Overlooked(part 2)

By: Sophia Haddad

Maybe it was meant to be like this. Fate chose me to be the lonely one. But I didn't know how I would handle it all.

First of all, I had to have food. I already have shelter, well good enough for me. I mean, the dining room may be a bit singed but for the most part, the rest of our...my house stands.

I know my family was rich enough to provide enough food to last me until I'm old enough to get a job. But to find their credit card...let the searching begin.

Now just because you're rich doesn't mean you're organized. It's not like they could just keep all their money and credit cards in a purse or wallet or something. No. That would be to easy for their complicated lives.

I first entered their bedroom, my parents that is. It's painful, not only the thought of searching through dead people's rooms, but the smell. How could they stand it? I'm sure their noses had to adjust to everything.

As I searched through the clothes strewn about the floor, I found more than I wanted to. There were unpaid bills, many of them. Suddenly, my spirits fell as I realized my life wasn't going to be easy. I didn't have money at my disposal, everything provided and just layed out on a silver platter. I would have to work.

If I didn't find a way to pay the bills, people would come looking for me. I don't know enough about finances to know who or what they would do to me but I knew it wasn't going to be good. I had to keep looking for their profit stash, if they even had any. Now that one money failure was revealed, who knows how many more flaws will appear in my scheme.

I think I almost cried tears of joy to find a wallet, hidden of course. It contained a few twenties and some discount cards. Then I saw my real prize. An id. I looked enough like my mom to pass but I might need a makeover to make me look older. Here is where it gets fun I thought, a sly grin playing across my face.

Overlooked(part 1)

by Sophia Haddad


I didn't expect that one small accident to change my life forever.  Ruin? Possibly.  Improve? I don't know.  But it all started in the park. Just an ordinary park.  Except for the litter and unclean water that flowed in a river across the field.  I was sitting under a tree with my cat.  At this point in my life my family treasured me and I imagined it would stay that way forever.  How wrong was I.

My cat was a present, given to me by my loving brother who always looked out for me and viewed me as his responsibility to keep happy.  He took the job with pride. He often told me that it made him feel ackomplished having someone to look after.  I should have seen it coming.  He didn't take care of me because he loved me, he did it for his benefit. So that he could feel more grown up.  The rest of my family was the same.  Selfish.  All of them.

I was only five at the time and didn't understand the ins and outs of my family's feelings but it's obvious now that all they cared about were themselves.  I looked down at my cat and stroked her silky fur.   I always treasured her.  She was my favorite gift.  My family was unnaturally concerned though, that I keep the cat safe.  It didn't seem a problem to me, the cat was so special.

But the world fell apart as I watched helplessly as my cat ran away.  I knew she would come back so I didn't bother running after her.  That was my flaw.  She didn't come back.  So I searched and searched and had no luck.

As though the heartbreaking loss of my cat wasn't enough, my dad decided to pound me for it.  He told me I was irresponsible and I didn't deserve anymore privlages. To anger me even more, he added that he knew I was worthless right from the off.  Following my father's example, as the rest of my family always had, my mom and brother soon took against me as well.

I had to find someone I trusted. That turned out to be my mom.  She was the best of the worst.  She pretended to hate me while around the rest of my family to keep the family at ease, while really she kind of liked me.  She pitied me at least.  She would do small tasks to earn my appreciation such as sneaking me some food when I wasn't allowed or reading me stories to help me sleep. But it was really all so that she felt alright bullying me.  She never actually liked me.  Though she still, was the biggest one I felt for when the time came.  When karma evened out our justices.

<#>

I sat on the blood-stained carpet wondering why on earth they had just left me here. Then I remembered. I didn't want to be noticed. For mainly sentimental reasons I had hid, wanting more time in the place that had always served as my home. I was amazed that after the accident the building still stood tall, unharmed. Of course I knew it would. It's invincible.

My one safehaven consisted of a few blankets nailed into two opposite walls of my room. They were draped in a hammock-like fashion but big enough to conceal me from unwanted intruders.  The blankets weren't necessarily strong fabric, I just happened to be underfed and capable of not ripping them when I laid up there.  For years my canopy had served as a refuge to me, especially on nights of uncivilized fights.

The night my family died was like all others. I was alone in the canopy above my room. Strangely, either no one bothered to look or it was hidden enough, but I was never found up there. I could collect my thoughts before I got bored enough to face the horror that was my family. They hate me. Not for a specific reason. But they needed something to hate in their perfect lives.

They were eating another gourmet dinner without me. That's when all the pain, all the drunken hurt, all the reasons so vague came together. They all felt it, like a wave washing over them all. I was lucky to be hidden away, innocent enough not to feel all of it. But while my mom, dad, and brother were getting out of control, there was a disaster waiting to happen.

I walked in as the beer bottle hit the stove. I'm not sure who threw the bottle, or who randomly turned on the stove, but it started a fire.

Being the skinniest and least drunk, I had the common sense to run for the fire extinguisher. For better or for worse though, I was too late.

When I arrived at the dining room, they were dead. All of them. Every last ungrateful person in this house. I put out the flames to save myself and sunk back into my canopy.

I couldn't read the feelings I felt so I respectfully imagined them to combine into a simple sadness. I wish that was all it was. I wish I could feel sorry for the people at had shared living quarters with me for 13 years. But it was more complicated than that.

I suppose one of our neighbors saw the smoke and called a fire department. But when they came, I left no trace. It's not as though anyone had acknowledged my existence before so no one came looking. Our low-budget firemen did a short sweep removing the bodies but didn't bother being thorough so I was left unscathed.

But after all I've been through, I still sit, same as ever, forgotten, alone, and overlooked.

For Safety Reasons, Please Refrain From Consuming the Bottle Marked "Poison" (part 3)

by Marcella Haddad

"So...what exactly does this accomplish?" Mercatia said skeptically as she watched Fitzgibit.

"I told you. I'm calling on the fairy spirits to grant us access into the fairy world."

He was drawing something in the air with what looked like a violently purple glowstick. Mercatia tilted her head from side to side, trying to read his messy handwriting.

"Is that a different language?" She said finally, when she couldn't make sense of the jumbled mess.

Fitzgibit turned and glared at her. "It's in English, that's plain to see."

"It's a pain to see."

Fitzgibit made an exasperated noise.

Mercatia crossed her arms and stared at his back, tapping her foot impatiently. Fitzgibit kept up his weird writing, until he had created a purple glowing door in front of them.

"Ladies first," he said, sweeping his arm in front of him.

Mercatia raised an eyebrow and looked from the 'door' to Fitzgibit. "There's nothing on the other side."

Fitzgibit made the same exasperated noise again. "You can't see Fairyland until you step through."

Mercatia raised her hands in surrender and stepped through.

"Holy crap."

He was right--she was somewhere else. Fairyland? Probably not. But definitely not the abandoned warehouse.

She was in the middle of what looked to be a circle of willow trees, except they were orange. Bright orange.

She had just stepped up to touch one when Fitzgibit appeared next to her.

"Don't touch that!"

Mercatia turned and looked at Fitzgibit. He had moved towards her, hand outstretched, a look of fear on his face.

"Why not?" Mercatia challenged, putting her hand on her hip.

Fitzgibit stared at her. "Because it's poisonous for humans."

Mercatia looked thoughtful. "Is it poisonous for fairies?"

"No..."

Mercatia shrugged and turned in a circle, observing the circle of trees. "Then unless I suddenly become a fairy, there's no way we're getting out of here."

Fitzgibit looked around as well, and seemed to realize she was right--The trees surrounded them on all sides.

Mercatia was staring at him.

"Good job," she said sarcastically.

"What did I do?!" Fitzgibit spluttered.

"Your fancy 'portal to the fairy realm' crap is what got us here."

Fitzgibit stared at her for a second, then closed his mouth. He eyed the trees again.

"Maybe they aren't poisonous..." he mused.

Mercatia glared at him.

For Safety Reasons, Please Refrain from Consuming the Bottle Marked "Poison" (part 2)

by Marcella Haddad


"You see!" Fitzgibit said triumphantly to the assembled fairies. "She won't cooperate! She's rude, unobservant-"

Bundgring cleared his throat.

"-obnoxious, loud-"

"Fitzgibit."

"-rebellious-"

"FITZGIBIT!" Crundymun finally yelled. He sat down and Bundgring nodded to him.

"Fitzgibit," Bundgring said quietly. "You seem to be missing the point."

"The-" Fitzgibit looked at them confusedly. "-point?"

"Yes, you see, the point is why we're here."

"What is it?"

Bundgring sighed. "The point is, you are missing the point. The whole reason for this assignment is for you to help Ms. Downing become a better person-"

"She isn't even a person!" Fitzgibit moaned.

"-and to help her change those character traits which you find so, well, unappealing."

Fitzgibit looked at him. "Is that all?"

"Yes."

"So then...what was the point?"



"No way," Mercatia said. "Don't be a dumbass, you'll fall. And die."

"No!"

"Yes. You will."

Kass swayed on her feet, looking down at the alley below her. The two girls were standing on the roof of and apartment building, which Kass was drunkenly contemplating.

"But....Spiderman could do it..." she said, slurring her words.

"Spiderman had spidey powers," Mercatia said, gently taking her friend's arm and leading her back to the stairs. "Spiderman wasn't drunk off his ass. Spiderman-"

There was a sound like a whoopie cusion. Mercatia looked around, wrinkling her nose.

"Did you hear that?" she said to her nearly unconscious friend, not really expecting an answer. She turned around, looking at the deserted roof. She didn't see anyone, but when she turned back to Kass she let out a shriek.

"Kass?" her friend was gone. Mercatia looked frantically around, but there was still no one in sight. "Kass, this isn't funny."

"She's gone."

"Gee, thanks captain obvious." Mercatia said. There was that boy again, the one from the concert--standing right in front of her. "Where is she?!"

He cleared his throat. "Where is she, please." he said pointedly.

Mercatia just stared.

"I don't have time for this," she muttered, walking over to the door leading to the stairs.

"I'm afraid you'll have to make time," the boy said, reappearing in front of her with another whoopie cusion sound.

Mercatia laughed. "Why do you make that sound?"

The boy looked offended. "I'm teleporting!"

"You're farting."

"Am not!"

"Are too."

Fitzgibit took a deep breath, trying to have patience with this insufferable mortal girl. "You'll just have to...live with it!"

Mercatia snorted and proceeded down the stairs.

"Wait!" Fitzgibit ran after her, too embarrassed to teleport again. "I can help you get your friend back," he said, stopping in front of her. Then he stood up straight and puffed his chest out proudly. "You see, I am a fairy."

"You're the worst fairy I've ever met."

"You've never met any fairies!"

"I just met you."

"But...then..." Fitzgibit sputtered.

Mercatia crossed her arms and stared him down with her evil expression. Fitzgibit seemed to shrink before her eyes. She looked him up and down, then sighed.

"Fine," she said, walking to the door of the abandoned building. "You can 'help' me get Kass back." She looked behind her. "But god, are you pathetic or what?

Broken Promise (part 2)

by Rebecca Clearwater

“Oh Amelia,” Katie gasped. “This isn’t good, this is worse than last time.”

“I know.”

“Why?”

“School.”

“I thought you finally accepted the situation?”

“I thought so too...”

“So what happened?”

“The closer the start of school gets the sadder I get. Orientations start this week and I just, I can’t do this. I thought I could but I can’t.” Amelia started scratching rapidly at her wrist and broke into a new spell of sobs. Amelia buried her wet face into Katie’s shoulder and Katie gave her a hug.

“You can do this, I know you can. You will succeed anywhere you go,” Katie murmured comfortingly.

Amelia stood up and wiped her eyes, “I need to clear my head, I’ll text you later.”

“Promise?”

“Yes.”

“No disappearing?”

“No disappearing.”

Katie stood up and gave Amelia a hug. Amelia took a deep breath and let go of Katie.

“I missed your hugs,” Amelia stated quietly.

“You wouldn’t have had to miss them if you hadn’t shunned me.”

“Shun the nonbeliever.”

“Amelia.”

“Shun.”

“Amelia Wilson! Never again will you shun me.”

“Ok, I never will again.”

Amelia climbed silently over the fence and crossed the deck in a few strides. She opened the wooden gate and climbed nimbly down the stairs. Katie watched the horizon and saw Amelia cross the street and go into the deserted playground.

Katie then hopped clumsily back over the fence and down into the parish hall to join the party. She would give Amelia some space but catch up with her later in the evening.

After two hours or so of being at the party Katie made a plate of food and walked across the street. Katie found Amelia lying on her back under the overhang of the playground.

Amelia heard footsteps on the tanbark and she sat up quietly; she drew her gun. “Who goes there,” she yelled.

“I come bearing food,” Katie yelled back.

“Oh bless you,” Amelia muttered putting the gun down.

“Where’d you get the gun? Wait I don’t want to know.”

“All good ninjas carry a gun,” Amelia commented.

“Of course I should have known.”

Katie handed Amelia the plate and Amelia began to pick at it half heartedly.

“What you aren’t hungry?” Katie asked.

“Yes I am, just a lot on my mind,” Amelia murmured picking a little more on the food.

“I bet, what are you thinking?”

“My wrist hurts.”

“Serves you right.”

“Yeah I know.”

“You can’t keep doing this to yourself.”

“I know...”

“I thought you were getting better.”

“Apparently not."

“What can I do to help?”

“Not tell.”

“You know I can’t promise that.”

“You have to.”

“Amelia look at your wrist.”

“I know and I will tell my mom give me a chance.”

“Ok.”

Amelia lay back down and her eyelids started to become heavy and she fell asleep on the playground, feeling the warmth and comfort of having her best friend lying next to her.

The End

Broken Promise (part 1)

by Rebecca Clearwater

“Where could she be?”Katie thought, “She should be back by now.”

It was about mid August in the summer of 2010. It was a big church event that was the sending off party for Austin. Usually Amelia was a social butterfly at these types of events but not this one.

Amelia had been so quiet lately. She was always zoning out, having her head in the clouds all the time. And the look of sadness in her eyes was unbelievable; her eyes were big, blue pools of misery. She had stopped texting everyone, was reading a lot, and barely talked to Katie at all.

Katie searched the church. She was getting really worried. She checked the stairs, all the offices, the furnace room, and all Amelia’s favorite hiding spots. Just when she was about to lose hope she decided to check the roof. She had heard Amelia tell her she liked to go up there to think and thought it was worth a shot.

She went outside and crept quietly up the stairs leading to the deck off the nursery. She reached the far fence and saw Amelia lying on the roof looking up at the star filled sky, silent tears running down her freckled cheeks. She lay on her back, her left arm tucked under her and her right arm hugging her torso.

As Katie drew closer, she realized Amelia’s eyes were filled with terror. She was crying not tears of sadness but of horror, panic, and guilt.
Katie clumsily hopped over the fence you had to climb to get to the roof and walked cautiously over to Amelia and plopped silently beside her. Amelia looked up and just shifted slightly and leaned her head on Katie’s shoulder not saying a word. Katie put her arms around Amelia shivering body and gave her a hug.

After a few minutes silence Amelia murmured something Katie couldn’t make out and pulled away from Katie, “Amelia what’s wrong?” Katie asked cautiously.

“I, I...” Amelia trailed off breaking into a new bout of sobs.

“You haven’t been returning my texts, you read all the time at church, never talk to anyone, I haven’t spent any time with you in days, and you look so sad. I’m worried about you.”

“I’m sorry, I just didn’t want to deal with people,” Amelia replied tears falling hard and fast. “It wasn’t right for me to disappear like that.”

“No it wasn’t. But why are you so upset?”

“I broke my promise to you, I’m sorry.”

“You did what?”

“I broke my...” Amelia trailed off sobbing. “I’m sorry! I just couldn’t help it.”

“It’s ok. Show me.”

Amelia removed her left wrist out from behind her back. It was drenched in bright red blood. And fresh blood was gushing from the lattice pattern of cuts.

Candlelight (part 1)

by Marcella Haddad


Prologue


It seemed to Medu that all she had been doing lately was washing blood off her hands. She sighed. This woman had been a close friend, too.

Behind her lay the body, motionless in sheets drenched with red. Beside the bed where their mother lay were the triplets--tiny bodies barely hanging onto life.

Medu dried her hands, shaking. She was an old woman. Surely the gods would not make her see much more suffering in her lifetime--it was too cruel.

She turned around and went to the little basket, picking up the first child and cradling it in her arms. It stared up at her with wide, deep blue eyes.

"What a pretty thing," Medu murmured. She looked into the basket. "All of you." then she sighed.

"But it will be to different homes with the lot of ya," she said, bending down to place the child back in the basket before scooping the whole thing up into her arms. "This small village is no place for the daughters of the king's mistress." She looked regretfully back at the dead woman on the bed, before turning to walk out the door.

"Might get ideas of taking the throne," she muttered to herself. "Stir up trouble in this already troubled world."

Lomonalri


"Wait up!"

I laughed. "Never! It's a race, silly!"

I kept running down the bank and Trogen kept after me. I could hear him panting, and I put on a burst of speed, determined to beat him there.

"It's no fair! You're faster!"

"You should have thought about that before you bragged!" I sang. I turned around to say something else to him, but I ran right into something with a crash.

"Peasant," The man on the horse I had hit snarled as I rubbed my head. Ouch. "Which way to the castle?"

I stared up at the pudgy man with a raised eyebrow.

He sighed and reached into his purse, pulling out a silver coin. He tossed it to me.

"I don't want your coin!" I said, batting it out of the air. "Well, actually I do." I said, picking it up and putting in the pocket of my dress.

"Which way?!" The man seethed. He was old, probably some dusty dignitary from the north.

I made a square with my hands, looking through them and turning in a circle in the clearing, as if to observe all the forest around me. He tapped his fingers impatiently.

"Lo!" Trogen burst out of the trees, startling the horse. It whinnied and nearly bucked off its rider. I turned to him and made a shhing motion with my finger. Then I looked at the man again.

"I'm afraid, sir, due to serious malfunctioning and error on the part of my scientific instruments, I am unable to direct you to the correct path to the castle." I bowed low, sweeping my arm in front of me.

"Why-"

Laughter rang out from behind the man. I stood on my toes to see the new rider coming out of the trees.

He was a nobleman, all right-down to his shiny black boots and his shiny black horse and his shiny black hair. I stared at him, intrigued--he looked about my age.

"What a curious child," He said bemusedly, looking at me.

"What a rude man," I said, pointing to his companion on the horse.

He laughed again, and it sounded genuine. He looked at his friend.

"Have we not learned the proper respect for commoners, Jensing?"

"We have, milord." the man hung his head in 'shame'. I snorted.

The man in black looked at me again, still smiling. "Jensing," he said without moving his eyes. "Has my sister found a replacement for her last ladies maid?"

"No, sir, I don't believe so." Jensing replied, eyeing me with distaste.

He smiled wider. "I believe I have."

The Protector (part 1)

by Charlotte Lewis

I'm dead, I'm dead, I'm dead. These were my frantic thoughts. I knew I was dead because I could no longer feel my hands or arms or pretty much anything.

But if I was dead why the spirits hadn’t taken me? why had they left me here on this tragic and unfortunate land as a ghost of floating thoughts?

Perhaps I had not been perfect in life but surely I had not been so corrupt as to be barred from the heavens doomed to a forever of reliving life’s most painful moments. Locked in a perfect hell on earth.

A Large white bird landed and pecked me hard in the side. I didn’t see the bird for I could not will myself to open my eyes but I felt it.

The sharp sudden pain and the coppery smell of blood emanating from the open wound bringing me back to my senses and forcing me to realize that I was not actually dead but in fact very much alive.

Relief flooded through me. I was alive! Thank the spirits. I was alive! But was it relief I should feel? No. I should want to join my family in the heavens and not be the last one left.

And yet I did feel relieved and somewhere In the traditionally hardwired part of my brain this shamed me.

I could hear the ocean as it crashed and I could feel its icy waters repeatedly hit my ankles leaving behind a angry red rash. I felt something soft brush my face and I opened my eyes although it took a great deal of effort on my part.

My violet eyes flecked with gold and blue met the amber ones of the inquisitive bird. As it flapped its wings the very tip of one brushed my left cheek. I licked my cracked salty lips with a tongue swollen from desperate need of water. I tried to speak to the bird but all that came out was a dry croak

Startled the bird flew away. Once again I forced my eyes opened and looked around. Emalaya! I could hardly comprehend my little sister’s form lying on the ground.

Was she dead? No! she couldn’t be. Frantic with panic and running on raw adrenalin I half dragged half crawled to my younger sisters side. It took almost all the strength I had left but I managed to turn her on her back. She did not stir.

I could feel my blood pulsing through my veins and rushing to my head adding dizziness to my already scull breaking head ache. with all the will power I could muster I forced my dead weight limbs to rise and shake my sister.

“Emalaya, Emalaya, Wake up wake up!” I tried to shout but no sound came forth.

I let out a dry sob of pure despair witch only moments later turned in to a soundless cry of joy, as she shifted ever so slightly. I bent down to her and listened for her heart beat. It was slow, dangerously slow but definitely there.

Relief flooded me for the second time that day. First for my own life and then for the life of my sister. That was the last thing I remember before blacking out.

For Safety Reasons, Please Refrain From Consuming the Bottle Marked "Poison" (part 1)

by Marcella Haddad

“It’s nothing personal, Fitzgibit-we just feel you haven’t been, well, living up to our expectations.”

Fitzgibit gaped at the assembled fairies. “Living up to your expectations?” He said incredulously. “What are you talking about?!”

Bundgring shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Well, you see there was that time…”

“An accident!”

“…and that other incident…”

“A misunderstanding!”

“…and those tadpoles.”

“I didn’t mean to!”

“You see!” Crundymun said triumphantly. “Nothing you do is for a purpose.” He stood up and spoke directly to Fitzgibit. “We feel your life needs…and ulterior motive.”

“…a what?”

“An ulterior motive.”

Fitzgibit stared.

“And so,” Bundgring said, breaking the silence. “We have an assignment for you!”

“Assignment?” Fitzgibit squeaked.

“As a guardian fairy,” Crundymun said happily. “It will give your life meaning, we feel.”

“Like a fairy godmother?!”

 “Exactly.”

“…but I’m a boy.” Fitzgibit said confusedly.

“Not to worry,” Bundgring said

“You’ll be breaking the tradition,” added Crundymun

“Setting your own pace!”

“Revolutionizing the fairy world!”

“But…but I don’t want to revolutionize the fairy world…”

“You see, my dear fairy, this is the part where you don’t really have a choice.” Bundgring said kindly. “But don’t worry! We have made it easy on you! We found a nice girl-“

“Lovely creature, but a bit lost-“

“And all she needs is a nice guardian fairy like you to set her right again!”

Fitzgibit cringed with the unavoidable finality of it all. “Is there…nothing I can do to redeem myself?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Perhaps…some community service?”

“No.”

“After-school cleanup…?”

“No.”

“I’ll take out the garbage for a year!” said Fitzgibit in one last desperate plea. “I’ll do anything!”

“Good.” Said Bundgring. “So it’s settled.”

“I have to pee!” Mercatia Downing yelled over the deafening rock music. “I’ll be right back!”

 Her friend Kass nodded as if she actually heard her, and went back to jumping up and down to the music. Mercatia wove expertly through the crowd, blending in with everyone else in her black ripped clothes and goth eyeliner.

 She was about to pass the door with the enormous security guard, but a boy suddenly appeared in front of her. She didn’t look twice at his blue hair or strange clothes, but proceeded to push past him. She really had to pee.

 “Hello,” said the boy.

 “Move.” Mercatia said when he didn’t.

He shrugged. “Ok.”

He turned on his heel and with a loud noise that sounded like a whoopie cusion, he dissapeared.

Mercatia stared at the spot where he had been for a second, shrugged, and continued to make her way towards the bathroom.