Granny Trisha rocked back and forth in her chair, humming an old tune while knitting a sweater. A cliché scene, as she herself knew, but she enjoyed it. The children and grandchildren of the Helens family enjoyed wearing her warm, comfortable, homemade clothing. So she kept rocking, the benign smile upon her lightly wrinkled face portraying the good years through which she had lived.
Brian sat on a couch across the room, playing his Xbox 360. He couldn’t play MW3, Battlefield 3, or anything like that because of Granny being at the house. He didn’t really mind, though. Sometime it was fun to play Blur or another, somewhat tamer game. Of course, he still got to blow up cars and such, but there wasn’t blood, language, or any other glaringly objectionable content, so Granny was fine.
In another corner sat his Mom, Olivia. She was reading a book, occasionally glancing at the clock to see if she should start steaming the vegetables yet. After an especially noisy crash, she said to Brian, “Could you turn that down? It’s a bit loud.”
With a roll of his eyes and a smirk, Brian complied. The aroma of the cooking soufflé was filling his nostrils, drawing saliva into his mouth. After licking his lips, he brought his mind back to the game. Surprisingly, he was still in first, and it didn’t look like that would change.
Brian’s brother and sister, Jacob and Bethany, were off in their rooms, doing something or other. Jacob was probably playing Diablo III. Bethany was probably watching anime, reading manga, or playing some game. Not that they were being reclusive, they were just doing whatever at the moment. Dean, the father of the family, was probably doing taxes, something work-related, or playing with his iPhone.
Finally, after another fifteen minutes of a similar setting, Olivia told Brian to get his siblings and dad for dinner. He obliged, having just finished a race, and soon all six people preset in the house were gathered around the table. After a quick prayer from Dean, they began eating.
It was a short meal. Compliments were paid to Olivia on how good it was, and small talk was made. Bethany and Jacob had some nerdy conversation about something or other, with occasional comments from Brian. Dean told a joke that was simultaneously funny and worthy of groans. Then, one by one, everyone dispersed, and Olivia cleared the table and put away the food. Brian quickly did the dishes then went to the room he shared with Jacob.
After about five minutes of convincing, Brian managed to pull Jacob from Diablo and got him to play a few random rounds of Team Fortress 2. Both chuckled and had a bit of fun, and then Jacob insisted on going back to his game. Brian rolled his eyes and went to surfing the web.
Back in the living room, Granny Trisha sat, now watching a movie while working her needles. It was a normal day spent at her son’s house, which was fine with her. Normal days were good. She still got to see everyone–even her fourth grandchild, Evelyn, and her husband, Zach, who had visited earlier–and gotten a sweater finished. She had good, respectful children and grandchildren, and she treasured every moment she got to watch them have fun. Indeed, normal days were sometimes the best.
Death, Riches, and the Package
“Play the game, take the chance, and win great riches!”
That was all that the letter had said. In the same package was a brand-new GPS with coordinates already programmed into it. In fact, it seemed to be pretty much useless, as it wouldn’t do anything aside from give the bearer directions to that one location. In the top right corner of the screen there was a button. If it was pressed, a little bar appeared at the bottom, reading, “Accept or Decline?” Even if one pressed accept nothing happened, aside from the button disappearing.
Now Frederick sat in his hovercraft on a Friday night with absolutely nothing to do. His family had all died in a blazing fire the day after the package arrived. It didn’t seem to be connected, and the only odd thing was that the GPS sat unscathed in the ashes. That definitely was odd, but he figured it was just made of some strong alloy. Still, he wanted to know why that gas can on the porch spontaneously combusted, and why it happened only seconds after he had driven away to work.
Work. He had been informed that night that he was being laid off, no warning. No reason was given, either. The manager of the restaurant came up to him, handed him his final paycheck, and said he was fired.
Needless to say, yesterday was the worst day of his life. His wife and son dead, his house and all his possessions aside from his bank account and his hovercraft stripped from him. At least he still had the car, though. It cost a lot, and he bought it with money from that lottery. Now he had about a thousand dollars left in his account, enough to provide him food for a while.
He wiped away a single tear as he walked into the bank. This was the day following the worst day of his life, and he had nothing to do, nowhere to go. All of his friends were halfway around the world. He had just moved here, and he didn’t know anyone.
Insurance? Loopholes, loopholes, and more loopholes. It seemed that every just so happened in the perfect way that he would get nothing. As Frederick walked out of the bank, now with all the money he had to his name, he chuckled. It was a cold, hollow, humorless laugh that quickly died away, leaving him in his hot, mournful tears.
What had this world come to? Whoever these people that sent the package were, they had to be behind all this. Nothing else made sense. It all just fell perfectly to leave him with a car, food, and enough money to last him for a good trip. With a fist slammed against his dashboard, he flipped on the GPS, ready to see just what this “game” was, and why someone had ruined his life to get him to participate. The screen flashed for a moment, reading, "Do you really want to accept the end of your life?" With the tears still trickling slowly, he pressed, "Accept."
Amor Omnia Vincit
Life wasn’t worth living anymore. Kaitlin knew that too well. Everything kept going wrong, and she was afraid of what would happen when she stepped out of her own door. The world hated her, and she hated it. May as well cut off the living **** in which she lived. It would be today.
Slowly drifting away
Lost and so afraid
Where is the hope
In a world so cold?
She used to have friends. That was what kept her alive. Then they all left her, so she turned away from them. Two or three remained. Soon enough, she realized that that was because they wanted her money.
Looking for a distant light
Someone who could save a life
Living in fear
That no one would hear your cry
If she had someone, then maybe things would be different. But Kaitlin Stonewell was alone, and no one gave a second thought about it.
Can you save me now?
She might as well tell everyone that this was the last day. All the “friends” on whatever social networking sites. Her family.
I am with you
I will carry you through it all
I won’t leave you
I will catch you
When you feel like letting go
‘Cause you’re not
You’re not alone
Jonathan glanced at his phone. New update from... Katy? She never got online anymore. He saw the first words–“Goodbye, world”–and began to panic.
Your heart is full of broken dreams
Just a fading memory
But the pain carries on
A call? Someone with a quick eye trying to dissuade her. ...Jonathan? If anyone would care, Katy guessed it would be him. Nice guy, she used to be a good friend with him before he moved into the neighboring county.
Lost in the rain again
When will it ever end?
The arms of relief
Seem so out of reach
He had to stop her... This was insane! Why would she commit suicide? She seemed like such a happy girl two years ago.
But I, I am here
The door was blocked. No one could climb through the window. Now it was time to take the pills... A knife would be too painful, and she didn’t have a gun.
Jonathan silently thanked God that the traffic was light as he drove as fast as he could. Her house wasn’t too far... just across the county line.
And I will be your hope
When you feel like it’s over
And I will pick you up
When your whole world shatters
When you’re finally in my arms
Look up and see
That love has a face
No water... She had forgotten a glass. Saliva would have to do... It would take a while, though.
He slammed on the brakes in front of her house, jumping out of the car as he heard sirens wailing. C’mon...
Sirens? Someone called the law. Seconds after she heard them, she heard a banging on her door and Jonathan yelling. A knife it had to be, then.
Slowly drifting away
Lost and so afraid
Where is the hope
In a world so cold?
“A chainsaw, anything will work, mister Stonewell!” Jonathan yelled down the stairs. He heard the sound or shuffling in her room... she was still alive.
Then the policemen arrived. They rushed up the stairs and burst into the room with their equipment, Jonathan pushing through despite their attempts at holding him back. The knife had quickly been snatched from Kaitlin, and all that was left was to wrap her in his arms and whisper quietly.
“You have died,” the creature said. There was an odd air about it. It’s face was that of woman, and its body was also rather feminine, aside from being rather muscular. However, her legs were double-jointed, covered in pure white feathers, or at least the portions showing that weren’t under her robe were. She had two massive wings protruding from her back.
“I’m dead, okay...” responded Jerome, “But... who are you?”
“You are alive,” said the... Harpy? That was Jerome’s best guess. She wasn’t exactly like one, and in fact a few features were quite distinctly different. Still, that was what he would call her.
“You are dead, you are alive. Is that difficult for your mortal brain to comprehend?” she asked, cocking her head to one side, looking rather concerned, as a child would look at a baby animal that he thought he might have just injured.
“No, no... But how can I be alive and dead? I was stabbed in the gut and...” he trailed off, looking at his torso. There were the three stab wounds, a dagger left in the highest. He silently reached up to his neck and felt the entry and exit points of a bullet. So when you were dead, you still had wounds, but didn’t feel pa–
Burning, slicing, tearing agony ripped through his body. Jerome collapsed to the pure white floor on nothingness. The Harpy-creature stood there staring, an odd smile curving her lips. “Then you wish?”
He could barely pant out, “What... do you... mean? Why am I... AAGH! Why am I... feeling pain after death?!”
“Then you do not,” she said, the maddening gaze still locked upon his own. She spread her arms, and the pain eased.
“How did you just do that? Why don’t I feel the pain anymore? Where the heck are we, and who are you?” asked Jerome desperately, quickly shifting his eyes from his wounds to the being.
“I am what I am, and this is the place where we are. I am taking you where you wish to go.”
“I want... I want to go to heaven... If that’s what you mean. Heaven exists, right? Are you an angel, coming to take me there?”
“I am what I am, and I am taking you where you wish to go,” she said, closing her arms. “You seem to be set on where you want to go, so we shall leave immediately.”
“But... I really am dead? That’s it? I can’t do anything else? I got killed doing my job, and I can’t do anything else?”
“I will take you where you wish to go. Willpower being what it is, you decide your fate.”
“Can I... go back? Can I live after that? Am I still alive on earth, suffering my wounds?” he asked, trying not to grimace as the pain crept back into his body.
“You wish what you wish, I am yours to command,” she answered, fully closing her arms again. Her smile never wavered.
“Then... take me back to earth, to–Argh! It hurts!”
“Then you wish not?”
“No... I want to live... Agh, it hurts so much!”
“This will last. It is not just for returning.”
“Ugh... that doesn’t matter... Just... take me... home,” was the last thing Jerome said before collapsing.
New York News Journal
A Death to Be Mourned
Written by Janet Grouping, May 12, 2013
Most scientists would agree that tossing random chemicals into a vat, stirring them up, and seeing the results isn’t science. Well, to Doctor Rex Canis, it was. This stage name has become widely known recently, along with the symbolic tattoo and hat that go with it. In his own words, “A wolf with a crown describes my name, and fedoras enhance any appearance worth any bit of decency. Especially a lab coat, they go excellently together.”
Curtis Spice, as was his real name, liked to entertain. Kids, teens, adults, all flocked to see his shows across the world. He kept them humorous, somewhat informative about science and the like, and generally fun for himself. Doctor Rex was known for randomly tossing bottle of soda into which he had just dropped a package of Mentos into the audience. He howled at random moments, just for the heck of it.
Everyone especially enjoyed his shows on the nights of the full moon, as he always had a special surprise. The only thing common to all of them was his superb display of effects and the fact that he “transformed” into a werewolf. These were especially fun nights, as his antics were doubled. Whether he ripped a hamburger to shreds while eating it, flew across the stage in a massive jump, or tossed water balloons into the front row, these shows sold out moments after tickets went on sale.
What most people don’t realize is that there was truth behind his shows. Doctor Rex was the victim of experimentation by a terrorist group. The tattoo was a symbol of him surviving their horrid torture, and in the end he became a real, live werewolf. After being kept in captivity by the U.S. Military for years after the terrorists had been disbanded, for the safety of all. However, after proving that he could live a normal life, Curtis was set free, and he immediately put his persistent cheerfulness and bright mind to work in show business.
Two days before a full moon show, he was shot in his bus in the dead of night. Police have no clue as to who the murderer might have been, aside from possibly one of the former terrorists. The only clue was a note left beside Doctor Rex’s body, containing content inappropriate for print. In essence, it said, “The blood moon would have killed everybody.” As the full moon of his show was a “blood moon,” multiple theories have been formed regarding this message.
Regardless of 37 year old Curtis Spice’s death, his entertaining shows are sure to live on in the hearts of people around the world, and his example of overcoming strife has inspired many more people than could be imagined.
"Shh, hide everything, quickly! Timothy can't see it yet!" whispered Sarah to her sister, Keonna. The two of them had just managed to hide the streamers, confetti, and banner for the teen's birthday. He walked into the room, his eyebrow raised as his sisters giggled. Then, shaking his head, he moved on to the kitchen. Both sisters crossed their fingers, hoping he wouldn't need anything out of the cabinet in which they had hidden the food supplies, including his cake.
When he walked back through the living room only holding a can of soda, they gave each other looks of relief. The house had been like this the past few days, and they knew that Tim was suspicious of them. That made sense, of course, what with them sneaking, laughing, and generally being, well, suspicious.
Then the day of his birthday came. Tim carefully poked his head out of his room,glancing sneakily up and down the hallway. No doors were cracked no sounds of stifled giggling broke the dead silence. Then again, that was to be expected at six o'clock in the morning, what what with Mom declaring no school on his birthday this year. Home schooling was such a great thing at times. Smirking, he crept silently down the stairs and into the kitchen.
Victoria, his mom, was standing there when he walked into the room. With a small, "Good morning," and, "Happy birthday," she handed him a plate of pancakes. Beside that, everything seemed normal. With a shrug he went into his usual routine: eat, empty the dish washer, get dressed, and start messing on the computer. Sometime around eleven Keonna got up, and Sarah followed about an hour later.
His Dad, Walter, walked in the door sometime around five in the afternoon. They all sat in the living room, and Tim opened his presents after his family sang a certain song (that is, in fact, copyrighted) to him. After that, they dispersed, and it seemed like a normal day, aside from now having a fair sight more money and a new game. That night, he went to bed content, though surprised.
The following morning, however, a Saturday, he was surprised even more. When he trudged out of bed at nine (which was late for him), he found the house silent again, aside from Victoria moving around downstairs, probably cleaning the bathroom. With a rather large yawn, he walked into the kitchen.
The moment his face was visible around the corner, he was assaulted with a foghorn, a dozen or so voices, a few pounds of confetti, and three cans of silly string. Sputtering, he crawled out of the pile and got up with the help of one of his friends. Immediately he was handed a plate with Eggs Benedict (his favorite breakfast, oddly enough) covering it, and he was dragged into a chair at the dining room table. Still coughing from the inhalation of those likely poisonous fumes from the string, he glanced around the room, seeing most, if not all his friends from church and other activities standing around him. Yeah, that had surprised him. Looked as if his family knew him well enough to know that he would expect a surprise and they had managed to trick him anyways. With a chuckle, Tim went right to eating his breakfast.
Well, there we go, my second topic for this. Feel free to critique them, and you may critique my Bionicle entries here. =3