing past the dew that was the clouds. He broke down, crying for both the loneliness of himself, the sin he had done just in order to feel complete, and also for not seeing such beauty in life. He continued crying until a ripple appeared in the water. A beautiful goddess like spirit appeared from the lake. Her golden hair flowed long enough to touch the water from where she floated. Sason felt warmness with the sight of her, something he had not felt since he was young. She looked at him with her clear blue eye and softly spoke “Rest easy warrior. Though you have the blood of many upon your hands, you have achieved a wisdom and understanding beyond any creature, which lay hidden within you until now. Go now kind spirit, and spread your love through the land.” Sason then saw the spirits of his family next to the goddess, smiling at him. He began to shake and convulse, and his heart stopped. His body lay on the ground as the ocean tide swept him away. Though dead, he was finally free from the prison of his misery, and allowed to be free in a beautiful place outside time and space.
Adventure Story, 1st draft
* this is late coming up here, but i peer reviewed it as a hard copy. I don't like the story anymore, so this is unfinished and the next "draft" is going to be a completely different story.
Ned Godfrie drove up to the iron gate of his client’s house. He rolled down his window to address the metal security box by the gate. “I’m Dr. Godfrie, I’m here to see Mr. Frasier.” “COME RIGHT IN!”, the box screamed back at him. It seemed to Ned that the hearing impaired must be getting hired more these days. He drove up to the house, a dark fading Victorian mansion above a road heading nowhere. He had read stories of Mr. Frasier’s insanity; how he was now a crumbling old man. He parked his car in front of the mansion, and went up and knocked on the door. A servant greeted him and let him in. It was your standard millionaire affair; exotic rugs and furniture, taxidermist animals, portraits galore. A young woman came down the stairs and abruptly gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Oh doctor, thanks goodness you’re here,” she cried “It’s getting worse by the hour, he keeps making more and more outrageous demands, and I don’t think I can take it any more.” This was his third wife, from what he read in the tabloids; she was a Brazilian model he had met while on vacation from publishing his latest book. A wife for each two decades. Godfrie ascended the stairs and then headed into Frasier’s wing of the mansion. He soon beheld the strangeness present.
Frasier was playing chopped up fragments from Beethoven pieces all while mumbling to himself. His area lay a mess; most of his clothes lay scattered around, except his socks, which were neatly folded. Busts were covered with a clown wig and red nose, while his bed was made in reverse: pillows on bottom, sheets and mattress on top. God soon stepped into this room of craziness. “Mr. Frasier?” he asked. Frasier saw Godfrie and came rushing at him. “Ah, the Chinese delivery boy. Did you get all the order?” Godfrie stared for a moment, but soon played along. “No sir, seems like there was a fire at our kitchen and it burned all the dumplings.” “Oh too bad,” remarked Frasier, “dumplings are a very important part of any burger combo.” Frasier knew now was the time to begin examining. “Um, Mr. Frasier. Care to sit down while he wait?” he offered. Frasier complied and sat down in his big den chair, all while twiddling his thumbs. Godfire went through the standard psychological examination: did you marry your mother, what dreams have you lately, etc. But modern psychology could not present the answers needed or so he thought. He was forced to resort to something else: hypnosis. Soon he had Frasier in a deep sleep. Finally he could breath peacefully. Suddenly floating above where Frasier sat was a evil spirit. It had a wicked grin on its face with all of its teeth showing. It gushed over, grabbed Godfrie and pulled him into Frasier’s head. Darkness surrounded him, until he saw that he was falling from the sky; which he responded to by flapping his arms about, screaming like a little girl. When he came to, he felt soft grass on his cheek and noticed he was still alive. He had no idea where he was, but it absolutely hill. The hill he was on looked onward to a peacefully village, and a sky split in time. He caught sight on something in the corner of his eye, a raccoon was standing next to him. It was staring at him with bulging eyes of joy and a smile laid across its face. “The Hero has finally come!” it screamed, as it ran down the hill. Godfrie looked dumbfounded as he pondered what exactly happened, and where the hell was he. Soon he felt the ground shake as many more raccoons came running at him, a child’s nightmare of cartoonish proportion. They surrounded him, boxing him as they giggled wildly with excitement. All this was stopped when a voice boomed out “Enough! Let me see him.” A bearded raccoon dressed in robes stepped forward and examined Godfrie. “Did he fall out from the sky right here?” he questioned the raccoon. The raccoon just shook his head rapidly. A smile came to the elder raccoon, as he beckoned the other raccoons to bring Godfire down. Godfrie was soon in the raccoon village, where he was praised and told of the ancient prophesies held in this land. It is told when darkness first came to the land, a great hero came and vanquished it all away and the world was at peace. He descended up to the sky, seeing all was good. “Since you came from the sky yourself,” explained the elder raccoon “you are the next Great Hero who will save us from the darkness of Lord Borval.” Godfrie just thought about the absurdity of this whole situation, and all he could muster up was a “Damn.” The raccoons prepared him for his great journey by giving him some supplies; food, armor that was left from the first human here in the area, a map of the land, and the great sword of their kind which belonged to their founder, Kitso. Also they sent Godfrie with one of their chosen villagers; TJ, a young raccoon who looked extremely fragile, yet willing. The raccoons waved goodbye as they sent off into the forest. Godfrie noticed something about the raccoon they didn’t tell: they were shape shifters as TJ turned into a swallow as they journeyed into the forest. As they walked further into the forest, they heard the echoes of laughter from elves hidden within.
Ned Godfrie drove up to the iron gate of his client’s house. He rolled down his window to address the metal security box by the gate. “I’m Dr. Godfrie, I’m here to see Mr. Frasier.” “COME RIGHT IN!”, the box screamed back at him. It seemed to Ned that the hearing impaired must be getting hired more these days. He drove up to the house, a dark fading Victorian mansion above a road heading nowhere. He had read stories of Mr. Frasier’s insanity; how he was now a crumbling old man. He parked his car in front of the mansion, and went up and knocked on the door. A servant greeted him and let him in. It was your standard millionaire affair; exotic rugs and furniture, taxidermist animals, portraits galore. A young woman came down the stairs and abruptly gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Oh doctor, thanks goodness you’re here,” she cried “It’s getting worse by the hour, he keeps making more and more outrageous demands, and I don’t think I can take it any more.” This was his third wife, from what he read in the tabloids; she was a Brazilian model he had met while on vacation from publishing his latest book. A wife for each two decades. Godfrie ascended the stairs and then headed into Frasier’s wing of the mansion. He soon beheld the strangeness present.
Frasier was playing chopped up fragments from Beethoven pieces all while mumbling to himself. His area lay a mess; most of his clothes lay scattered around, except his socks, which were neatly folded. Busts were covered with a clown wig and red nose, while his bed was made in reverse: pillows on bottom, sheets and mattress on top. God soon stepped into this room of craziness. “Mr. Frasier?” he asked. Frasier saw Godfrie and came rushing at him. “Ah, the Chinese delivery boy. Did you get all the order?” Godfrie stared for a moment, but soon played along. “No sir, seems like there was a fire at our kitchen and it burned all the dumplings.” “Oh too bad,” remarked Frasier, “dumplings are a very important part of any burger combo.” Frasier knew now was the time to begin examining. “Um, Mr. Frasier. Care to sit down while he wait?” he offered. Frasier complied and sat down in his big den chair, all while twiddling his thumbs. Godfire went through the standard psychological examination: did you marry your mother, what dreams have you lately, etc. But modern psychology could not present the answers needed or so he thought. He was forced to resort to something else: hypnosis. Soon he had Frasier in a deep sleep. Finally he could breath peacefully. Suddenly floating above where Frasier sat was a evil spirit. It had a wicked grin on its face with all of its teeth showing. It gushed over, grabbed Godfrie and pulled him into Frasier’s head. Darkness surrounded him, until he saw that he was falling from the sky; which he responded to by flapping his arms about, screaming like a little girl. When he came to, he felt soft grass on his cheek and noticed he was still alive. He had no idea where he was, but it absolutely hill. The hill he was on looked onward to a peacefully village, and a sky split in time. He caught sight on something in the corner of his eye, a raccoon was standing next to him. It was staring at him with bulging eyes of joy and a smile laid across its face. “The Hero has finally come!” it screamed, as it ran down the hill. Godfrie looked dumbfounded as he pondered what exactly happened, and where the hell was he. Soon he felt the ground shake as many more raccoons came running at him, a child’s nightmare of cartoonish proportion. They surrounded him, boxing him as they giggled wildly with excitement. All this was stopped when a voice boomed out “Enough! Let me see him.” A bearded raccoon dressed in robes stepped forward and examined Godfrie. “Did he fall out from the sky right here?” he questioned the raccoon. The raccoon just shook his head rapidly. A smile came to the elder raccoon, as he beckoned the other raccoons to bring Godfire down. Godfrie was soon in the raccoon village, where he was praised and told of the ancient prophesies held in this land. It is told when darkness first came to the land, a great hero came and vanquished it all away and the world was at peace. He descended up to the sky, seeing all was good. “Since you came from the sky yourself,” explained the elder raccoon “you are the next Great Hero who will save us from the darkness of Lord Borval.” Godfrie just thought about the absurdity of this whole situation, and all he could muster up was a “Damn.” The raccoons prepared him for his great journey by giving him some supplies; food, armor that was left from the first human here in the area, a map of the land, and the great sword of their kind which belonged to their founder, Kitso. Also they sent Godfrie with one of their chosen villagers; TJ, a young raccoon who looked extremely fragile, yet willing. The raccoons waved goodbye as they sent off into the forest. Godfrie noticed something about the raccoon they didn’t tell: they were shape shifters as TJ turned into a swallow as they journeyed into the forest. As they walked further into the forest, they heard the echoes of laughter from elves hidden within.
Sunday, February 3, 2008
Writing Assignment 5 Final Draft
http://www.foxnews.com/story/0,2933,315684,00.html
Megan Mier walked through the front door, a slight smile gleaming across her face. It was a rainy October day in Dardenne Prairie; the leaves were as drenched as anything else outside, and there was a sense that something colder was on the way. But Megan thought today was a good day; she had passed out invitations to her birthday party (even though her birthday was in three weeks, she was still very excited). She put her backpack down in the hall and headed toward the kitchen. She fixed herself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, standard snack every day. “Got to watch those carbs,” she noted to herself as she fixed her sandwich. “Don’t want to turn yourself back into a pig again.” She humorously though of a pig with flowing brown hair and braces; doing everything she did. But she knew she was the prettiest pig of all. After finishing her sandwich, she turned her attention to her homework. But she couldn’t concentrate. Her mind couldn’t think about math problems or history dates; she was wondering what was going on in the world and what her friends were up to. She promised to control herself to only an hour of MySpace, then to her homework before her parents go home. “Yeah, that’s a good plan.”
Megan loved MySpace, more than anybody she knew. She enjoyed plenty of other things; swimming, boating, fishing with her dad, other regular things. But she felt they were rather limited and constricting. With MySpace, you could really see the world; explore it, meet new people, talk with them and see what they’re like, without actually physically interacting. She had a couple of girls that she knew, but they were more of the type that hit the malls as soon they could. She liked them of course, but deep down she felt like she didn’t really know them, they didn’t really show what they liked and enjoyed; which was kind of awkward and depressing at the same time, she thought. With MySpace, all the barriers of social awkwardness and isolation were gone, and she felt that she could truly express and show herself to the world, and all could see.
Megan logged in quickly, the keystrokes flying by. As the screen loaded, she eagerly waited for what was new. “Nothing new.” she noted with a disappointed look. Except a new message from Josh. She was worried about opening it, even the thought of the very first letter frightened her. She truly wondered what was the matter with Josh, and why he was acting so mean lately. Josh seemed like a really cute boy from his profile picture, his short brown hair was like a chocolate cloud and his blues eyes seemed to her so piercing and beautiful. She soon realized she was falling for him. He was listed as 16 years old, that didn’t bother her; she had seen plenty of older-younger couples at her school. He said that he came from a real broken home; his dad left his family when he was seven and his mom had to work hard to support him and his brothers. His story really made her care about him, want to reach out and give him a hug. And he lived close in O’Fallon (though she wondered why he never asked for her phone number, but the thought passed). Even her mom “approved” of him after her eager reaction to the first sight of his picture. In the beginning, they had some really great chats. She found him funny, kind; she felt lifted every time she read one of his messages. She felt in a way, Josh was almost like one of those stuffed animals you used to talk to at imaginary tea parties; she could tell him anything and he wouldn’t care, he would even try to help when she felt down. But then something happened. Last night she got a message from him that was unlike all the others. The tone of it was dramatically different; gone was the cheerfulness, instead was something grey, a sense of doubt. All it said was “I don’t know if I want to be friends with you anymore because I’ve heard that you are not very nice to your friends.” She quickly shot back with a response; “What are you talking about?”. She was shocked. What the hell was Josh talking? How could he even possibly know about her and her friends? It said he was home schooled and he didn’t even live here, so what does he know? It stunned her, but it hit her harder within. A thought creeped inside her, digging deep like a parasite. The idea that she was losing Josh, losing a friend that she enjoyed every second with and one that she truly loved. MySpace hadn’t let her down before, it had brought her so much. Why did it have to fail her now?
Tina Meier walked through the door, hurrying to get Megan’s sister Allison to the orthodontist. She headed up the stairs to check on Megan. Looking at Megan, she sensed that something was up. Rushed for time, she told Megan to sign off. Megan replied that she would finish up real soon. Tina knew Megan’s history with MySpace; she and a neighbor girl once created a fake account to talk to boys online. She soon found out and ended Megan’s account. But Megan soon started to beg for a second chance recently and since her 14th birthday was coming up, Tina willingly gave in (as long as Megan let her monitor her profile, make it private, and only she and her husband would have the password). It was all for her safety and protection. Megan didn’t always make the best decisions, because of her ADD. “She’s been through a lot.” thought Tina. But she was very proud of her daughter. She couldn’t think for long, she had to hurry to the orthodontist.
Megan clicked to see the new message from Josh. She had hoped that everything was back to “normal”, the old Josh that brought some sunshine into her world. Instead before her laid the most awful thing she had read, it was like some psycho had written it.
Everybody in O’Fallon knows how you are. You are a bad person and everybody hates you. Have a shitty rest of your life. The world would be a better place without you.
Every word hit her like a punch to the gut. The cursor blinked endlessly as the dark clouds began to infiltrate her mind. She knew she could blow them away, she had done it before plenty of times. But they were too much this time, she could do nothing this time (Fat Ugly Pig). The tears slowly began to flow, like someone slowly turning a faucet on. Then it all came through. She became hysterical, clinching her hair in the dankness of her sorrow. She hurried to the phone and called her mom back. “They’re posting bulletins about me. A bulletin is like a survey. Megan Meier is a slut. Megan Meier is fat.” Tears continued to gush as she talked with her mom. Her mother was furious that she didn’t sign off and said she would be home soon.
Her mom burst through the door, heading straight for the computer room. She found Megan, crying as much as she sounded like over the phone. She said she was extremely aggravated and upset that Megan didn’t listen to her and sign off. Megan just stared at her with such uncaring and angry eyes and with a face that screamed “Get out of my life!”. She burst out of the room, yelling “You’re supposed to be my mom! You’re supposed to be on my side!” She then ran into her dad, who then soon held her. The tears continued, running down his jacket. She told him about what they were saying about her, and he told her it was going to ok. That’s all he could really tell her. He held her close for a while, letting her get through this moment. It felt to him she was like a baby again, and he was rocking her back to sleep after fits in the night. He then let go and gave her a big kiss on the forehead, telling her everything would be fine and that he was going to start dinner, and she should come down soon.
After her dad had gone down, Megan began to slowly walk back to her room; as if in a trance. She coldly turned her head, and headed for her dresser. She searched around until she found her belt, the one she always wore. She then opened her closet, a creaking greeted her. For the most part, it was clear of any clothes except for a few coats. She walked over and grabbed a chair, one that she had ever since she was little and closed herself into the darkness. The inside of the closet became this twisted abyss of a cave, locking her in. She placed the chair right under the rack where her coats hanged, and stepped up. She then adjusted the belt so that it was long enough to tighten around her neck and wrap around the top of the rack. She let her thoughts come together. “Nothing matters anymore. Volleyball practice, my birthday party, Mom and Dad, my friends. All that can fade away for all I care. Everything they told me in therapy to protect me, that’s all gone. More importantly, Josh hates me and doesn’t love me. Goodbye.” Making sure everything was set, she took a deep breath and kicked the chair. Her body dropped, but it soon began to slowly swing back and forth, back and forth. There was a stillness in the air, like time had stopped for this one moment. Everything was motionless, life had disappeared for good. Something jumped inside Tina Meier, something dreadfully awful that she had never felt before. She ran up the stairs, ran into Megan’s room and opened the closet. She was gone and nothing was going to bring her back.
Megan Mier walked through the front door, a slight smile gleaming across her face. It was a rainy October day in Dardenne Prairie; the leaves were as drenched as anything else outside, and there was a sense that something colder was on the way. But Megan thought today was a good day; she had passed out invitations to her birthday party (even though her birthday was in three weeks, she was still very excited). She put her backpack down in the hall and headed toward the kitchen. She fixed herself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, standard snack every day. “Got to watch those carbs,” she noted to herself as she fixed her sandwich. “Don’t want to turn yourself back into a pig again.” She humorously though of a pig with flowing brown hair and braces; doing everything she did. But she knew she was the prettiest pig of all. After finishing her sandwich, she turned her attention to her homework. But she couldn’t concentrate. Her mind couldn’t think about math problems or history dates; she was wondering what was going on in the world and what her friends were up to. She promised to control herself to only an hour of MySpace, then to her homework before her parents go home. “Yeah, that’s a good plan.”
Megan loved MySpace, more than anybody she knew. She enjoyed plenty of other things; swimming, boating, fishing with her dad, other regular things. But she felt they were rather limited and constricting. With MySpace, you could really see the world; explore it, meet new people, talk with them and see what they’re like, without actually physically interacting. She had a couple of girls that she knew, but they were more of the type that hit the malls as soon they could. She liked them of course, but deep down she felt like she didn’t really know them, they didn’t really show what they liked and enjoyed; which was kind of awkward and depressing at the same time, she thought. With MySpace, all the barriers of social awkwardness and isolation were gone, and she felt that she could truly express and show herself to the world, and all could see.
Megan logged in quickly, the keystrokes flying by. As the screen loaded, she eagerly waited for what was new. “Nothing new.” she noted with a disappointed look. Except a new message from Josh. She was worried about opening it, even the thought of the very first letter frightened her. She truly wondered what was the matter with Josh, and why he was acting so mean lately. Josh seemed like a really cute boy from his profile picture, his short brown hair was like a chocolate cloud and his blues eyes seemed to her so piercing and beautiful. She soon realized she was falling for him. He was listed as 16 years old, that didn’t bother her; she had seen plenty of older-younger couples at her school. He said that he came from a real broken home; his dad left his family when he was seven and his mom had to work hard to support him and his brothers. His story really made her care about him, want to reach out and give him a hug. And he lived close in O’Fallon (though she wondered why he never asked for her phone number, but the thought passed). Even her mom “approved” of him after her eager reaction to the first sight of his picture. In the beginning, they had some really great chats. She found him funny, kind; she felt lifted every time she read one of his messages. She felt in a way, Josh was almost like one of those stuffed animals you used to talk to at imaginary tea parties; she could tell him anything and he wouldn’t care, he would even try to help when she felt down. But then something happened. Last night she got a message from him that was unlike all the others. The tone of it was dramatically different; gone was the cheerfulness, instead was something grey, a sense of doubt. All it said was “I don’t know if I want to be friends with you anymore because I’ve heard that you are not very nice to your friends.” She quickly shot back with a response; “What are you talking about?”. She was shocked. What the hell was Josh talking? How could he even possibly know about her and her friends? It said he was home schooled and he didn’t even live here, so what does he know? It stunned her, but it hit her harder within. A thought creeped inside her, digging deep like a parasite. The idea that she was losing Josh, losing a friend that she enjoyed every second with and one that she truly loved. MySpace hadn’t let her down before, it had brought her so much. Why did it have to fail her now?
Tina Meier walked through the door, hurrying to get Megan’s sister Allison to the orthodontist. She headed up the stairs to check on Megan. Looking at Megan, she sensed that something was up. Rushed for time, she told Megan to sign off. Megan replied that she would finish up real soon. Tina knew Megan’s history with MySpace; she and a neighbor girl once created a fake account to talk to boys online. She soon found out and ended Megan’s account. But Megan soon started to beg for a second chance recently and since her 14th birthday was coming up, Tina willingly gave in (as long as Megan let her monitor her profile, make it private, and only she and her husband would have the password). It was all for her safety and protection. Megan didn’t always make the best decisions, because of her ADD. “She’s been through a lot.” thought Tina. But she was very proud of her daughter. She couldn’t think for long, she had to hurry to the orthodontist.
Megan clicked to see the new message from Josh. She had hoped that everything was back to “normal”, the old Josh that brought some sunshine into her world. Instead before her laid the most awful thing she had read, it was like some psycho had written it.
Everybody in O’Fallon knows how you are. You are a bad person and everybody hates you. Have a shitty rest of your life. The world would be a better place without you.
Every word hit her like a punch to the gut. The cursor blinked endlessly as the dark clouds began to infiltrate her mind. She knew she could blow them away, she had done it before plenty of times. But they were too much this time, she could do nothing this time (Fat Ugly Pig). The tears slowly began to flow, like someone slowly turning a faucet on. Then it all came through. She became hysterical, clinching her hair in the dankness of her sorrow. She hurried to the phone and called her mom back. “They’re posting bulletins about me. A bulletin is like a survey. Megan Meier is a slut. Megan Meier is fat.” Tears continued to gush as she talked with her mom. Her mother was furious that she didn’t sign off and said she would be home soon.
Her mom burst through the door, heading straight for the computer room. She found Megan, crying as much as she sounded like over the phone. She said she was extremely aggravated and upset that Megan didn’t listen to her and sign off. Megan just stared at her with such uncaring and angry eyes and with a face that screamed “Get out of my life!”. She burst out of the room, yelling “You’re supposed to be my mom! You’re supposed to be on my side!” She then ran into her dad, who then soon held her. The tears continued, running down his jacket. She told him about what they were saying about her, and he told her it was going to ok. That’s all he could really tell her. He held her close for a while, letting her get through this moment. It felt to him she was like a baby again, and he was rocking her back to sleep after fits in the night. He then let go and gave her a big kiss on the forehead, telling her everything would be fine and that he was going to start dinner, and she should come down soon.
After her dad had gone down, Megan began to slowly walk back to her room; as if in a trance. She coldly turned her head, and headed for her dresser. She searched around until she found her belt, the one she always wore. She then opened her closet, a creaking greeted her. For the most part, it was clear of any clothes except for a few coats. She walked over and grabbed a chair, one that she had ever since she was little and closed herself into the darkness. The inside of the closet became this twisted abyss of a cave, locking her in. She placed the chair right under the rack where her coats hanged, and stepped up. She then adjusted the belt so that it was long enough to tighten around her neck and wrap around the top of the rack. She let her thoughts come together. “Nothing matters anymore. Volleyball practice, my birthday party, Mom and Dad, my friends. All that can fade away for all I care. Everything they told me in therapy to protect me, that’s all gone. More importantly, Josh hates me and doesn’t love me. Goodbye.” Making sure everything was set, she took a deep breath and kicked the chair. Her body dropped, but it soon began to slowly swing back and forth, back and forth. There was a stillness in the air, like time had stopped for this one moment. Everything was motionless, life had disappeared for good. Something jumped inside Tina Meier, something dreadfully awful that she had never felt before. She ran up the stairs, ran into Megan’s room and opened the closet. She was gone and nothing was going to bring her back.
Sunday, January 27, 2008
Writing Assignment 5, 2nd draft
http://www.foxnews.com/story/0,2933,315684,00.html
Megan Mier walked through the front door, a slight smile gleaming across her face. It was a beautiful October day in Dardenne Prairie; the once green leaves of summer were becoming darker by the day, and there was a sense that something a bit colder was on the way. But it was surprisingly gorgeous day, and Megan liked that. She put her backpack down in the hall and headed toward the kitchen. She fixed herself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, standard snack every day. “Got to watch those carbs,” she noted to herself as she fixed her sandwich. “Don’t want to turn yourself back into a pig again.” She humorously though of a pig with flowing brown hair and braces; doing everything she did. But she knew she was the prettiest pig of all. After finishing her sandwich, she turned her attention to her homework. But she couldn’t concentrate. Her mind couldn’t think about math problems or history dates; she was wondering what was going on in the world and what her friends were up to. She promised to control herself to only an hour of MySpace, then to her homework before her parents go home. “Yeah, that’s a good plan.”
Megan loved MySpace, more than anybody she knew. She enjoyed plenty of other things; swimming, boating, fishing with her dad, other regular things. But she felt they were rather limited and constricting. With MySpace, you could really see the world; explore it, meet new people, talk with them and see what they’re like, without actually physically interacting. She had a couple of girls that she knew, but they were more of the type that hit the malls as soon they could. She liked them of course, but deep down she felt like she didn’t really know them, they didn’t really show what they liked and enjoyed; which was kind of awkward and depressing at the same time, she thought. With MySpace, all the barriers of social awkwardness and isolation were gone, and she felt that she could truly express and show herself to the world, and all could see.
Megan logged in quickly, the keystrokes flying by. As the screen loaded, she eagerly waited for what was new. “Nothing new.” she noted with a disappointed look. Except a new message from Josh. She was worried about opening it, even the thought of the very first letter frightened her. She truly wondered what was the matter with Josh, and why he was acting so mean lately. Josh seemed like a really cute boy from his profile picture, his short brown hair was like a chocolate cloud and his blues eyes seemed to her so piercing and beautiful. She soon realized she was falling for him. He was listed as 16 years old, that didn’t bother her; she had seen plenty of older-younger couples at her school. He said that he came from a real broken home; his dad left his family when he was seven and his mom had to work hard to support him and his brothers. His story really made her care about him, want to reach out and give him a hug. And he lived close in O’Fallon (though she wondered why he never asked for her phone number, but the thought passed). Even her mom “approved” of him after her eager reaction to the first sight of his picture. In the beginning, they had some really great chats. She found him funny, kind; she felt lifted every time she read one of his messages. She felt in a way, Josh was almost like one of those stuffed animals you used to talk to at imaginary tea parties; she could tell him anything and he wouldn’t care, he would even try to help when she felt down. But then something happened. Last night she got a message from him that was unlike all the others. The tone of it was dramatically different; gone was the cheerfulness, instead was something grey, a sense of doubt. All it said was “I don’t know if I want to be friends with you anymore because I’ve heard that you are not very nice to your friends.” She quickly shot back with a response; “What are you talking about?”. She was shocked. What the hell was Josh talking? How could he even possibly know about her and her friends? It said he was home schooled and he didn’t even live here, so what does he know? It stunned her, but it hit her harder within. A thought creeped inside her, digging deep like a parasite. The idea that she was loosing Josh, loosing a friend that she enjoyed every second with and one that she truly loved. MySpace hadn’t let her down before, it had brought her so much. Why did it have to fail her now?
Tina Meier walked through the door, hurrying to get Megan’s sister Allison to the orthodontist. She headed up the stairs to check on Megan. Looking at Megan, she sensed that something was up. Rushed for time, she told Megan to sign off. Megan replied that she would finish up real soon. Tina knew Megan’s history with MySpace; she and a neighbor girl once created a fake account to talk boys online. She soon found out and ended Megan’s account. But Megan soon started to beg for a second chance recently and since her 14th birthday was coming up, Tina willingly gave in (as long as Megan let her monitor her profile, make it private, and only she and her husband would have the password). It was all for her safety and protection. Megan didn’t always make the best decisions, because of her ADD. “She’s been through a lot.” thought Tina. But she was very proud of her daughter. She couldn’t think for long, she had to hurry to the orthodontist.
Megan clicked to see the new message from Josh. She had hoped that everything was back to “normal”, the old Josh that brought some sunshine into her world. Instead before her laid the most awful thing she had read, it was like some psycho had written it.
Everybody in O’Fallon knows how you are. You are a bad person and everybody hates you. Have a shitty rest of your life. The world would be a better place without you.
Every word hit her like a punch to the gut. The cursor blinked endlessly as the dark clouds began to infiltrate her mind. She knew she could blow them away, she had done it before plenty of times. But they were too much this time, she could do nothing this time (Fat Ugly Pig). The tears slowly began to flow, like someone slowly turning a faucet on. Then it all came through. She became hysterical, clinching her hair in the dankness of her sorrow. She hurried to the phone and called her Mom back. “They’re posting bulletins about me. A bulletin is like a survey. Megan Meier is a slut. Megan Meier is fat.” Tears continued to gush as she talked with her mom. Her mother was furious that she didn’t sign off and said she would be home soon.
Her mom burst through the door, heading straight for the computer room. She found Megan, crying as much as she sounded like over the phone. She said she was extremely aggravated and upset that Megan didn’t listen to her and sign off. Megan just stared at her with such uncaring and angry eyes and with a face that screamed “Get out of my life!”. She burst out of the room, yelling “You’re supposed to be my mom! You’re supposed to be on my side!” She then ran into her dad, who then soon held her. The tears continued, running down his jacket. She told him about what they were saying about her, and he told her it was going to ok. That’s all he could really tell her. He held her close for a while, letting her get through this moment. It felt to him she was like a baby again, and he was rocking her back to sleep after fits in the night. He then let go and gave her a big kiss on the forehead, telling her everything would be fine and that he was going to start dinner, and she should come down soon.
After her dad had gone down to finish dinner, Megan began to slowly walk back to her room, as if in a trance. She coldly turned her head, and headed for her dresser. She searched around until she found her belt, the one she always wore. She then opened her closet, a creaking greeted her. For the most part, it was clear of any clothes except for a few coats. She walked over and grabbed a chair, one that she had ever since she was little and closed herself into the darkness. The inside of the closet became this twisted abyss of a cave, locking her in. She placed the chair right under the rack where her coats hanged, and stepped up. She then adjusted the belt so that it was long enough to tighten around her neck and wrap around the top of the rack. She let her thoughts come together. “Nothing matters anymore. Volleyball practice, my birthday party, Mom and Dad, my friends. All that can fade away for all I care. More importantly, Josh hates me and doesn’t love me. Goodbye.” Making sure everything was set, she took a deep breath and kicked the chair. Her body dropped, but it soon began to slowly swing back and forth, back and forth. There was a stillness in the air, like time had stopped for this one moment. Everything was motionless, life had disappeared for good. Something jumped inside Tina Meier, something dreadfully awful that she had never felt before. She ran up the stairs, ran into Megan’s room and opened the closet. She was gone and nothing was going to bring her back.
Megan Mier walked through the front door, a slight smile gleaming across her face. It was a beautiful October day in Dardenne Prairie; the once green leaves of summer were becoming darker by the day, and there was a sense that something a bit colder was on the way. But it was surprisingly gorgeous day, and Megan liked that. She put her backpack down in the hall and headed toward the kitchen. She fixed herself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, standard snack every day. “Got to watch those carbs,” she noted to herself as she fixed her sandwich. “Don’t want to turn yourself back into a pig again.” She humorously though of a pig with flowing brown hair and braces; doing everything she did. But she knew she was the prettiest pig of all. After finishing her sandwich, she turned her attention to her homework. But she couldn’t concentrate. Her mind couldn’t think about math problems or history dates; she was wondering what was going on in the world and what her friends were up to. She promised to control herself to only an hour of MySpace, then to her homework before her parents go home. “Yeah, that’s a good plan.”
Megan loved MySpace, more than anybody she knew. She enjoyed plenty of other things; swimming, boating, fishing with her dad, other regular things. But she felt they were rather limited and constricting. With MySpace, you could really see the world; explore it, meet new people, talk with them and see what they’re like, without actually physically interacting. She had a couple of girls that she knew, but they were more of the type that hit the malls as soon they could. She liked them of course, but deep down she felt like she didn’t really know them, they didn’t really show what they liked and enjoyed; which was kind of awkward and depressing at the same time, she thought. With MySpace, all the barriers of social awkwardness and isolation were gone, and she felt that she could truly express and show herself to the world, and all could see.
Megan logged in quickly, the keystrokes flying by. As the screen loaded, she eagerly waited for what was new. “Nothing new.” she noted with a disappointed look. Except a new message from Josh. She was worried about opening it, even the thought of the very first letter frightened her. She truly wondered what was the matter with Josh, and why he was acting so mean lately. Josh seemed like a really cute boy from his profile picture, his short brown hair was like a chocolate cloud and his blues eyes seemed to her so piercing and beautiful. She soon realized she was falling for him. He was listed as 16 years old, that didn’t bother her; she had seen plenty of older-younger couples at her school. He said that he came from a real broken home; his dad left his family when he was seven and his mom had to work hard to support him and his brothers. His story really made her care about him, want to reach out and give him a hug. And he lived close in O’Fallon (though she wondered why he never asked for her phone number, but the thought passed). Even her mom “approved” of him after her eager reaction to the first sight of his picture. In the beginning, they had some really great chats. She found him funny, kind; she felt lifted every time she read one of his messages. She felt in a way, Josh was almost like one of those stuffed animals you used to talk to at imaginary tea parties; she could tell him anything and he wouldn’t care, he would even try to help when she felt down. But then something happened. Last night she got a message from him that was unlike all the others. The tone of it was dramatically different; gone was the cheerfulness, instead was something grey, a sense of doubt. All it said was “I don’t know if I want to be friends with you anymore because I’ve heard that you are not very nice to your friends.” She quickly shot back with a response; “What are you talking about?”. She was shocked. What the hell was Josh talking? How could he even possibly know about her and her friends? It said he was home schooled and he didn’t even live here, so what does he know? It stunned her, but it hit her harder within. A thought creeped inside her, digging deep like a parasite. The idea that she was loosing Josh, loosing a friend that she enjoyed every second with and one that she truly loved. MySpace hadn’t let her down before, it had brought her so much. Why did it have to fail her now?
Tina Meier walked through the door, hurrying to get Megan’s sister Allison to the orthodontist. She headed up the stairs to check on Megan. Looking at Megan, she sensed that something was up. Rushed for time, she told Megan to sign off. Megan replied that she would finish up real soon. Tina knew Megan’s history with MySpace; she and a neighbor girl once created a fake account to talk boys online. She soon found out and ended Megan’s account. But Megan soon started to beg for a second chance recently and since her 14th birthday was coming up, Tina willingly gave in (as long as Megan let her monitor her profile, make it private, and only she and her husband would have the password). It was all for her safety and protection. Megan didn’t always make the best decisions, because of her ADD. “She’s been through a lot.” thought Tina. But she was very proud of her daughter. She couldn’t think for long, she had to hurry to the orthodontist.
Megan clicked to see the new message from Josh. She had hoped that everything was back to “normal”, the old Josh that brought some sunshine into her world. Instead before her laid the most awful thing she had read, it was like some psycho had written it.
Everybody in O’Fallon knows how you are. You are a bad person and everybody hates you. Have a shitty rest of your life. The world would be a better place without you.
Every word hit her like a punch to the gut. The cursor blinked endlessly as the dark clouds began to infiltrate her mind. She knew she could blow them away, she had done it before plenty of times. But they were too much this time, she could do nothing this time (Fat Ugly Pig). The tears slowly began to flow, like someone slowly turning a faucet on. Then it all came through. She became hysterical, clinching her hair in the dankness of her sorrow. She hurried to the phone and called her Mom back. “They’re posting bulletins about me. A bulletin is like a survey. Megan Meier is a slut. Megan Meier is fat.” Tears continued to gush as she talked with her mom. Her mother was furious that she didn’t sign off and said she would be home soon.
Her mom burst through the door, heading straight for the computer room. She found Megan, crying as much as she sounded like over the phone. She said she was extremely aggravated and upset that Megan didn’t listen to her and sign off. Megan just stared at her with such uncaring and angry eyes and with a face that screamed “Get out of my life!”. She burst out of the room, yelling “You’re supposed to be my mom! You’re supposed to be on my side!” She then ran into her dad, who then soon held her. The tears continued, running down his jacket. She told him about what they were saying about her, and he told her it was going to ok. That’s all he could really tell her. He held her close for a while, letting her get through this moment. It felt to him she was like a baby again, and he was rocking her back to sleep after fits in the night. He then let go and gave her a big kiss on the forehead, telling her everything would be fine and that he was going to start dinner, and she should come down soon.
After her dad had gone down to finish dinner, Megan began to slowly walk back to her room, as if in a trance. She coldly turned her head, and headed for her dresser. She searched around until she found her belt, the one she always wore. She then opened her closet, a creaking greeted her. For the most part, it was clear of any clothes except for a few coats. She walked over and grabbed a chair, one that she had ever since she was little and closed herself into the darkness. The inside of the closet became this twisted abyss of a cave, locking her in. She placed the chair right under the rack where her coats hanged, and stepped up. She then adjusted the belt so that it was long enough to tighten around her neck and wrap around the top of the rack. She let her thoughts come together. “Nothing matters anymore. Volleyball practice, my birthday party, Mom and Dad, my friends. All that can fade away for all I care. More importantly, Josh hates me and doesn’t love me. Goodbye.” Making sure everything was set, she took a deep breath and kicked the chair. Her body dropped, but it soon began to slowly swing back and forth, back and forth. There was a stillness in the air, like time had stopped for this one moment. Everything was motionless, life had disappeared for good. Something jumped inside Tina Meier, something dreadfully awful that she had never felt before. She ran up the stairs, ran into Megan’s room and opened the closet. She was gone and nothing was going to bring her back.
Monday, January 21, 2008
Writing Assignment 5
http://www.foxnews.com/story/0,2933,315684,00.html
Megan Mier walked through the front door, a slight smile gleaming across her face. It was a beautiful October day in Dardenne Prairie; the once green leaves of summer were becoming darker by the day, and there was a sense that something a bit colder was on the way. But it was surprisingly gorgeous day, and Megan liked that. She put her backpack down in the hall and headed toward the kitchen. She fixed herself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, standard snack every day. “Got to watch those carbs,” she noted to herself as she fixed her sandwich. “Don’t want to turn yourself back into a pig again.” She humorously though of a pig with flowing brown hair and braces; doing everything she did. But she knew she was the prettiest pig of all. After finishing her sandwich, she turned her attention to her homework. But she couldn’t concentrate. Her mind couldn’t think about math problems or history dates; she was wondering what was going on in the world and what her friends were up to. She promised herself to control herself to only an hour of MySpace, then to her homework before her parents go home. “Yeah, that’s a good plan.”
Megan loved MySpace, more than anybody she knew. She enjoyed plenty of other things; swimming, boating, fishing with her dad, other regular things. But she felt they were rather limited and constricting. With MySpace, you could really see the world; explore it, meet new people, talk with them and see what they’re like with out actually physically interacting. She had a couple of girls that she knew, but they were more of the type that hit the malls as soon they could. She liked them of course, but deep down she felt like she didn’t really know them, they didn’t really show what they liked and enjoyed; which was kind of awkward and depressing at the same time, she thought. With MySpace, all the barriers of social awkwardness and isolation and crumbled, and she felt that she could truly express and show herself to the world, and all could see.
Megan logged in quickly, the keystrokes flying by and the screen loaded, as she eagerly waited for what was new. “Nothing new.” she noted with a disappointed look. Except a new message from Josh. She was worried about opening it, even the thought of the very first letter frightened her. She truly wondered what was the matter with Josh, and why he was acting so mean lately. Josh seemed like a really cute boy from his profile picture, his short brown hair was like a chocolate cloud and his blues eyes seemed to her so piercing and beautiful. She soon realized she was falling for him. He was listed as 16 years old; that didn’t bother her, she had seen plenty of older-younger couples at her school. And he lived close in O’Fallon. Even her mom “approved” of him after her eager reaction to the first sight of his picture. In the beginning, they had some really great chats. She found him funny, kind; she felt lifted every time she read one of his messages. She felt in a way, Josh was almost like one of those stuffed animals you used to talk to at imaginary tea parties; she could tell him anything and he wouldn’t care, he would even try to help when she felt down. But then something happened. Last night she got a message from him that was unlike all the others. The tone of it was dramatically different; gone was the cheerfulness, instead was something grey, a sense of doubt. All it said was “I don’t know if I want to be friends with you anymore because I’ve heard that you are not very nice to your friends.” She quickly shot back with a response; “What are you talking about?”. She was shocked. What the hell was Josh talking? How could he even possibly know about her and her friends? It said he was home schooled and he didn’t even live here, so what does he know? It stunned her, but it hit her harder deeper. A thought creeped inside her, digging deep within like a parasite. The idea that she was loosing Josh, loosing a friend that she enjoyed every second with and had began to truly love him. MySpace hadn’t let her down before, it had brought her so much. Why did it have to fail her right now?
Tina Meier walked through the door, hurrying to get Allison to the orthodontist. She headed up the stairs to check on Megan. Looking at Megan, she sensed that something was up. Rushed for time, she told Megan to sign off. Megan replied that she would finish up real soon.
Megan clicked to see the new message from Josh. She had hoped that everything was back to “normal”, the old Josh that brought some sunshine into her world. Instead before her laid the most awful thing she had read, it was like some psycho had written it.
Everybody in O’Fallon knows how you are. You are a bad person and everybody hates you. Have a shitty rest of your life. The world would be a better place without you.
Every word hit her like a punch to the gut. The cursor blinked endlessly as the dark clouds began to infiltrate her mind. She knew she could blow them, she had done it before plenty of times. But they were too much this time, she could do nothing this time (Fat Ugly Pig). The tears slowly began to flow, like someone slowly turning a faucet on. Then it all came through. She became hysterical, clinching her hair in the dankness of her sorrow. She hurried to the phone and called her Mom back. “They’re posting bulletins about me. A bulletin is like a survey. Megan Meier is a slut. Megan Meier is fat.” Tears continued to gush as she talked with her mom. Her mother was furious that she didn’t sign off and said she would be home soon.
Her mom burst through the door, heading straight for the computer room. She found Megan, crying as much as she sounded like over the phone. “I am aggravated at you for doing this!” she said. Megan just stared at her with such uncaring and angry eyes and with a face that screamed “Get out of my life!”. She burst out of the room, yelling “You’re supposed to be my mom! You’re supposed to be on my side!” She then ran into her dad, who then soon held her. The tears continued, running down his jacket. She told about what they were saying about her, and he told her it was going to ok. That’s all he could really tell her. He held her close for a while, letting her go through this moment. It felt to him like she was like a baby again, and he was rocking her back to sleep after fits in the night. He then let go and gave her a big kiss on the forehead, telling her everything would be fine and that he was going to start dinner, and she should come down soon.
After her dad had down to finish dinner, Megan began to slowly walk back to her, as if in a trance. She coldly turned her head, and headed for her dresser. She searched around until she found her belt, the one she always wore. She then opened her closet, a creaking greeted her. For the most part, it was clear of any clothes except for a few coats. She walked over and grabbed a chair, one that she had ever since she was little and closed her into the darkness. The inside of the closet became this twisted abyss of a cave, locking her in. She placed the chair diagonally with the rack where her coats hanged, and stepped up. She then adjusted the belt so that it was long enough to tighten around her neck and wrap around the top of the rack. Making sure everything was set, she took a deep breath and kicked the chair. Her body dropped, but it soon began to slowly swing back and forth, back and forth. There was a stillness in the air, like time had stopped for this one moment. Everything was motionless, life had disappeared for good. Something jumped inside Tina Meirer, something dreadfully awful that she had never felt before. She ran up the stairs, ran into Megan’s room and opened the closet. She was gone and nothing was gonna bring her back.
Megan Mier walked through the front door, a slight smile gleaming across her face. It was a beautiful October day in Dardenne Prairie; the once green leaves of summer were becoming darker by the day, and there was a sense that something a bit colder was on the way. But it was surprisingly gorgeous day, and Megan liked that. She put her backpack down in the hall and headed toward the kitchen. She fixed herself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, standard snack every day. “Got to watch those carbs,” she noted to herself as she fixed her sandwich. “Don’t want to turn yourself back into a pig again.” She humorously though of a pig with flowing brown hair and braces; doing everything she did. But she knew she was the prettiest pig of all. After finishing her sandwich, she turned her attention to her homework. But she couldn’t concentrate. Her mind couldn’t think about math problems or history dates; she was wondering what was going on in the world and what her friends were up to. She promised herself to control herself to only an hour of MySpace, then to her homework before her parents go home. “Yeah, that’s a good plan.”
Megan loved MySpace, more than anybody she knew. She enjoyed plenty of other things; swimming, boating, fishing with her dad, other regular things. But she felt they were rather limited and constricting. With MySpace, you could really see the world; explore it, meet new people, talk with them and see what they’re like with out actually physically interacting. She had a couple of girls that she knew, but they were more of the type that hit the malls as soon they could. She liked them of course, but deep down she felt like she didn’t really know them, they didn’t really show what they liked and enjoyed; which was kind of awkward and depressing at the same time, she thought. With MySpace, all the barriers of social awkwardness and isolation and crumbled, and she felt that she could truly express and show herself to the world, and all could see.
Megan logged in quickly, the keystrokes flying by and the screen loaded, as she eagerly waited for what was new. “Nothing new.” she noted with a disappointed look. Except a new message from Josh. She was worried about opening it, even the thought of the very first letter frightened her. She truly wondered what was the matter with Josh, and why he was acting so mean lately. Josh seemed like a really cute boy from his profile picture, his short brown hair was like a chocolate cloud and his blues eyes seemed to her so piercing and beautiful. She soon realized she was falling for him. He was listed as 16 years old; that didn’t bother her, she had seen plenty of older-younger couples at her school. And he lived close in O’Fallon. Even her mom “approved” of him after her eager reaction to the first sight of his picture. In the beginning, they had some really great chats. She found him funny, kind; she felt lifted every time she read one of his messages. She felt in a way, Josh was almost like one of those stuffed animals you used to talk to at imaginary tea parties; she could tell him anything and he wouldn’t care, he would even try to help when she felt down. But then something happened. Last night she got a message from him that was unlike all the others. The tone of it was dramatically different; gone was the cheerfulness, instead was something grey, a sense of doubt. All it said was “I don’t know if I want to be friends with you anymore because I’ve heard that you are not very nice to your friends.” She quickly shot back with a response; “What are you talking about?”. She was shocked. What the hell was Josh talking? How could he even possibly know about her and her friends? It said he was home schooled and he didn’t even live here, so what does he know? It stunned her, but it hit her harder deeper. A thought creeped inside her, digging deep within like a parasite. The idea that she was loosing Josh, loosing a friend that she enjoyed every second with and had began to truly love him. MySpace hadn’t let her down before, it had brought her so much. Why did it have to fail her right now?
Tina Meier walked through the door, hurrying to get Allison to the orthodontist. She headed up the stairs to check on Megan. Looking at Megan, she sensed that something was up. Rushed for time, she told Megan to sign off. Megan replied that she would finish up real soon.
Megan clicked to see the new message from Josh. She had hoped that everything was back to “normal”, the old Josh that brought some sunshine into her world. Instead before her laid the most awful thing she had read, it was like some psycho had written it.
Everybody in O’Fallon knows how you are. You are a bad person and everybody hates you. Have a shitty rest of your life. The world would be a better place without you.
Every word hit her like a punch to the gut. The cursor blinked endlessly as the dark clouds began to infiltrate her mind. She knew she could blow them, she had done it before plenty of times. But they were too much this time, she could do nothing this time (Fat Ugly Pig). The tears slowly began to flow, like someone slowly turning a faucet on. Then it all came through. She became hysterical, clinching her hair in the dankness of her sorrow. She hurried to the phone and called her Mom back. “They’re posting bulletins about me. A bulletin is like a survey. Megan Meier is a slut. Megan Meier is fat.” Tears continued to gush as she talked with her mom. Her mother was furious that she didn’t sign off and said she would be home soon.
Her mom burst through the door, heading straight for the computer room. She found Megan, crying as much as she sounded like over the phone. “I am aggravated at you for doing this!” she said. Megan just stared at her with such uncaring and angry eyes and with a face that screamed “Get out of my life!”. She burst out of the room, yelling “You’re supposed to be my mom! You’re supposed to be on my side!” She then ran into her dad, who then soon held her. The tears continued, running down his jacket. She told about what they were saying about her, and he told her it was going to ok. That’s all he could really tell her. He held her close for a while, letting her go through this moment. It felt to him like she was like a baby again, and he was rocking her back to sleep after fits in the night. He then let go and gave her a big kiss on the forehead, telling her everything would be fine and that he was going to start dinner, and she should come down soon.
After her dad had down to finish dinner, Megan began to slowly walk back to her, as if in a trance. She coldly turned her head, and headed for her dresser. She searched around until she found her belt, the one she always wore. She then opened her closet, a creaking greeted her. For the most part, it was clear of any clothes except for a few coats. She walked over and grabbed a chair, one that she had ever since she was little and closed her into the darkness. The inside of the closet became this twisted abyss of a cave, locking her in. She placed the chair diagonally with the rack where her coats hanged, and stepped up. She then adjusted the belt so that it was long enough to tighten around her neck and wrap around the top of the rack. Making sure everything was set, she took a deep breath and kicked the chair. Her body dropped, but it soon began to slowly swing back and forth, back and forth. There was a stillness in the air, like time had stopped for this one moment. Everything was motionless, life had disappeared for good. Something jumped inside Tina Meirer, something dreadfully awful that she had never felt before. She ran up the stairs, ran into Megan’s room and opened the closet. She was gone and nothing was gonna bring her back.
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