The Creative Writing class decided to do a spontaneous, impromptu, and even extemporaneous story using the opening line “Three times I almost died, and no one noticed.” The class narrowed the best stories down to 3, and we need you, the student body of BJA, to help us decide which story is the best. So while you are lying on the beach, in a hammock in the mountains, or just on your bed over the wonderful fall break, please read and vote so that Mrs. Smith can tell her class who did it best!
Fire in a Kingdom of Water (A Story of How I Almost Died)
Three times now I had almost died, and no one had even noticed (except for the one who tried to kill me). But who notices a lonely peasant girl that gets taken against her will when the balance of the world is at stake. I’m sorry, I am getting ahead of myself. Let me start at the beginning.
My name is Cyra Teine, which my mother said means fire. She called me her ‘fire in a kingdom of water’. So, this is the story of my great foolishness and sorrow. But we’ll get to that later.
My story begins in a small town named Kai, in the island country of Hydor. Hydor is not a large country, but it is strong. Our military might is our pride and joy, so soldiers are constantly roaming the streets. Anyone who is caught breaking serious laws is taken away and never heard from again. So, everyone is very careful and obedient, right? Well… remember that great foolishness I told you about? Yeah, that one. Sooo… yep, that basically describes my life. I was constantly on the run from angry shop-owners. But, a girl’s got to survive, don’t she?
I have that really bad habit of doing things I shouldn’t, like scaling a rooftop to get away from an angry merchant… and then falling and almost breaking my neck. That’s how the soldiers caught me. Literally. I fell off the roof into one of the soldiers’ arms, holding my stolen goods for all to see. It’s a good thing he caught me though, because if he hadn’t, I would not be here telling this story.
So, anyway, as I caught my breath and the soldier got over his surprise, I glanced up into his face. He had a handsome face, with thick black hair, a muscular build, and sparkling golden-brown eyes that stared down at me in shock and concern. Then, he stiffened, staring at my neck. He quickly stood me down on the street, and I staggered, trying to find my balance. Suddenly, the whole band of men surrounded me, and tied me up before I could even blink.
Which finds us in the next part of my tale, tied up in a prison wagon bound for Pavlopetri, our main city. As I lay on my side and bounced with every rut we hit, I sighed. All this for a few lousy fruits and vegetables? I wondered. Usually only people who commit major crimes get taken away.
As we pulled into the courtyard of the prison just outside the city, I checked my bonds to see if there was any hope of escape. Of course, my captors had tied their knots tightly and thoroughly. I sighed as I was hustled out of the wagon and into the building.
We marched down long, winding hallways. I realized that even if I could escape, I would be hopelessly lost. Then, we stopped, and I was escorted into a cell. As I was shoved to the ground, I knew that this must go deeper than my theft. No one gets taken because of simple petty theft. They would usually serve time in the stocks or the local prison. What had I done to deserve this? Tears streamed down my cheeks. Me, who never cries, even when the nights are cold and rainy and my stomach is empty. I have not cried since my mother died six years ago, leaving me as an orphan at age ten.
Since then, I’ve had to fend for myself, sleeping on the streets in all sorts of horrendous conditions. But even then, I did not cry. So why was I crying now? I swiped at my stinging cheeks with my bound hands.
Suddenly, the door opened, interrupting my thoughts. Silhouetted in the doorway was the handsome soldier who had broken my fall from the roof. He almost smiled at me, but grew serious. “Follow me,” he said.
I struggled to stand with my hands tied, so he reached down and helped me up. My face burned scarlet as I lost my balance and fell face-first into him.
He pushed me back up and grabbed my elbow. “Perhaps I’d better guide you.” His voice was rich and young.
I smirked, “Or you could untie me so that I can walk easier.”
He laughed. “You amuse me, Miss Tiene. What is your first name?”
I shook my head at him. Names have power. If I gave that up, I gave everything up. My name was my only identity.
He shrugged. “Well, if it helps, I am Private Aiden Cole. I have been ordered to escort you to the courtroom.”
Courtroom?! “Is this all just because I stole that lousy food?” I asked, ashamed as my voice trembled a little.
Private Cole shook his head. “Of course not. Don’t be ridiculous. You are the daughter of Hydor’s number one enemy. That is crime enough after what he did.”
“What?! My father has been dead for twelve years! I have no living relations!”
“So you’ll have no one to defend you in court?”
“I… I… what did this man do?”
“What did he do!!!” exploded Private Cole, “He only kidnapped Prince Calder, Hydor’s only heir, right after the king died! That’s what he did!”
Remember when I said that the balance of our world was at stake? This is why. I blanched. “Is Prince Calder alright?”
Private Cole scowled. “No! Your father tortured him, and now he is in a coma! He hasn’t been crowned king yet, and no one can rule the country, except maybe Lord Aadhar. He has the brains and ambitions to do it.”
“Whoever you’re talking about, he is not my father! My father is dead!” I glowered at him, but I was absentmindedly tracing my fingers over the glowing blue flame tattoo on my neck. It has been there as long as I can remember. Rubbing it is my nervous habit.
Private Cole froze, staring at my fingers on my neck. “Hide that! That’s how you got arrested! If you don’t want to die, please cover that symbol!” He seemed so genuinely afraid that I complied, pulling my hair over my neck.
“What is wrong with my tattoo? Also, I got arrested because of you!” I cried, indignant. He sighed. “I saved your life, and this is how you repay me? You know fire is illegal! And that blue flame is the symbol of your father’s group!”
“Fire is illegal?!”
“Yes, because your father tortured the prince with fire! Even your name accuses you!” My eyes flashed defiantly. “Then so does yours! I’m not the only one with an illegal name. You can’t deny it. Fire is in our blood.”
Aiden hung his head. “I know. That’s why I’m a soldier. As soon as fire became illegal, my family kicked me out. I’m an outcast, like you. But here we’ve come to the courtroom. Please, go in. I wish you the best of luck, Miss Tiene.”
“Cyra. My name is Cyra,” I whispered as I stepped through the door. Now why did I tell him that?
I gasped as I entered a large room, filled with people. How many people came to see the trial of a young girl? I wondered. A guard led me to a platform and told me to stand there. The judge looked down his pointed nose at me. I desperately wanted to punch his snooty face, but I was in enough trouble already. He cleared his throat. “This will not be an official trial,” he intoned. “We have already decided the verdict of this young lady’s crimes.” He paused. “Based on her relations and their crimes, this girl shall be marked as a traitor to Hydor and drowned at sunrise.”
I swayed, then collapsed, as all went black.
I awoke in my cell, alone and shaking. Early dawn light streamed through the window, which meant that I had been unconscious all night, and my death was close at hand. Sure enough, the door creaked open, and Aiden came in. His striking eyes were puffy and red. “I tried to talk them out of it,” he said. “But I’m only a private. There’s nothing I can do. I’ve come to escort you one last time.”
He helped me up and guided me down the long corridors. We were both silent, and the stillness echoed with the panicked beating of my heart. Then, we came out a door into weak sunlight on a sandy beach. There were nowhere near as many people this time. The mood was hushed and solemn. Several lines of soldiers stood at attention as Aiden brought me forward to where the authorities were standing by the waterside.
My knees buckled and I fell to the ground with a thump. A different guard rushed forward and threw me before the scowling judge. He raised his hands for silence and called out, “Soon all of the rebels will be silenced, starting with the leader’s daughter. We will triumph over Sir Runic, this girl’s father, and his organization, the Hunapo. So starts the mending!”
He shoved me into the icy waves. I gasped as water flowed into my mouth and nose. I could not breathe or think. There was darkness, pulling me down, telling me that it was over. I thrust my head above the waves, seeing that I was already quite far from shore. Most of the people on the beach had already started leaving. No one noticed or cared that I was dying. The show was over for them. My fire was almost extinguished.
Suddenly, I felt strong arms around me, pulling me back to shore. My salt-rimmed eyes barely saw Aiden as he pulled me up on the beach, barely heard the judge yelling at him for interfering with an authorized execution. I barely heard Aiden saying that he’d take the punishment for me, if I could go free… What?! “Aiden, no!” I shot up, just in time to see those awful men shove my rescuer far out into the water. I struggled as guards held me down, tears streaming down my face, as Aiden was swept out to sea. And then, with one last wave, he sank beneath the white-capped water, and was gone.
“No!” I was shaking with sorrow and anger. “I loved him!” I realized it only now, once he was gone. My heart was breaking.
The guards laughed, and everyone left, though several kicked me as they passed. But they honored Aiden’s request, and I was free to go. For the longest time, I lay there, sobbing quietly. I knew that there was no way that I could just act as though life were back to normal. I’d met the nicest person I’d ever known, just to have him sacrifice his life for me.
Then, I heard someone cough. I jumped up, hoping that Aiden had somehow made it. But it was a hope soon crushed, too good and hopeful for the cold harshness of reality. Aiden
was nowhere to be seen. Instead, a black-cloaked figure came toward me. I shrank back in fear, for he was foreboding.
He laughed a harsh, gravelly laugh. “The boy is dead, so stop looking for him. You have more important things to worry about. Me for example.”
He yanked out a dagger and dove for my stomach. I leapt back in a spray of sand, landing on my back. He was on me in an instant, knife pressed to my throat. “Who are you?” I choked.
“Me? I’m your father. Lord Aadhar, if you will. And also Sir Runic.”
“What?!”
“Adoptive father. Your real father was King Aalto, but he banished your mother, because she named you a name that means fire instead of water, and that is unheard of for royalty. So, she mistakenly married me, and after I gave you that blue flame tattoo, and did a lot of bad stuff to try and get you killed, I kidnapped the prince, your brother, and tortured him, so he won’t live long. Yada, yada, yada. Soon I’ll be king, after I get rid of you. Of course, the judge is on my side and tried to do it for me, but he did not do a very good job of killing you, so I had to come finish the job. And now you die.”
As he raised his dagger, a blur dove from the side and tackled him. I screamed as they rolled over and over in the sand. I recognized Aiden’s dark hair and frame. “You’re alive!” I yelped in joy. But my joy turned to fear and then to horror. After struggling a few more moments, they both stopped and went limp.
I screamed and raced to them. As I turned over the bodies, it became clear what had happened. It appeared that the knife-blade had snapped, and impaled both of them. My adoptive father was dead in an instant, but Aiden was still breathing, just barely. I knelt over him, sobbing. “Please don’t leave me again! I need you!”
He smiled and touched my face gently. “I… love you… Cyra…” His hand fell back, and he died, a look of peace on his face.
“No,” I whispered, unable to say anything else. Then, I collapsed on the sand in a heap beside him, and that was how the villagers found me the next day, exhausted, but never leaving him.
Ten years have gone by, and still every day, I walk out to his grave. I do not hide away in my grief, for I know that’s not what he would want of me, but I cannot help mourning the loss of a great friend. I have never loved another, but I rule the kingdom alongside my brother, King Calder. Our kingdom has been renamed Pyrrhus, and continues to prosper. I continue to be as foolish as ever, getting into many scrapes. But that is a story for another time. My tale is told, the blaze is sparked, and my job is done.
Sweet Dreams
It occurs to Serene, in the middle of an astoundingly boring history lesson, that your imagination literally coming to life is not normal, even for her. While Serene was no stranger to the occasional strange dream (where she lives on an old man’s ancient tooth brush and its frayed bristles tell her all the secrets that trees have), these recent nightly hallucinations are becoming increasingly realistic and undoubtedly terrifying. She hearkens back to the first night the dreams happened.
Serene lay face-planted on the thin carpet floor of her bedroom. The homework that night was particularly unbearable: the words on the fluorescent screen of her computer blurred together as she struggled to comprehend them. Her back ached in its position hunched over her cluttered desk, and finally she decided to (gently) slam the lid on her laptop (as you should when handling a laptop) and flop onto the floor like a dead fish, leading to her current position.
The girl rolled over to her closet, swiveled past the half-open closet door, and pulled out her trusty gel pen and new sketchbook to work on her latest darling creation: a comically thin, spindly woman with scraggly, thin hair. Her mottled skin stretched over her slender arms and legs in such a way she was the epitome of “skin and bones”. The black, velvet gown she wore did nothing to dissuade her unsettling apparatus. Serene was very proud of this new character creation: she scribbled and shaded in the artwork with an excited fervor.
In a moment of clarity, she peered up at her alarm clock and realized that it was far past an acceptable time to be awake. Throwing her items back in the closet and racing back up to her bed, she thought about her new character and the thrilling story that could be written about her as she drifted into a deep slumber.
The world spun under her feet as she looked around her new environment; chaotic shapes formed the bizarre landscape beneath her, the sky a swirl of blinding color speckled with stars. It all seemed familiar, somehow. Before she could figure out what exactly was going on, a burst of sparks appeared before her, revealing a character she had created years ago: a little snot-nosed prince, wild and disaster-prone. His dimpled face, framed by short, curly auburn hair, was scrunched up in a sneer.
“I bet a pickle-face like you is too slow to catch me!” Kenneth (she remembered his name to be) cackled, sprinting away, his rugged red cape floating behind him. Although confused, Serene was determined to beat this child. She started running after him, following the glass-shard path he seemed to leave behind.
“Seriously?” Serene stopped, flabbergasted by Kenneth’s insult. “Your entire existence is a lie!” She hollered after him, but he was already what seemed like miles away from her. “I’ll just tell him he doesn’t have parents when I find him,” Serene decided.
The path atop the rolling hills went on for as far as she could see; it felt like hours before a dark woodsy cottage appeared right before her. Literally right before her, since she smacked face first into its mossy door at full speed. Standing up, she opens the door, stepping onto the creaky hickory floor. She’s met with the creepy woman she had just drawn, hunched over a cauldron full of a green liquid that seemed to glow, casting light over the dark room; It looked just like a witch’s house you would see in a children’s story. Upon that thought, Serene mentally criticized her mind for being so unoriginal.
“What are you doing here… you?” It’s now that Serene remembered she never bothered to give this toothpick lady a name. “I’ll call you Creepsy. Does Creepsy work?” The woman looked up and began to shake her head– “Yeah, you’re Creepsy. Hi, Creepsy!” Creepsy only glared disdainfully.
As if a brilliant idea popped into her head, Creepsy grinned devilishly, a horrific smile stretching over her withered teeth. Picking up a ladle from the wall, she dipped it into the swirling emerald in the cauldron and beckoned Serene to come closer. (If that doesn’t scream “danger”, Serene isn’t sure what does.) Deliberately, slowly, she inches backwards. “You know, I just drank like…seven…gallons of milk, so I’m not thirsty—really, quite hydrated, so I’ll just go—” Her back thumped against the door. Did she ever close it? Reaching behind herself, she tried to open it: locked. Panic spread throughout her mind as she looked for a way out.
In a stroke of luck, or pure mental clarity, she realized that this was, of course, all a dream. If anything happened to her, it wouldn’t matter when she woke up, right? “Well, I suppose I can have at least a sip. What’s it taste like? Sprite?” She skipped over to the woman, happily taking the ladle out of her skeleton-hands and sipping. The lady’s grin somehow spread even wider.
It did not taste like Sprite, despite its bubbly crackle against her tongue: a vomit-inducing taste spread overwhelmingly over her taste buds. A startling realization washed over her: She. Couldn’t. Breathe. Gasping, her hands flew up to her neck, dropping the ladle as she struggled for air. This felt distinctly not dream-like. As the hut started to fade into darkness around her, she thought surely, this was the end.
Serene sat up instantly, feeling as if she was in an ice bath. It felt like she was still inside the dream; she was gasping for air like she had been holding her breath for the past 5 minutes straight. Peering over warily to her alarm clock, it stated it had only been an hour since she fell asleep. She stared into the darkness of her room, anxiously pondering over what had just happened. She wanted to scream. She wanted to cry. She didn’t.
The morning passed without another atom of sleep for Serene; that dream shocked her to her core. It just felt… so terrifying, so real, it was uncanny. Did she truly die? Was she dead right now?
Her alarm sounding its usual anxiety-striking song led her to decide that she was not dead; she was both joyous that she still had life to live and depressed that it would
continue long enough she’d have to go to school. Trudging down the hallway and to her kitchen, she debated telling her parents. Would they understand? What would happen if she told them, if anything? Would they make her see some sort of doctor? Would they even believe that she almost died? Serene felt like she was a big hamster in a tiny cage: cornered wherever she turned. She decided that she would tell them after school if she felt like it and warily proceeded to get ready for school.
The morning was a fuzzy blur; Serene could barely stay awake during her classes, much less pay any attention to what was going on around her. Soon the lunch bell rang and she sat in her usual spot at the table of her artsy acquaintances. While she had a lot in common with them, she never really tried to get to know them, and today of all days was certainly not a day she’d do that. The sleep deprived girl munched on her sad sandwich while the buzz of the cafeteria blocked out her thoughts.
“How was your day yesterday, Serene?” One of the girls at her table asked. Startling, she put down her sandwich, grasping for something to say. Could she tell them? She looked around the faces of her table: some engrossed in their own conversations, some looking expectantly at her.
“It was okay. ‘Had a hard time going to sleep, though,” Serene lied. There was no way these people would believe her. They would think she was delusional (well, even more than she already was)!
The rest of the day passed like molasses being poured. Once she was finally in the peace of her mom’s car, she was ready to pass out, leaning the fake leather passenger seat backwards as her mom began to drive away. Suddenly, the memory of her gasping for air in the witch’s hut passed through her mind. She jolted up, forcing herself to stay awake.
“Hey hon, how was your day at school?” Her mother asked, looking over at her with a frown.
“It was fine,” Serene answered after a moment of silence, “I just didn’t sleep too well last night.” A half truth was still almost true, right? She stared at the trees passing by, trying to avoid talking about it.
“Aw, I’m sorry. Did something happen?” Mom asks, a hint of worry in her eyes and concern in her voice that always makes her crumble. With that, her resolve broke. “I had a nightmare; it was pretty terrifying.”
“Oh, I hate those. Maybe try reading a nice book before bed, hm? And go to bed early. You look like you need it.” The car rolls into the driveway, and Serene decides the conversation isn’t worth continuing anymore.
Hours later, she tentatively follows her mom’s advice, and barely reads a sentence before she conks out on her bed.
Serene awakes in an unfamiliar scene, far different from her last dream. A tall, wooden box appears all around her, a single lightbulb with a string above her illuminating the chamber. Immediately she feels claustrophobic, and spins around,
looking for escape. A metal door suddenly materialized in front of her—she scrambles for purchase on the door handle, and, swinging it open, comes face to face with a vaguely familiar amber balloon on a string with crude marker on its rubber. Its face was certainly a thing of nightmares: it had jarringly realistic teeth, creepy eyes, stringy hair and lines of clown makeup.
“What are you doing here?” The balloon’s nasally, unsettling voice asked. “I really don’t think you’re supposed to be here. You should be moving along. Mhm—yep—leave. Go. Begone. Bye, bye!” Despite his probing, he still only floated there in front of the door. Serene inched forwards. “I mean it! Go.” Still he floated there, lifeless.
Serene peered past the door; the room she was in opened into a long corridor. The strange balloon kept on his spiel while she maneuvered past him and into the hallway, walking hesitantly away. The balloon only continued rambling, still facing the closet. With a sigh, she prodded him into the room, shutting the door and walking further down the dark corridor, noticing the assortment of framed pictures—mostly blobs of color—strung on the monotonous gray walls that seemed to go on indefinitely into darkness.
A door suddenly appeared on the left wall, made of pastel-painted cardboard and knitted tinsel. It opened as she walked toward it, a glowing light emanating from its entrance. Wandering in, the light disappeared, leaving in its place a plush, cosmic-themed room, filled with miscellaneous knickknacks and scattered colorful paper. Was it a bedroom? Whose bedroom was it? The room seemed to loop around the door; turning a corner, she spotted a strange figure sitting at a cluttered desk, doodling on a piece of paper. Her hair was pure white, her vibrant blue and purple clothes covered in glittery stardust.
“Whatcha drawing?” Serene asked, standing behind her. The mysterious girl disappeared instantly into a cloud of sparkles with a yelp, leaving her crayon drawing sitting on the desk. Before she could decipher the picture, she was taken by the shoulders and spun around.
“You! What are you doing here?” Fright took place on the girl’s periwinkle face. “How are you here?” She looked at Serene expectantly. She only shrugged in return. Why did people keep asking her that? Is this unusual girl angry at her, too?
“Well, I guess you’re just lucky to be here,” the cosmic girl concluded, seeming calmer. “You are in biiiiig trouble. Like, huge trouble.” Walking past Serene back to her desk, she continued coloring in her picture with a black crayon, appearing unaffected. “What do you mean by trouble?”
“Oh,” Like a lightbulb went off in her head, she whirled around to face Serene. “You are in a dream. This is all a dream.” She waited, looking at her expectantly. This certainly did the trick, realization now dawning on Serene. Panic spread throughout her mind.
“Another dream?! This wasn’t supposed to happen again. Is this one going to end like the last? Is that woman going to find me?! You’re kidding, right? Are you going to kill me this time?” Serene rambled, feeling shivers go down her spine.
“Calm down,” The girl rolled her eyes, “I’m here to help. I know how to get rid of that mean old geezer.” She gestured down to her drawing, then the others like it strung on the wall. Serene awaited her explanation in anticipation.
“When she was first created, she had no story to tell. No adventures were made for her yet. Instead of waiting for ones to be made, like the rest of us, she set out to manufacture her own; she appeared to you in a dream as how she wanted to be, and almost killed you in the process.” The space girl peered over at Serene, finding what was basically a loading screen on her face.
“So you’re saying,” she started, still piecing together whatever this entire thing was, “that this… place… is my mind, and all of you live in it, and think independently? And somehow the character I created is able to hijack my dreams and nearly kill me?”
“…Yeah? I thought you already knew that. Anyway, all you have to do is meet her in a third dream, write her story, and make sure to do it before she kills you.” She gestured to the messy drawing on her desk of what appeared to be Serene “battling” (pointing at her with what looked like a fork) Creepsy, the skeleton woman.
Flabbergasted, Serene took it all in. She struggled for words, before something clicked in her head. “Wait,” she said, scrutinizing the odd girl before her, “I know you! Didn’t I make you when I was, what, six? I drew you all the time,” she beamed, delightfully surprised. “Did I ever give you a name?”
“I’m glad you finally remember,” the space girl smiled a true, brilliant smile. “No, you never did. I’ve never had a name.”
“Andromeda,” Serene said as soon as the idea popped into her head. “I’ll call you Andromeda.”
Andromeda bounded with joy across her room, twirling and laughing, happy to be remembered and honored after all these years forgotten. She stopped suddenly, and turned to Serene.
“You must go now, but remember: Write the woman’s story, seal her fate!” The room faded to white around Serene, along with Andromeda.
Suddenly, she was materialized into a dark room with the skeleton woman, gasping for breath like the time before, only this time she felt her throat physically constrict. With all her strength, she looked up at the woman. A cruel smile spread across her terrifying bony face as she waved ordinarily at her. Everything faded to black,
for a long, long time.
“Write her story, seal her fate,” Serene gasped as she opened her eyes to her dark room, feeling colder than an arctic tundra. She peered over at her alarm clock; once again, it was only a few hours after she went to sleep.
“I am so done with this,” she muttered.
The hours of staring into her closet, wondering what on earth was happening in her life were soon over, moving into another extremely slow day of school. There the struggling girl sat in the middle of an astoundingly boring history lesson, recalling and pondering over what had happened and figuring out how to end this madness. Would she go to sleep tonight and get her possible death over with? Or would she prolong it? Yeah, no, there’s no way she’s going to school sleep deprived ever again if she could help it.
The day rolled by faster than Serene was ready for; soon enough she was in her pajamas and faced with the horrors of going to sleep and confronting the woman. She stood beside her bed, staring at it disdainfully. Seconds, now minutes went by. Truth be told, she was terrified; but she knew there was someone she could look to for comfort.
She carefully stepped down the hallway and into her living room, gazing over to where her mom sat in her rocking chair, reading by the sole light of the lamp beside her. She looked up expectantly, closing her book. “What are you doing up? It’s pretty late,” she questioned sleepily, concerned.
“I’m scared,” begrudgingly, she admitted. “I’ve been having nightmares lately. I don’t want to have another one.” Serene stood unmoving, looking at the floor. She wasn’t sure how good of an idea this was.
“Come here,” Mom murmured, “Let me tell you something.
You’re going to have to do things you don’t want to do that seem
terrifying—dangerous, even—but in order to move on with your life, you have to do them. Now, tell me about what’s happening in your nightmares, and we can figure out how to get rid of them.” Her mom never looked so sure of anything in her life; like a general prepared to win a war. A fleeting thought appeared in her mind as Serene stared in awe: had this same thing happened to her mom before?
Serene regaled the tales of her nightmares—conveniently leaving out the near-death parts—as her mother listened intently, a fire in her eye. “Well, it sounds like you should do just as Andromeda said; However, you can’t just kill her off; I have a better idea…”
After listening to her mom’s advice, she slipped under her covers, feeling jittery and unconfident. Her inner turmoil filled her with dread. Soon enough, even through the incessant chattering of her mind, she fell asleep, for good or for worse.
Flashing lights blinded Serene as she fell through space. After only a few moments, rocky ground was under her, the blinding lights disappearing. The girl gazed about herself, finding she had struck a dismal, ashy earth, riddled with thorny vines and
inky stone. A grand, dark castle surrounded by a towering bulwark stood menacingly before her—she knew this was the Skeleton Woman’s house. Chills ran down her spine. She sat unmoving, staring with dread at the home of her doom.
“There you are!” Andromeda appeared, standing beside her, a little flustered but relieved nonetheless. “I was worried you weren’t coming. Are you ready?”
“…As I’ll ever be.” She really doesn’t mean it, though, as she thinks of all the other times she would be entirely more prepared. “Does anyone ever actually mean it when they say that? Movie characters who say that were lying at least ninety-percent of the time, right?”
Andromeda only stares in confusion. “What?”
“Never-mind,” Serene sighs, standing up.
“I can’t help you confront the Skeleton Woman, but I can help you get to her. She’s going to try to prolong your arrival for as long as possible; she knows you have the power to end her. Let’s go before it’s too late.”
The two venture up to the giant castle gate, and—upon pushing on its two doors—discover it refuses to move. They try everything they can think of: pushing it, pulling it, saying “please”, and after the third “please” Andromeda is already glowering at the door.
“How did I not think to check if the door was locked?!” Andromeda groans, resting her face in her hands. Out of the corner of her eye, Serene spots a particular lemon balloon above the brick castle wall.
“Hey, you!” The clownish balloon with a grotesque face turns smoothly in place with the same horrid grin she remembers. “Can you open the gate?” Serene hollers, pointing at the very obvious red lever beside him. The balloon uses his seemingly prehensile string to push the lever, opening the ginormous gate. “Thanks!” The floating object warbles something assumedly positive in return with a salute of its string.
Sadly, their strife was not over; the castle’s front door still stood, presumably locked like the gate. Serene sighed, looking over at Andromeda only to see her kicking a large, already loose stone making up the castle’s structure. The stone fell through, letting dim, cold light from the castle out. She already began climbing through; Serene scrambled to follow after her.
The stone led to a musty hallway, lined with torches of blue fire. Andromeda crept down the hallway, Serene following suit, until they came to an inconspicuous door. “This leads to her lair. Be on your guard, she may be expecting us—” Suddenly, the door burst open, interrupting Andromeda and revealing Kenneth, the snooty prince from her childhood. Before they could panic, or push him down the stairs behind the door, he put a finger up to each of their mouths.
“As long as you agree to my offer, I won’t tell her you’re already here,” Kenneth whispered.
Serene raised an eyebrow. “What’s your boon?”
“Give me two-thousand dollars and my lips are sealed.” He mimed zipping his lips and throwing away the key.
Two thousand dollars?! Serene was ready to push this prepubescent porcupine down the stairs when she remembered this was, in fact, all a dream and started shoveling hundred-dollar bills out of her pocket and into his hands.
With a snicker, Kenneth ran past them, and the spiraling stairs were all that was left between them and possible death. They tiptoed down the stairs without issue and stood in front of the door to the Skeleton Woman’s (Creepsy’s) room.
“Well, this is where I must take my leave. You must face her alone, sadly.” Andromeda lamented, but was suddenly pulled in for a hug by Serene. “Thanks for everything.”
“Same goes for you. Good luck,” and with a smile, she walked back up the crawling stairs.
Breathing in and out, Serene pushed open the door, alone. The room was dark and musty, only illuminated by the single candle already held in Creepsy’s hand. She smiled one of her horrific smiles.
“Why, hello there, Serene.” Creepsy placed the candle on a table nearby. “I’m here to bargain with you.” Serene only stood, confused and untrusting. Didn’t the skeleton woman want to kill her? Creepsy smiled as if reading her thoughts.
“I’ll make you a deal: if you write my story exactly according to how I want it to be, I’ll let you live. If you don’t…” Creepsy trails off, wrath on her face, “well, I’ll make sure this is a dream you won’t wake up from,” she finishes with a smile. Begrudgingly, it is a profitable offer; she doesn’t have to risk death, and the woman gets her awful story. However, she knows what she must do.
“I reject your offer,” Serene states, “For I have a better plan.”
The woman stares in rage, immediately rushing at Serene with a horrible screech. She instantly jumps out of the way. It is a dream, isn’t it? She bounces around with a thrilled fervor.
“I hereby write that your name is no longer—and never has been, truly—Creepsy, it is Irene,” She starts, a firm idea in her head. Before she can lunge again at her, she bounces on to the ceiling.
Irene looks at her in confusion. “What on earth are you doing? And how are you bouncing around like that?!”
Ignoring her, she continues: “Throughout your life, you had always felt lonely; It turned you into a grumpy soul who lived in solitude.” Serene dodges as Irene throws a chair up at her, growling. “However, it all changed one day when you met someone who understood you.” With a flick of her wrist, Irene’s dark gown changed into a light, floral one; Daisies were twined in her stringy hair. “It gave you a new outlook on life: a new way to live.” Irene wasn’t as intent on destroying Serene, it seemed.
She flicked her fingers, and her room became one of vivid greens and blues, picture frames strung about, books and paintings everywhere. Distantly, the entire castle became a bright, inviting castle hung with streamers and banners. Serene looked down, and saw Irene smiling a much gentler smile: happier, truthfully. “And thus, Irene lived happily ever after,”
And so did Serene.
The Smoke Is Always in Our Sky
Three times now, I had almost died, and no one had noticed.
Three times.
Three times.
Now I wondered which would come first; my death, or some acknowledgment.
I rolled over and spit out a mixture of blood and sand, a thousand thoughts running through my head but not a sound coming from my parched mouth. I couldn’t have spoken if I wanted to – but, given the circumstances, I had no desire to. I craned my head left to try and evaluate the damage I had sustained.
Not good.
Not good at all.
The left sleeve of my jacket was shredded and almost entirely covered in blood. How much of it was the blood of ISIS terrorists I had no idea – judging by the searing pain I was feeling it was probably mostly my own. Both my boots were gone, and I had no idea how or when they had disappeared.
I wasn’t surprised though.
I could feel nothing in my left foot; I was pretty sure I had sprained my ankle, and that might have had to do something with it. I squirmed uncomfortably, wincing from the agony the slight movement caused. I was lying on my right side, and while the ground was beginning to feel very hard, I had to be thankful that by some miracle all my worst injuries had been inflicted on my left side.
There was too the small fact that though I had nearly died three times, I hadn’t. My more sane and less half-dead-and-dying- self would have definitely identified that as a miracle. Somehow, the half-dead-and-dying- part of me struggled with that. I closed my eyes against the pain that seemed to shimmer through my body with every heartbeat and tried to comprehend what was going on.
To begin with, I didn’t belong here – ‘here’ being in a small city in Israel during a shock terrorist attack.
Were most terrorist attacks like that? I couldn’t remember. This one certainly had caught me by surprise. I was a reporter for a small news company in Spain and had drove in a couple days ago to cover a story on an obscure prodigy who the Sevilla football club were negotiating a contract with. I was sitting in a chair in the back of a cheap conference room scrawling down notes on the meeting with the boy when everything first started happening.
To be clear, I had no idea that Akko was home to a covert Israeli intelligence operation. Much more significantly, I was completely unaware that ISIS was. Otherwise, I would never have been there. I was not looking to be in the middle of global news just as it was breaking, and I could care less if I was the first person to get the story out or not. Unlike the stereotypical journalist, I was not married to my job. Actually, I was married to a girl from Granada and had three beautiful children – a boy and two girls – under the age of eight. I hadn’t even wanted to fly out to the Middle East for the story I did get, never mind… this.
The first bomb went off only yards away from our building, and I later saw that it blasted away about half of the small complex. The lights in our room had all gone off, and sirens had immediately started blaring. The boy and his two security guards (yes, he had security already) were quickly hustled out, followed by the representatives of the club. I, unsurprisingly, was overlooked in the sudden chaos. I didn’t have a huge price tag over my head; they did. It made sense, even though it pissed me to no end.
By the time I had found my way outside, the city had become a war zone. Explosions and pillars of smoke were rising from dozens of places already, and the sky was full of helicopters and fighter jets. If I had been a trained war-correspondent, I could have told you exactly what models they were. I wasn’t, and I couldn’t.
Pretty soon I noticed that swarms of black-masked people were appearing everywhere, most of them carrying some kind of mean-looking machine gun. I was concerned. As far as I was aware, this kind of high-level penetration by ISIS of Israeli territory was extremely unusual. The very fact that ISIS had airspace over the city was enough to make me wonder if I wasn’t already as good as dead.
I didn’t have time to ask myself where all the Mossad people were — or whoever was supposed to be here to stop the bad-guys. I didn’t have time to do anything. I didn’t have anything. I had flown into a nearby city, then caught a ride into Akko. The hotel, with everything I had brought with me, minus my phone, computer, and notepaper, was miles away. I didn’t know what to do, or where to go. So, I just ran.
Almost immediately I caught the attention of several black-masked marauders, and they began to shoot. Clearly, they couldn’t tell the difference between a soldier and a civilian. Or they just didn’t care. Probably didn’t care.
I hit the ground almost as soon as the first bullet was out of its muzzle and skidded for a few feet before crashing into a wall. I was hit by a wave of heat and shrapnel and my mind completely blanked out.
When I came to, I was in incredible pain, but no less danger. I wasn’t sure what had happened; I might have been shot, but I don’t know. I think a bomb had gone off on the other side of the wall from me, maybe a couple yards back.
Ironically, that bomb had not only nearly taken my life, it had probably also saved it. The terrorists had apparently moved on, assuming that I couldn’t have survived the explosion. I was personally struggling to believe I was still alive, and able to feel every part of my body in electric pain.
I lay there, blanking in and out of consciousness for several minutes while the sounds of battle moved deeper into the city. Eventually, I pulled myself to my feet, glancing around warily, and not a little shaken. I don’t know whether I was in shock, but I certainly wasn’t myself, and I still had no idea what to do. Every few minutes another member of ISIS would come running by the destroyed conference room, eager to join his companions deeper in the battle. None of them seemed to notice me standing there, like a zombie from outer space.
The once sandy little town was now an utter ruin. Thick layers of dust covered everything from the explosions, and buildings stood in partial or complete devastation. Windows were shattered, and glass shards were everywhere; not to mention bits and pieces of rubble on the no longer identifiable streets.
The one thing I didn’t see was bodies.
At first this was a consolation of sorts to me, but the more I thought about it, the more disturbed I grew.
Was I the only victim of this attack?
Dead or alive?
It was a morbid thought.
As I stood there in shock, a sudden noise broke across my oblivion. Voices. Jeeps.
Less than ten seconds later they roared to a stop directly in my line of vision and jumped out, still talking loudly in Arabic. I knew immediately that these were no ordinary ISIS terrorists. These were the leaders, the top-of-the-chain guys, at least for this mission. They had waited for their men to clear out entrance into the city and then had themselves come. There were seven of them, all loaded with weapons that I had never seen before. One of them, clearly the leader, began scanning the area, one hand over his brow to shield his vision from the hot noon sun.
I froze, more from fear than from the realization that to do otherwise would mean death. His eyes swept past me once… twice… three times. Miraculously, I had not been seen. Part of me rejoiced, part of me recoiled at the thought that I was so insignificant. I mean, I was literally standing right there.
He turned back to his men with a short bark of laughter, then surprised me by speaking in English.
“They’re cleared out. Our men did their job well.” His accent was thick and barely distinguishable, but his words came to me clearly.
“Where’s the Phantom?” One of them replied.
“It’s somewhere here, that much we know. The Israelis retreated into the city to take our suspicion away from this location.”
The leader laughed again. “They take big risks, these Jews. How is our informant faring?”
“Dead. Killed him at the very beginning of the attack.”
“Perfect. Now let’s get to work.”
They spread out and, to my horror, began to move in my direction, systematically searching through the rubble – apparently, for what was codenamed the Phantom. I could feel my body trembling as they came nearer.
Once again, I found myself about to die. I had no options, no choices of escape. I had only one chance, and that would be the next closest thing to suicide.
If I could just make it to the Jeep. I closed my eyes, and took a deep breath. Now, or never. With a rushed prayer, I leaned into a dead sprint, making a beeline for the idling truck. Instantly, I was spotted, and bullets sprayed out at me amidst mingled curses in Arabic. The pain in my body was immobilizing, and in just the effort it took to start running I nearly fainted with pain. I nearly lost my balance, leaning haphazardly to my left when thwack! A bullet slammed into my shoulder.
That scream was the last sound I made that day.
Now, lying in agony on my right side behind the ruins of a wall, I wondered if it might be the last I ever made.
I had made it miraculously to the Jeep and roared off. My tires had been shot out almost directly after I had gotten in, and my escape had resulted in a wreck after two or three minutes.
After my third scrape with Death, I was losing grip on my sanity. I could hardly breathe, never mind think.
What had I done to deserve this?
Forget it, I didn’t want to know.
All I wanted to know was that this nightmare was ending, and I could return to my family in Spain and die in peace…
What did it even mean to die in peace? Surely not to die as an innocent on the battlefields of the Middle East. But how different would dying at home with my family be? Less pain, to be sure, and less loneliness. But peace?
How could anyone die in peace?
I half turned, half fell onto my back and stared up at the sky. Trails of smoke still stained the sky.
Or were they just clouds?
For some reason, the sight mesmerized me. Chances were the city was still in combat. Chances were there were still ISIS brutes running around and killing people like me. Chances were that help would still be a long time in coming – if it ever came.
And yet, everything around me seemed to fade. The noises, smells, the pain, the sights – all of it except those beautiful whisps of smoke in the sky.
I woke with a start. All of it was gone. In its place was the beautiful back lawn of my small home in Spain. Beneath me was the hard stone of our patio, and my wife and kids were still splashing around in the pool. I looked up.
And there they were.
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