So, This Christmas

Ch.1) The House of Means, Greeds, the Checkers

So there we were. Dragging our bodies down those dark and street-light infested streets. Of course, I wasn’t alone, I was with my dork of a brother. Yes, just two children (one 14, one 10), walking down those streets of Brooklyn. Downtown Brooklyn. We were about to return to a house of trudging demons.

You may ask, “Where are your parents?”  Truth is, I don’t know. We’re orphans. We’re not the nicest or smartest kids, but let me tell you, we’re courageous and strategic, for we had already been through six (about to be seven) foster homes. It doesn’t matter what people think of me. Nope. Not one bit of my blood-pumping, disgusting looking heart cares. My brother, on the other hand, has doubts. When his blood boils he’s the feistiest ten-year-old ever.

We were still walking; it was about 6:30 pm, and we were coming to an intersection. Metal on wheels was bustling and thronging the intersection. After all, it was winter, and families were traveling to and from destinations to see relatives. The air was frosted and reeked like exhaust. The ground was covered in white and brown slush, which you can’t help but step in without intention.

Yet, you draw back to the question of, “where are you trying to go?”  Caleb and I were taking a nice amble from our school. No, we didn’t get out late, and we usually don’t walk. We missed the bus on the coldest night of December, unfortunately. It was as cold as icebergs covered in antifreeze. We called Mr. and Mrs. Checker to come get us, but they were too tied up in Christmas, Kaci, and Anthony. So there we were, about to cross that dirty and polluted intersection.

Finally, we made it. Not to “the house” exactly, but the street next to it. That street seemed peaceful, calm, and well-respected. So did ours, I guess, but not “the house” in particular.

There we were. We arrived at the most pathetic house in all of Brooklyn. “The Checkers’.” We continued to walk up the water-corroded, concrete stairs to find a nicely set up porch. I was skeptical to walk on those stairs because it felt like we were walking on pillow tops of moss. We stared forward to find a white metal door with an umbrella shaped window. Caleb and I continued to walk persistently. We finally hit the lit-up, yellow doorbell hesitantly. And, there they were.

“Where were you?” asked Mrs. Checker.

            “Walking,” I replied. “We’re frostbitten red.”

“You should’ve worn a heavier jacket,” replied little snot-nosed Anthony.

“Listen, you wouldn’t know the struggle,” I said. “We’ve had the same hoodies for months, and no one’s cared to buy us a jacket.” I rotated to the right to see my little brother about to snap. His face was bright red, and tears drew to his eyes.

Kaci and I differed the most, as I was into sports and outdoor activities and she was into barbie dolls and princess dresses. Kaci was much prettier than me with straight blonde hair and blue eyes. I had dark red-brown hair and green eyes. Even though green eyes are rare and special with only about 2% of the population having them, I had never felt special with the Checkers.

Caleb and Anthony were fairly similar in looks. They both had dirty blonde hair and brown eyes. Yet, Caleb didn’t whine every two seconds over the smallest of things.

“You have chores, Chloe,” said Mrs. Checker.

“Why do I do everything?” I asked. “Ask your overly petty daughter to do something!”

“You take that back!” Mrs. Checker said, glancing over at Kaci as she made herself “cry.”

“No!” I screamed loudly. “You always treat me like a piece of garbage!”

            I scurried upstairs, made an abrupt left, ran down the hallway with loud, strident floor boards into one of the smaller rooms, and slammed the door. That room just so happened to be mine. It’s not your typical 14-year-old girl room. I sleep on a futon, because you know, real beds are irrelevant to teenagers. I hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in months. I was lucky to have a pillow in that house of brats and greedy people. Even that pillow was adamantine. It was like a boulder in cloth.

I wanted a lot of things that Christmas, but I usually had gotten the hand-me-downs from the past year’s Christmas’. Or better yet, they’d usually be wrapped in Christmas paper. An utmost tease! The Checkers were as cold as the below average temperatures we had been receiving.

I hated that house, I hated that life, I hated that “family.” It was all fake, fake, and more fake. But, what was I to do?

-Kaylynn Buonpastore

CHAPTER SEVEN - MIKE

Mike had just called out to whom he thought were Henry and Leo after hearing a scream and then an argument. He heard a shout back — “Is that Mike?” It echoed on all the buildings, making the world seem very cave-like.

“Yes it is!” he replied across the wide street. “Where are you?”

“In Henry’s apartment across the street!”

“I’ll meet you there! By the way, what was the scream about?”

“It’s a long story! I’ll tell you when you get here!”

So Mike walked down the stairs, floorboards creaking. He crossed the black street, went into the little store, ran up the creaking stairs, and, suddenly, started screaming. A monster had gotten him.

He saw the monster. It was a gooey pale bluish green blob. It was disgusting, and it was wrapping itself around him, preparing to ingest.

“Leo! Henry! Help me!” he screamed desperately. “I’m right by the door!”

“We’re coming!” came the reply.

“Good! I’m being eaten by a monster!”

When Leo and Henry burst out of the door, they found that he wasn’t exaggerating. The gooey slimy mess of a monster was all over the wooden floor, attempting to absorb Mike! Henry became unaware of what he was doing. He grabbed a fork and started eating the monster, its slime making a squelching sound as he squeezed it between his teeth.

“This is really good,” he said with his mouth full.  But it was evident that he wasn’t going to finish eating the monster in time. Mike was getting sucked further and further in.

“My legs are feeling a little mushy!” Mike shouted.

“Mike!” Leo shouted, “start eating it!”

But Mike was way too repulsed by the odor to even think about it. “You do it!” he shouted back to Leo.

So Leo started eating the creature. It was disgusting, but he kept at it. But he started to feel a slight crawling in his stomach. He stopped. The crawling grew. He screamed.

Henry heard the screaming and stopped for a moment.

He then asked, “What just happened?”

Leo then realized what had just happened.

“No!” he screamed. “I won’t take it! I can’t stand it!”

Henry didn’t understand.

“Of course you don’t!” Henry shouted. “That’s the problem! You have superpowers and don’t know it! You never can know it and you can’t control them!”

But as he was screaming, there was still that growing squirming feeling at the bottom of his stomach, worming its way into his intestines.

It continued squirming up. And down. At the same time. Without stopping. The squirming sound got more and more amplified until, suddenly, it stopped. Silence followed. It was deafening.

But it was silence with sound. It felt silent, but he could clearly hear the gooey monster trying to consume Mike.

When Leo processed the sound of the monster once more, he came to his senses and sprang into action, arms darting around. He started grabbing the monster with his bare hands, completely disregarding the feeling in his stomach. He started tearing it to bits.

“Why didn’t we think of this earlier?” he asked.

Soon, the monster was fully broken up. It was only then that Leo threw up.

“My legs are feeling mushy,” said Mike. But as he said that, the feeling went away.

“That was close,” Henry said.

-Noah  Berman

Santa Losing Weight

Can Santa be skinny but still jolly ?

         

“Hey Honey, can you grab my Suit?” Santa added. “I want to make sure that it still fits.” 

“Yes, I’m coming,” said Mrs.Claus, “but are you sure you can fit in it?  You’ve gained a lot of pounds last year when the kids left too many cookies.” Mrs.Claus walked in the room and handed the bright red suit like a fresh new apple to Santa. Santa took the suit and gave it a hard long look at it.

“Are you sure this is mine?” asked Santa.

“You’re the only one who wears a big red suit,” replied Mrs.Claus.

“Ok, ok, can you go get Rudolph? Maybe he can help me,” asked Santa.   

“Yes I will; he would help you lose the weight in no time,” replied Mrs.Claus. “You will be fitting in that suit in no time.”

Mrs.Claus left the room while Santa sat in his chair thinking if Rudolph could really help him lose the weight. Just then Rudolph came in with his red nose glitter on and off. 

“You called me, Boss,”  Rudolph announced.

“Ohh yes, can you help me?” continued  Santa. “My suit will not fit me. I can’t be going down chimneys in  pajamas.”

Rudolph went over to the humongous  suit and gazed at it.

“I can help you lose the weight,” replied Rudolph. “But we need to start now, so hurry.”

“I will meet you in the gym,” said Rudolph.

“When did we get a gym?” asked Santa.

“We always had a gym,” replied Rudolph, “it’s just you never used it.”

Santa ran into his bedroom to go change in his workout clothes, then ran to the gym where Rudolph was waiting.

“I’m here,” Santa said.

“Good,”  Rudolph continued, “Are you sure you are ready?”

“Ready as ever,” said Santa.

Right next to Rudolph was a treadmill. As Rudolph started talking Santa started to fall asleep. So as any reindeer with a glowing nose would do, Rudolph yelled, “Wake up, I don’t have all day here.” That’s when Santa quickly jumped on the treadmill and began to run.

“How long do I have to do this for?” reported Santa.

“We are just getting started,” announced  Rudolph.

Everyday Santa and Rudolph were going at it with the treadmill and lifting weights.  Until one day Santa gave up.

“I can’t do this anymore,” said Santa. “I need cookies and milk.”

“No you don’t,” replied Rudolph, “you are doing so well, only a couple more pounds.”

“No I can’t,” said Santa.

Rudolph and Santa went back and forth until Rudolph went and grabbed an old photo of how Santa use to look.

“Do you want to be this person again? The one who always ate 400 cookies on Christmas Eve?” declared  Rudolph, “or the one who we had to a call the fire department on because you got stuck in the middle of the chimney going down and coming back up?”

“No,” replied Santa.

“Well than get back on that treadmill,” said Rudolph.

            “Ok,” replied Santa.

It was Christmas Eve, and Santa was finally ready to try on his suit. Santa looked in the mirror, hoping that he had changed. This was his first time looking in a mirror since he lost his weight, and finally it was time. Santa grabbed his bittersweet suit and threw it on. It was a great fit. Santa never knew he could do it. Santa was so happy he ran to tell the others.

“Look guys,” announced Santa, “it fits!”

“Great job, Boss,” replied Rudolph.

“Thank you,” said Santa.

“Hey, if you can dream it you can do it,” said Rudolph.

Then Santa said goodbye to the others, and off he went delivering gifts all around the world in his red jolly suit. All around the world.

-Tresha Behari

Long ago, it was said that humans were friends with dragons. It is thought that humans and dragons once walked on an equal ground of peace, their lifestyles intertwined, humans and dragons coexisting in unity and friendship. Humans healed dragons from illnesses that would otherwise have caused death, and dragons allowed humans the gift of flight, their powerful wings imbued with potential to go places beyond a human’s imagination. There weren’t the constant struggles for supremacy, or the endless battles to prove that one race was stronger and better than the other. There wasn’t the constant worrying of one group attacking another, the constant fear of being pierced to death or going up in flames. It was peaceful; it was perfect.

That must have been a very long time ago.

Cally gritted her teeth, elbows scrunching  in an accordion-like motion to propel herself upwards another centimeter on the jagged cliff face. Her hair swung in wispy chords down her back, her silver ponytail an annoying itch that plagued her with its irritating presence. The rest of the world spanned out below her, treetops bobbing in various heights along the ground, forming a dark, uneven carpet that covered the entire expanse of forest. Below her ravens cawed, unaware of her predicament and need to focus; occasionally, a few flitted around her head, chirping ominous songs of death that made her climbing shed much of its efficiency. Night was her best friend, saturating the air with a vantablack hue that obscured her from view.

Far above her, Cally’s fellow Perditha climbed steadily with indomitable efficiency and speed, her muscled limbs reaching tirelessly towards the dark sky. She did so by driving twin daggers into the side of the cliff, then slipping them out consecutively and vigorously reinstalling them several feet higher; the Perditha, the kingdom’s dragon fighters, were known for being agile, for being quick. The title was also the word for “lost” in latin; Perdithas weren’t known for surviving long.

Cally was climbing the hard way, unlike her determined friend, Ivy. Her fingers were riddled with cuts, bruises, and patches of gravel. Ivy, as a reward for her effort, was almost to the top; Cally, fulfilling all self-expectation, had a long way to go. Crickets chorused mournfully and at random intervals, like a dysfunctional orchestra stumbling through a minor song. The moon was a leering smirk, its glowing sneer chastising her for her slowness. She scowled up at the moon, taking a moment to glare at the glowing tear in the inky black tapestry of the sky. Smaller holes were poked surrounding the moon….stars. They filled up the sky in scattered clumps, making it look like someone had splatter painted the sky with ivory. Cally blinked, shaking her head to release her sweaty bangs from her forehead; then she remembered she had a job to do. 

Spurred on by the reminder, Cally’s boots filed up the rocky surface, her hands stealing out in the dark to capture whatever she could hold to pull herself up; several minutes of voracious climbing put her only a few feet below her friend, who was still methodically stabbing her way up the cliffside. Cally panted, the surge of effort molding layers of pain into her aching muscles. Yet she persevered, loping up the cliff face in clumsy, aching strides, her arms feeling as if they were being stabbed repeatedly with Ivy’s sharp daggers; she released a soft groan, which echoed into the empty night and was lost in the grating hoots of a choir of owls somewhere in the distance. Cally’s sword dug into her side, its metallic presence radiating a chilling cold into her rib cage. It was still dark and getting darker; Cally’s tired arms seemed to be driving paths through thick oceans of tar, desperately reaching for a handhold poking through the thick darkness. Her hand closed around a cone-shaped rock that stuck out like a horn on the monstrous looming cliff. Cally swung her feet up, finding a brief moment of rhythm in the chaos of her tangled limbs. She moved in step with Ivy, arms and legs reaching to fill up the space measured by the trail of holes left in Ivy’s wake. She crawled alongside the holes, grabbing and pulling and gradually reaching Ivy’s level, where she turned and shined a quick smile of triumph on her friend.

Ivy’s hand lay limp against her sweaty forehead, though not to rest; she was scouting out the horizon, her grass-green eyes analyzing what lay ahead with a scrupulous focus. Unlike Cally, Ivy was not easily distracted and had an iron will that was stronger than her lithe daggers; she was the epitome of what a good Perditha should be- dedicated and loyal and strong as a tiger. A hit from her had the force of a freight train; she threw punches like she was born with her hands curled into fists, and every kick she placed was aimed and executed with deadly accuracy. Ivy was a weapon, fiery and fierce, and she was the strong one on their team of two. She prefered fighting her enemy close up, but sometimes she resorted for the more deceptive skill of burying her daggers into the body of her victim. Cally, unlike Ivy, fought as unfairly as possible. She wasn’t strong, but she was lithe and quick. She wasn’t powerful, but she compensated for her lack by stealing every advantage she could hold over her enemy. She backstabbed, rolled, and tripped (the enemy, of course, sometimes herself too, but that was irrelevant). Her weapon, a large gleaming sword with a designed bronze hilt, slashed and dismembered with the same graceless force that she herself employed in battle.

Cally slipped and swung her feet together, her sword colliding hollowly against her thigh, and the thick heels of her boots clanking noisily against each other as both of her feet accidently gave up their positions and came to a grinding halt beneath her shaking arms. She reached her left arm through the obsidian-colored atmosphere, fingers reaching out and coming up empty. There was nothing left of the cliff!  Silver stars hung like diamonds up above, glittering, mocking her weakness and inability to move. Her fingers flailed in panic in the cold air.

For a terrifying moment in time, Cally’s entire weight was concentrated on her right arm, and pinpricks of intense pain drove a thousand sharp needles into her muscles; her left hand curled, fingers bent and hovering over nothing. Weightless, Cally felt the wind tugging her hair back as it gently coaxed her into a fall; for a moment in time, Cally hung over a distant floor of vague treetops, feet about to push off, her aching arm releasing its hold on life one aching finger at a time. Pain blinded her, swarming her vision and filling up the darkness in front of her with a pulsing wall of red; Cally’s right arm finally gave out, thrusting back emphatically and surrendering her to gravity’s clutches; she would have plummeted to her death that instant had a hand not reached down from above and wrapped around hers, yanking her up and depositing her in a clumsy heap on the top of the cliff.

“Come on,” Ivy whispered, her bright green eyes glinting through the dark with determined energy. She reached out again and hauled Cally to her feet, her strength making the motion seem effortless and Cally seem as weightless as a stick figure cut out of paper. In one fluid motion, Cally and Ivy turned in unison to observe the ominous cliff that loomed before them. The cliff was an arch of stone, cold and thick and shrouded in a thin coat of moonlight that spilled down from the sky and highlighted the dust and gravel that coated the jagged cave’s exterior; inside the cave darkness loomed like a pulsing heart, dangerous and foreboding, radiating an aura of danger and throbbing terror. Cally backpedaled, her footsteps resounding against the ground as she readied herself with several deep breaths. Ivy ran for the darkness, her red hair a rippling flag as she headed for the inky black hole in firm, quiet strides. Cally, with much more caution, loped with gentle footsteps towards the daunting dark, her hand glued to the hilt of her gleaming sword.

Suddenly, Ivy shrieked, her pale freckled face suddenly illuminated by a burst of flaming light; a ball of fire burned a hole in the atmosphere, striking a match against the thick darkness of the night. Ivy plunged backwards, fingers automatically reaching up to stroke the scorched end of her ponytail, which was now several inches shorter due to exposure to scorching flames. Cally rushed to her friend’s side, observing and calculating to discover with relief that her friend was not hurt, only singed and startled. “This one’s dangerous,” Ivy whispered; she glanced at the cave, which had returned to its gloomy dark state, devoid of flaming spheres. “ And….” she paused, her expression shifting as her brain fumbled for words. She continued, decidedly, “Different. Very different.”

Ivy paused again, then opened her mouth with a serious expression, her face forming the implacable position that spoke of a subsequent lecture when Cally held up a hand to cut her off.

Cally straightened her posture, trapped a single strand of silver hair behind her ear, then tried to sound confident when she said, “ You’re going to say something noble, aren’t you? I can handle this, trust me. “ She opened her mouth to continue, racking her brain for proof that she was as strong and capable as she claimed.

Ivy saved her from the resulting silence by commanding,  “ I can do this. You just wait for me to come out, maybe come in if you hear me screaming….But don’t go in first, ok? Ok?” The repetition of “ok” was received by empty air; Cally was already running, bolting as if she were running across a lake of fire, sprinting as if her life depended on it. “Cally! Cally, stop! You’re going to get yourself killed! “Cally let the words follow her into the cave; she marched through the jagged stone entrance, steps resounding as her boots met the uneven, rocky surface of the cave floor. The cave was commodious, a gigantic dwelling for the massive pit darkness that filled the cave to overflowing and spilled outside, becoming one with the black night. The ceiling was too high to be visible at night, even with the faint sliver of moonlight that impaled the dark outside. Wind whispered through the trees, the faint sound echoing through the cave in a wave of thrumming hisses. Ivy stomped in behind her, instantly barging in front of her to shield her from any potential fiery projectiles that might travel their way.

“Hello?”  Cally glared up at the ceiling of the cave, a wave of annoyance threading an angry tone into her voice when she yelled, louder: “Hello? I just climbed a cliff to find this place and kill you!” The noise echoed, shrill and piercing in the silence. Ivy made strangled shrieking voices in her throat. “You should at least have the decency to show up!” At that point, Ivy clamped iron fingers around Cally’s mouth, cutting off the flow of sounds to highlight the silence, leaving only the dull thrumming of birds chirruping and leaves being pushed around by the wind. Quiet. Calm. Then fury.

The air was suddenly saturated with the pulsing sound of wingbeats, whooshing with unimaginable strength and dumping tides of air onto Cally and Ivy. Ivy’s breath was warm in her ear, whispering,” Run.”  Cally might have been terrified, but she wasn’t a coward. She swept sweaty strands of her thin silver hair behind her ear, wiping her clammy palms against her rough, dirt-covered jeans. She nailed her legs into the ground like thick metal columns and readied her sword in a moist, constantly readjusting grip; her blue eyes sifted through the darkness to capture a creature moving at the top of the cave. Darkness made clarity impossible, but Cally could make out a vague shape that had been silently lurking in the center of the top of the cave. She saw coils of thick muscle that  covered the half of the surface area of the cave’s ceiling, contorting and contracting and unwinding into a shape that grew closer and dangerously nearer.

A crescendo of battering wingbeats announced the arrival of the dragon. It was massive, tearing a hole in their field of vision and dominating the cave with its array of leathery wings and overlapping metallic scales. Then came a flash of glinting fangs, two large ones at the top of its mouth, two small ones peeking out towards the bottom of its enraged scowl; the dragon roared, the ground of the cave vibrating with the pulsing grumble of fury that was accompanied by a bright flash of fire, which shot out like an arrow swarming with tones of yellow, orange, and red, swerving and twisting until it hit a corner of the cave and ignited a small fire that burned steadily.

Cally watched from the ground, her heart palpitating; the light warmed her face and and reflected a burning streak in her eyes as she gaped, having been shoved to the cold stone floor by Ivy just moments before. Ivy crouched by her, singed ponytail whipping back and forth as her green eyes flashed anxiously, her pale face rotating at the speed of lightning to follow the path of five more flames shot after another set of angry bellows. Every streak of flames was followed by a thundering crackle, light consuming patches of twigs and coal to form burning patches in all the corners of the room. The tongues of flame licked at the air, emitting an incandescent aura of warm light; their pulsing glows filled the cave, the dark shrinking back as the air filled with a gentle yellow. Cally stood up, involuntarily sucking in a breath; the dragon was  beautiful, not sickly and icy, like the first dragon she’d fought, or oily and slippery and eelike like the second. This one, however, possessed an ethereal beauty unlike anything she’d ever seen. This dragon was fire. Its scales were a mosaic of metallic red and orange, sprinkled with an occasional smattering of gold. The fire glinted off its majestic dinner plate-sized scales; its talons were curved like silver crescents, gleaming and scraping against the ground as it shifted its powerful legs and folded up its wings behind its back. There was a great torrent of rustling sounds as the dragon’s wings contracted and folded neatly until they were parallel to its back. The dragon flexed its front legs, muscles rippling in the thick, tree-trunk shaped columns. Its eyes were pools of amber, dark and fierce, reflecting miniature forms of the fire burning in the cave and Cally’s gaping face. Its shining metallic scales shone, flickering with their fiery hues. The dragon shifted slightly, fixing its intense golden gaze on her. This dragon was beauty. This dragon was power.

This dragon was miserable.

Pain flashed through the dragon’s fierce eyes, glinting in the intimidating amber and giving the dragon a fierce look softened by melancholy. The dragon did not move, though it occasionally exposed its slender, sharp fangs, and simply fixed her with its unusual stare. The look held tiredness, if you looked deep enough, desperation, if you bothered to notice. Cally could tell, just from those eyes. This dragon didn’t want to fight.

The dragon’s eyes flashed, the tangle of emotion lost as blazing rage claimed its angry gaze. It growled, a deep, low sound that filled the cave with minute vibrations that pulsed against the ground and into Cally’s boots. Plumes of smoke drifted in the air, filling the atmosphere with a light translucent haze and the faint smell of ash and combustion. Ivy’s head appeared over the dragon’s head, her friend’s boots snapping around to straddle the dragon’s neck as Ivy attacked with vengeance, punching the dragon’s neck and driving a dagger against its flinty exterior. She left the dagger there as the dragon howled, wasting no time in kicking at the dragon’s strong legs and slicing tallies of blood down its skin. The dragon roared, its tail whipping out to smack Ivy off its leg and onto the cold cave floor below. Ivy let out a small moan, rubbing bruised limbs and laying momentarily paralyzed beneath the dragon’s writhing tail. Cally drew her sword again, and this time she charged.

Her fighting instincts took over, every step a reflexive motion, every action just a part of a graceful routine; each movement flowed easily into the next, every motion dropping seamlessly into another attack or defense maneuver. Apparently, her vigorous training had actually paid off. Cally rolled, coming up with her sword in her hand and her pulse a raging roar in her ears. She lunged, glinting steel biting into the sliver of space between two of the dragon’s scales, piercing through its glowing armor and eliciting a groan of pure agony from the dragon. The dragon turned on her, its golden eyes suddenly bright with fury and that same unidentifyable emotion; Cally ducked, the dragon’s fiery blast a sparking column that singed her hair as it streamed overhead. Seeing its eyes again, Cally couldn’t help but wonder…..Did it really want to fight? Of course- all dragons did, didn’t they? Then why did this dragon seem so burdened and reluctant?

In the minute gap of her wandering thoughts, Ivy had sprung up despite multiple contusions and now employed her punches and kicks with unforeseen strength and tireless fury. Ivy’s fists rained down like hail, beating down into the dragon’s side until dents and fractures marked the dragon’s once-impeccable scales. Ivy sprung back to avoid the dragons returning tail, stepping back while flicking her wrist to send a sharp steel blade twisting through the air. The dagger flew, almost in slow motion, turning a full circle in the air before it started to descend. And both Ivy and Cally did what any human would do; the average gut reaction to slow, gently arcing objects that are falling to through the air.

They watched. Their eyes trailed the glinting steel, lit by firelight and diving gracefully downward.

While Ivy’s eyes flicked up for merely a second, that was just enough time for the dragon’s next fireball to hit home, engulfing the brave Perditha in a shell of warm flickering flames. If the air wasn’t already saturated with smoke, it definitely was now. Cally sensed the musky, dry texture fill the air and had just enough time to turn and glimpse her friend collapse; Ivy’s shrieks pierced her heart, black crawling up the girls light skin as it charred and flaked off as gray ashes, until the air was so filled with ash that the cave could have been under a gray blizzard of or in the inside of a colored snow globe. Cally felt tears sliding quickly down her face like rain on a car windshield. She could feel the sobs that racked her throat, salty tears choking her as she let out cries of agony. She could feel pain in her heart, a pulsing thrum that pattered with her heartbeat.  The dagger landed its target and sunk into the dragon’s back; Cally ran to her friend’s side, her hands trembling as tears pooled at the corners of her eyes, and she knelt by the pile of ashes, gently trailing her fingers over the fine gray dust; her tears splattered onto the ash, clear drops gently implanting themselves into the smoking powder. She turned to face the dragon, her rage a furnace that filled her, spreading heat into every bone of her body and streaming across every part of her soul, calling her sword to her hand.

Suddenly, she was fire. She was fury. She was vengeance.

Adrenaline raced in currents through her body, her sword moving like an extension of her arm; her running, jumping, and pivoting feet were in time with the rapid tempo of her heartbeat. Her anger burned and pulsed; she slashed out with her sword, a current of blood spraying her as her dagger cut into the dragon’s thick tail, slicing off its tip. The dragon growled and shot more flames, setting fire to Cally’s sleeve as it twisted its tail away from her. She rolled and came up, her sleeve smoking, her eyes burning from smoke and her refusal to blink. The world sharpened into high definition, pulling into focus. There was no cave, no crackling fire, nothing. There was only the battering of her mercilessly raging sword, the dragon, and her blazing fury. She attacked the dragon’s legs emphatically, making ridges and cuts with the side of her steel sword. The dragon lashed out with more flames, and she drew back, blood dripping from her sword onto the cave floor as she scrambled into a quick retreat. She then rushed at the dragon, a roar of fury gathering and intensifying in a deafening crescendo; her boots battered against the the floor with the sound of relentless thunder; her arms pulled up as her hands wound themselves around the warm hilt of her bloody sword….

And she jumped; her feet escaped gravity; her hair transformed into a tangled disarray, and her throat contracted into a shriek of rage which rose shrilly from her lips. She fell through the air, her sword falling over her head and lowering gradually, aimed right by the dagger that was her friend’s last strike. Cally descended rapidly, bringing her sword down at last, when suddenly her stomach contracted, and her breathing was cut off abruptly. She looked down to see the dragon’s tail coiled tightly around her waist, cutting off her air supply and tying her sword to her side. Some of the red in her vision faded, writhing and pulsing until it gently cleared from her view, pulling out some of her rage. She blinked and looked down. “I can’t move,” Cally observed, her voice small and strangled. The dragon’s raging amber eyes just stared, as if to say: Obviously. “ No! No, you don’t, you don’t understand!” Cally kicked at the dragon’s tail, aiming at the cut she had made earlier from which the trickle of blood had slowed. The tail remained in place, barring her from movement and disrupting her breathing. She gasped, sucking at the air like a fish out of water, then turned to the dragon’s face again, her slightly tanned skin brushed with sudden heat from the dragon’s exhales, which released gentle plumes of smoke into the already smoke-filled air. She tried again. “ I have to move, because you just killed my friend and I have to avenge her death. “She stared up at him, seriously. “I’m going to have to kill you now.”

The dragon seemed amused, a hint of fangs revealing a sliver of what could have been a smile had the dragon not suddenly released her and turned its face. It slowly started to stumble away, its powerful legs riddled with bruises and cuts, its tail dragging behind it on the cave floor. It drifted sullenly, a great beast with too many wounds to march proudly. The dragon ventured with caution, its footfalls gentle as it stepped with observance to its many wounds; as it loped, it moved away from her.

Cally wasn’t a fan of falling through the air; she hit the ground at an odd angle, her arms flattening under her to take the brunt of the impact. The introduction of her body to the cave floor was not a smooth one; she felt the vibrations from her fall in her every limb and aching muscle, and her right arm, which happened to be her sword arm, was screaming in explicit agony and leaking rivers of blood, which stained the air with a metallic scent. She snapped back her hand, which seemed to click into its place as her fractured wrist was righted and a fresh current of pain swept over her and held her under its waves. Cally called out through the veil of her intense torment: “I have to fight you! You killed her!” She ran after the dragon. “You killed her!!!!!”

“Of course I did,” the dragon replied with a deep, masculine voice that sent vibrations pulsing through the cave. Dragons could talk? This was new to her and unheard of in their kingdom. He continued  with, “She was trying to kill me.”

“I’m trying to kill you too,” Cally reminded, stomping one foot in what was admittedly a childish way, becoming desperate. “You have to fight me, so I can kill you!”

The dragon glared down at her. “You couldn’t kill me. You mind is not sharp enough to think logically, nor can you wield that sword of yours with anything that resembles skill, even more so now that your wrist is dripping blood everywhere.”

Cally fumed, thoroughly vexed. She would have thrown her hands up in frustration, except that would inexorably generate a vibrant fountain of blood and destroy any evidence to defend her questioned intelligence. She gritted her teeth and repeated her case: “ You have to fight me, don’t you understand? I can’t leave knowing you killed my friend and are still alive despite that!  I have to finish the cause she set out to fulfill! I have to kill you, because I’m a Perditha and we live so dragons can die!” she gasped, out of breath, dropping to her knees as the dragon turned away again.

“As I said, she was trying to kill me first.” His voice was a low rumble, so quiet it would have been inaudible had it not been almost completely silent in the cave. “I do not wish to kill another human; I have no desire to fight any longer.” Its next words were fragile, tentative- offered like a gift. “I’m sorry about your friend.”  Cally leapt to her feet and was about to verbally mutilate and castigate the dragon when she glimpsed its thoughtful face, turned slightly towards her; its orange-gold gaze was filled with remorse. This conversation no longer seemed directed towards her, but it seemed that the dragon was deeply pondering and voicing a deep sorrow of his soul. “I’m sorry about all of them, really.”

He finally turned to her, his shimmery opaque scales red and gold under the gentle light of the fire. His scales were a pattern of ruby, amber, and gold hues, perfectly fit together like a marvelous masterpiece or a puzzle made of precious jewels. His voice was distant and wounded when he said, “I never forget them. Their faces, their deaths.”  He sighed morosely, a deep forlorn expression crossing his face. “I will never forget the humans.”  The dragon lay down in front of her, his massive frame stumbling gradually, abruptly, and painfully into the ground. The dragon’s head jerked; a ribbon of smoke seeped into the air as the dragon released a soft moan. He shifted every time he placed pressure on an injury, finally settling so that the dagger that was still impaled into his scales stuck out like a flag over a castle. The dragon’s gaze was serious and doleful as it met hers, and his gravelly voice echoed as he said softly, “If I kill you, you will just be another human to haunt me.”

Cally’s mouth opened. A gasp of revelation sang through her like a chord. Slowly, tentatively, Cally unfurled the fingers of her good hand, which had been held in a tight fist. Gradually, she raised her hand so it was level to her heart, and gently, like the uncurling of a moth’s wings for the the first time, she splayed her fingers out and extended her palm until she could feel the pulsing heat of the smoke from the dragon’s nostrils, and the warm surface of the dragon’s face. “It’s ok,” she said, watching his amber gaze disappear briefly as he closed his eyes in relief, “I understand.” Suddenly she understood; behind this fearsome wall of muscle was a pulsing heart, undoubtedly much bigger than her own. This dragon just wanted a quiet life, away from the constant danger of weapons and hate-filled people. He didn’t want a war. He didn’t want to be feared. He didn’t want power.

He just wanted to be left alone.

This dragon clearly had never wanted attention, but he had been forced to slaughter those like her friend who often put duty over their conscience when it came to dragons, whose machinating nature had been taught to them since their births. Suddenly it made sense. She understood.

And she forgave.

A rapid crescendo of rustling signaled her to the dragon’s motion, her eyes flitting up to notice his head was now far above her, and his magnificent wings cut cleanly through the air like thick, red-and-orange tapestries, woven above with golden highlights and covered completely with gleaming gold scales on the side that spanned above her.

“You must be far from home,” the dragon mused, contemplatively. “Surely I can assist you.”

Cally took a step back, hesitating. Then she looked up, grinned, and nodded. “Yes, please,” she whispered, almost too excited to believe what was happening. Anticipation whirred through her veins, increasing the rate of her breathing and sending her mind into a frenzy of Really? Flying? Is this a dream? She backpedaled, the smile on her face blooming into a radiant grin as she ran forward and her feet pushed off the ground to escape the pull of gravity, sending her plowing through the atmosphere with her silver tangles combed by air and waving and curling like metallic ribbons, her cerulean blue eyes alight with utter euphoria as she spread her legs and crashed onto the dragon’s back, too thrilled to acknowledge another failed landing or the pain that shot through her wrist.

Her fingers stole out and gripped Ivy’s dagger; she pulled it out from the dragon’s back and cradled it between her hands, then gently wiped the dried blood and dirt off of it. Cally faced the scratched blade and eyed her own grimy, briefly sorrowful expression, then forced herself to release a grim smile. She held the dagger to her heart, muttered a final “Good bye” and let the delicate silver weapon fall gently, crashing against the ground. She watched. Steel against stone. A spark. A metallic shriek. Then silence. Cally turned away and nodded resolutely.

The dragon took off, nearly throwing her off as he pierced the sky and spread his wings like a canopy of flames and light, the ground fanning out below like a gentle stream of leaves and fluttering birds, which chirped to invite the dawn. The clouds beside her were pink and fluffy, though when she reached out to trail her hands through them, her fingers came out slathered in water and the texture was the same as the air, giving it no flocculent feeling. An ache of hurt stabbed her heart as she peered back at the shrinking cave, knowing that it held her abandoned sword, and, more importantly, Ivy’s ashes, but the pain ebbed as she knew that her friend would have wanted her to be safe, and the dragon himself was also a victim of this broken world.

The sky spanned out in front of her and took her breath away, the sun a warm glow that dominated her view and was surrounded by a few thin clouds that were pushed along by the wind, which waved as they passed along with their cheerful pink-and-purple curves. The wind danced through the air, tossing up strands of her hair and brushing a chill over her skin, failing to blow the beaming grin from her face. The dragon paused, wingbeats a gentle thrum that churned to the rhythm of Cally’s heartbeat, filling her with a warm hope as she gazed at the sunrise.

Warmth from the sun bathed her face in golden light; Cally closed her eyes and felt the water that clung to her arms as clouds clumsily meandered through her, painting her skin with water droplets. Wind skipped past the birds and clouds, dancing over her wet arms and dousing her in cold; Cally shuddered and wrapped her arms around the dragon’s neck, receiving the pulsing waves of heat that the dragon emanated from under its thick, metallic scales.

The hatred that had filled her heart now dulled to an unusual, calming peace; somehow she felt much lighter, much happier than she had felt when holding on to bitterness and blind rage. The dragon exhaled gently, plumes of smoke curling and vanishing into the air as his throat almost imperceptibly vibrated beneath her fingers. She laughed, now in disbelief that she could ever want to kill such a beautiful, unique creature. Cally looked up and felt the dragon’s head follow, and they both gazed at the fiery-colored sunset and felt a new unity that crushed a long-held wall of prejudice and hostility.

The sun beamed.

The wind whistled.

The trees swayed.

In the still morning sky, both dragon and girl smiled together.

-Joanna Andrews

The Villainous Hero

 

How Most of us Wake Up

Duchess rose from her chariot of fire, cackling evilly. Her head of ebony hair was thrown back, and her gnarled finger extended towards Commander Neptune. Commander Neptune coughed, slowly rising from his knees; dust caked his striking blond hair, reducing it to a musty brown. Duchess' pale skin pulled itself unnaturally over her teeth, giving her the look of a jackal as she stared down at him in victory. But little did she know Commander's true plan. As if she could ever defeat a hero. Mirror Girl crept up behind her, palms filled with blue smoke. Commander looked up and smiled for a fraction of a second. Realization hit her, and she spun around in horror, eyes wide. But it was too late for Duchess. Mirror Girl slammed her palms into Duchess’ chest, toppling the villain off of her chariot. Duchess looked around frantically until her eyes found mine; she leaped forward, her mouth hanging wide open, and shrieked my name. Her sharp, claw-like hands reached for me.

“GLACIA!” she wailed, as if to take me down with her. But the blue light expanded in her chest, eating away at her existence.

“GLACIA!” she cried again; the voice was terrifyingly familiar. I heard something pounding; maybe it was my heart. Commander Neptune flew forward valiantly, determined to stop her cries once and for all. His blue cape sailed through the wind, rippling slightly. He opened his mouth, looking at me with his piercing blue eyes, but then his face contorted and my mother's voice screeched out of his mouth.

“GLACIAAAA!!” he bellowed. I stared at my comic book in horror.

“I'M GOING TO CHOP OF YOUR HEAD AND BOIL IT FOR DINNER. WHAT'S TAKING YOU SO LONG?” I jerked back, and my reading light fell with an almighty thump, leading to a crescendo of screams from outside my room. Ah, that's who it was. I pulled the blue silky blanket off from over my head, and bright sunlight hit me even from behind my closed curtains. I groaned. Had I been reading all night? Shoving my comics under my pillow, I rolled off my bed, and the mattress creaked beneath me before I landed on the lavish floor. It had meant to be all quiet, all ninja and cool and stuff, but it came out a little louder than expected, and the floor vibrated around me with a resounding thud.

My room was larger than the average girl, but I was in fact not an average girl. My father was a wealthy man who worked with estates, buying and selling property, while my mother was a diplomat. Of course, neither were home often, but that didn't bother me much. After all, that money ultimately went to me. To my ivory bed stands and walking closet the size of another room, my jewelry box of museum worthy accessories, and bathroom fit for a queen. But alas, despite all this, the one thing I really wanted fell outside the range of “poised, elegant and proper.” So the bartered stash must remain concealed under pillows and hidden in the deepest depths of my vast closet. The thought was so depressing I let out a forlorn sigh as I stared longingly at the slightly rumpled satin pillow.

 

It's too Early for a Villainous Encounter

“What are you doing in there? Have you finished your shower? Your class starts in five minutes!” my mother shrieked on. She was going to lose her voice at some point today, I could already tell. I scrambled to my feet, tuning her out as I dashed into the bathroom, sliding on the smooth beige carpet. The frigid cold of white tile tingled my feet, so I hopped as I ripped off my satin nightgown and searched for something to wear. I mentally kicked myself for forgetting to visit the east wing to pick up my freshly ironed clothes, and I couldn't risk sneaking out the door to my massive closet either. I hesitated for a moment, and my mother's shrieks filled my ears once again.

“Did you brush your teeth? Comb your hair?! You better be finishing up right now!” I sighed and dived into my laundry for something clean-ish to wear. I fished out a flouncy sundress with pearls along the bottom and pulled it on. I walked over to the mirror and ran my fingers through my reddish brown hair. I stared at my reflection assessing my work. My outfit might pass, but the dark circles around my eyes made me look like a racoon. Curse this pale skin. I crouched down, ignoring the painful sound of my knee cracking and opened the cabinets under the seashell adorned sink until I found the right section. Aha! ….My heart sank as I stared at the rows of identically colored powders. I splayed my hand out in front of me, attempting to find the right color, but they all seemed off. I groaned; if only my friend Sadie were here. Where were maids when you need them, huh? 

“Glacia?!” my mother called.

“COMING MOM,” I belted , slamming the giant oak cabinet next to me to emphasize. This seemed to appease her, and she quieted down a bit while I tried on powders.

After I was satisfied I finally closed the powder boxes I had taken out and set them on the sink top. I swiped the remaining particles off the granite, drying the countertop in the process. I looked a little yellow around the eyes, but it wasn't too noticeable. My mother started up the yelling again, so I ran the tips of my hair under the sink to add to the effect and popped a mint in my mouth. I grabbed my phone off my nightstand and hid it in the folds of my dress. Turning swiftly, I slid into a pair of heels. Then I charged to the door, throwing it open and stumbling out.

My mother stopped mid sentence, her mouth hanging open. She quickly arranged herself, smoothing down the dark brown fly hairs and clearing her throat. I frowned. She had caramel skin and dark hair, so how did I end up with such pale skin? She was so frazzled; she didn't take a second glance at my attire. Phew. She retucked the blindingly white dress shirt she was wearing and straightened the cuffs of her suit. I twiddled with the ends of my dress awkwardly, trying to seem important.

“Let's go to etiquette first, shall we?” she said, forcing a fake cheer into her voice. I gulped.         

“Madam Hearts?” I asked, confirming. I was not in any mood to fight any evil forces today. Mom nodded- a little too enthusiastically.

“How long will it take you to memorize the schedule, Dear?” she said exasperatedly. I shrugged, twirling my phone in my hands behind my back.

She sighed and closed her hand around my bicep. For a queen she had a surprisingly strong grip. We sped past security guards, who oozed profession as they stood stoically with crisp gloves and navy suits adorned with medals. But even they veered clear out of our way, practically hugging the hallways. Even they had no desire to get involved with where I was going. We rounded the corner, and she deposited me on the threshold of Madam Hearts’ room. I turned to say goodbye or maybe plead for strength, but she had left me all on my own.

I stepped forward timidly, bouncing on the balls of my feet so my heels wouldn't click on the ground. My feet pressed onto the black tile as I made my way over to the fancy table she had set. It was such a large room I felt smaller than ever; I was sure my heartbeat could be heard echoing off the blood red walls.

Madam Hearts herself sat with her back facing me. She sat in one of those tall black chairs you see in vampire movies, but this was red and curved in at the top like a heart. This somehow made it all the more terrifying. She was sitting in front of a window, but it was so bright outside she had to close the curtains so she could appear more terrifying. Nevertheless, shards of light crept through, brightening the otherwise dark room. Scary. It's a common strategy for evil beings, I told myself. Don't be fooled. Nevertheless, my hands shook as I uselessly tried to hide my phone behind my back. The chair slowly wheeled around with a soft hiss, and I gulped again, nearly swallowing what was left of my mint, as she came into view. Her neatly arranged straight white hair shadowed her high cheekbones. She held a glass of deep red wine to her brightly dyed lips and sipped lightly. She smiled at me, and I noticed not a single lipstick mark on the rim of her clean glass. Her cold gray eyes looked down at me haughtily, scrutinizing me. A small wrinkle appeared on her sharp chin. I straightened my spine while clenching my hands and held my chin higher, narrowing my eyes at her. Her taciturn smile only grew bigger. Her eyes roamed my face, and she smirked as she noted the sad attempt to cover up the dark circles around my eyes.

“Is that a frosting stain under your collar, Miss Glacia?” she spoke softly. My composure wobbled.

“Um.” I cringed at my eloquence and racked my drowsy brain for something smart to say.

“Or is that smear perhaps a byproduct, of your late-night activities?” My heart sped up, and an image flashed through my brain; a corner of my comic peeking out the side of my pillow, I shoved away the thought immediately.

“M-Mirror Girl shows no fear!” I squeaked. I wanted to shove my comic books into my mouth as soon as the words rolled off my tongue. Never again would I stay up that late reading comics. Madam Hearts laughed as rudely as her conscience would allow. I dropped my head to my chest, feeling my cheeks burn in humiliation. She laughed for a good two minutes, and by the time she had finished, I just wanted to die.

The Villain Makes the First Move

“Let's begin our lesson today, shall we?” She said, sliding smoothly out of her chair. I nodded, grateful for the change in subject. I finally scampered over to a chair at the middle of the room. “Today we will be learning the history and uses of silverware….” She continued, but I suddenly had a brilliant plan for retribution. I looked up at her attentively with big doe eyes, nodding my head vigorously when I assumed it was necessary. I caught a few words like “oyster fork” and “sundae spoon.” Nothing I needed to know to carry out my brilliant plan. “....And now let us practice,” she finished. She flitted her fingers at the butler standing in the middle of the room, gesturing him to come forward. He sideled over tentatively and carefully placed the assorted foods and silverware onto our table. I scanned the cutlery, preparing to execute my scheme. I had quite a bit of time, considering that Madam yelled at the poor butler every few seconds.

“No! The salad spoon goes one centimeter away from the soup spoon, not ¾ of an inch!” she screeched at the poor butler. He ducked his head and mumbled his apologies before correcting his mistakes. When he was done, he wiped his shiny forehead with the back of his hand and exhaled roughly. I looked at him sympathetically as he hurried away, dragging the silver cart away as quietly as possible. He discreetly rolled his eyes at me, gesturing at Madam. I took this as a good omen for the events to come.

As Madam Hearts walked over to my side, muttering under her breath, I rolled up my nonexistent sleeves and cracked my knuckles. The sound awakened Madam from her rant and her head snapped up. I expertly lifted my tea spoon with my pinky lifted and all, and…. used it to stab my tomato. Madam gasped in horror, unprepared for the sudden attack. I looked up innocently and swallowed the cherry tomato in one bite. Her mouth opened and closed like a fish as multiple shades of red and purple crossed her face. Victory coursed through my veins. I set down the spoon and let my hand hover over the table, wiggling my fingers dramatically. Madam Hearts reached out as if to stop me, mouth slightly agape. My hand slowly descended upon the meat forks, and I closed my fingers around the cool metal. I put one in my left hand and the other in the right. Oh yes I did. My left hand. The blood drained from Madam's face altogether, and she stared at me angrily, lips moving in incomprehensive words. I slowly raised my fists over the bread, wielding my meat forks in both hands.

“You wouldn't,” she said breathlessly. I simply looked at her, and then I brought my hands down.

I Almost Avoid the Unavoidable

Madam Hearts let out an unearthly wail and sunk to the floor as though I’d stabbed her instead. I sat back calmly, chewing my bread pieces off the ends of my fork, mildly surprised no guards had come running.

“May I be dismissed now?” I asked politely between bites. Madam looked at me through a haze of secondary pain and nodded her head with gritted teeth. I swallowed my last bits of bread and skipped out the room, my heels clicking obnoxiously along the floor. I reached out and curled my fingers around the doorframe, swinging around the corner. My victory was stopped short as my face collided with something hard.

“Oomph,” I muttered, rubbing my face. I peered up, slightly annoyed to see what I had bumped into. Warm brown eyes looked down at me, sparkling with humor.

“Carter!” I gasped. He grinned widely, showing a perfectly dimpled smile.

“In the flesh Princess. What mayhem have you caused so early in the morning?” he asked. I pulled myself up proudly, straightening my spine.

“Nothing out of the ordinary. Just vanquishing evil as usual,” I said in my most dignified voice. He chuckled.

“Who was the poor villain today?” he asked, running a hand through his unruly mass of dark brown hair.

“Madam Heart's,” I said haughtily. He looked mildly impressed.

“What did you do this time?”

“Well….” I explained my valiant tale with great detail, to which Carter nodded his head enthusiastically. I couldn't tell if he was genuinely interested or simply mocking me. I’d like to think it was the first. “...and so here I stand, victorious!” I finished, flourishing my arm dramatically. He sniggered.

“Your mom’s gonna be so mad.”

“Cripes! I forgot about that!” I squealed. If I could make it to dance class without seeing my mother, then maybe I could hold off her wrath just a bit longer.

“Well then, gotta go!” I said brightly. Carter was now leaning on the door frame, arms casually crossed over his chest, looking quite amused. Take note that he too had skin darker than mine. I made a face at him before darting down the red velvety carpet. I scurried up the stairs, hopping over two at a time. I reached out and grabbed the end of the pale wooden banister and skidded around, squealing gleefully. Gathering my balance, I charged down the long hallway; my feet pounded down and the boisterous thuds echoed through the hallways.

A class of young royals singing the national anthem faltered slightly as they saw my blur run by their open door. I ignored the thrill that ran through me as I picked up speed and focused on the task at hand. A few yards to go and my mother was nowhere in sight.

I was so close now I could make out the elaborate carvings of the open door of the dance room. The sunlight cascaded out the door, making the red carpeting look slightly pinkish.

I dropped to the ground, sliding for the pale splotch of color like it was home plate. Hot pain burned along my legs, but I ignored it, skidding down the remaining hallway.  The blazing ray of sun warmed my legs before flashing into my face, blinding me momentarily. As soon as the warmth came, it was gone. BAM. Then came a sinking feeling as I heard a familiar startled yelp from above; seconds before I slammed into them, my face making a painful, unplanned visit with the floor, as they tumbled down on top of me.

+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_

Ugh.. my head felt like it was stuffed with cotton. I blinked hazily, trying to bring the blank white ceiling above me into focus. My whole body was heavy, but at least I was conscious. I dragged myself upright, hissing as a dart of pain raced through my head. I turned slowly, taking in my surroundings; the scent of lysol assaulted my nose, making me dizzy. I was in the medical wing alright.

A body hooked up to a bunch of beeping machines lay beside me.  Squinting, I leaned over to get  a better look. Holy…. I gulped, was that my mother? Her head was wrapped in bandages and her cast encased leg suspended in air. Yesterday's playful crime reenacted through my head. I gulped guiltily; had this all been my fault? I must have collided with my mother when I was running down the halls to dance class since I was late. Oops. I totally blame that on Carter.

Clumsily, I lifted my hands to pat my own head, surprised to find it wrapped in bandages. Lovely. A sudden panic surged through me, and I shivered through the thin gown. Like what time was it? What day was it even? How long had I been out? A bubbly laugh of hysteria rose up. I was like Princess Ginger every time she got knocked out, even after beating someone twice her size. I swallowed it down; now was not the time for this.

I made to get out of the elevated bed, wriggling on the crinkled paper, when I noticed a small purple envelope placed on the bed stand beside me, placed between varias bottles and tools. Grabbing it, I settled back into the medical bed, sinking into the not so soft pillows. Across the top “Glacia” was written in a familiar neat script. Pulling the letter out of the envelope, I inhaled the lavender scent. It must be from Sadie. The paper held only two words: “Your Father.” I let out a frustrated sigh. That maid was so elusive;she was so much more fun when she was younger.

I kicked up the blankets with my feet, letting them thud noisily back down on the mattress. As if cued our medical doctor, Mr. Erland, walked in. I slid the paper and envelope together and shoved it under the covers in one smooth motion. My annoyed expression traded with an innocent joy almost instantaneously. Mr Erland scratched his balding gray head, looking thoroughly unconvinced with my facade. I shrugged, dropping my eyes and playing with my fingers in my lap. I could already feel the lecture coming on. 

“You really did it this time,” he said, wheeling over on a doctor’s stool. As if I didn't know that already. “Blah blah…. Danger…. blah.” He continued pulling the stethoscope from around his neck to his ears. Oh, shut up, old hound. He placed the end of the stethoscope onto my back, and I breathed in and out loudly. “Blah … irresponsible… blah blah.” God, when was he going to shut up about it? “Are you listening?” he inquired finally. I blinked, no longer glaring daggers at the ground.

“Oh, yes, mhmm, I heard you, ‘irresponsible, dangerous, whatever,’ Ya I got it.” Dr Erland sighed, and his shoulders dropped, making his white lab coat look even bigger then it was.

-Jessica Andrews