New Beginning

I started a new beginning for my novel in an attempt to liven things up and add a little more motivation and action.  I think it's pretty good for a first draft:

    Nacoma ran through the forest in a desperate gambit to escape with her life.  If she had been alone, she might have tried to make a stand, but there were too many men for her to fend off herself and protect Alayne at the same time.  Low hanging branches and brush slapped her in the face and scratched her bare arms.  Her breeches threatened to get caught on a bush every other step, but Nacoma forced her legs forward, not daring to slow down in the slightest.  While her left arm pumped up and down as she ran, her right arm hung out behind her, Alayne's hand grasped tightly in her own.  She heard Alayne's panicked breathing, her gasps every time a branch hit her, but her friend never cried out.  Despite the danger of their situation, Nacoma couldn't help but feel a little proud at Alayne's courage.  She was used to studying in quiet libraries and never going outdoors except for a refreshing walk; but with the threat of the men behind them, Alayne's feet were just as swift and sure as Nacoma's.
    The two girls ran in silence, weaving through trees and jumping over fallen logs.  If either stumbled, the other would steady her, and they would continue on in their flight.  Nacoma tried to listen for sounds of pursuit over the beating of her heart and the rapid breaths through her lungs, but it was nearly impossible to hear anything except for the frantic noises she and Alayne made.  She still had enough energy and stamina to continue for at least fifteen or twenty minutes, but Nacoma noticed the subtle change in Alayne's breathing that said she would soon reach her breaking point.  Nacoma squeezed her friend's hand, trying to send strength and reassurance through the pressure of their palms, silently begging Alayne to hold out just a little while longer.  How long, Nacoma didn't know, and she began to despair that they would ever find someplace to hide.
    Their original hiding place, between the giant boulders of the foothills, had seemed the perfect spot to rest for the day.  She and Alayne had been traveling hard from their home at the monastery, and Alayne wanted to rest for a few hours.  Though Nacoma was reluctant to stop in such a forlorn place, she reluctantly agreed after Alayne's persistent urging.  While they nibbled on travel biscuits and talked of the bright future that lay ahead of them at the University, brigands attacked them.  Nacoma was up in an instant, pulling Alayne behind her and running out of the foothills into the forest below.  She had appraised the threat within seconds and knew immediately that she could not bring down all five men on her own.  Alayne was no help at all, the shock of the attack had dulled her wits, so the next best thing was to run.
    Keeping her eyes ahead of them, Nacoma scanned the forest for any bush or mound or ravine that could possibly hide them from the men who followed them.  She tried to listen again for signs of pursuit, and cursed the brigands for their silence.  Most roughnecks would be taunting the two girls, out in the forest alone, but these men were holding their piece.  Nacoma tried to glance back to see if she could catch a glimpse of their pursuers, but all she could see was Alayne's frightened face and the streaming banner of her blond hair in the wind.  She cursed inwardly again—that hair was probably visible from dozens of feet away.
    Gasping, Nacoma pulled Alayne closer as they ran, and as quietly as she could, said, "Look behind you and tell me if you see them."
    Without a word, Alayne turned back and scanned the forest.  She looked back at Nacoma and shook her head.  Nacoma nodded once, but did not slacken their pace.  She still hadn't found a safe place for them to stop, and even if something did present itself, they would have to try and cover their tracks first if they wanted to get away unfound.  They had to assume that the men were trackers too, so even if they'd lost sight of the girls, their frantic running was leaving enough of a trail for anyone to follow.
    Finally, Nacoma heard a sound that made her heart sing with relief.  In the distance was the bubbling flow of water—their salvation.  A break in the trees revealed a stream that flowed with the spring melt coming down from the mountains.  Nacoma veered to the right to follow the stream, making sure that their footprints clearly showed in the dirt the direction they were headed.  When she and Alayne plunged into the water, she jerked her friend to abruptly to the left and started running in the opposite direction.  The icy water filled her boots and cut straight to the bone, but Nacoma did not let her legs slow down.  Alayne didn't speak a word, though Nacoma was sure that the other girl was wondering what on earth they were doing.  What Nacoma was doing was hoping against hope that the water would mask their trail, and that the brigands would follow the false footprints.
    Running the water was harder, and made more noise, but Nacoma prayed that they had enough time to cross their initial path out of the woods and get far enough downstream that the brigands would not see them before they broke the cover of the trees as well.  Unfortunately, they were not so lucky.  When she and Alayne were about twenty feet downstream from where they had come out of the trees, she heard the grunts and curses of the men following them.  Stopping immediately, Nacoma pulled Alayne further out into the water where it was deeper, then pulled her friend under.  Alayne spluttered at first, but she heard the men coming too, and quickly quieted down.  They were fortunate that there were a few large rocks in the middle of the stream, and so they carefully flowed with the water to the nearest rock where they could hang on and keep themselves hidden.
    Five men came out of the trees, searching up and down the stream for their quarry.  One of them pointed to the tracks that Nacoma had made, and the men followed them into the water.  When the footprints disappeared, the men stopped and stood in a circle, conferring with each other.  Nacoma watched them with bated breath, praying that they would take the bait and go upstream, in the direction that the footprints led.  At first she thought that they were surely saved when the men continued to look in that direction, but then they turned around and headed straight towards her and Alayne.  Groaning inwardly, Nacoma pushed Alayne away from the rock and the two began swimming with the current.  They had nothing with them except for their clothes, having left all their supplies and bags back at the rocky outcrop, and the only thing weighing down Nacoma were the knives in her boots and strapped to her waist.  Still, they were made of light steel, so they didn't cut her buoyancy too much.  It was kind of a blessing, really, because the weight kept her body underwater where the men couldn't see her.
    She and Alayne swam quickly but quietly, neither girl looking back in case the sudden movement alerted the men behind.  Each movement became a more and more arduous effort, though, as the biting chill of the snowmelt penetrated their bodies.  Nacoma could clearly see that Alayne was slowing down, and she swam up to her friend to help her alone.  When Alayne felt Nacoma's touch, she seemed to take comfort from it and redoubled her efforts.  The water began to flow faster, and their swimming became a little easier, but the increase in speed worried Nacoma.  If it got too fast, they might not be able to control their progress anymore, and then they would be in just as much danger from rocks in the streambed as the men following them.  Weighing the dangers, Nacoma started to nudge Alayne towards the opposite bank.  Alayne understood and swam to the shore, careful to keep as much of her body in the water as possible.  They had almost reached the bank when they heard a shout from behind.  Nacoma whirled around and saw that the brigands had spotted them.  She grabbed Alayne's arm and pulled her out of the water, practically dragging her.  Their limbs were too numb from the cold, though, and Nacoma could hardly make her arms and legs do what she wanted.  She and Alayne had to crawl from the stream to dry land, trying to warm their bodies enough to continue their flight.
    Nacoma stumbled to her feet first, urging Alayne up.  Taking one of Alayne's arms, Nacoma threw it over her shoulder and supported her friend as they continued to run.  But it was now a losing battle because neither of them could regain their previous speed and desperation.  Lethargy and stiffness had invaded their muscles from the cold of the stream, and Nacoma began to lose hope.  She was supposed to protect Alayne; they were supposed to protect each other.  Now neither of them could even put one foot in front of the other in order to escape the danger that came ever closer.
    Unable to stand it any longer, Nacoma collapsed against a nearby tree, taking Alayne down with her.  They gasped together, their eyes tightly shut in the pain they felt together, and the anguish that seeped into their hearts made them cling to each other in fright.
    Alayne opened her eyes and said, "You should go on without me."
    "No, don't even say things like that to me," Nacoma said furiously.  "I am never leaving you, sister."
    "I can hold them off, at least for a little while.  You have to get away, for the both of us."
    "No!  It would make me nothing but a coward," Nacoma said, trying to block out Alayne's pleas.
    "Nacoma, you must.  One of us has to make the journey.  I've been thinking about what to do, and I think I can cast a spell that will hold them back for a little while."
    "Then cast it now," Nacoma said through clenched teeth.  She reached for the knives at her waist and pulled one free.  "You hold them off and I'll take them out."
    Alayne shook her head.  "It's too dangerous.  You need to run."
    Looking into Alayne's clear blue eyes, seeing the fear and love in them, only hardened Nacoma's resolve.  She would not leave her best friend to those wolves.  Determination settling over her face, Nacoma carefully pushed herself up to her feet and turned back towards the stream, back towards their pursuers.
    She glanced down at Alayne and said, "Whatever it is you were thinking of doing, you better do it now.  I'm going after them."
    Nacoma hardly heard Alayne's cry as she ran back to the stream.  Immediately, she was set upon by one of the men.  He was large and burly, the muscle of his arms bigger almost than her thighs.  A few years ago, she might have been intimidated beyond belief by this man, but Nacoma knew enough about the human body now to make it work for her.  She would turn this man's strength against him and make it a liability instead of an asset.  He charged her, his face contorted in a nasty snarl.  Nacoma could see the rotting teeth in his mouth, the dirt on his nose, and the filthy mess of his hair as if she stood mere inches from him.  She let her mind float free and observe the man's movement's dispassionately.  When brought his arm up to slash her with the dagger he held in his fist, Nacoma darted quickly beneath his defenses and slashed upward with her knife, slicing through his throat and cutting the carotid artery.  Hot blood gushed forth, and the man's limp fingers let go his knife and flew to the wound, trying uselessly to keep the life from escaping his body.
     Before the body had even hit the ground, another of the brigands attacked Nacoma.  He was wiry and thin, and far more cautious after seeing his comrade so easily dispatched.  Rather than rush her, he circled Nacoma carefully, sizing her up.  She took the opportunity to do the same, and noted with dismay that he held a sword.  It would be far more difficult to get close enough to use her knives on this man, but fortunately she had other avenues open to her.  Without warning, Nacoma turned and fled downstream, away from the wiry brigand.  He shouted out in surprise, but followed closely on her heels in no time.  That was exactly what Nacoma wanted.  Looking over her shoulder, Nacoma lined up the target in her mind, flipped her knife in her hand, then threw it back in one powerful motion.  The man never knew what caused him to fall so suddenly.  Not wasting any time, Nacoma turned his body over, retrieved her knife, and then relieved him of his sword.  She scanned the area for the other three men, but saw no one.  Icy tendrils of dread gripped her heart, and Nacoma was off in a second.
    Running furiously, she prayed that she was not too late to protect Alayne, but the cries of her friend told her she was.  Though the distance wasn't far, it felt like a lifetime before Nacoma burst in on the three men holding Alayne down on the ground.  She was struggling and crying against them, but they only laughed at her and continued to paw at her clothing.  Nacoma screamed out in rage and charge forward, swearing that she would kill all three for what they were planning on doing to her and Alayne.  Only one man bothered to turn towards Nacoma, he was fat and paunchy and gave her a lecherous grin.  His self-satisfied smirk faltered slightly when he saw the blood covering her, but he recovered quickly when he realized that she knew how to hold a sword.  The fat man unsheathed his own weapon, meeting Nacoma's two inches in front of his face.  He was strong, but Nacoma was fast, and she jabbed, parried, and thrust in quick succession, trying to throw him off.  Within seconds she found her opening and stabbed the fat man in the gut.  As he cried out in pain, Nacoma twisted the blade to make sure the damage she did was lethal before pulling her weapon free.
    Nacoma swung around towards Alayne, ready to fight the other two, but Alayne's urgent shout stopped her.  Without thinking, Nacoma dropped to the ground, hugging the dirt.  It wasn't moments too soon, and she felt a gust of wind swish over her head.  Blood curdling screams cut through the air.  When Nacoma looked up, she saw the remaining two men, now in four pieces, their bodies cut cleanly in half.  They lived long enough to see their insides before dying in front of her eyes.
    The sight of the blood and guts would have reduced Nacoma to a violent bout of sickness if not for her concern for Alayne.  She scrambled over to where her friend lay panting on the ground.  Gently touching Alayne's arm, Nacoma said, "Are you alright?"
    Alayne nodded, her eyes closed tightly.  "I don't want to see it.  Can you help me up so that I don't have to see it?"
    "Of course," Nacoma said, slipped her arm through Alayne's and bringing her to her feet.  The two girls walked back to the stream where Nacoma washed the blood off her face and clothes.  Since they didn't how far they had run, or even where they had come from, they gave up on trying to find their lost possessions, and instead began following the flow of the stream, hopefully to civilization.

NaNoWriMo excerpt

It is the end of November and I managed to write 50,000+ words this month. Hooray! Below is an excerpt from my novel. It's not a complete novel, but it's a start, and I had a blast doing it. I can't wait til next year!

Nacoma woke up before the sunrise, unable to maintain a deep sleep since taking the second watch broke up the night’s rest for her. Despite the restless night, she didn’t feel too out of sorts, nothing a hot cup of tea couldn’t help.

She sat up and squinted through the dark, trying to find Steven’s outline in the gloom. He was nowhere to be seen, though, so she got up to her feet to take a look around. Thinking that he was probably doing a perimeter watch, Nacoma started circling the outside of their camp, gradually widening the circle as she walked around and around. The trees were rather thick in this area, one of the reasons why they chose to sleep there for the night, so she couldn’t see very far in any direction, especially since it was getting to that time of day when the light was somewhere between shadow and illumination, obscuring everything more than if it were total night or day.

On her third circuit, Nacoma started to feel a tingling sensation in the middle of her back. It wasn’t actually something physical, but more of a sixth sense. As she continued walking, she examined the feeling closely, trying to determine what was causing it. Judging by the reaction she felt, it was a foreign presence that was making the alarm go off in her mind. Nacoma decided to try a little trick she had learned from having to fend off irritating boys half her life. Picking up the pace, she began to step more and more carefully, ensuring that her movements made as little sound as possible. She also watched the tracks she made, doing her best to leave no traces behind her, or to erase the ones that she couldn’t avoid making.

Once she was sure that she had obscured her progress enough, Nacoma began to circle around, trying to position herself so that she could sneak up behind whoever was following her. Even though she wasn’t pushing herself hard or quickly, the tension in her shoulders made her muscles ache painfully, threatening to break her concentration and stealth. After about fifteen minutes, her hard work paid off when she began to hear a faint rustling in the brush ahead of her. Finally, she was approaching her pursuer. The forest was still shrouded in dark despite the light coming over the horizon, so she couldn’t get a good look at who it was. All Nacoma could see was a dark form crouching in the trees, searching back and forth at the ground in front of it.
Ever so slowly, Nacoma crept even closer to the figure, carefully sliding a knife out from her boot since it was the one part of her armory that was least likely to make noise. When she was two feet away, Nacoma lunged forward suddenly but silently, bringing up her arm to catch the figure, and her knife to threaten its neck. Unfortunately, she hadn’t been careful enough because the man was ready for her attack. He quickly unsheathed the sword belted at his waist and swiftly blocked her knife thrust.

Their blades locked together tightly, Nacoma stared straight into the clear blue eyes before her and said, “Damn, how did you know I was there?”

Steven laughed, but didn’t let up the pressure on her blade. “I heard the sound of your knife against your boot leather. It was subtle, and I probably wouldn’t have heard it if I hadn’t been crouching down like that trying to listen for some movement.”

Nacoma smiled back, nodding to him in acknowledgment of his prowess. “So, who’s going to give in first here?”

“I’d say you better give in first. After all, that little blade isn’t going to hold up very long against my sword.”

Twisting her lips in frustration, Nacoma pushed off of Steven’s swords and stood back from him, granting defeat. “Why so eager to stalk me?” she asked, letting a little smile play on the edge of her lips as she bent to sheath her knife.

“Just thought I’d put your abilities to the test,” Steven said, putting his blade back in its scabbard as well, “and I must say that I’m thoroughly in awe.”

“Why’s that?” Nacoma said with a laugh.

“I completely lost you before I heard you unsheathe your knife. Whoever taught you must have been incredibly good.”

The smile slipped off Nacoma’s face as she remembered her early lessons at the monastery. “I guess they were,” she said.

Steven cocked his head to the side, his eyes silently asking if she wanted to elaborate. But Nacoma didn’t want to elaborate, so she changed the subject instead.

“Tell me where you learned how to track like that,” she said, starting to head back to the camp. “And how to fight. From the look of those scars, you’ve seen quite a lot.”

Steven followed her. “Yes, well, I wasn’t exactly sociable in my younger years, so when Clopin left for the University, I didn’t really have any friends.”

“Wasn’t Clopin sent there when he was eight? What could you have done at eight?”

“Well I didn’t do anything right away,” Steven said. “Clopin would come back home from time to time because his mother wanted him to, though by the time we were sixteen or so, he was old enough and far enough along in his studies that coming all the way back to our backwater village was more of a chore than it was worth.” He smiled in reminiscence. “We both liked to talk about the great things we’d do when we were old enough to be on our own, but I think Clopin is the only one who actually has”

“What do you mean?” Nacoma asked. “I don’t believe that whatever caused those scars was boring, or anything less than great.”

“That’s only because you’ve never been in a real fight,” Steven said, no longer smiling.

Nacoma walked next to him in silence for a few moments, but finally had to ask, “How did you become a mercenary?”

He stared up into the trees, his eyes tracking the gaps in the canopy where the early morning light shone through. “I guess it was just a sort of desperation. I wanted to get away from home, but I didn’t know how to do it. One day, I just wrapped up some clothes, grabbed my father’s old sword, put all the money I had in my pocket, and walked to the nearest town. It took me a couple days to get there, and I found a merchant who looking to hire hands to help with his caravan. Everything kind of grew from there.”

“Sounds like the life I’d like to lead,” Nacoma said wistfully.

“You’d rather travel constantly and always be in danger of attack than live comfortably at the University?”

“Yes, of course,” she said, excitement flooding her. “That’s what I was born to do. I’m supposed to be a warrior; I’ve been trained for it since I was a child. But everyone in my life has sheltered me from the moment I began that training. What’s the point of it?”

“You assume there has to be a point?”

“Yes,” Nacoma said. “There has to be a point to my life.”

They were back at the camp now, and Clopin was already up, getting breakfast ready and packing things back into the saddlebags.

“Where did you two go?” he asked when they walked out of the trees. “I thought someone was supposed to be keeping watch?”

“I thought you were a University trained Master who could take care of himself,” Steven said flippantly.

“Not when I’m asleep,” Clopin replied. “So where were you?”

“I woke up early and went looking for Steven,” Nacoma answered.

“Did you know this woman can virtually disappear in the forest?” Steven said.

Clopin grinned. “Unfortunately, I do, as I’ve had to track her down in the University grounds quite a few times.”

“And he always has to use magic to find me,” Nacoma said, chin held high.

They sat around the small fire Clopin had made and broke their fast with tea and hard biscuits. It wasn’t filling or appetizing, but Nacoma comforted herself with the thought that they would soon be in a large city where she could finally get a real meal and a bath. Her fantasies about food and cleanliness almost made her forget that they were walking into an extremely dangerous situation, but Clopin was kind enough to bring that subject back up again.

“We need a plan for when we arrive in Seaport,” he said.

“Well, we should establish our roles first,” said Steven. “I know they probably have more information on us than we think, but it could still be beneficial for us to assume certain roles and maintain them throughout.”

“Then Clopin is in charge,” Nacoma said. “He plays the leader role, and we play the followers. Everyone will be looking at him, and we can get around unnoticed.”

Clopin shook his head. “That’s only half of it. All three of us will be watched, so we need to go further.”

“Like Tiend said, Brevier is going to separate us the first chance he gets,” said Steven. “So what do we do if we’re being watched constantly?”

“We watch them in return,” Clopin said. “I’ll keep tabs on Brevier and Tiend, make sure that they can’t make a move against us without us finding out immediately.”

“But won’t the Duke be sending Tiend on any number of errands?” Nacoma asked. “I can watch him. I’m probably in the best position to do so.”

“How’s that?” Clopin said. “I know him, I know the kind of person he is. I think I’m best equipped to handle him.”

Nacoma shook her head. “You said yourself that he always resented you. He’s setting us up, I don’t care what he says about owing you. I’m best equipped to handle him because I’m a woman.”

Clopin gaped at her in astonishment. He was silent so long that Steven had to fill in for him.
“So you’re saying that you’re going to, what, seduce him?”

“I don’t think it’ll have to go that far,” Nacoma answered. “But he’s less likely to see me as a threat as opposed to the two of you.” She looked at Clopin questioningly. “Are you alright with this?”

He still seemed a little dumbfounded by her declaration, and it took him a few more minutes before he finally said, “I just worry. Tiend is dangerous in his own right. This is a risky thing to do.”

“Granted all I’ve known is the monastery and the University, but I also know everything there is to know about men. I’ve been surrounded by them my whole life after all.”

“We aren't that difficult to understand," Clopin said with a laugh. "The difficult part is knowing how to be a woman, Nacoma. You haven’t really done a lot of that.”

It was slightly amusing how naïve he thought she was, but at the same time it irked her. The University was definitely a sheltered place to live, but she had been around men and boys enough to know how to deal with them. After seeing what Tiend was like, she was confident that she could handle him. Rather than argue with Clopin, though, she changed the subject. “You’re forgetting about the Duke’s daughter, and since you were so close to her, he’s probably going to use her against you. You’ll need to concentrate all your effort on watching the both of them.”

Clopin looked to Steven, seemingly for support, but Nacoma could tell that he wasn’t getting what he wanted from his friend. Steven didn’t make any movements of assent or dissent, but Clopin seemed to find an answer. Turning back to Nacoma, he said, “Alright, you keep an eye on Tiend. Steven, I think you should concentrate on the staff. I know for a fact that the Duke abuses them in one way or another, so if you can winnow out any information or assistance, it could help us in the long run.”

“No problem,” Steven said.

“Alright, we better head out now,” Clopin said. “Our warm welcome is awaiting us.”

The Death Card - Final Part

Hey, sorry about the long wait. I just started a new job last week, and I've also decided to participate in this year's NaNoWriMo, so I've been preoccupied with that. But, I do have the end to this story, so I'm posting that before I move on to other things with this blog. I think I'll start posting excerpts from my NaNoWriMo novel soon, so keep a look out for that. Or you can check it out at the link in my profile to the left.

I know the formatting is all screwed up, but ignore it. Without further ado, we finally get to see what goes on in the wacky mind of George:

I could not believe that she handed me the Death Card. She was treating me like a ten year old. Not like she’s the only one, though. Everyone treats me like a ten year old most of the time. But I kind of expected more from Alice. Hearing her talk to me like a kid just set me off, especially the way she told me to leave, so superior, as if I couldn’t possibly understand the meaning of “please leave.”

“I told you that your boyfriend was an asshole because I would’ve treated you a thousand times better than he did. He may be my friend, but he never deserved you.”

That’s what I wanted to say.

I didn’t say that.

“Fine, whatever,” that’s all I could force out of my stupid mouth. So I just left.

After the door closed behind me, I stood on their front stoop for a while. It sucked to have Alice say stuff like that to me; I always thought she was super nice and cool. Freddie definitely didn’t deserve a girl like that. He’s my friend and all, but I know him well, and I knew from the beginning that he’d eventually mistreat Alice. Shelley trying to get rid of me made sense, I knew she didn’t like me, but I sort of thought Alice saw me differently.

The Death Card. Fuck, where the hell did she find that? I checked it out, turning the card over in my hand. It was kind of weird how it was a red Bicycle card; didn’t I give Jake the same brand? Whatever, Bicycle decks were pretty common.

Even though I knew Jake was kind of pissed, I figured he’d be able to put up with me a little better now that I was pissed too, so I left Shelley and Alice’s porch and started walking towards Jake’s place. It was kind of far, so the walk gave me plenty of time to freeze my ass off.

I was two blocks from Jake’s house when he pulled up next to me.

He rolled down the window. “Dude, what are you doing around here?”

“Looking for you, man,” I said, putting on my cheery “no worries” face.

“I thought you had shit to take care of?”

“Change of plans. How come you aren’t home? Didn’t you leave my place like an hour ago?”

“Went for a drive.”

“Well, duh, I can see that. So you gonna let me in the damn car or do I have to stand out here and risk my boys freezing up on me? I do want to have children one day.”

“Yeah, yeah, sorry man.” I got in the car and started fiddling with the heater, trying to keep moving so I didn’t have to think about Alice.

Jake made a three point turn and started driving away. “We’re not going to your place?” I asked.

“No, I just feel like driving around. Don’t really want to stay in one place.”

“You gonna tell me what’s up?”

“Why don’t you tell me what’s up? Alice called and told me that you were at their place. What’s going on there?”

Crap, cover your tracks George. “Oh, nothing. Was in the neighborhood, that’s all.”

“Bullshit. You went to talk to Shelley.” Damn he knew me too well.

“Ok ok, but only because you wouldn’t tell me anything.”

He was kind of quiet for a while, and I thought for sure he was pissed at me again and getting ready to kick me out of the car. When he pulled off the road and parked in the nearest spot, I braced myself for getting shoved head-first onto the pavement. Instead, Jake turned the car off and said, “She’s a cheater, George, that’s what. And she decided to tell me about it on my birthday.”

He said it so calmly, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. What do you say to a guy who’s so dead inside that he can’t even muster up some anger against his cheating girlfriend? I didn’t get angry for him, though, just calmly said, “Shit, that’s so low. Who else knows?”

“Just Max, apparently.”

“Max? Gross. That guy is so pompous.”

“Pompous? Have you been reading a dictionary or something?”

“I’m not stupid, man. People just think I am.”

He sighed and said, “I know, George. I’m sorry.”

He did sound sorry, and even though I felt like being a punk, I remembered that the guy was no better off than me at that moment. “No prob. Come on, dude, it’s your birthday. Let's go get trashed or something.”

“But it’s only four in the afternoon.”

“Oh come on, you know what I say whenever someone tries to tell me it’s too early.”

Jake laughed. “Yeah, I know. ‘Somewhere in the world, it’s after six.’” He started up the car again.

“When I’m drunk enough, I’ll tell you my rejection story,” I said.

“You mean you’ve got a new one? I thought I heard them all already.”

“Nope, this one’s hot off the presses. It’s pretty killer, too, though I don’t know if it rivals Shelley.”

“Whatever. We’ll wallow together.”

“Yeah, let’s go get our wallow on!”

Too bad it wasn’t after six. Then we could’ve driven off into the sunset.

The Death Card - Part 4

Rewriting this part, I realized that this p.o.v is particularly angsty. Apologies. However, we are seeing things from a very naive girl's point of view, and we get to see a different side of the usually irritating and immature George. If this gets too CW-formerly-known-as-the-WB for you, then you can stop reading and I won't feel bad. It's hard to write 20-year-olds without having angsty drama thrown in.  After all, this is the life-blood of all the people my age that I know. Maybe that'll be a challenge for later. Without further ado, Alice...


        Watching Max walk away after he handed me the Death Card, I really wished I had listened to Shelley more.  She's a much better judge of character than I am; after all she knew that Freddie was a jerk long before I ever found out he was cheating.  When I told her I kind of had a crush on Max, she tried to warn me off right away, telling me that he was kind of a player and I deserved better.
        Sighing, I turned around and started to walk back to our apartment.  Why was it so hard for me to find a decent guy?  Fortunately I hadn't gotten too far away from home, and I was rummaging around for my keys when I spotted George coming down the street.  I groaned inwardly.  He was the most annoying of Freddie's friends, even more annoying than Freddie most of the time.  I wanted to duck inside fast, but he saw me and called out.  Jogging up to my door, he said, "Is Shelley home?"
        I didn't know what it was about, so I said, "I'm not sure, let me go check."
        "Well, can I come in?"
        I wanted to say no, George had a way of overstaying his welcome, but I didn't want to be mean either.  I said sure and let him come in.  Making him sit in the living room, I went to Shelley's room to see if she was still home.  She was, lying on her bed with a pillow over her face.

        "Hey Shel, what's going on?  You've been really down all day."
        She tossed the pillow aside and said, "I don't think I'm ready to talk about it yet, Alice."
        "Well, that's alright.  Let me know when you are.  Anyway, George is here and he says he wants to talk to you.  I can get rid of him if you want."
        "Yeah, just get rid of him."  She pulled the pillow back over her head.
        I really wanted to ask her more, but when she says she doesn't want to talk, nothing on God's green earth can make Shelley talk.  With George's unexpected visit, I assumed the trouble had to do with Jake.  It occurred to me that she should have been with Jake, actually.  Wasn't it his birthday?  But I didn't want to make her angry on top of being depressed, so I closed the door behind me and returned to the living room.  Even though he was sitting on the couch, George had a way of looking like he was bouncing all around the room.
        Before I could tell him that Shelley wasn't home, he said, "I see she's going to play hard to get, that's ok.  Just tell her that whatever she did to Jake, it was low, especially on his birthday."
        "I don't think she did anything to Jake.  She hasn't even seen him all day."
        "Yeah, whatever.  Any other guy would have been thrilled to get the Death Card, but he was pissed, and it's her fault."
        "Any guy would be thrilled to get the Death Card, huh?  Well here you go then."  I still had the card in my pocket, so I pulled it out and dropped it in his lap.  "Now can you please go?  My roommate doesn't want to talk to you, and neither do I."
        He looked at the card in disbelief.  "Hey, why are you being like that?  And where the hell did you get this?  You know, if it weren't for me, you'd still have a cheater for a boyfriend."
        "You really expect me to thank for you that?  He's your friend, isn't he?  How long did you know about it before you decided to 'tell' me?  You only spilled about it because you were drunk."
        "That is not true, Alice."  He jumped up from the couch and stood over me.  George was at least a foot taller, so I had to crane my neck to look up at him.  It made me even more annoyed with him.  "I found out right before I told you.  I caught him in the act and decided right away that you needed to know.  Unlike some guys, I actually care about your feelings."
        It kind of surprised me to hear him say something like that.  George was usually pretty immature. But at that moment, he was actually acting his age.  It made me feel strangely uncomfortable, though, hearing that sort of thing from him.  I really didn't want to be mean to him when he was trying to be so genuine, but I said, "George, just go, please?  Shelley doesn't want to talk to you, and I certainly don't want to talk about what Freddie did.  I'd rather forget the whole thing."
        "Fine, whatever."  He walked out the door in a huff.  I felt like such a jerk treating him that way, but I never had much patience for George.

The Death Card - Part 3

Here's the third part of "The Death Card." Now we see the infamous Max from his point of view, and it's not pretty...

Apparently, calling Jake a dumb blonde was a bad idea since Shelley immediately slapped me. In the cold air, it didn't sting that much, but the shock was enough to make up for the lack of pain. She looked pretty damn furious, flicking some piece of paper at me before walking to her front door and going in without another word.
I picked up the piece of paper she had thrown at me; it was the two of hearts. At first, it made no sense, but then I remembered an incident when Freddie pulled a similar card out of his wallet when George was being annoying. More annoying than usual, that is. For some reason, he shut up after seeing it; they called it the Death Card or something. I didn't really need to know the story behind it to know what it meant. One thing I've always been proud of is the fact that I know when to cut my losses and book it, but for some reason that little talent had failed me where Shelley was concerned. The card reminded me of that.
Instead of trying to appeal to Shelley again, I thought, fuck it, and left. I didn't get very far before I heard someone shout my name from behind. Thinking Shelley had changed her mind, I turned around right away. But it was just her roommate, Alice. Great.
"Hey, Max, what are you doing around here?" she asked. Her voice was always just a little too peppy for me. The only good thing about the fact that Shelley wanted to us to hide all the time was being able to avoid Alice. She was cute enough, but I wasn't into brunettes.
"Just walking home. I happened to be passing by."
"Really? Well I'm going in the same direction. Mind if I walk with you?"
Perfect. Now I had to make small talk with her until she went on her own way. But I always thought of myself as a gentleman, so I said, "Sure."
"Awesome!" she said, then started chattering on about something or other.
I wasn't really paying attention to anything Alice said, just interjecting an, "uh-huh" and "hmm," whenever I remembered to. I liked Shelley because she mostly kept her thoughts to herself. We did what we came to each other for, and that was it; nice and simple. Alice, though, just didn't seem to know when to give up.
Finally, I couldn't stand her anymore and just said, "Alice, I've kind of had a rough day. Do you mind just going on without me?"
She looked pretty crestfallen, but didn't really take the hint. "What's wrong? Not girl problems, I hope. I can't imagine that you'd have any issues there."
The way she smiled at me was the way girls smiled when they wanted something from me. It was the smile that Shelley gave me right before she told me she wouldn't mind another guy on the side whenever Jake wasn't around.
"Look, I really don't want to talk about it. Thanks anyway."
"Well, if you ever want to talk," she started to say, but I wasn't about to let her continue deluding herself. Just as I was about to cut her off, I realized the card was still in my hand.
"Here, I'm sure you know what this is all about. Maybe that can get my point across a little better." I handed her the card and walked away. It was pretty shitty of me, but after getting stomped on by Shelley, I didn't really care about pretending to be a nice guy anymore.

Next time, we'll see how Alice copes with Max's insensitivity.

Serialization

In case you've been wondering, there is more to the Death Card story, and I think I'll post a new point of view every few days as I rewrite and rework the story. I pretty much wrote the story out of necessity because I had to submit 20 pages of revised fiction, and I only had 14 pages (of an entirely different story) at the time that I began rewriting "The Death Card." Then, it just got away from me and went from a 5 page, dialog heavy scene, into a 15 page story about a bunch of twenty-somethings and their interactions with each other. The link between each character, though, is mostly...for lack of a better word, romantic. But as you've already gotten a glimpse of, the romantic lives of these people are hardly ideal. And now we've met Max, the suave player who can have any girl he wants, and unfortunately wanted Shelley.  Next time we'll be seeing events from his perspective.

Death Card - Part 2

The continuing story of the Death Card.  After I wrote that first part for class, I decided that I wanted to expand on the story by cycling through the points of view of each character.  Now, we meet the nefarious Shelley...

I saw Jake before he saw me, and as I watched him cross the street, I forgot everything I had planned on saying to him.  He looked so angry and hurt, and knowing it was my fault made my stomach churn painfully.  I felt like a black hole had opened up around me, dragging me in, swallowing everything.  His blond hair was messy as usual, and he walked with his hands stuffed in his pockets, trying to keep warm.  Right then, he was more attractive to me than ever.

He came up to me and said, "Whatever you think you can accomplish by coming here, think again.  I don't want to talk to you."

"Jake, please listen–"

"No, I'm tired of listening.  I can put up with a lot of fucked up things; I am friends with George, after all.  But you sleeping with another guy is too much."

"But Jake–"

"If telling you is not making things clear, then maybe this will."  He ignored my protests and started unscrewing the cap of his Nalgene.  Inside was some red tissue, and out of that he pulled a playing card.  Slapping the card in my hand, he got in his car and drove away without a look back.

I looked at the card.  It was the Death Card; George's stupid joke that he invented for all the guys.  But this wasn't a joke.  I felt something in me crumple up and die.

As I walked home, Death Card in hand, I criticized myself for all my bad choices.  I didn't know what made me tell Jake about Max on that day, of all days, but it didn't matter anymore.  The truth was out.

They weren't actually friends, but Max did hang out with Jake and his group every once in a while.  At one party, we were all so drunk that no one was really paying attention to what they were doing.  Jake disappeared with George and Freddie, again, and I was pissed.  Alice may have been ok with Freddie taking off without her, and he only ended up cheating on her, but I hated it when Jake did.  Max didn't leave though.  He was mysterious and suave, a definite smooth talker.  Nothing happened that night, but a few more inconsiderate incidents on Jake's part were enough for me to talk myself into making something happen.

I turned the corner to my place, and there was Max, standing outside my door.  It was windy, but not a single dark hair on his head was out of place.  He always dressed immaculately too; today it was a suit coat with a Burberry scarf wrapped around his neck and leather gloves.  Seeing him only made me feel worse.

I walked up to him and said, "What are you doing here?"

"To see if you made good on your threat to tell Jake."

His tone implied that he was sure I hadn't.  That smug voice made me want to puke.  How could I ever have been attracted to this guy?  Jake was so much sweeter.

"Well, I did tell him."

That wiped the smile off his face.  "Why?  What could it possibly accomplish?"

"Oh, I don't know, me not feeling like a traitorous whore, perhaps?"

"So now that you've aired your grievances, everything is ok then?" he said.

"No, it's not, thank you very much.  And I don't appreciate your sarcasm right now.  My life is falling apart."

"Who cares about Jake?  I don't care if he knows.  We can still go on as we've been doing.  In fact, it'll be easier now."

"No, Max, it's over.  It was fun at first, but reality's caught up with me, and I can't do this anymore.  All of my friends are going to know soon, and when they find out, I don't want them to think we're together."

"That's just great.  This whole time I've been sneaking around because you wanted me to, even if it meant watching that dumb blond be with you when it should have been me."

Hearing him call Jake that set me off entirely.  I slapped him across the face.  He stared at me outraged, but I didn't care; I just wanted to get rid of him.  The Death Card was still in my hand.  Flicking it at him, I turned and walked away, going into my house without looking back.

The Death Card

This started as a writing exercise in my fiction class last year.  Everyone had to bring an object to class and tell a story about that object, but there had to be some sort of untruth in the story. After everyone told their stories, our homework was to choose two objects that other people had brought and write a story about those objects. I chose to write about a Starbucks water bottle and a playing card that two girls had brought. So, without further ado...

George was antsy, his whole body in motion, so impatient for me to open his gift, which turned out to be utter crap.  But what are friends for, right?  We were standing outside his apartment in the freezing cold, and I was not in the mood for his games.  I held out the plastic water bottle and said, "Are you kidding me?  This is my birthday present?"

"Dude, it's a water bottle.  I thought you wanted one?"

I sighed.  "It's a Starbucks water bottle.  You know I hate Starbucks.  Why would you give me this?"

"But it's a water bottle, man.  Who cares what it says on it?"

"I do; that's the whole point I'm trying to make here."  This conversation was getting infuriating, and it was completely typical of our friendship.  I can't talk to George for more than fifteen minutes before my mind explodes from listening to his illogical thought processes.  Already I could see that look in his eyes that said he wasn't really listening to a single word I said.  It was enough to make me want to punch him in the goddamn face.  "How did you even get it into your head that this was just the perfect present to give me on my birthday?"

"Well you haven't even opened the whole thing.  There's more inside."

I had assumed that the red tissue inside the bottle was just filler, but it was apparently his makeshift wrapping paper for what turned out to be a playing card.  Not just any playing card, though; it was the two of hearts.  It was the Death Card, a sort of mock death threat that George had invented in a moment of boredom.  Most of our friends had one, and they all had received it from George, but since no one took him seriously, it had sort of become a "show this to George when you're pissed off at him" card.  I certainly needed it right now, but I was feeling perverse, and decided to give him a hard time about it.

"I can't believe this, George.  Not only do you give me a Starbucks-branded water bottle, but you give me the Death Card on top of it?  It's my birthday for Christ's sake."

"Oh come on, Jake, why you gotta be so nit-picky today?  Now you're in the club; you can flash that baby around whenever one of us is pissing you off."

"How about now?  Can I use it now?  I'd really like to use it now, George."

"Um, no, not right now because I just gave it to you.  Wait about a week or something."

I closed my eyes, held my breath, counted to ten, and let it out.  "George, you do not give a guy the Death Card on his birthday.  Maybe on some other day that doesn't matter, but not on his birthday, you know?  And just your luck, you've caught me on an especially bad day.  It might as well have been Shelly who gave me the Death Card.  First her, and now you.  I really can't take this on my birthday."

"What?  What happened with Shelley?" he asked, cocking an eyebrow and assuming the "tell-me-everything-in-excruciating-detail-right-this-second" look.  He's a gossipmonger; he never lets an opportunity to gather new information pass him by.  The problem with that was I knew our entire group of friends would possess every last sordid detail of my relationship issues before the day was out.  That's George for you: best friends 'til the end.

"No way, I'm not telling you anything, George.  I shouldn't even have mentioned it in the first place."

"Wait, why?  I'm your best friend; aren't you supposed to tell me all the juicy details of your life or whatever?"

"You're kidding, right?  I can't tell you anything because it'll be all over the place before the day is out.  You'll tell everyone."

He put his right hand over his heart and raised his left hand in the air.  "I swear by your shiny new Starbucks water bottle that I won't tell a soul.  Come on, man, I'm a vault.  Nothing gets out of the vault."

I stared at him for a moment, contemplating the consequences of wringing his neck, or maybe just bludgeoning him over the head with the water bottle.  It had quite a bit of heft to it with that half-inch thick plastic.  I decided against it.

"You know that doesn't mean a damn thing to me?  Remember what happened with Freddie?"  I thought he had forgotten about the last time he said he was a vault, which was when he found out Freddie was cheating on Alice and swore not to tell a soul.  Alice knew all about it within two hours.  Their relationship was over within two hours and twenty minutes.

George stared off into space for a moment before understanding dawned over his face.  "Oh wow, I forgot about that time.  But, alcohol was involved there, and there were other extenuating circumstances.  Besides, you know I would never make a promise I can't keep."

Sighing, I rubbed my forehead, trying to stave off the headache I knew was coming on.  He had a tendency to give me headaches – excruciating, mind-numbing migraines.  "I appreciate the distinction you're trying to make here, but you do realize that it was a promise you didn't keep, no matter how inebriated you were?  That said I'm going to take this water bottle and run over it with my car.  Thank you."

"No, come on, don't do that, Jake.  It was expensive."

Once again, I stared at him in disbelief.  "Now that is a lie.  I can see the water spots in it from going through a dishwasher."

"Damn, I knew I should have put some Jet Dry stuff in that last load.  In that case, you can't do it because it's a Nalgene and those things are indestructible."

Typical George.  No remorse.

"Ok, we're done for the day.  Thanks for the half-gift; I'll be sure to remember this when your birthday comes around."

"Don't be like that, Jake," he said.  "It's just a gag gift."

"Crazily enough, I'm not in the mood for your 'jokes' today."

He fidgeted around for a bit while I stared him down.  "Well then, can I have the stuff back?"

Did I hear him right?  Did he seriously just do take-backs?  "You're taking the gift back?  You can't do that, it's a gift."

"Jake, you just said you didn't want any of it.  If you don't want it, I can find other uses for it all."

"But you can't take back the Death Card.  It's a death threat; how do you take back a death threat?"

"I don't want you to have the Death Card if you're just going to pull it on me all the time.  It's supposed to be used sparingly, and I have a feeling that you'll be making a little too much use out of it."

"You can't be serious.  I'm not giving any of it back."

"Ok, so you want to keep it?"

"Yes, I'm keeping it."

"Alright, awesome, I'll see you on Saturday then; party at Freddie's place!"

"What?  George, we're not done here," I yelled after him, but he was already walking down the street, waving at me over his shoulder, his way of saying that he wasn't really leaving me hanging; he just had better things to do.

This was all typical George too.  Once he was done with you, you suddenly weren't angry anymore, and you didn't have the slightest idea how it had happened.  As I walked to my car, crappy presents in hand, I seriously considered how good it would make me feel to smash the stupid thing into the ground, though it was a half-hearted kind of contemplation.

I forgot all about my annoyance when I came in view of my car to see Shelley standing there, arms wrapped around her body trying to keep warm.  Not cool.  Why she thought this would be a good time to talk to me, I have no idea, but there she was, and I couldn't turn around and pretend not to see her because she had already spotted me.  If walking away from her once didn't do the trick, it probably wouldn't work again, so I crossed the street to my car and said, "Whatever you think you can accomplish by coming here, think again.  I don't want to talk to you."

Inspired by...

    This is something I wrote one night as I stared at this picture.  My friend Meiko drew it, and she was kind enough to give it to me after her art show ended in May.  Here's her site too if you're interested in seeing more.  She's really very talented.  Anyway, Here it is:

    The rain fell down in torrents, soaking the clothes she'd left hanging on the line. Cursing her bad luck, she hurried out into the downpour, grabbing shirts and blouses and pants off the lines and dashing back into her living room. Her things were even wetter now than they'd been when she pulled them out of the washer in the first place. She carefully wrung out as much water as possible onto the back patio, doing her best to stay out of the rain, hoping there wouldn't be a change in the wind's direction.
    Monsoon season was always like this, but she sometimes felt like it purposefully snuck up on her, teasing her with a relatively clear day only to turn to a violent storm while she wasn't looking. She had been so happy this morning, thinking that she would save on electricity by not using the dryer, but the rain made that impossible now. Everything tossed into a hamper, she carried her sopping laundry to the dryer, made one last attempt to wring out the excess water, and dumped it all in to dry for an hour.
    The sudden rain had interrupted her lunch, so she went back to finish the sandwich sitting on her desk. Aside from the half eaten meal, her workspace was covered with paper, sketches, pens and pencils. Her computer's screen saver has kicked on, so she tapped the spacebar and picked up where she'd left off in the email she was reading. Much of it was junk, spam about sex and penis enlargements, but there were a couple thing of interest. First was a job from a small local business asking for a new logo design and whether she was available for a short meeting this Wednesday. She definitely needed the work, but what really interested her was the other email, a very short and intriguing message that read, "It's been a long time, and I know you're out of the country, but please give me a call. --Dorian 415.612.3879"
    So, he knew she wasn't in the States, which was interesting in itself, but if he had found out that much of her current situation, why not get her number and call himself? Bastard's probably too cheap to spring for a long distance call, she thought with a wry smile. Oh well, why not humor him, except she wasn't going to play by his rules. Clicking the reply button, she quickly composed her message, "Yes it has been a while, but why don't you call me first? -Alice 011-81-03-3425-6552," and sent it along. There, now he could call her if her felt like it. She picked up her sandwich and started eating again, watching the rain lash against the windows as the wind picked up and the storm grew fiercer.
    Her self-satisfaction barely had time to warm her before the phone rang loudly, making her choke and cough in surprise.
    "Hello?" she said with difficulty, still coughing.
    "Hey, Alice," said a familiar, arrogant voice. "Nice of you to email me your number."

An excerpt from my senior thesis...

**Does this work? Is it believable? Or is it just shit?


The crowds scared her.

People moved together in tandem, a smooth, seamless dance Keiko couldn’t hope to penetrate. They were like tiny cells flowing through the blood stream of the train station. Juggling her train ticket and suitcases, she stumbled through the platform entrance, but missed the ticket feed, and two sides of a small gate sprung forward to impede her progress. Keiko stopped and calmed herself. Exhaustion after a ten-hour flight had finally caught up with her, and she had to struggle to maintain control by taking deep breaths and telling herself that everything was just fine. Moving to another country would not be easy, she knew that from the first, but experiencing it was almost too much for her. It was a silly thing, really, not being able to get through the gate, but it was enough to undo her at that moment. Bursting into tears in public would not help anything, so Keiko carefully fed the ticket through the gate. It sped through the feed with a sharp, whirring noise, and popped up at the other end. The two flaps retracted with a cheerful “ding,” allowing her to pass through.

She found her platform and was lucky enough to arrive just as the train was pulling in. It wasn’t easy dragging the suitcases onto the train, but she managed to grab the nearest rail and hold on precariously as the people behind her surged onto the car, bumping and jostling. A sticky heat pervaded the air, making Keiko even more uncomfortable to be pressed up against so many strangers. From a ceiling fan came a burst of cool air, and she struggled to feel it, but it was gone as soon as it arrived. The gentle rocking motion of the train and the oppressive heat lulled her tired mind into a dazed stupor. Despite the pain of trying to hold on, or maybe because of it, she felt an intense wave of fatigue wash over her muddled mind.

The landscape changed.

The train looked older, felt older, not something she could identify right away, just a feeling, like someone’s faded memory of what it was like to ride a train years and years ago. Some of the details were blurred, such as a hand rail that was there one moment and gone the next. It was the train she was riding, but Keiko felt like she was viewing it all through the eyes of someone who saw beyond the surface into a long distant memory. The plastic shifted in and out, from wood to brushed metal back to plastic, and the swaying handles were rope, then sturdy weave, then rubber coated. She saw it all without really seeing it, a sort of sensory impression on her mind, like the afterimage of a bright light on the back of closed eyelids. Then, just as suddenly as it had appeared, everything went back to normal. It was just a train car. Keiko felt something sink inside of her chest.
It had been a few months since something like this had happened to Keiko, but even that hadn’t been the first. She remembered the first time that her surroundings had changed so suddenly, when she was eight or nine-years-old.

It had been at temple with her mother, on a cold, drizzly Saturday sometime in the fall. Keiko stared out the window at the dreary rain, growing more and more restless with the boring sermons. They always went to temple on Saturdays, and in order to keep Keiko still and silent through the long ordeal, her mother always promised that they would to go the park afterwards as long as she behaved herself. It was beyond difficult for Keiko to sit still for that long, but the promise of going to the park helped her get through it. So, she stayed happy thinking of the park, and her mother was satisfied that they had been properly pious.

On that day, however, the weather was too bad to go out. Without the park to look forward to, Keiko couldn’t keep herself under control and had to endure a few slaps from her mother for fidgeting during temple. As they sat on their knees, feet tucked underneath, Keiko stared out the window. The murmur of dozens of voices praying made Keiko bored and sleepy; she hated how quiet it was inside and how no one looked at her or talked louder than a whisper. She wanted to jump up and down, run around, and yell at the top of her lungs, but she knew her mother would just punish her severely, not to mention the dirty looks she would get from all the old aunties and uncles. So, in a great effort to stave off punishment, Keiko kept her energy bottled up. Still, small bursts would escape her, usually a loud sigh or a little shake of her arms and legs. Each time she moved, her mother would bop her on the head, not too hard, but enough to scold her. And so Keiko would once again try to keep herself under control even though she was bored to tears and knew she wouldn't be going to the park today.

There weren’t any other boys and girls at this temple, just Keiko. Her family lived in a neighborhood of mostly old people, so Keiko had no one to sneak glances and whispered words with. Only the aged aunties and uncles were there, bent over in prayer, smelling musty and, well, old. Keiko didn’t mind them very much because she usually got sweets from them. Her mother always tried to tell the aunties not to, but they would reply that they had no grandchildren of their own nearby. Mother would have to give her permission then, not wanting to offend. Auntie Oh was the nicest, she even brought homemade cookies once or twice. Keiko looked around for Auntie Oh’s snow white curls and found her sitting at the back on a bench instead of a floor pillow. Keiko figured that she was too old to sit on ground. Grandpa was like that too; he said his knees weren’t strong enough to get his body up and down from the floor. Keiko didn’t really understand why, she thought that your body should work all the time, and she said so to Grandpa.

He laughed and said, “Don’t you feel weak and tired when you get sick?” Keiko nodded. “Well, that’s kind of what it’s like to be old,” he said. Keiko thought that was really sad and said she would never get old because she didn’t want to be sick all the time. Grandpa
just laughed.

As she thought about Grandpa and various other things, Keiko didn’t notice at first how the air in the room changed. She started to feel it, though, how it was charged with a sharp static that her young mind had found frightening and strange. The light grew dimmer, and the cold from outside started to fade away into a warmer, heavier temperature. But what really got her attention was when she suddenly realized that everyone was gone. Her mother was gone, the aunties and uncles were gone, and it was just her in the dimly lit room. There was no light, yet a diffuse glow kept the shadows at bay, though Keiko couldn’t tell where it was coming from.

Slowly getting to her feet, she shook out her legs to make the tingly feeling go away from sitting for so long. Walking around all the floor pillows, Keiko peered up at the shrine that was positioned at the front of the room. The glow wasn’t coming from there, though, so she turned around and walked back to where she had been sitting. It was kind of scary that no one had told her when they left, and that she hadn’t even seen them leave. Did she fall asleep? Keiko immediately rejected that idea. Her mother would have slapped her for falling asleep, not left her there. Plus, she never closed her eyes because her mother always seemed to know when she did and bopped her on the head.

Still looking around the room, Keiko wandered a bit, starting to get bored, and wondered when her mother would come back. She headed towards the exit, thinking that everyone might be in the hallway. The door was wide open, and as she approached, she saw that the glow was getting stronger. She peeked around the doorway, and to her right was a hall table against the wall. On top was the source of the glow. It was brightest there, a golden, warm light that filled the building. Keiko didn’t want to get in trouble for being nosy, but she really wanted to see what the glowing thing was, so she slowly walked up to the table.

Sitting on the surface was the biggest white moth she had ever seen. At first Keiko was scared, she didn’t really like bugs and seeing such a big moth startled her, but upon giving it a closer look, she thought that it looked a little sad. Its big wings fluttered softly, drooping a bit on the table. The body was as large as her hand, each wing even bigger. Keiko thought that it saw her because its head moved a bit, but she couldn’t tell since its dark eyes were unreadable. She didn’t really know what to do, but before she could make any decisions, there was a tremendous bang from behind her.

Whirling around, Keiko saw that the glow was gone, the temple was grey and dreary again, and standing in the doorway of the shrine room was her mother, her face twisted in anger.

“What are you doing out here? You know very well not to get up and walk around during temple services. I can’t believe that I didn’t even see you move. Don’t you ever do that again.”

Keiko tried to tell her about the moth, how everyone had disappeared for a little while but it only made her mother angrier.

“You stay right here. I’m getting our things, and then we’re going home where you’ll sit in your room and do nothing until I say you can leave.”

Keiko kept quiet, knowing that any arguing would make things worse. When her mother stomped away, she saw that Auntie Oh had been standing behind and heard the whole thing. Keiko felt ashamed, and didn’t want Auntie Oh to yell at her too, but when the old woman came up to her, all she said was, “You saw a moth, did you?”

Keiko stared at her feet, not wanting to say something that would get her yelled at more.
“Where was it? On this table? Right here?” asked Auntie Oh.

Looking up at where the old woman was pointing, Keiko saw that a large urn sat where the moth had been.

“Did you know that sometimes, after a person dies, their spirit is carried around by a moth, and it goes to visit all their loved ones?” Keiko shook her head. “Well,” Auntie Oh continued, “in this urn is Mr. Oh. He passed on last week, and I brought him to be interred at the temple today. Maybe you saw him come to visit me?”

Keiko wanted to say something to Auntie Oh, but she didn’t know what. Before she could say anything, though, her mother came and swept her off to the car.

After that first time at the temple, things like that happened often. A frightened Keiko would try to tell her parents or friends every time she saw something strange like an object or animal that wasn’t really there, or sudden changes in her surroundings like in the temple. No one ever believed her, of course, so she tried to ignore it as much as possible. The things she saw never hurt her, and as she grew older, they became less frequent. She stopped telling people what she saw.

Yay, starting anew!

So, now I've decided that I need a post college blog that revolves around my writing. Please check back periodically as I will be posting MY VERY OWN WORK!!! If you are not excited about the prospect of reading my work, then what are you doing here...?

Questions, comments, critiques, suggestions, etc. are always welcome. Be honest, that's all I ask.