The Wishing Well by Kaitlin

I like this one. A lot.

The Wishing Well               

                I swear I didn’t mean to do it. All I did was toss a penny into a well and make a wish. How was I supposed to know that it would turn my life upside down? I had everything before—a good job, a pretty nice apartment, real family and friends… and I threw it all away for this. How could I have been so senseless? Well, okay, so maybe I know why I did it. Maybe I didn’t exactly have the greatest situation in the world. Allow me to shine some light.

                It all started in the fifth grade at Silver Gate Elementary School in my hometown of San Diego, California. My then shaggy brown hair and ragged clothes always put me in the eye of ridicule. I guess you could call me the “awkward turtle” of the century because besides being a loser I was also socially disturbed. Every day after rushing home from a painful day of school I would return to an empty home. Plopping myself down in my bed, I would soak my pillow with tears. It was okay that no one was there to see me, and it taught me to really appreciate alone time.

                My mother, the only other one who lived with me in our humble two-bedroom apartment, was a recently divorced single mom who did her best to single-handedly support me—her only child. She was always a very beautiful woman and stood at a respectable 5’8. She had long, curly brown hair which complimented her deep brown eyes. Her face was tired and worn and presented deep worry lines. I always knew she tried her best to provide for me, but the time came when she just couldn’t do it anymore. She often told me she loved me and I knew she did the things she did out of love.

                Every night my mom and I would sing songs together while she cradled me softly in her loving arms. It was a part of our usual nighttime routine to sing, read a story, and play together. Before tucking me in each night my mom would repeat her famous “I love you” line and plant a wet kiss on my forehead. Some of my favorite memories of her were when we would lie down together and sing along to whatever happened to be on the radio that night. I learned to love singing and my mother always told me that I would be a rock star one day.  However, bedtime was the only time I ever saw her. She is gone now, but it’s times like this when I still think of her. I mean if I’m not, then who is?

                Eventually poor little Miranda Hutchings grew up, got away from the bullies, and went to college to be a dental assistant. I decided that I needed to at least try to make something of my life, and I always told myself that it was for her. It was for my mother. Like any other I lived as a poor college student in a one bedroom apartment that was barely big enough to fit a tiny closet filled only with scrubs, a bathroom, and a mini-fridge… and that’s not even counting my rusty old bed that made a horrible screeching noise whenever you laid down on it. However I lived pretty decent considering I only worked part time for a local dentist. Which, I guess, brings me to my job.

                There is one thing I need to get straight: I hate my job. The only reason I ever decided to go into this field was because it was the easiest and fastest degree that paid the most money. But besides well, assisting, I did relatively nothing on the job. The whole thing bored me to death. In fact, the day I almost got fired was the same day that I had made that stupid wish.

                It had been a long day—my boss had come in several times with that sour look on his face that made me want to ask if he’d eaten something unpleasant. Unfortunately, that look didn’t come from indigestion or culinary displeasure. It came with anger and frustration. It came whenever I “messed up.” Don’t get me wrong, I’m a solid employee with a serious work ethic and an undeniable competence in my field. But once in a while, you just can’t please the boss no matter what you do. And this was one of those days.

                “MIRANDA!”

Dr. Anderson stormed over to me and startled me with his loud, booming voice, asking me where I had been for the last twenty minutes when I was scheduled to assist him in pulling the wisdom teeth of a young Parker Lewis. I explained that I had forgotten about the last-minute appointment (which was true) and apologized by assuring my furious boss that it would never happen again. He trudged out of the room while I followed him into his cluttered, messy office. I was scared that my little “incident” would get me fired and so after the young boy’s wisdom teeth were out I decided it would be best for me to leave work early. I was too stressed to work.

I walked over to Heather at the front desk to let her know that I would be leaving early today.

“Oh my goodness… I’m so sorry. Are you alright?” Her face showed genuine concern, which was kind of refreshing. Heather was one of my only friends, and she was a good one at that. If I ever needed something, I came to her. It felt good to have someone that I knew I could trust.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just a little stressed, that’s all.” She wrote into her computer that I had checked out, and on my way out the door I let out a heavy sigh.

As I was finding my way home I walked past my favorite smoothie place: Wishing Well Smoothie & Juice Company. After some hesitation, I talked myself into getting a quick drink. I was a sucker for a good smoothie; they were always refreshing and helped me to feel better. And right now, I needed that.

I sat at a table by a spotless glass window, slurping away at my smoothie. I watched as little kids threw pennies down a wishing well outside the store. It made me smile at how excited they got. It was as if they actually believed their wish would come true. Small children would beg adults for their pennies and would search high and low for a single cent. After acquiring their coin each kid would clutch it in a tight fist, close their eyes, make their wish, and throw the penny into the pit. It was cute how their faces lit up with smiles when they heard it splash at the bottom. That one moment in time would probably end up being the highlight of their day.

I must’ve sat in admiration for hours, and I’ve forgotten what was going through my head at the time. All I can remember is that I wanted to be that happy little child. I wanted to stand in his position and be a kid again. I wanted to throw a penny down that well and make a wish of my own… and so I did. I stood up out of my chair and made a casual beeline to that old wall of bricks. I immediately knew what I would wish for beyond a shadow of a doubt, and it came almost instantly. I tossed an old coin into the well, wishing that I could have someone else’s life.  I wished I grew up talented and in a rich home where I belonged to a large family who loved and supported me. I wished I had gotten everything I’d ever wanted, and finally that my dream of becoming a singer would somehow come true.

I sat with my eyes closed for about 5 minutes when I decided nothing was going to happen. It was a silly thing to do in the first place, and somewhere in the back of my mind I had already known nothing would come true. Yet someplace, hidden in the folds of my imagination, I still hoped that it would. But that’s me, always wishing for something better. Always stuck in the past.

I picked myself up and trudged my way home. Daylight began to drift away from me until finally I found myself in my small creaking bed, in the small blackness of the night, with my small eyes closed, dreaming of my small little world.

                Beep, beep, beep.

                Time for work, I thought to myself as I hit my alarm clock with my fists. I stretched my arms out across my bed with a fatigued yawn, not wanting to get up. But to my utter terror when I reached my arms across my bed I didn’t feel pillows and a wall… I felt a person. I almost screamed before rolling off of my surprisingly quiet bed and on to the floor, where I somehow thought I would be safe. I rubbed my eyes before taking a good long look around the room, only to discover that this was not my room. My first thought was that I was kidnapped, until I looked down and found myself in a gorgeous silk robe and a fancy manicure.

I scanned the room searching for answers. Upon the walls were black-framed images of me and the strange man I saw in my bed. My heart turned ice cold and nearly stopped in my chest when I saw one of the two of us kissing and holding hands. The good news was that I looked beautiful, as did my extremely good looking partner. The bad news was that he was in a tuxedo and I was in a wedding dress.

I kept looking around the room as strange memories begun flashing though my mind. Memories I didn’t even know I had. I suddenly remembered that I worked at a local high school as a choir director, and that I had graduated last year with my Master’s in Piano Performance. I remembered that I was married, and that my husband—Cordell—was a very successful lawyer and District Attorney for the city of San Diego. At first I was scared and felt helpless. I didn’t know what was going on, and I was so confused. But then something struck me that I found very interesting.

I was living my dream life.

I began getting ready for school, immediately deciding that I would go along with it. After all, this was my life now. I entered into a grand walk-in closet (something I had always dreamed of having) filled with the finest of clothes. In fact, to my great joy, there were no scrubs in sight! I dressed myself in a beautiful outfit and paired it with a great little ballet flat.

After I was done with myself, I looked over at my hubby and decided he deserved something lovely too. I walked over to him and put my hand to his sleeping face. He really was a handsome man, and I determined right then that living here might actually be fun. I found my way into a large kitchen just opposite my bedroom wall and began preparing a nice pancake breakfast for my sleeping sweetheart.  

I lived in such a way for about a month. At first it was great living in a big fancy house and having my dream job. It was a pleasure not having to clean up after myself because I could afford maids. I felt exhilarated in the simple joy of having found love, and Cordell was a great guy. But after a while, things started to get boring. I began to realize that maybe this was all staged, and that maybe my “utopia” wasn’t all that it was caught up to be.

I kept living with Cordell, as a high school choir director, and kept talking myself into sticking it out. I convinced myself that maybe it was just a bad attitude that I was having.

But as I kept going through with things, life just slowly became more and more mediocre. I missed the way I actually used to have to work to get things, and how I knew that everything I had I had worked hard to get. None of this was really any better than my old life and all of it was just handed to me because I wished I was married to a rich guy. I didn’t like it… any of it. I found myself not being able to believe my husband when he told me he loved me. Of course he was my fairytale man, but he just didn’t seem real to me. He was just there. It all was, and it was weird. I wanted my old life back.

I took the day off work again and sat in front of the wishing well from sunrise to sunset. I said to myself over and over in my head that I knew I had learned my lesson. I cried to the heavens that I knew I needed to work for what I had and that my life was so much better than I gave it credit for. I wished for my life back a thousand times, explaining in my head that I never really realized how amazing things were until they were gone. Over the course of the day I gathered over 300 pennies and repeatedly threw them into the well, wishing for my life back. I wanted things to be real again. But still, nothing happened.

And so, after night fell around 10:00 pm, I gave up. This was what I got and what I was so fixed on getting. But hey, I got my dream life. I got everything I’d ever wished for and it was all just handed to me. And so I went home to Cordell, who I knew was probably watching his Monday night football right now.

I dreamed nightmares and scary dreams that night. I kicked, and screamed, and cried furiously until I decided it was no use. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t sleep next to him, I couldn’t sleep in this big huge comfortable mattress, and I couldn’t live like this anymore. I woke up in the middle of that night sobbing and wishing I would somehow be able to cry myself back.

But as I sat up furiously with open eyes in my bed that night, I realized where I was. I heard a long, irritating squeal; one that I never thought I would be relieved to hear. I was back in my old screechy bed, in my little old apartment, back with my old life. For the first time in a really long while I realized something very special.

I was home.

And I had learned one of the most important lessons of my life. 

How I Met Your Neighbor by Kaitlin Gray

This one is a little sad.. but oh well. My prompt was to develop characters through dialogue. How did I do?

Sometimes Andy wondered about those mysterious Greek philosophers. They were always pondering one question: what is the purpose of life? Andy wondered if they ever found an answer. He wondered if anyone cared that he was still alive, and it had always scared him that no one did. But what frightened him even more is that maybe, somewhere deep down inside, death didn’t scare him… and maybe that was Andy’s problem. Maybe he wanted to die.

                “Hello, Lexi! Nice to meet you.” A young, pretty looking girl shook hands with Andy’s daughter Lexi, a bright smile lighting up her small round face. “My name is Natalie Brown. Oh,” She turned to Andy. “You must be her father! I’m sure you are very proud.”

                Andy awkwardly patted his daughter’s back. “Yes, very proud.” His old wrinkled face feigned a smile before sitting down in a small red chair in the girl named Natalie’s office.

                “Well, congratulations on winning the district spelling bee! I’m sure you’ve been working very hard, haven’t you? For heaven’s sakes, and at only nine years old!” Lexi was smiling ear to ear and seemed very pleased with herself. Andy was glad she was happy.

                “Okay,” Natalie began. “so I am going to ask you a few questions. Then, in about two days we’ll have you featured in the newspaper for everyone to see. Does that sound okay? Great! Then let’s get started.”   

                The interview only lasted about twenty minutes, all of which Andy spent with closed eyes combing his fingers through his hair. Finally, as the interview began to come to an end, his daughter shook him softly. “Daddy…?” Andy hadn’t forgotten his promise to buy his daughter an ice-cream when the interview was all over. Flustered, he handed Lexi a crumpled-up one dollar bill. “Thanks! I’ll just be next door at the ice cream shop, okay?” Lexi jumped out of her seat and ran for the door. That was the most excited Andy had seen her all day.

                As Andy began to stand up he heard a deep, heavy sigh that very much took him by surprise. It was Natalie. “You…” Andy paused. “You alright?”  

                Natalie slouched as Andy sat back down, staring into her deep blue eyes. “Oh, I’m sorry. Yes. Well… I mean… not exactly. But it’s okay.” Natalie sighed again, and Andy could tell something was definitely on her mind. Something she needed to talk about. “It’s just that I don’t feel right. I’m not really where I want to be right now, you know? The whole time I’ve been here all I’ve been doing is editing this newspaper and writing these dumb little fifth-page articles. I’ve always wanted to find a story that is front-page material, and so all this time I’ve been looking for something inspiring. Sometimes I just get stressed out about it all, but I stay hopeful that someday I’ll find that one story that my boss will think is promotion worthy. Maybe then I’ll actually be a real writer.”

                Andy chuckled a little. He knew how she felt, and he often felt that way too. He felt as if he didn’t measure up, like no one really even cared about him. For so long he had kept his feelings inside and his stories to himself. But somehow he felt like he could really trust Natalie. Somehow, things had just been bottled up a little too long.

                “I know how you feel.” Andy spoke plainly, not very sympathetic, but simply trying to be friendly.

                Things never got really bad for Andy Moore up until his wife died. In fact, today marked the exact two year anniversary of her death. Two years ago Julie Moore, his wife, died in a car accident. Her death had left him with two kids he didn’t know what to do with. Neither of his kids really seemed to ever bond with him, and something just always felt like it was missing; but he didn’t know what. Luckily, Andy’s younger sister McKenna came to the rescue after Julie’s death and moved in with his family. She watched the kids during the day and does what a regular mom would do. You know, cook and clean, play games, and read and stuff. She was really good to them and they always seemed to have lots of fun with her.

                Andy talked on and on. He talked about how his wife used to laugh, and the way her eyes would light up when she was happy. He thought back to their wedding day, and remembered the time they used to spend together. He remembered their first date, and how he slipped and fell in the mud while he was walking her home. And now, here he was thinking of his wife on the day she died. He spoke all of this to Natalie; he needed to get it off of his chest. As he spoke tears began to fall from his eyes, until nothing could harness his pain. To make matters more fun, today Andy explained that he had lost his job and didn’t know how he was planning on providing for his family.

                Natalie suddenly didn’t feel so bad anymore. She felt this man’s pain, and apparently so did his daughter Lexi who had just returned back from her little excursion. Their eyes began to mimic waterfalls and all Natalie could think about was how sorry she was for Andy. In comparison her once dull life now seemed almost perfect. She suddenly felt so close to this man, though she had only met him about 45 minutes ago. Natalie simply wished that there was some way she could show him some sort of comfort. If only there was a way to change his past, bring back his wife. She only desired that she could speak but somehow all that emerged from her lips were two small words.

                “I’m sorry.”

                “No, I’m sorry. Listen, I didn’t mean to ruin your day.” He paused to wipe a tear from his big, puffy red eyes. “I just needed to get it out, you know?”

                Natalie totally understood. “Listen, if there is anything I can do to help… give me a call.” She shoved one of her business cards toward Andy, who graciously accepted.

                “Thanks, but I don’t think you’d want to. We live in this awkward little side of town up behind Traverse Mountain. Only a few houses live back there, and it’s quite a ways from the rest of the city—“

                Natalie interrupted with a newfound excitement. “Wait, do you live in Harvest Valley? I live there too, on Ruby Way!” Andy was dumbfounded, and it proved evident on his face.

“Wait, you do?” A slow smile began to creep up Andy’s face, and he felt something he hadn’t felt in a very long time.

He felt relief.

Over the course of the next few months the Moore family became very good friends with their new neighbor Natalie Brown. On Saturdays, when she had work off, she would come over to Andy’s house just to play with his kids. Sometimes, Natalie would even bring dinner to their house just to be nice. They would go on walks together, play catch with Andy’s little boy in the back yard, and make crafts together. Every Sunday, Andy’s younger sister would throw a barbeque in their backyard and invite Natalie. Natalie grew to be almost a part of their family, and she fit very well there. It was nice to have a friend, and the entire family seemed to become lighter and happier. Andy saw it in their eyes.

One particular Sunday, after having had at least two hamburgers a piece, the group sat in a circle in their freshly-mowed summertime lawn. They had decided that they would tell stories, and Natalie was a very good storyteller.

“But, in the end, the brave little Pinky survived the evil witch and restored peace throughout the entire kingdom.” The children laughed cheerfully, and the entire group seemed to love the story. Bright, beautiful smiles proved evident on each person’s face and as it seemed, right then and there, everything was completely perfect.

“We should act it out!” Jake, Andy’s son, quickly picked up a nearby branch and said with an unprompted enthusiasm, “This branch can be a sword, and you can be the witch, Lexi! And then I can stab you with it to get the ring!”

 “Whoooaaa!” Everyone seemed to say at once, especially Lexi who didn't seem to horribly fond of the idea.

                “I think your daddy has a story to tell, and you guys are going to love it.” Andy's sister McKenna said. Andy seemed hesitant, though Natalie wasn't quite sure why.

As McKenna tried to pry Andy's story out of his heart, she tore apart his smile. “Oh, come on! It's just a story, and it's kind of fun. If you don't tell it then I will.”

                Natalie remained silent while Andy and McKenna exchanged glances. “Fine.” He said. “Here goes.” He cleared his throat as everyone got comfortable. Natalie was excited for this one; she loved stories. If only she knew how this story would change her life forever.

 Andy told of an old man by the name of “Andrew,” who lived a very sad life. All his life Andrew tried to make others happy. He thought that no one should have to be as miserable as he was. Each and every day Andrew would do one small act of kindness for someone else. He left quarters in gumball machines to make kids' days. He left five dollar bills on the ground for the people that didn't have their own. He bought homeless people blankets and food, and every once in a while went to work at the soup kitchen. He donated to charities anonymously, and bought the groceries of the people in line in front of him at the store. He spent his whole life in such a way so as to bring happiness to others. It made Andrew feel good to help people, and he did it for his own well-being and enjoyment.

               

As Andy spoke on, Natalie's eyes only became wider and wider. This story was amazing... like, front page material. She sat in awe, unable to move or speak. Andy ended his story with one small piece of advice Natalie would never forget. He told of a line he had been taught as a young boy, which read: 'Everything will be okay in the end. If it's not okay, it's not the end.'

               

After a moment of heavy silence Lexi said, “I liked Natalie's story better, dad.”

               

“Yeah, me too. Let's go act it out, Lexi!” Jake said, picking up his branch and chasing his younger sister away.

               

Silence rang through the air as Natalie's head swam with questions. Finally, her young face lit up with excitement. Her heart suddenly began to race and her face revealed the biggest smile in the world. “This is just the story I've been looking for! It's inspiring, it's secret, and it could totally make the front page! This story could change my life... get me promoted. I can just see it now: 'How to Make Someone's Day; Advice That Can Save You When Drowning in Life--”

               

“No.” Andy and McKenna said at once, fixed and demanding. In one second they went from being perfectly fine to being stern and angry. What did Natalie say wrong?
               

“When someone trusts you with something, you don't just go telling the whole world.” McKenna said without any hint of sympathy in her voice.

               

“There is a reason this story is secret. I don't want praise for this,” Andy began. “I just want to make a difference. This isn't something to share; and I am very serious Natalie.”

               

But what did she care? This is just what she'd been searching for her entire life and it could make all her dreams finally come true. So their story would get out, big whoop. So would Lexi's story about winning the spelling bee! And Natalie would substitute Andy's name so no one would know it was him. It really wouldn't be a big deal, and it could make such a difference in other people's lives! No harm no foul right?

               

She soon left the Moore's house, and didn't return for over two months after the story was published. That same morning she had removed the newspaper from the front lawn of Andy’s house, and had assumed that he’d never found out that she had put his story in the paper. Her article had ended up making the front page, checking off number two on Natalie’s bucket list. Even more important was the check that symbolized her accomplishment of number one: to be promoted to a writer. And after all her dreams had come true, she finally got over herself and decided it was time to apologize to Andy.

Natalie drove by his house once a day for about a week, and each time she got her hopes up she chickened out. But one particular day there was an odd amount of cars in front of Andy’s house, and she assumed that McKenna was getting married or Andy had saved another person’s life or something. What she later found was that she was so horribly wrong.  And so horribly late.

Natalie decided she was just going to man up and get it over with. Besides, she didn’t want to miss out on what was probably a great party. But when Natalie stepped inside the house there was no brightness, or cheering, or laughter. All she could see was black. Everyone was dressed in black, the house was decorated in black, and black tablecloths covered the tables. And it seemed odd that everywhere she looked there were a bunch of pictures of Andy.

Oh no, she thought.

“It was a car crash, just like Julie.” McKenna said, sobbing.

And in the center of the room stood a big picture of Andy and his wife, with their backs toward the camera, walking away together. And underneath that was a large plaque that read:

Everything will be okay in the end. If it’s not okay, it’s not the end.

But for Andy it was okay, he was with his wife again.

But for Andy, it was the end. 

The Hole by Kaitlin

In my Creative Writing class we have been working on writing short stories. Of course, along with that comes plot lines, how to get into conflict, how to be descriptive, how to resolve stories, and things like that. Anyways, we have been developing, writing, and editing our first ever short stories for a while and today was the day they came due. Every time our class has written assignments due, that class period we all read what we wrote for our class. At the end of the period, after everybody has gone, our teacher calls a vote to see what story was the class favorite. This time, only on my very first short story in this particular class, I felt like I had done really well writing and presenting. At the end of class, when it came time to vote, guess how many votes I got? Out of 40 submitted stories, 40 possible ways to vote, twenty-three people in my class voted for my story. Needless to say, I won. I think I might be good at this whole writing thing :)

This is the story I wrote. My mom say's its a little creepy, but whatever. All my stories always seem to have a certain theme... hmmph. I think my next short story will be about puppies or something. ;)

THE HOLE BY KAITLIN GRAY

All of the kids knew where it was. Last year, many of them had helped dig it. It was around 30 feet deep; an abyss that felt small and bottomless once you hit the ground. The blackness down there was almost tangible. It was creepy being in that hole.

We always kept a ladder near the famous tree that shadily covered our amazing hole with its long, leafy branches. Its crisp autumn leaves were helpful near this time of year, because we were able to hide the ladder underneath them. We kept it hidden so that no one helped to cheat out on a dare. At least two people a day would be dared to hop inside it, and we would all sneak outside our school, Westview High, at lunchtime to see it. Not that anyone did that anymore, though. Not since last month when a bullet zipped through the air and tried to kill my best friend.

And tried to kill me.

“You can do it, Drew! Fifteen more seconds and you will have beat the school's record by a full two minutes!” Andrew was my best friend. We'd known each other since the second grade and have lived next-door to each other almost our entire lives. He was tall and strong with the most gorgeous chocolate brown eyes I'd ever seen. His skin reflected his eyes and hair—which topped off his perfection. All the girls loved him… how could you resist?

“No. I can't do it, Sara. I can't! Just let me out already... I've had enough!” Drew was the quarterback on our high school's football team. As a jock, crying would have ruined his reputation. I could tell he was trying so hard to hold his emotions back, and finally I let him win.

“Okay, guys.” I said to the group around me, there to watch Drew suffer. “Let's let him out.” Another kid grabbed the ladder and lowered it down to him. Before I could even blink Drew had climbed up and was standing opposite me.

It was then that it came. A bullet, tearing through the air with one intention in mind: to kill.

It was a loud piercing sound that made the air ring with vibration. I fell flat on my back out of a sudden fear, and my heart began to race faster than a cheetah. That's when I realized I knew that sound. It was the sound of a single bullet, tearing through the seams of life.

The crowd stopped their mumbling, and the air turned to dead silence. I turned around as fast as I could and saw Drew on the ground cradling his arm. A small part of his shirt began to turn a deep red; and he looked startled and afraid. “They missed.” He said plainly.

Other kids began putting the usual saran wrap and leaves back over our hole, so that no one would find it. We all started back to the school, our thoughts heavy and distressed. It was no secret that someone had tried to shoot Drew... but why?

That night a familiar chime rang throughout my house that sent me racing to my bedroom to get my purse. The day's events had left me in a whirlwind of emotions, and I was looking to escape and go have some fun. Through the hall I heard my mother’s voice. “Come in, Drew.”

Driving to Talia's party, Drew seemed odd and shaken up. He had told me that the bullet barely missed him, although he had felt it rush by his arm. It had directed a flash of pain that had sent him flying backward; but he'd been lucky. Finally, we arrived at Talia's house in the blackest of nights. Drew and I stood ready to dance the night away. I felt happy and excited as I shut the door to our car, ready to leave the past behind me.

Loud music exuded from inside the walls of an expensive-looking house. Darkness faded as we approached the door and were showered with light. I could only ever wonder what the house looked like from the inside. A tall, thin man in all black grabbed me away from a crowd, and silenced my attempted screams. About ten minutes into the party was when Drew finally realized I was missing.

He began looking for me, and had no luck until he started outside and found me in an awkward corner of Talia's backyard. Faintly, a subtle crunch of autumn leaves gave him away. After that he cried, “SARA!” though his voice couldn't compete with the superfluous sounds that oozed from inside the house. Even if it had, no one would've saved me. They were all too drunk to care.

The man's attention diverted, but only for a moment. He wasn't about to let me go. My lungs felt crushed underneath him, and I felt as if I was going to pass out. Plump tears turned my vision blurry, and left small dark splotches on my clothing. I gasped for air as if I had been drowning, and attempted to mutter one final word: why?

The man laughed, and Drew began moving closer. “You see this scar?” He pointed to a long line of skin that stretched the length of his face. “Your parents did that. Two years ago, on the night of November 12^th. The night my wife died.” Now he was sobbing, and I felt his grip become tighter. I racked my memory. It wasn’t long until I realized that that was also the night my parents had gotten in a car crash… the night before they left me.

Puzzle pieces began fixing together in my head. Now it made sense. Two years ago my parents had caused a wreck on I-80, killing and injuring a Taylor and Wilson Stewart. They hadn’t meant for it to happen, and soon after the crash they had mysteriously disappeared. A phone call from a payphone had been sent to a babysitter that night that had left me in the precious care of my aunt and uncle.

“You… must… pay, Sara Lewis!”

“Wait!” Drew interrupted, and began inching closer to the man called Wilson. “This chick just broke up with me.” He spat in my direction, but didn’t actually hit me. “I’ll help you.” Drew smiled one of his million-dollar smiles, and if I hadn’t known him for so long I would’ve believed his feigned hatred.

“But we can’t do it here.” Drew said. “It’s too obvious… you’ll get caught. I know just the place.” Wilson smiled, going along with the plan.

I felt deserted and alone sitting in the trunk of Wilson’s car. It was as if an icy shadow dispersed throughout my entire field of sight; and I felt helpless and distraught. It was an eerie, tangible sort of darkness which gave me a feeling of absolute terror. My eyes were closed tight, unable to face reality. My hands and feet began feeling numb underneath the binding rope. My mouth tasted nothing but dryness and the salt of my tears.

It wasn’t long before we arrived at the school, and I was flung out of the trunk. I felt my bones crush underneath me. It was then that I decided I was going to die. Drew picked me up with a gentle force, and motioned for Wilson to follow him. We began to wind around a path I knew all too well.

“The twine around Sara’s mouth is coming loose.” Drew began. “Can you hand me your knife so I can cut some more?” He mouthed the word ‘sorry’ before throwing me hard onto the ground. My entire body ached in pain.

“No.” Wilson said, firmly. “I’ll do it.” Apparently he wasn’t as dumb as Drew had thought. He grabbed his bundle of cord and held out a piece for Wilson to cut. Just as he began to saw, Drew threw Wilson to the ground and seized his knife. At least playing football is good for something, I thought. Wilson quickly regained his balance, but Drew was already ahead of him. He pointed the knife at his neck, and began inching toward him ever so slowly. Wilson inched backward, and within three steps he was gone. Shrieks had become all too familiar to me; and Wilson’s were hideous and coarse. He stopped when he hit the bottom, and fell silent soon thereafter.

“He might’ve hit his head on the rock.” Drew said, running toward me. “He’ll only be out for a few minutes, which means we have to hurry.” He cut my ropes with his knife, and left me heaving air in and out of my lungs. I was too lightheaded to speak or move, but I signaled for Drew to call 911. The round moon began slowly turning to a crescent, until all light had ceased in existence. My eyes began to feel increasingly heavy, and before I knew it the world only existed in my dreams.

My life soon returned back to normal. Drew and I returned to school, my popularity levels skyrocketed, and I had begun to actually put an effort I had previously been lacking into school. In fact, I ended that year having made Honor Roll. But ever since that day I have pondered one question that will guide my life forever: what if I died tomorrow? 

What if we all died tomorrow, knowing only in our heads a life which we so unadventurously lived? What would happen when that bullet, so unforgiving, took our very last breath as his own? And when that happened we’d lay motionless as our life ended; endless images running through our minds of time we so unappreciatively wasted. Time is precious, you see, and without adventure treasurable time is lost. We should make mistakes, live life. Without doing so we are merely a ghost; undead, yet lifeless. There is no point to live if your life is filled with nothing out of the ordinary. Life isn’t life without mistakes. Always remember, mistakes are adventure, and adventure is life. Without adventure you would be dead.

You would die tomorrow.

I have since lived by that philosophy, and it has guided me down paths I had never imagined possible. In the end the cops arrested Wilson, who is now serving a lifetime sentence. Who would’ve thought that a measly hole would end up saving my life in the end? Well, that and the help of a good friend. 

Inspiration

"Success is not the key to happiness.
Happiness is the key to success.
If you love what you are doing,
you will be successful."
- Albert Schweitzer

Maybe this will give you guys some inspiration. You can apply this to writing, work, and even life in general. For the prompt this week, maybe write something about being successful....

Possibilities

“When she was just a girl, she expected the world. But it flew away from her reach, so she ran away in her sleep… and dreamed of Paradise.” –Coldplay

 Written by Kaitlin Gray

                Sometimes it led me to wonder. Why things weren’t different, why the world was in chaos, why nobody did anything about it.

                In those days, I was always sad. Too busy being sorry for myself to realize anything outside of my own pity party. I wanted everything to be perfect. I wanted things to be used, and people to be loved… not vice-versa. I wanted my parents to live happily ever after, just like they always dreamed they would. I wanted to dream, and I wanted my dreams to come true. But they weren’t.

                I wanted to be a professional soccer player. They were successful, made a lot of money. But I also wanted to be a fashion designer, and that wasn’t going to happen. And they certainly weren’t both going to come true. Nothing seemed hopeful anymore, and I got stuck in that. Trapped in that awful rut of carelessness. I didn’t care; nothing was going my way anyway. What was the point?

                Sometimes, I would take out a sketch pad and pencil and just draw. I drew my very own line of clothes, and to me they were fabulous. I thought I was a genius… But then I cut myself off. “Who am I?” I said. It’s better to just stop dreaming and focus on reality, isn’t it?

                I wanted everything to be picture-perfect. And reality wasn’t faultless.

                In bed, I laid down in ponderous thought. On few occasions I would look out at the stars, and lose myself in wonder. They were so large, so powerful lighting up the night sky. And yet to me, so many lightyears away, they seemed small… one was as unimportant as the other. If one were to disappear tomorrow, I would’ve never known. For, you see, there were trillions more. I felt quite the same.

                My dreams were the only thing in my life I looked forward to. In them I could escape. My mind could travel in ways I never imagined. Once, I even dreamed I could fly… and through my sleep I could feel myself grin silently.

                In dreams, anything is possible. Sometimes I even dared to think that things were in fact perfect. My parents had their fairytale ending, and I had mine. I was double… both a fashionista and a soccer player. I led a double life, and nothing was wrong with that. In truth, everything was fine and dandy.

                What really made an impact, however, was one specific night, when my dreams were all of the above. They gave me a false hope, which I couldn’t easily let go. Things were being used, people loved, and there wasn’t a care in the world. Everything was peaceful, and everything generating bliss. It was the perfect heaven, where my life was suddenly transformed into everything I ever wanted, and more.

                What I woke up to that same morning was, in all truth, reality. The same reality I woke up to every morning, but this time it was different.

                I used to think, “there are so many problems in the world, why doesn’t someone do something about it?”

                And then I realized… I am someone.

                And that changed everything.  

Kaitand Xander and Hanna time ti write....what about the sounds and smells and feelings of summer? Do you like the heat, the feel of the sun on your skin? I know that I still love the smell of suntan lotion and I like to use coconut smelling shampoo because back in my day or "the" day we used coconut oil for tanning lotion and we would spread it all over our bodies and they would glisten with oil and grains of sand would stick to the oil we'd lathered all over ourselves...I love, love, loved the feel of the sun, the warmth of the sand, the breezes that kicked up just enough to evaporate the sweat on our skins. I loved the sound of the ocean and the rolling, back and forth motion of the waves.and,of course, I'll Ed walking along the shore on the hard wet sand next to the water's edge;picking up the broken shel sand rinsing the sand from them to discover what colors and beauty might be hidden. I loved tossing a frisbie, watching it spin on the air and glide to a friend or flop mercilessly on a sun tanner's head or neck or bottom and I loved the laughing and giggling as someone was sent to rescue the offensive frisbee from the irate sunbather...I loved beach volleyball. I loved diving into the sand to save a ball or leaping high to smash it across the net....I really loved the sound of transistor radios pounding out the sounds of Neal "forever in bluejeans" or Paul and john wanting to "let it be" Sotellmeyou writer club members "what do you love about summer?"

Check it out!

If you haven't ever been to this website, go now. Right now.
It is a website for amature writers, giving them tips and ideas on how to improve their skills and be better at what they do. The website helps you in getting you ready and prepared to effectively write, edit, and eventually lead up to every writers dream... to publish.
Go now to http://www.writersdigest.com/

On this website I found some really cool tips for creative writing: (My favorite kind:))

"1. Watch out for subtle wordiness. We’ve all been taught to eliminate redundancies in our writing, but it takes constant vigilance to catch the most elusive culprits—those that go beyond redundancy into pleonasm.
Pleonasm is the use of words unnecessary for clear expression. Here are some other common offenders to watch for:

• advanced warning
• basic fundamentals
• circulated around
• close proximity
•close scrutiny
• constant nagging
• downward descent
• exact replica
• exact same
• new discovery
• top priority

Isn’t that a great list for more concise writing?

"2. Don’t use a long (read: complicated) word where a short (read: simple) word will do. Here’s an interesting analysis of why less really is more when it comes to your writing:

In 10 novels I studied, I found bestselling novelists consistently use shorter words than non-bestsellers. It’s one of the reasons their writing reads at a faster pace. The samples from the bestsellers I studied averaged 4.21 characters a word. Other samples I analyzed for comparison averaged about a full character more. In the worst corporate writing samples I studied, it’s common for samples to average more than 6 characters per word. In academic journals, writing is so dense as to be unreadable at more than 7 letters per word.

"3. Redefine how you think of writer’s block. I’ve never heard anyone define it in quite this way before:

“Writer’s block is real but intangible. It is a momentary lack of anything to say that gives rise to the fear that you have nothing more to say—ever. … Coming to the end of speech can be a moment of blessed silence, and ought to be welcomed when it comes rather than featured. It isn’t the lack of something to say or write at the moment that is the problem, but the fear generated by the story that this present quiet will extend through the rest of your life.”

Sort of makes it sound easy to eliminate that anxiety, doesn’t it?

"4. Write more by setting a smaller daily goal. If you’re one of those writers who struggles with finding time to write, here are some convincing reasons why this approach might work for you:

• It’s easier to find smaller bites of time than long, uninterrupted periods.
• Repetition strengthens habits.
• Repetition also builds momentum.
• If it’s only for 15 minutes, you can justifiably postpone other tasks. You can reverse procrastination—instead of procrastinating the start of your writing, you procrastinate following the distractions that used to keep you from writing.
• You can envision letting go of all the other things competing for your attention and allow yourself to really focus, because it’s for only 15 minutes. This kind of focus, where we get lost in the writing, is one of the biggest joys of writing.

"5. Don’t abandon your other passions to focus on writing. I love the way Austin Kleon puts this in Steal Like an Artist: 10 Things Nobody Told You About Being Creative (Workman):

“Don’t throw any of yourself away. If you have two or three real passions, don’t feel like you have to pick and choose between them. Don’t discard. Keep all your passions in your life. This is something I learned from playwright Steven Tomlinson. Tomlinson suggests that if you love different things, you just keep spending time with them. ‘Let them talk to each other. Something will begin to happen.’ The thing is, you can."

So there you go... a few writing tips from a great website... just to get you started off on the right foot:)