I Just Wanna Run (part 3)

     That night, I attended supper with my family and the six men. I sat beside my sister, Lilly, who sat across from the young man in the red cloak. Now, it hung from his shoulder, and the hood was at the base of his neck. His bangs still hung low, but I could see his eyes this time. They were a light hazel, almost light enough to be gold or yellow. I tried not to stare too long. I knew when I did, because he would always look back at me. Every time, this wry smile would come to his lips. I noticed that he wasn't really a man at all. He couldn't be any older than sixteen or so, which would mean he was a year or two older than myself. He seemed amused that I actually came to supper.
   The next morning, I went to the spot on the wall where I'd stood with him the day before. Not to my surprise, he leaned there, staring out over the hills.
   "I told you it was a nice view," I said.
He looked over at me. "Yes, it is just that."
I walked over and stood beside him, watching the wind move the trees before pointing out to the fields.
   "In the summer," I said, "That's the best place to pick flowers. My mother doesn't like the wild ones, but I do. I like the colors."
He nodded simply. I was slightly disappointed by this. As much as I hated to admit it (good gracious, my sisters were getting to me) but I somewhat enjoyed his company.
   "Do you travel much?" I asked.
He looked at me from behind the hood, hazel eyes questioning. Then he smiled. "A bit, yes."
I nodded. "I thought so."
His eyes remained on me. "Do I strike you as a traveler? I didn't know my manners were that bad."
I laughed curtly. "No, it's nothing to do with your manners. You just seem different from the others in your company. More distant, I suppose, as if you're used to being alone."
He raised an eyebrow. "Well, the others are travelers, just as I am."
    "Hmm," I said teasingly, "Then maybe it is your table manners."
He chuckled at that, then quieted and said, "I suppose you're like that as well. Distant, I mean."
I looked away from him, out over the fields. "Yes. I guess I am, aren't I?"
He glanced at me sincerely. "Four sisters, and yet still you are alone."
I bit my lip. "It's not their fault."
    "Does the fault fall upon someone?"
My thoughts drifted toward my mother.

Unlikely (part 4)

    The stories of how I met Bliss and Ria kinda intertwine. Really, it was an accident. Or coincidence. One of the more loco (and I say that lightly) patients was screaming about wanting a fruit cup or something like that, so Miss Kristen asked me to go to the kitchen and get one. Everything had gone great until I pushed open the door of the kitchen. Suddenly, a hand clamped around my mouth and I was pulled behind one of the counters. I wrestled out of the persons grasp and yelled, "Hey!" 

The girl shushed me harshly and dragged me further from the door. "Let go!" I insisted.

    "Shut up. Just chill out."

For some reason, she reminded me of Amie. She glared at me for a moment before darting around the counter. 

    "Hey!" I followed her and watched as she ran to the fridge and extracted two pudding cups. She then ran past me and out the door. Instead of doing what I was told and bringing Miss Kristen the fruit cup, I followed the girl to one of the rooms like the one I shared with Bren. I peeked in and saw her hand one of the cups to another girl who sat on the end of one of the beds. 

    "You're not supposed to steal," I said bluntly through the open door.

The thief turned and glared at me. "So what? It's not like it's hurting anyone. Besides, Bliss really wanted one."

The girl on the bed, who I assumed was Bliss, peeled the lid from her cup and dipped her spoon in without saying anything to me. 

The other girl kept looking at me. "So why were you in the kitchen, then?" She asked accusingly. 

    I crossed my arms. "Miss Kristen asked me to get someone a fruit cup. I would have done that, if you hadn't gotten in my way."

    "So, what? You gonna tell on me?"

I thought about it for a moment. Honestly, I didn't care what this girl did. But I wasn't going to ignore her, either. There was something about the way she looked at me back behind the counter. 

    "No," I told her. "I'm not going to tell."

I looked at Bliss, then, and noticed that she'd been staring at me with large dark eyes the entire time the other girl and I had been quarreling. 

    "Her name is Ria," Bliss said softly. 

The other girl, Ria, said nothing, only watched me with crossed arms.

    "I'm Dale," I replied. 

Change My Atmosphere (part 2)

    Like I said before, no one really talks to me anymore, not since the disease. So I'm somewhat surprised when I'm actually spoken to.
    Even though it's basically the end of the world, believe it or not, there are still places to eat around here. I wasn't lying when I said people were trying to rebuild. Sure, it's no Olive Garden, but Burger King sure beats eating out of cans. It seems that, before the disease broke out, most of these teens worked in fast food places. I order a burger and a bottle of water and try to find a seat. I brush some dirt off of the table (apparently, they don't care much about cleanliness here) and sit to eat my meal. I'm about to bite into my burger when someone slides onto the bench across from me.
    "Um-" I start, but stop when I notice he's staring at me rather intently.
    "Yes?" I ask.
    "You don't happen to be named Kaitlin, do you?"
I blink at him like "are you kidding me" and slowly nod. He smiles brightly and says, "Kay, right?"
I shrug. "And you are-?"
Then it hits me.
    "Jason Sera? From eighth grade? Wow, that was forever ago, wasn't it."
I just nod and try to start eating when he says, "So, whatcha been up to?"
    "Look," I say, "I'm really just here for a meal, okay?"
He nods. "Okay."
Like most people, I can't eat while people are staring at me. "I spend most of my time here in New York, believe it or not."
    "Really? And here, you were always talking about wanting to get out, see the world."
    "Hm. Yeah, I was, wasn't I."
I don't really want to see a world that has no people in it.
I take a bite out of my burger and Jason speaks again. "Anyway, I've been around. Mostly D.C and stuff like that. The White House is pretty boring, believe it or not."
    "Is it."
    "Yeah."
He keeps talking and this gives me a chance to finish my meal. When I do, I ball up my wrapper and stand. "Well, it was good seeing you again. Bye."
He jumps up after me. "Wait, Kay."
I look back at him. He's frowning now.
    "Is it just you, now?" He asks sincerely.
I shrug. He nods once and says, "Well, if I'm in the area, can I call you?"
What am I supposed to say to that? That I prefer being alone? I think it's better than dealing with an empty world? I surprise myself when I say, "Sure".

Unlikely (part 3)

Next is Amie. Her story is one that I don't really enjoy telling. Apparently, she'd gotten into many fights at her old schools, and actually got kicked out of two of them. She got a little better after being expelled from the last one, but her parents thought she should be sent here. She came two months after I'd gotten here. Basically, this is how it went down:
"Hey, that's my seat."
I looked up at her from the armchair by the window. I tried to play the "ignore" card, but that only earned me a shove on the shoulder.
"I said that's my seat. Get out."
Without looking at her, I said, "Don't play that crap with me. I know you're new here, so I don't see how this seat could possible be reserved for you. And even if it was, I wouldn't care. Now beat it."
I waited a minute and turned to see her still standing there, hands balled into fists resting on hips. Her long blonde hair was pulled into two tight pigtails that rested just above her shoulders. She glared at me with light brown eyes.
"Can I help you?" I asked.
Next thing I saw was her fist flying towards my face. Thankfully, I knew how to dodge, and she got a fistful of cushion. I, on the other hand, was at the other side of the room. She called me something highly inappropriate for a girl her age to say and came at me, swinging punches. I'd taken one to the jaw by the time someone restrained her.
Unfortunately, the people running this place have this rule of "settling our differences" or whatever, and about a half hour later we sat facing each other in a tiny room. She sat glaring at me with her arms crossed. I stared back at first, but it's kinda hard throwing someone a death glare while holding an ice pack to your face. At some point, I said, "I think we're supposed to talk to each other."
She said nothing. When people ignore me, it makes me pretty mad, so I said, "Look, I don't know what it is you have against me, but if it doesn't stop, we have a problem. I don't get why you seem so mad all the time. Have I done anything to you other then refuse you a place to sit? Geez, get over it."
When she didn't reply, I decided to go about it a different way. "It was a good punch, though."
She stopped glaring at me when I said that. Fifteen minutes later, we were released back into the wild that is the mental hospital, and I went back to my seat by the window. She followed, but this time, she took the armchair across from mine.
"Sorry I freaked," she said softly, and actually seemed to mean it. After that, we actually grew pretty close, and she grew less violent. To this day, she's still known for her punches, but she doesn't give them that often. I think that counts as improvement.

Unlikely (part 2)

      When I first got here, I hated everything and everyone. I found it unfair that my mom thought I belonged here. I was silent, and thankfully, the doctors and nurses respected that. They escorted me to a room where I would stay with one other girl. I'd sat on my bed, staring at her. She sat in the corners of the room, legs pulled to her chest, one wrist clutching the other on her knees. One of the problems with me being me: I can't stay in the same room with someone for a long period of time without saying something. So after an hour of watching her stare at her bed, I asked, "Why are you in the corner?"
Without looking at me, she answered, "There's no where else to sit."
      I glanced at her bed and noticed that it was empty. I looked back at her. "You can sit on your bed, can't you?"
She slowly shook her head. "No. Someone is already sitting there. I don't want to be rude."
I shrugged and looked at the empty space. "I don't think they'll mind."
She shook her head again. "No, he will."
      "So, it's a he?"
That got a nod out of her.
      "What's his name?"
Another shake of her head. I decided to leave it at that and told her to get some sleep.
     I woke a little later to the sound of springs groaning. I opened my eyes and in the darkness watched the girl walk to the door. She stood there for a moment before raising an arm and softly knocking four times on the metal. Then, she turned, and I could see her face. Her green eyes were large and shining, and she looked at me for a moment before returning to her corner. There she sat and resumed hugging her knees, but her eyes remained big and bright. She barely even blinked. Moments later, a nurse, who's name I would later learn to be Kristen, rushed in and wrapped her arms around the girl, softly shushing her as the girl began to cry. Finally, the girl became silent, and the nurse looked at me.             "Will you help me?" She asked. I got up and went to assist her as she lifted the small girl onto her bed.    When she was asleep, the girl actually looked at peace, unlike how she looked when she was awake. I don't know why, but I wished she would always look like this.
        The next day, I went to a couple sessions to "talk about my problems" or whatever, where I remained silent. When I returned to the room, there she was, in her corner. The only difference was that this time, her pale brown hair was down instead of in two braids. I didn't say anything to her, only moved to my bed and went to sleep. Later again, I heard the groan of springs, but no knocks. I opened my eyes and saw the girl tossing and turning on her bed, fast asleep but far from peaceful. I jumped up and went to the door, on which I knocked four times, as she had the night before. But this time, no one came. I waited a few minutes before moving to the girl's bed and sitting beside her. I pulled her into my arms and held her tightly. She woke from her nightmare and noticed my presence. I still held her, though, and stroked her hair gently. "You okay?" I asked softly.
She nodded once and whispered a thank you.
    "My name's Dale," I said after that.
    "Bren."
After that night, she never knocked on the door again.
And that's how I met my first friend here.

Interrupting this string of short stories because...

...I have so much stuff to do, and am stressed with so much more. In the past four hours, I've succeeded in completing my math and vocab homework, but have yet to read pages 47-97 of Night and finish a worksheet on it. Also, I still have to finish my 20 blogs, which this entry is going towards. Really, the reason I'm rambling on is because I feel kinda guilty. 

I feel selfish, too. For the last few weeks, I've skipped out on Youth because of how much homework and projects I have. Every Sunday, sometime between three and six, I get the same text from him. 

"Youth?"

     I'm tired of having to reply with stuff like "I can't, I have a project to do," or "I'm totally worn out because I spent the last twenty-four hours at a friend's house and I'm beat". Honestly, I'm mad, because I would have had these blogs done, like, two weeks ago if it weren't for the other classes. I think it's kind of insane to have one student turn in four projects in different subjects on the same day or in the same week. 

        But that's not really the main problem. I feel like I'm blowing him off, because this is the only time I get to see him. We're both so busy during the week, and when one of us asks the other if they want to do something like a movie or something, it is at the most inconvenient time. Seriously, three or four weeks ago, he asked me if I wanted to go see Les Mis with him and some friends. I sincerely wanted to say yes, but I'd already promised to babysit my little sisters. Mostly, why I wanted to go so much, is because I'd spoken to him about it so much before then, and he wanted to see it with me his first time. I'd told him to text me afterwards and give me his thoughts on it, and honestly, I thought he would forget. He is, and I'm not the only one who thinks this, the champion of ignoring texts. But he did text me back after the movie, and told me he enjoyed it a lot. I told him that when it came out on DVD, we would watch it together, and he agreed. We also planned to watch this other movie together, and that was two weeks ago. Since then, we've barely talked. We haven't watched the movies. Today, he'd texted me for the first time in the last week. I told him sorry I couldn't go tonight, but I missed talking to him. Apparently, he misses me too. I hate the fact that, no matter how close we are, he thinks that Youth is the only time we can see each other. I hate that so much. I'm really trying to keep hoping and wishing that he likes me back, and I know he's forgetful and stuff, but I just don't know. 

Because he didn't wish me a happy birthday.                                         ~Liz

I Just Wanna Run (part 2)

     It was years later when the cloaked men came. There were six of them, and all, in my sisters' words, quite handsome. On the night they came, I was constantly woken by the sound of my sisters squealing. Finally, I'd gone and sat among them around the fire in the large room connecting the smaller each of us had. They had welcomed me into their circle, and my favorite sister, Ennis, held my hand as the other girls fawned over the men.

   "Do you think they are here to choose a bride?" One asked. Another snorted and said, "If so, you're out of luck, Etzel."

After ten minutes of this sort of talk, I finally asked, "Are they so handsome? I don't think so."

      "That's because you're too young to understand, Elli. You will, in time. In fact, you're so cute, one might just fancy you."

In all honesty, I felt sick at Etzel's comment. I couldn't think of a fate worse then being chosen to marry any man. Little did I know I'd felt something somewhat like love before. 

    "What do you think, Ennis?" I asked. She was the eldest, which meant she must have been the wisest. 

She had thought about this before patting my hand and saying, "Handsome or not, these men have special powers. If one chooses me, I know that he will do anything to protect me."

     I hoped she was right, for two weeks after their arrival, one of the cloaked men had pronounced his love for Ennis. There was a banquet, and much glee and happiness, and then she was gone. After that, the castle seemed so much larger, and so very empty. I refused to attend lunches and dinners with the men, in the fear that one of them might take me away. Even though I hated the castle, I feared the cloaked men more. 

Over and over in my head, I played Ennis's words. They'll protect us. That's what husbands do. 

But then came the day I was wandering the tall towers of the castle. I came across a man in a long red cloak. He was staring out one of the small windows. I thought about walking past him, then decided it would be best to help him.

        "Excuse me?" I ask, "Are you lost?"

He doesn't look at me. "Quite. But I don't mind. I like the view from here."

        "Oh." 

  I'd known every inch of the castle, and knew that, apart from where he stood, there were better views.                "Follow me," I'd said. And, to my surprise, he did. I led him up the stairs and to one of the walkways along the inner wall of the castle. From there, you had a view of the rolling hills, the gardens, the lake, and beyond, the homes of the village we protected and the forests surrounding it all. 

       "This is amazing," the man said softly. 

       "Yes," I replied.  

  I could tell by his voice that he wasn't like the others. He was younger, and not harsh and loud with his words. I noticed that he always kept his hood up. Actually, in this moment, his hood was down, but I couldn't see his eyes. The wind seemed to purposefully sweep his dark bangs in front of them. 

He seemed to be surprised that I still stood beside him. "Why do I have the feeling you don't like me, much," he asked. 

      I shrugged, then realized how unladylike that was. "It's not like that. I just don't think I've found a reason to like you, yet."

   He chuckled. "Well, that I can understand. You're young."

I raised an eyebrow. "Are you assuming that if I were as old as my other sisters, then I would find you any more attractive?"

"Perhaps."

He reached out and patted me on the shoulder. "I shall see you at supper, then?"

Then he raised his hood and left. 

Unlikely (probably Part 1)

   "Okay, Bren, what do you have?"
The girl looks up at me, then down at the playing card in her hand. "Oh. Um..."
"No!" Amie says from beside me, "Don't tell her, Bren. Dale's just trying to cheat."
Bren blinks at her before nodding once. "Okay."
    I frown and try to determine which of the four girls in front of me could be the culprit. Bren has a terrible poker face, so I decide that she couldn't be the detective or anything like that. I stare down Amie and Bliss. Amie just rolls her eyes, but Bliss holds my gaze, dark eyes steady. A knock sounds on the door. Bren gasps and snaps to attention. Amie ignores her and calls, "Come in!"
     A light-haired nurse glances in at us in mock disapproval. "I thought you girls were going to come to the early session today."
I give her a wry smile, and Bren blushes. "Sorry," she says softly.
"We wanted to play cards," Amie tells the nurse.
The nurse, who we call Miss Kristen, only smiles. "What are you playing?"
"Mafia," I tell her. Miss Kristen gives me a questioning look.
"That doesn't sound like a safe game," she says teasingly.
Ria looks at Miss Kristen from where she sits, leaning against one of the two twin beds we sit between.
"Tell me about it. I've already been killed twice. I think Dale is the mafia."
Miss Kristen looks at me, and I shrug. "Maybe."
She smiles again and asks, "Can I expect you five at the session at two o'clock?"
We nod, and she softly closes the door behind her.  After she does, I sigh.
"This is no fun with only five of us. We need more people."
     Ria perks up at that. "Yeah. Then maybe somebody else can be the victim, for a change."
"More people?" Bren asks softly.
"That won't happen," Amie says sharply, "because no one else likes us."
Now that, I can't argue with.
"I'm bored with this," I say, "Let's play something else."
"Go Fish," Bliss says unemotionally.
       Ever since my first day here, these four girls have always been the same. Bren, the shy but lovable girl who worries all the time. I think she may have schizophrenia, because she's constantly gazing off into thin air and jumping at any and every sound. Bliss, the ever-silent apathetic patient who, when she's in a brilliant mood, can be coaxed into a fifteen minute conversation. Amie, who seems like she's annoyed by everything and everyone, and sometime has anger issues where people end up with bloody noses (I've received three in the past month). Ria...I don't really get what's wrong with her. She's kind of like Bren, but doesn't jump as often. She's usually the more outgoing of the group, and the leader of many schemes to sneak pudding. And then there's me. I don't know why I'm here, either. My mom thought it would be best for me, even though my dad apparently argued against it. But even so, here I am, a mental patient for the last three years.
"Dale," Bliss says bluntly, "Do you have any eights."
There is no question mark needed. Trust me, if you want to read this in her voice, picture her as one of those close-to-emotionless androids from Alien.
"Go fish," I tell her, and she takes a card from the top of the deck.
But don't get me wrong. Being here isn't that bad. Most of the time.

Change My Atmosphere

     I sit on the roof of an eight story office building looking over the streets of the big NYC. On an ordinary night, cars would be on the road, honking and quarreling in their own way. People would be standing on the sidewalks, signalling taxis or chatting with a friend or  trying to drown out the world altogether. I used to do this. I would walk these streets with ear buds in, lost in the world of music. I was fifteen then, young enough to still wonder about the world, old enough to be annoyed with the people in it. Now, I kinda wished I'd payed more attention to it.
     Last year, around June, the disease broke out. At first, it only affected adults and seemed to spread slowly, so no one worried about it much. Then the children became infected, and they dropped like bombs. The strongest lived maybe a month or two. Months were spent on finding a cure, and even in the end, when one was found, there wasn't enough for everyone. The adults looked to the teenagers, those who were still young but mature, able to, perhaps, save our planet. A good number of teens around the world took the antidote, and each had to watch their families suffer while they stood by, unaffected. This is what happened to me. I tried, once again, to go into my little world, but that didn't work at the time.
     Now, there's just us. Some have begun to start plantations and such, trying to rebuild Earth. Me? I don't care, much, anymore. What affect would I have on this new universe? No one has asked me for help. No one has even spoken to me. My friends are gone. They were already infected when the cure was found. I watched them leave, too.
I don't see why anything matters anymore.
      The song I'm listening to ends, and another soon starts up after it.
      "This city never sleeps but it sure knows how to sleep tonight."
   "You got that right," I say softly, my voice being carried with a gust of wind. I stare down into the streets, where tornadoes of paper and trash build and fall. A couple kids walk among the twisters, weaving their way around cars and garbage cans and mailboxes. I watch them walk away, and for a nanosecond think about calling down to them. I don't, and instead look off to my right, where the sun is slowly dipping behind a wall of skyscrapers. Of all the many changes; the grass and plants dying, the colors turning to grey, the lack of happiness and joy and humanity, the sun stays the same. Always.

I Just Wanna Run

"Under here."
I just wanted to run. I never got to do things like that, barricaded in the castle, but it was the only way to keep me out of danger. But this time, I ran. Was it the wrong thing to do?
"Hurry."
I stood frozen. The wind whipped at the grass, which brushed against my bare feet and exposed ankles. I listened to the voices the wind carried: guards', servants', my mother's, all calling for me. And among them...
"Elli!"
I turned to the voice. The boy stared at me from beneath the pier of the small lake. He motioned for me to go to him. I glanced warily at the pale waters and wondered which was worse, hiding or being caught.
"Come on," the boy said, and I built up the determination to plunge myself into the water.
Obviously, I hadn't thought that through very well. As I said before, I'd been kept in the castle for the nine years I'd been alive, and in that time, I hadn't really had the chance to learn to swim. Immediately, I was hit with the cold water. I went under, enveloped in the chilled depths. I kicked my legs and tried to resurface, but all that did was churn the dirty lake floor beneath me, sending up black clouds of muck, which only made it harder to see. The waters grew darker, and I could no longer see the sky.
"No," I thought, "I've lived protected and secluded for this long. I'm not dying here."
I kicked again, planting my feet into the lake floor before pushing off. My feet slid on the slippery ground, but I rose in the water a few feet. I would have been contented with this progress if my lungs hadn't been burning. I needed air, now. I waved my arms in some hope of rising further. Instead, something wrapped itself around my wrist. I almost screamed, and shook at the thing, but it held tight and pulled at my body. Then...
...air. Pale light. Pale eyes. The boy stared at me, and I at him. He had one arm around one of the legs of the pier, the other around my waist, keeping me afloat.
"You never told me you couldn't swim," he said softly. I bit my lip and said, "Thank you."
"Elliemae!"
I winced at my mother's voice and floated closer to the boy. He motioned for me to stay quiet.
"Princess Elliemae!"
"They won't find you under here," the boy whispered in my ear, "You're safe."
"Thank you," I said again.
The voices finally drifted away, and I figured that those searching for me gave up and retired to the castle. The boy helped me wade to the edge of the lake and there we wrung out our clothes. I thanked him once more for giving me a fun day, the best I'd ever had. He gave me a sweet smile and said, "Maybe we can run another time."
I nodded. Then we went our separate ways, I towards the castle, he towards the servants' quarters.
That was the last time I saw that boy.

We Are (part 2)

     At that moment, the door is flung open. I snap to attention and turn to face a human boy of perhaps nineteen or so. In both arms he cradles an assortment of what I believe to be folded foods wrapped in tinfoil. He looks at me, then at the man, then back to me.
"Holy crap, she's awake!"
I raise my gun and aim it at his forehead. He immediately raises his arms above his head, dropping the wrapped things in the process. They litter the floor, but he seems otherwise preoccupied.
"Guys, she's awake! Are you seeing this?!"
The man, on the other hand, seems to fear for the boy's safety. He takes a step towards me but stops when I look at him.
"Don't," the man says, "He's one of us. He doesn't want to hurt you, either."
       I tighten the grip on my gun. "Why should I trust you? How do I know this isn't a trick?"
"Holy crap, she speaks English!" The boy exclaims excitedly. I stare at him. He, like the man, acts completely unaware of the fact that he has a gun trained on him, but instead of the man's calm manner, the boy seems to be enjoying himself quite thoroughly. He wears a broad smile under a ski-sloped nose, and he stares at me with enormous shiny green eyes.
"Please," the man says. He's a bit closer to me now, and almost seems to reach out to me. "We mean no harm. We want to help you. Just lower the weapon."
And, slowly, I do, and surprise myself in the process. These humans are so different, unlike the many that I'd seen before. These aren't ruthless warriors trying to kill my people. They're just...curious.
The boy lowers his arms and just kind of stares at me as I sit on the end of the mattress. Then he hurries to my side and sits cross-legged there, looking up at me.
"You're amazing," he says in wonder. I glance at him warily, not seeing him as a threat as much as a nuisance. The man seems to notice my reaction and says, "Parker, don't crowd her. I don't think she's able to trust us yet."
         The boy, Parker, meets my eyes. "You don't have to worry about us. We're all about peace, the three of us. Peace and research and such: that's what we live for. Wow, you seriously look like you just stepped out of a 'Tron' comic."
"Parker," warns the man. The boy waves him off.
"Chill, Dr. Harres, she doesn't mind, do you?" He then raises an eyebrow, "You are a girl, right?"
He ignores his own question and instead begins asking a string of them. I can't seem to answer any of them, but this doesn't seem to disappoint him much, seeing as he isn't exactly giving me a chance to reply in the first place.
"Parker, for Heaven's sake, stop," the man, Dr. Harres, finally says. The boy does, and the three of them just seem to look at me. I glance between them.
"Why are you staring at me?" I ask at last.














(ugh, i really don't even know what i'm doing at this point. I'm so sorry)

We Are (maybe part 1 idk)

(just random stuff, don't really pay it any mind)

Light.

   That's what I see beyond my lashes when I slowly open my eyes. Bright yellow light. I quickly shut my eyes again and instead blindly try to figure out where I am. I'm lying on my back, a somewhat soft mattress beneath me. My arms are at my sides and, thankfully, unrestrained. Something cold rests against my right hand. When I run my fingers along it, the metal becomes warmer, familiar. Feeling a small flutter of hope, I wrap my hand around my pistol and slowly open my eyes, trying to get used to the light. That's when I hear the whispers.

They come from just beyond the foot of the mattress, and, by the way they speak softly, they are unaware of my awakening. I open my eyes and quietly sit up, pulling my legs in so that I sit protectively on the mattress. About ten feet away stand two humans, one dressed in all white, the other in an outfit of purple and grey. 

"What do you think it means?" The woman in purple asks the man beside her. He shakes his head.

"It could mean anything." As he says this, he turns to me. When he sees me perched at the end of the mattress, his eyes widen. The woman, too, turns, and when I wrap both hands around the grip of my gun and aim it at the man, she gasps in alarm. The man raises his arms and says simply, "We mean you no harm."

I don't even blink; I only stare. I keep my eyes on the man while the woman casts worried glances between the two of us. Both are silent until the man finally says, "Can you understand me?" 

I raise an eyebrow at this and glance at the woman questioningly before focusing back on the man and saying, "Of course I can understand you."

He looks relieved, and I find this slightly odd, seeing as this man still has a gun trained on him. Instead of pondering this, I get to my point.

"Where am I?"

I take my eyes off of him and take a moment to glance around the room. The walls are a dark brown color, and a single window displays darkness beyond. 

"Is this Earth?"

Slowly, the man nods. I decide that he's not a main threat and lower my pistol, moving to the window. In the dark, I can make out shapes. Piles of rubble, broken buildings, ruined homes. Some human bodies, even. 

"What's left of it," the man says solemnly. 

I turn to look at him, and for maybe the fifth time in my life, I wish that I could openly show emotion. But I know that what the man sees now is the same apathetic gaze I give to everything and everyone, dull grey eyes and a permanent straight line of a smile. 

Grace and Choice- Prologue

Years ago, there was a war between two worlds. Every man and creature from Elsa fought against the angels of Gladren. The angel world was shunned by the others because of its brutality and hatred, but they went too far when they attacked two villages in Hynix, the world neighboring Elsa. Eager to assist their friends, the inhabitants of Elsa and the remaining of Hynix fought against the angels with all their strength. The war lasted three years, after which the angels were finally surrounded. From the ranks of the Elsan army appeared the high mage, Airon. He vowed, on behalf of the people of Elsa and Hynix, that the angels would be spared, under one condition: the threat of the angels would be under the control of the Wellborns of Elsa. The angels agreed, and there, in the main sanctuary of Gladren, almost every angel was frozen in stone, and most were thought to stay there for many years.

The threat of angels was, indeed, controlled by the men of Elsa. It was prophesied that only a number of the sons of the warriors who fought that battle could change the fate of the angels. These numbered men are called Wakers, for they alone have the power to undo the spell on the angels; they alone can wake them from their sleep in stone. The only angels spared from this fate were the high council and a few others. The angels of the council were each stripped of their wings and left, almost forgotten by Elsa. In the other world, Wakers were being trained to do their job, and one by one, slowly as ever, angels were allowed to be freed of the spell. 

So, where do I come in? 

Hello. My name is Nessa Aine. I'm an angel. I fought in the war. I was awakened from the curse, and I know the angels' secret. 

Long-lived Crushes at West Pine High (part 2)

I'm approximately seven feet from the door to my AP Euro class when the tardy bell sounds. I wince and take the last few steps before opening the door.
And what awaits me? Only my least favorite teacher, Ms. Owens.
"Late, Mr. Finnegan."
I merely nod and try to make my way to my seat, only to have her block the aisle. Her arms are crossed. Even though they're like that ninety percent of the time, I can tell it's a bad sign.
I look her dead in the eye, a skill I've perfected over the last semester. She has this tendency to stare down her students and basically treat them like underlings, and she hates me the most, because I'm that rebellious peasant in the corner who makes straight A's, even though she doesn't really teach the class at all.
"Would you like to present one of your various excuses for this tardy?" She questions, raising an eyebrow.
I squint slightly to make her think I'm actually pondering the question, then shake my head. "No, not worth it."
"Very well," she says, moving to let me pass,"Now have a seat."
Gladly.
I move to my desk, all the while watching the faces of the other students. Everyone has their heads down, as if the evil teacher will give them a tardy, too, if they make eye contact with the bad student. I'm about to pass Kyrie's desk when she peeks up at me. I meet her eyes for a split second before moving past her. I slide into my seat and prepare for another lecture of why teachers are superior to students. After fifteen minutes of staring out the window across the room, I'm about to open one of my new novels when a folded bit of paper is slid onto my desk. I look at it questioningly before unfolding it.
<So, no excuse today? That's somewhat surprising.>
I look at Kyrie's back for a moment, then reach into my pocket, extract a pen, and scribble a reply under her writing.
<Of course I have one. But it's not like she'll believe me.>
I refold the paper and slide it to the corner of my desk. Kyrie notices it and waits for Evil Owens to write something on the board, then Kyrie reaches behind her and slyly takes back the paper. Seconds later, it's back on my desk.
<What could have happened to you that's so insane that she won't believe you? :) >
This is the reply I'd hoped for.
<Troll in the bathroom.>
After she receives the note, I think about opening my book, but I can't because I'm wondering what she'll say back. Is she even going to understand what I meant?
Owens turns to the board. The paper is on my desk. I quickly unfold it.
<LOL. Harry Potter reference. Nice. :D What spell did you use?>
Okay. I'm slightly ashamed of this, but if Kyrie and I had been exchanging emails when this conversation went down, I probably would have screamed. Don't judge. When a nerdy trekky finds out that his gorgeous crush gets a reference like that, it's a pretty big moment. So you can see why I almost screeched in class.
"Mr. Finnegan!"
My head snaps up and I look at Ms. Owens, who's glaring at me from the front of the room.
"Are you paying attention?"
I glance behind her at the board, where the only things she's written is the word TEACHERS in large letters above the tiny STUDENTS. I can vaguely make out a small crown beside the T in teachers. Or maybe I'm just imagining things.
"Now and always, Ms. Owens," I answer. She gives me a curt nod before turning back to the board. I hastily write a spell on the note, but as I do, the bell rings. The room basically explodes. Students crowd toward the door, and, to my dismay, Kyrie is among them. She turns and gives me a small smile before passing through the door.






Author's Note:
Fun Fact: In my quest to find the correct spelling of "trekky" I found this, and it made me smile.

trekky	19 up, 36 down
	1. A small greasy fellow with flaky skin who watches so much Star Trek that he can fluently speak Klingon. Showers infrequently. Dresses up as Captain Kirk and tries to get autographs from washed up 70's sci-fi actors, who have no other means with which to pay their bills but to show up at conventions.

Just a thought...

Okay, guys. We're going into serious mode again. Sorry, but this has been on my mind.

So around three hours ago I was like

 "gee, I should really work on my blogs, because I have to write, like, fifteen or something by Monday, and then I'll be like 'I don't have my blogs done and-

-'."

(You're welcome, Mary)

and that determination (ha ha yeah right) turned into

 "who am I kidding, I live for procrastination".

So, I decided I'd better catch up on the many vlog channels I'm subscribed to on YouTube, and a young English gentleman named Charlie said something that really made me think about myself.

I hadn't noticed this, but Charlie hasn't really been posting as many videos lately as much as he says he would like to. He's also trying to write a script of some sort (that's what I got from the video, at least) but every time he sits down and tries to write or make a video, something stops him. He says it's because he's afraid, and he thinks he's afraid of the viewers. 

Charlie's kind of like me. He says he's shy, and he would do things to make the people at school like him, like magic tricks. That's actually the reason he got a YouTube account, he says. And I guess he realized that, by the vast number of subscribers he has (he has a looooooooooooooooot), that they liked him. And that means a lot to him, I guess. But lately he says that he's afraid that if he posts something that his subscribers don't like, then they might stop liking him, and that's why he's afraid of posting stuff now.

It wasn't until I actually sat down and took the time to watch this video that I realized I'm like Charlie. I'm afraid of putting myself out in the open. I dread project presentations. And, honestly, sometimes I get scared about putting stuff on this blog, because I'm afraid of what people will think of me. Lately, I've been trying to get out of that habit of backing out because I'm scared of how people will react towards me, and I suppose it's going okay.

That's about it. Just wanted to share my thoughts. 

Long-lived Crushes at West Pine High (part 1 of who-knows-how-many)

For the past three years I've sat behind her, but ever since second grade we've been going to the same school and have been in the same class. When we started middle school, I only had two classes with her out of seven, and lunch was just pure torture. See, I'm not really the most social human being. Normally, I'm the one at the empty table in the corner of the lunchroom reading some sci-fi paperback. In middle school, the teachers had this "no-man-left-behind" idea that every student should have someone to sit with, even if said student would rather poke his eye out with a pencil instead of sitting next to Luke Dylan. As you can guess, Luke was, scratch that, is, the top jock of West Pine Middle, and now High. Yes, many a paperback were sacrificed in my battle to get through middle school. Thankfully, now that I'm in high school, the teachers don't really seem to care anymore, so kudos for me. I get to sit in the company of my Lord of the Rings novels. Anyway, this isn't about Luke.
It's about Kyrie.
Like I said, three years. Three agonizing years of staring at her back, at her wavy chestnut hair that, no matter what, is always in a braid on Tuesdays and a ponytail on Fridays. In the hallway, I've caught glances at her, and sometimes her pale green eyes met with my brown. But only sometimes, and ever so briefly.
Yes, I know, this is totally the setup of some cliche chick flick, where the shy, nerdy boy is in love with the gorgeous girl dating the football dude.
So why is this story more awesome?
Because Kyrie completely despises Luke. And that makes me very, very happy.
"Sup, Jay!"  This is shouted in my ear while a hand slaps down on my shoulder. I quickly fold the fantasy novel in my hands to protect it, in case the guy behind me is Luke. Thankfully, I'm met with dark grey eyes as opposed to Luke's hazel.
"Jeez, chill," Carter says before sliding into the desk next to me. "Who'd you think it was?"
I shake my head. Honestly, thoughts of Luke kinda make me paranoid. "No one. Just tired."
He cracks a grin. "Too busy last night dreaming about Kyyyyyyyrie." He wiggles his eyebrows.
"Stop making me sound creepy."
"That, my friend, is impossible."

The Light Behind Your Eyes

"There's...got to be some sort of reason."
I turn and look at her, but she's somewhere else. Yes, her head is on my shoulder, her hand is entwined with mine, but she's gone, in her own world. At least, that's what I thought a moment ago.
Is she letting me in.
"A reason for what?" I ask, trying to get to her.
She's motionless against me. I squeeze her hand. "Lena."
She opens her mouth and takes a deep breath, then lets it out slowly, audibly. I listen to the soft hiss of she makes as she does. That's the only response I get.
I sigh softly and rest my cheek against the top of her head. She stiffens for a moment before relaxing again, and her hand twitches in mine.
"A reason...for this," she says.
I don't move. She's talking to me. I mean, I think she is. Then she sighs and says, "Jax."
I slowly shake my head. "No, my name is Andrew."
She silent, and for a moment I actually think she's digesting this. That she remembers.
"Jax, do you know what the reason is?"
I sigh again and let go of her hand to stretch out on the grass. As I lie down, Lena turns to look at me, but she fixes her eyes on my shoulder.
"You won't tell me what the reason could be for," I tell her as she stares at me curiously, awaiting an answer.
She chews on her lip, then plops down next to me, her arms splayed. One is draped across my belly, but only until she brings it to fold with the other on her chest. "I did tell you."
I shake my head. "A reason for what? What is this?"
When she doesn't answer, I stare up at the pale blue sky. It makes me mad that I can't communicate with her anymore. Everything was so much easier before she become...what she is. I sigh, and in the chilly air, my breath becomes a wispy fog that floats up into the trees above us. I turn to look at Lena and notice she's staring at me.
"What?" I ask.
Could she?
She reaches out and touches the tips of my dark hair, twirling the strands between her fingers.
"It was shorter then," she says.
I frown and sit up to look at her. "What is the reason for, Lena? Why can't you talk to me?"
She shakes her head and says, "A reason for Life. I don't understand. Why did this happen."
"Why did what happen?"
She reaches out again and touches my shoulder. "You were different, Jax."
"That's not my-," I stop and remove her hand from my shoulder, holding it between my own.
"Talk to me, Lena. Why can't you talk to me, Andrew."
She bites her lip and simply shakes her head. "You'll understand. In time."