The Cheerio Crime

Since Hope insisted that I post something, here is that something. It's old, but it's still something.

4 Year Old Girl's Point of View:
Eagerly, I raced to the dining room table and scrambled into my chair. I heard Mom's voice ask which kind of cereal I would like, but I was too busy desperately scanning the cardboard boxes spread out before me to answer. Where was it? I examined the boxes more carefully this time. Raisin Bran in a purple box sat next to Cheerios in white. Shredded Wheat in orange leaned up against the Cheerios, and finally Dragon Puffs dressed in gold toppled over as my brother reached across the table for the toast. I let out a high pitched wail. Where were my Cheerios in yellow? Mom asked me again what I wanted. “I want the Cheerios in the yellow box!” I sobbed. Mom tried to convince me that the Cheerios in the white were just the same, but I would not be convinced. The Dragon on the Dragon Puffs glared at me with no mercy.

Mom's Point of View:
“It's time for breakfast!” I called to the household. I fastened Cory into the high chair and lifted Alex into his booster seat. “Come on, hurry up everyone! I need to get on with the day,” I thought. Ryan and Kaytlin came scrambling just as Les settled into his place at the head of the table. Kaytlin beamed her adorable four year-old smile, but her expression changed serious as she scanned the breakfast table. “What would you like for breakfast this morning, Kaytlin?” She gave no response. A dismayed look spread across her face. “Oh no! Not again! I don't have time to deal with this.” I recognized that look. Ryan impatiently reached for the toast, knocking over a couple of cereal boxes in the process. Kaytlin let out a loud sob. “What type of cereal would you like?” I repeated more sternly this time. She wailed out something incomprehensible about yellow, and pointed at the Cheerios. Frustrated, I ripped open the box to show her that the Cheerios in the white were no different than the ones that we usually had in the yellow, but she would not be convinced.

Gone--Part 2

    Because someone (aka Hope) was telling me I needed to post the next part of Gone I have sat down and typed it out real quick.  Just to let you know, the people presented in this part are not the main characters in my story.  Also, this story is going to be allegorical.  So, if anything out of the ordinary happens in future parts (if I post more) that is why.

     “Eliza!  Grab me another Mountain Dew!” an overweight man lying sprawled out on a couch yelled, his hand poised to replace the words with a handful of chips.

    “You can get your own Mountain Dew!” a woman walked out of the rundown kitchen, a cigarette dangling limply between her fingers.  Unlike her husband her form was thin and at one time could have even been called graceful.  However, her face was now haggard and large dark circles swooped down below her eyes.  She plopped down on an overstuffed chair and sent a scornful look at her husband.  “You need to get off that couch and start running some laps.”

    He glared at her, the light from the TV flickering on his face, “Shut up woman.  I don’t need your advice.” 

    Cackling she leaned back and stared up at the dirty ceiling.  A few moments passed with only the noise from the TV sounding in their ears.  “Hey, did you hear something,” the woman straightened up slowly and glanced about her. 

    “No!  Quit gabbing!”

    She shrugged and glanced out the shabby blinds into the darkness beyond.  “Will you quite messing around?” the man sat up and pegged her with a glare.

    The blinds closed with a snap and she returned her gaze to the TV screen while reaching out for a handful of popcorn.

    A loud knock on the door reverberated through the house.  Throwing a kernel into her mouth she made her way through the clutter.  While running one hand through her hair, trying to put it in some sense of order, she twisted the doorknob and opened the door.  Empty space met her eyes.  “Hello?  Anybody out there?” she squinted out into the night.  “Huh.  I guess it was someone playing a jok-”  Her voice cut off as her mouth opened in a silent scream. 

The Light's Last Touch--Part 2

I felt it coming up, tried to force it back down but found myself losing it and was sick.

My arms were shaking but I forced them to push me up off the hard boards and into a half sitting position. I was in my room but it felt unreal to me. The boards I had long ago memorized all the knots in seemed as if they were leaning in, closing up, trapping me. The light from the one window I hadn’t covered dared to penetrate the gloom and lit up my soiled black dress and the spot on the floor where I had been sick.

“I must not think--it hurts too much.” I muttered the words over and over to myself. “Must not let anything remind me of what has been, what could have been, what will never be—Stop it Cassy!” I screamed in frustration.

The harder I tried to not think about it, the more my mind focused on that one forbidden thing.

I had to stop thinking and since sleep insisted on evading me only one choice was left. My hand felt for the bottle and I brought it to my lips. It was empty.

I heard a tinkling of glass and found me head lying where I had been sick. What was this that controlled me, caused me to throw things in anger, with out even realizing what I was doing? Who had I become since the news came to me? Who would recognize the great blood in me as I lay on the floor in my own vomit, a broken bottle laying near, my black dress disheveled my hair stringing over my face, to week to even roll over.

I heard a squeak as the door opened and a dark girlish face peered in on me. Two large eyes peeped cautiously at me from under a spotless white cap.

“Get out of here!” a voice that was not my own screamed at my once petted slave. “Get out of here! Out with your spotless white cap! Out with your face that reminds me what he died fighting against! Out! Out!” The uncontrollable anger raised me up to my feet. I tottered towards the door waving my hand threateningly and the dark little face I had once loved disappeared, its tears silently reproaching me.

The bedroom tilted and I grabbed for a bed post. Leaning my confused head on the ornately carved wood I struggled to stay upright.

“Cassy do you trust me? Will you trust me?”

The quite voice haunted me.

Had that been a dream--a nightmare? Or had it been reality?

“Who are you?” I forced the words out of my dry lips.

The light slowly moved further and further across the room as the sun sank lower. It was like a groping hand, groping for me, trying to find me, to tell me that all was not darkness if only I---It crept closer, its rays lighting up the glass fragments. Closer even now, lighting up his picture where it lay crushed and torn on the floor where my anger had thrown it. Now it was lighting up my black dress expending its last moments searching for my face.

With the its last, and most beautiful touch the light finally found what it was looking for. It blinded me, for a while and then dropping my head so I wasn’t looking directly at it, I could see my black dress, wrinkled and covered with my vomit. Then it was gone and darkness wrapped me in its stifling arms.

In the light’s last touch I had seen what I allowed, even made myself into and it wasn’t pretty.

That was why I covered the windows, and this ugliness from even myself. Only this one window, I could not cover, the light that came from it somehow seemed to be trying to pull me back from what I had become and somehow, I wanted that.

Just for the record, I'll not post the final part of this story until someone besides Angela or I posts something.

The Light's Last Touch

Angela told me that she didn't think my last post was very exciting...is this better?  

The Light's Last Touch

Down, down, down. My hand was reaching up towards the light, my whole soul screaming to not let it get smaller but I couldn’t stop myself. It was my own fault. I had played near this pit, walked close to the edge with my eyes wide open, knowing what was there, what would happen. And yet, I had come, willingly come, and willingly stepped over the side. Now and only now, did I regret my choice. And what chance, what chance was there for me? I could hear the screams from below me of the others in their agony, of the beasts in their murderous joy, oh why, why had I ever made this foolish choice? There was no going back now, nothing to catch hold of and pull myself up on, no one to grab me and pull me back to the light. I wished to scream, every muscle in my body strained towards that one purpose but I couldn’t make a noise.  The bottom was coming closer, I could see the other people, reaching up eagerly to pull me down to them, to share in the agony they had caused for themselves. The beasts too looked up, their sharp teeth glinting in anticipation.

“No! No! No!” I was finally able to scream. “I’m not ready for this! This isn’t what I wanted! This can’t be happening to me! Help! Someone help!”

A hand from up near the light caught my arm and jerked me to a painful stop. My legs dangled inches away from the miserable out stretched arms below me.

“Cassy do you trust me? Will you trust me?” The voice was gentle and quiet but I could hear it above the screams below me.

“Who are you?”

~

I jerked awake the words dying on my lips.

What had happened, where was I, why was I here? My head felt like a hatchet was being thrust into it, my stomach churned, my vision swam.

The Beginning

   Louise gasped and lifted a shaking hand to part the chiffon curtains.  A chestnut horse covered with mud wearily made its way up the drive towards the house.  The rider on its back sat slumped, staring down at the ground.  Fear made its way up her throat.  Something was wrong.  She ran as fast as her hoops would allow and threw open the front door.  The man looked up as he reached the front of the house and tried to smile.  Yet the sadness and tinge of fear on his face made it look more like a contortion of pain.  “Ben..?” her voice trailed off and she walked out onto the large porch.  With a sigh he slung himself out of the saddle and landed heavily on the ground.  His large boots clumped up the steps leaving globs of mud on the once clean wood.  He folded Louise into his arms.

    “It’s started honey.  The south fired on Fort Sumter.”

    She pressed closer to his chest and took in a shaky breath and closed her eyes tightly trying to press back the tears.  They poured down her cheeks, refusing to stay checked, and dropped onto her husband’s jacket where they disappeared into the already wet folds.  “Come on, honey,” he gently guided her into the house.  The wind moaned softly as it whipped around the house; seeming too also mourn what had happened.

The Proposal

    Silence.  That was the first thing that struck Florence about this place.  She took a deep breath, trying to keep her nerves in check.  “Nathan, are you sure about this?”

    The fuzzy shape in front of her turned around and a beam of light struck her in the face.  Even though she could not see it, she could hear a smile in his voice.  “You act as if I had never been here before.”

    Florence drew closer squinting, “You don’t have to point that at me.”  She hesitated.  “It’s just so dark.  And eerie,” she added as an afterthought. 

    “Of course it’s dark,” Nathan wrapped a warm arm around her shoulder.  “That is how caves usually are.” 

    “Oh, really,” she glared at him, her voice tinged with sarcasm. 

    “Just follow me,” he grabbed her hand and pulled her along behind him.  Every step took them deeper into the darkness.  Florence gulped.  She hated dark places and this cave certainly fit the bill.  “Don’t worry, we’re almost there.”  Nathan gently squeezed her hand. 

    She tripped on a rock and yelped when she ran into a rock wall.  It was slimy and she shoved herself away from it in disgust and continued to follow Nathan.  “Please tell me we are there, I can’t take much more of this.”

    “Better duck,” he shined his light on a rocky overhang.  A few steps later, she heard the words she had been longing to hear.  “Alrighty, Ms. Impatient, we are there.”

    As he moved his light around, Florence gasped.  “It’s like a forest of stalagmites!”  She turned towards Nathan.  “It’s beautiful!”

    “Yes, it is,” Nathan’s voice was strangely emotionally. 

    “Nathan, are you okay?” she peered at him through the darkness.

    “Hold this,” he handed the flashlight to her, then reached into his pocket and sank to one knee.  “Will you, um-”  He sighed and tenderly opened a small box.  Florence pointed the light at the contents.  Her hand trembled.  A diamond ring glittered brightly.      

The Story of Princess Aidle

This is my most recent story. I wrote it today, (Saturday), when I should have been critiquing one Angela sent me... :z

The Story of Princess Aidle

“Down you foul brute!”

 I whisked my long white train away from the dirty paws of Sir Edward’s mastiff and gritted my teeth as he snarled.

The dog was snarling dangerously and I new from past experience I had better find a tree, and fast. I shot a hurried look at my surroundings desperately trying to remember what they looked like. I had been over every foot of this large estate and knew it by heart but that was during the day. It was night time now and I was almost completely lost. A ghostly set of branches held out there talons to me not twenty feet away. It was their claws or this foaming beast’s. I through my train over my arm, hiked my dress up, and ran for it.  The dog snarled at my heals but he was old and fat while I was young and strong and I felt the branches dig into my hands before his teeth had a chance. One of my tiny heals got stuck in an elbow as I tried to climb further away from the gaping jaws and I felt a sharp pain go through my ankle.

The dog lay down directly beneath me and appeared to go to sleep. My legs dangled off either side of a thick branch above him and when I shifted one he quickly raised his head. No hope then of getting past him while he was asleep. I waited and waited. Who would have guessed that a person like I was would ever be in a position such as I was?

           

The hours dragged by, with the only change being in my position and spirits. The dawn was coming and what would happen then…I didn’t know but likely it wouldn’t be fun.

Just as the sun was casting it’s pink and red streamers across the sky a whistle sounded shrilly and startled me so badly I nearly fell out of the tree.  The massive creature below me sat up and listened.

Wonderful! His master would call him away and I would get my chance for escape.

The whistle came again, louder this time and I could hear a frightening voice calling “Here boy! Here Ratzic! Here boy!”

The dog began barking but to my annoyance stayed at the bottom of the tree.  A set of powerful shoulders appeared above the hill behind me and a glowering continence soon presented itself below my branch.

“Aha! I have caught you at last!” The brown eyes danced in triumph. “You know, I was just thinking the other day how I needed a girl to scrub my floors and cook my food.”

“No!” I struggled as he grabbed my foot and began pulling me down. “You can’t make someone with noble blood in them do such menial work! Take your hands off me!”

~

           

“What are you up there writing Aidle?” my brother, Eddy, called to me from below the leaves, his Pekinese, Rat, bounced happily around his feet barking.  “Are you trying to hide or something? I’ve been looking for you all over and if it hadn’t been for Rat here I still would have been.”

“Um…” I looked sheepishly over the top of my writing notebook at him.

           

“Come on down. You know it is time for us to do the mopping and sitting up there moping like a princess whose asked to scrub a floor,”  I glanced at him sharply,  “won’t get it done and over with any time soon.”

The Yellow Letter

I opened the mailbox and pulled out the crisp letters. Flipping through them out of curiosity I saw one addressed to me! My heart leapt. I never got mail except for those flaky cards that came every year around my birthday. But this chill November day was not near my birthday and this stickered envelope didn’t hold a card.

Eagerly I tore the envelope open with my cold fingers. Inside were two sheet of paper, one of normal notebook paper and the other of yellow construction paper. I opened the yellow one first.

“Dear Hope,                                                                             November 15, 2007

            Howdy! How are you doing? I am doing good! Do you like this paper? I hope you do! It is just construction paper…”

A car drove past spattering me with mud from the soggy road. Maybe I should go inside, I thought. But first I really wanted to see who these letters were from. I flipped over the envelope and looked at the return label.

“Hope! Have you gotten the mail yet? Hurry, it’s almost time for lunch!” my Mom called hurriedly from the house.

I shoved the letter in my pocket. It would have to wait until later.

Now, five years later I sit here looking at that very letter. Beneath it is a large pile of others from the same girl. I All these years later I still keep up with my pen-pal, having written her through part of grade school, middle school, high school and even now, college. Since I have only met her twice that I can remember I think it is very surprising we have kept in such good touch.

To Josie, one of the two most faithful and long lasting pen-pals I have ever had (the other is her sister), God bless and a VERY, VERY happy birthday today!!

Continued Story by H.A.G.

Blue-Me (Kelpie)
Purple-Angela
Green-Grace

A Story by H.A.G.

He was dying; blood dripping from his mouth; his arm twisted and torn. Casper knew his time had come. His eyes fluttered open and he saw something white and small bending over him and bathing his forehead with water.

 It said in a gentle voice “The time has come; and you are ready.”

Casper gasped, for it was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen.

The girl stroked his black hair and said gently, “You’re time has come as I said. But you are ready and you adventure will begin as soon as I am done nursing you back to life!”

“W-Who are you?” he whispered.

“My name is not for earthly beings to know.” She tucked a purple lock behind her ear.

“Well,” He rolled his eyes, “Aren’t you something special!”

“Nothing as special as you, chosen one.”

“Me?” Casper blinked.

"Yes, you," as the words left the girl's mouth her form began to fade. 

"W-wait! Don't go!" Casper clutched at the quickly fading dress but it passed through his fingers and was gone.  He leaned back gasping, fear beginning to seize him. His surroundings also began to fade and transform, leaving him alone in the rippling grasses of a prairie. Looking around awe struck he noticed his arm was beginning to untwist itself and the blood had stopped pouring out of his mouth.  In a few moments he lay there completely whole.

"Now what?" Casper said aloud, not sure what to expect next.

"Follow me." a deep voice next to his ear startled him and he let out a frighted yelp.

Whirling around he gazed upward into the face of a creature he had never before seen.  Twinkling yellow eyes stared back down at him.

"No way am I following something that looks like that!" he thought and leaping to his feet he began to run away into the wide open prairie.  It was not long before he realized that his footsteps were not the only ones that he heard.  Casper glanced over his shoulder and saw the creature following close behind him. The creature's legs were much longer than his own and he saw that it soon must catch him.  A clawed hand grabbed his shoulder and brought him to a stop.  He struggled.  This creature was terrifying.  How could he trust it?

Freedom's Given

    Just a quick warning.  I wrote this story a year or two ago and do not consider it to be very well done, since, after all, it was one of the first stories I had every written.  But I think the story  line itself is slightly sweet.  However, I am a horse lover which might have something to do with it.  Enjoy!

  

      The horse screamed as it pawed the air in angry defiance.  Another rope flew through the air, attempting to settle itself around the horse’s neck.  He saw it coming and leaped away in fear.  Men did not scare him.  Their vehicles did not scare him.  But he was wise to their ropes for, when they landed around his neck, there was no escape.  Freedom was more precious than anything else. Life was not worth living without it. 

    Another rope chased after him.  He whirled and ran away, his breath coming in short gasps.  Oh, this pen!  Outside of its enclosure, he would be able to escape from these men, but here the strong plank fence barred every chance of escape. 

~

    Robert wiped perspiration from his face.  The horse had dodged their roped for at least half an hour.  He was beginning to wonder if they would ever be able to catch him.  With a sigh he glanced at his watch, then yelled to his companions, “Hey guys, let’s take a break.  We can tackle this again later.” They quickly left the paddock, sweaty, and breathing hard.  It was the first time that a horse had been able to avoid capture for that long.  Robert glanced back.  The horse was trembling, not from fear, but from frustrated longing, longing to be free.  Robert looked away quickly.  It made him feel sick in the pit of his stomach.

    He remembered his first sight of the stallion.  While riding his horse, Flying Stars, he stumbled across a small valley containing a sparkling, gurgling brook.  Beside the brook a small herd of horses grazed peacefully under the watchful eye of a fine black stallion.  He had spotted Robert right away and while sounding a warning neigh, plunged downward towards his herd.  The lead mare had acted immediately by rounding up the rest of the herd and heading them away from the supposed danger.  Robert, transfixed by the sight of the muscular horse, was unable to urge his horse after them.  When he finally shook himself awake, he simply turned his horse’s head towards the ranch.

    Unthinkingly, Robert had excitedly told his employer, Mark Appleton, “You know that little valley out by Twin Forks?  Well, a herd of horses have been hanging out there.  And the stallion, man, it’s a beauty.  Black.  Big.  Wow.”  He shook his head in wonder.  “I’ve never seen such a good lookin horse.”

    “So, you think he would be worth getting,” his employer narrowed his eyes in thought.  “Then why don’t we go round him up; the herd too.  There should be some descent horses among them.  We’ve needed some new horses anyway.”

    “Well, um, sure, if you want.  I’ll go tell the boys.”  He had walked outside wondering if he was doing the right thing.   

    A few days later, the ranch hands had set off after the stallion.  They had laid careful plans.  They could not fail, and within a few hours they had the stallion captive at the ranch.  However, after a few days, Robert had begun to worry.  Since the time they had brought him in, the horse had had a lost, hopeless look about him.  Captivity might suit some horses, but not this one.  Taking freedom away from him was like taking away his food and water.  He would eventually die. Maybe not physically, but the strong, wild spirit in him would.  He would just be an empty shell of the horse he had been before.  Robert had seen it happen.

    Robert shook the thoughts from his head as he walked towards the bunkhouse.  He called over his shoulder, “We can try again tomorrow.  Maybe he will be more cooperative.”  He washed up, entered the ranch house, and walked slowly down the hall.  He was beginning to lose his nerve, but he had to tell his boss the truth.  Gulping, he straightened up, and walked briskly towards his boss’s office.  He hesitated, then knocked.  A gruff voice called out, “Come in.” 

    As soon as he recognized Robert, his tone softened.  Mark and Robert had been friends since high school, and Make valued Robert’s opinion on everything, even if it contradicted his own.  He waved Robert to a chair, then leaned forward and asked, “How is the training of that stallion coming along?”

    Robert took a deep breath before he answered, “Not good.” He hesitated.  “Do you mind if I am frank with you?”

    Mark grinned, “You always are whether I want you to be or not.”

    “That’s for sure.” Robert chuckled.  He paused, before continuing, “That horse out there is a good one, but he’s not tame, not like Flying Stars or Jet.  He won’t ever be like them.  He’s too wild.”

    “You mean he can’t be trained?”

    “He can, but . . .” Robert sighed; it was so hard to put into words. “His strength and beauty come from the wild spirit inside him.  The only way to train him would be to break that spirit.  We both know that he wouldn’t be worth anything after that.  Not to us, not to anyone.”

    “What are you suggesting?”

    “Let him go,” Robert blurted.

    Mark looked at him, his face expressionless.  For a long time he said nothing.  Finally, he stood up with a sigh.  “I know.  I’ve known from the day I saw him.”

    “Then why didn’t you . . .”

    “Because I wanted him!  When I saw him, I saw a masterpiece.  I’ve always wanted a horse like that.  I didn’t want to let him go.” Mark looked away.

    “You have to,” Robert said in a low voice.

    Mark glanced at him, “You are the only one that wants what is truly right for that horse.” He slowly walked towards the elegant horse painting adorning the wall.  There was a long moment of silence.  Then Mark’s shoulders slumped forwards.  “Let him go tomorrow morning.”

        Robert stood up.  He wanted to say something, but his mind was black.  Turning, he left the room.  As he put the office behind him, his steps became lighter.  The horse would soon be free.  Free! 

~

    Robert woke up early the next morning.  The sun was still hiding beyond the mountains surrounding the ranch, but its glow was already lighting up the sky.  Suddenly, beautiful colors of purple, pink, and orange flooded out to form a spectacular sunrise.  Robert paused, his face full of wonder.  It was so beautiful!

    After staring at it for a moment, he forced himself to walk to the wild stallion’s paddock.  As he drew closer, he could see the stallion watching the sunrise.  The horse suddenly whirled, his whole body tense.  He had spotted Robert and his ears flattened against his head.  Robert murmured softly to him, walking the final few steps to the gate.  He took a deep breath and threw it open.

~

    The stallion huffed heavily as the door, which had kept him prisoner for a week, creaked open.  He took one hesitant step forward.  The man was standing beside the gate, and could easily close it.  He took another step, his eyes trained on the man.  The man stood stalk still.  Energy surged through the stallions veins.  He was still in the terrible enclosure, but nothing was going to stop him from leaving.  Not this man, not a rope, not anything else they had.  Tossing his head, he trotted out, just out, and stopped.  He turned to the man.

~

    Robert was amazed to find the horse looking at him with thankful eyes!  With a gravelly voice he muttered, “Are you trying to thank me ol’ boy?” The stallion stepped so close that Robert could feel his breath on his face.  The horse nickered softly before he turned and stared at the sunrise which was at the peak of its beauty.  Shaking his head, he took a few steps towards it.

~ 

        The stallion gulped the morning air, then leapt away from the man.  Free!  His hooves pounded the dirt as he galloped towards the nearest hill.  Reaching it, he turned back and fixed his eyes on the man still standing by the open gate watching him.  The stallion reared upwards, his hooves pawing at the sky above him. 

~

    Robert whistled long and low as the stallion danced.  Freedom.  What a beautiful sight.  The horse’s feet struck the ground and it seemed to look his way before turning and galloping out of sight.  Robert felt satisfaction deep within his chest.  The horse was free!

A Night's Work

You all know about my wonderful illustrator ability? "What ability Hope?" Okay so I admit-I have none. I illustrated this story anyway.

Have you ever noticed that I love to have surprising and sudden endings to my stories? This one, in my opinion is one of my most surprising. I should tell you it's origin though so that you are not totally creeped out: One night I was reading my Bible and I came across a verse that inspired me to write this story.

One other thing before I actually give you the story-I have been told this is a very confusing story and I completely agree. However I am unsure how to clarify it while still leaving it the style I want it to be. Any ideas?

A Night’s Work

            Glancing out one of his four frosted window panes Roger noticed a strange black cloaked figure  hurrying along the crowded London street below him. There was something almost familiar about the cloak. It seemed to him, though he somehow couldn’t quite place it, that he had seen it before. Perhaps it was one of his many bitter enemies who carried around clinking gold in their pockets. It was getting dark outside and many of the street lamps, his usual signal, were already being lit, telling him it was time to go out. He turned away from the window, hurriedly dumped his pipes contents into the fire and snatched his own black cloak off a rusted nail by the door. As he was trying to shut his ever creaking door quietly he remembered something. With a grunt of impatience he shoved open the door, jerked open one of his bettered desk drawers and slipped something cold and steely beneath his cloak. In his mind he could see the strange cloaked figure hurrying down the street. He too must hurry if he wanted to be able to follow. Tiptoeing down the rickety stairs he slipped out the front door relieved to have escaped his landlady’s sharp ear for once.

Out on the street the wind nipped fiercely and bits of ice and snow cut at Roger’s face. He pulled his hood low over his dark brows and hurried against the wind looking for his man.

He soon found his and began following his at a short but safe distance.

A burly man with gold rings on his fingers bumped against the cloaked figure causing him to slip on the icy pavement.

“Pardon me sir! I wasn’t watching me steps.” The gentleman held out a hand.

“I can get up myself.” Roger heard the muttered reply and he bit his lip in concentration. The voice was familiar but yet he couldn’t place it.

The gentleman was also familiar and a passion for revenge against him boiled up inside Roger but he restrained it. He had someone else to deal with tonight.

“Tut man! I am truly sorry! If I had time I would show just how much by taking you to a pub but my wife is having a baby and I wish to get home as soon as possible. However here’s a few farthings to get yourself something.” A ringed hand reached into a bulging purse and removed several coins.

The mouth inside the hood made a noise and spitting on the coins struck them to the ground and turning on his heel marched away.

The gentleman looked shocked and offended and quickly passing off the wet coins to a nearby beggar he hurried on his way. Slipping into a dark doorway, Roger waited until the gentleman had passed and then descended back into the street. His eyes strained through the darkness looking for that black cloak. To his surprise he saw it hurrying towards him, the opposite way it had been going. With a sudden idea Roger stepped directly in front of the moving figure. He didn’t get to see the face of his man like he had hoped. The cloaked man coming even with him barley paused and then shoved him forcefully to the ground and out of the way.

Roger leapt to his feet with an oath and his hand sought the cold steel underneath his cloak.

A policeman passed him and glanced curiously at his mud stained cloak. No, here was not the place. He would wait, follow and bide his time. Wrapping his cloak around his head more securely he began to once more stealthily follow his man.

Three dark figures threaded their ways through the crowds each unaware of the other following.

The gentleman stopped and spoke to a little child and the cloaked man and Roger both quickly ducked into doorways. Roger listened intently to what the man was saying.

“You are quite sure taking this alley will take me to Haircourt Lane more quickly?”

“Yeth thir! Buth you wudden’th pay me to walk down ith. Too many ghosths!” The beggar child looked nervously around the gentleman and down the alley.

“Well I don’t have time for any ghosts tonight so I’ll just reckon I won’t have to worry about them.” The rings caught lamplight and his purse clinked with a beautiful sound of fullness as he dropped some coins in the child’s hand.

Yes I totally agree-both artist and photographer need some serious help. :)

The beggar child watched curiously for a while but after seeing nothing he passed on.

On tiptoe now both men moved silently into the street, each unaware of his following.  After turning a few corners the dilapidated and abandoned houses blocked out the noise of the bustling city street and it became harder to walk silently.

With a snarl Roger’s man leapt forward and with two bounds was on his victim. The ringed gentleman had not time to cry out before he lost his chance forever.

Roger waited for his chance as his man stripped the gentleman of his rings and transferred the heavy purse to some place under his cloak.

Roger’s hand grasped a cold steal handle beneath his cloak and he drew it out. Now! The moon glinted delightfully off the nine inch blade as he pounced. The cloaked man was off his guard but Roger missed his mark. The two men struggled silently for a few minutes each knowing he was fighting for his life. With a lightening move Roger ducked under the other’s arm and this time the blade went home. With a groan the man fell heavily to the filthy pavement. He gasped and then shuttered and then was silent.

Roger stood looking down on the two bodies. This was a good night’s work. Two fat purses and several rings with large stones. He smiled with the thought of coins dancing before his eyes. One thing more to make his night complete. He reached down and removed the blood spattered hood.

A black pointed beard, stringy black hair, shaggy black eye brown and the scar with curled the lip into a perpetual snarl and pointed upwards towards one of the staring black eyes—Roger uttered a cry of surprise and horror.

It was himself!

Proverbs 1:18-19

New American Standard Bible (NASB)

¹⁸ But they lie in wait for their own blood;
They ambush their own lives.
¹⁹ So are the ways of everyone who gains by violence;
It takes away the life of its possessors.

For those of you who don't like downer ending stories like this, here is the rest.

"On your lives Lestrade and Waston! Hurry or the man will have already accomplished his bloody deed!"

The sound of running footsteps came from behind Roger but he was still so stunned he didn't move. A grip like and iron vice fell on his shoulder and jerked him to his  feet and a panting officer clapped handcuffs over his wrists.

"I have got you at last!" the bulldog face of the officer was curled into a sneer. He turned to the tall gaunt man who had just let go of Roger's shoulder. "Holmes my dear man, if you continue on in this way you may yet become on of us professionals up at Scotland Yard!"

A smile played on Holmes' face.

"Come Watson. I think our job is done here and though you have been kind enough not to mention it I am sure you want a full account of how I came across my facts. I think however it would be more enjoyable at Baker Street over breakfast and a pipe."

Turning on his heel the tall gaunt Holmes strode away followed closely by his thick set companion.

"My dear man! I am at an absolute loss to see how you did it!" Watson was nearly bursting with impatience.

"Elementary my dear Watson. Very elementary I assure you."

Gone

    Sweat trickled down the back of his neck sending a slight chill throughout his whole body.  Any movement he made could reveal his presence which would mean almost certain death.  The creature was coming closer, carelessly breaking twigs as if wanting the whole world to know its location.  Slowly he raised the rarely used revolver while quietly sucking in a deep breath.  This shot had to be steady.  It had to do the job.  He closed one eye and aimed, slowly squeezing the trigger.  The hammer clanked harmlessly against a faulty primer.  Fear filled him as he yanked again.  Still nothing happened.  Above him he could hear the heavy breathing of the creature; its putrid breath filled his nose.  It stared down at him, a sneer on its face.  His heart dropped landing like a rock in his stomach.  “No!  Nooo!” he turned to run but a hand grabbed the back of his shirt, yanking him backwards, slamming him into the ground.  

    With the taste of dirt and blood in his mouth he looked up to see its eyes glowing eerily as it looked him up and down like a piece of meat.  "Now it is your turn." 

Story by H.A.G.

So-Grace came down and visited me a week or so ago. When she was here she got to meet Angela! Now...Josie if I could only get you to come down too...*Hint*. Anyway, the night Angela was at my house we all decided to write a story together. Each of us wrote one sentence. Here is what it turned out like.

Blue-Me (Hope)
Purple-Angela
Green-Grace

A Story by L.A.G.

He was dying; blood dripping from his mouth; his arm twisted and torn. Casper knew his time had come. His eyes fluttered open and he saw something white and small bending over him and bathing his forehead with water.

 It said in a gently voice “The time has come; and you are ready.”

Casper gasped, for it was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen.

The girl stroked his black hair and said gently, “You’re time has come as I said. But you are ready and you adventure will begin as soon as I am done nursing you back to life!”

“W-Who are you?” he whispered.

“My name is not for earthly being to know.” She tucked a purple lock behind her ear.

“Well,” He rolled his eyes, “Aren’t you something special!”

“Nothing as special as you, chosen one.”

“Me?” Casper blinked.

What do ya'll think? Should we keep going? One sentence at a time? Start a new story? Drop the whole bad (it was mine so I can say that without offending anyone) idea? Josie, do you want in on it? Do we want to do it via email or should I make you all administers and when it is our turn we could just go edit the post? Any other related question I have forgotten to ask? Any other unrelated question  I can think of to ask? Lol. Okay...so that is what being home alone for several hours does to me. 

Tiger Paw

 Have any of you ever tried writing under influence? And no, I don't mean the influence you are probably thinking of. I mean under the influence of music. Non of you, except maybe Josie ( I simply don't know having not actually been around Josie very much!), are probably as influenced by music as I am. I live in it, sleep with it in my dreams, breath it (but I don't mean that my ear phones are constantly in my ears). It is an enormous part of my life. I find myself irresistibly drawn to any type of it. It has always seems to tell me stories, especially music with no words. In fact, that is where I have come up with most of my story ideas. Anyway...this story was written under the influence of a song called "Tiger Paw"-thus the name. Tell me how you like it, err...dislike it. And guess what Josie, it is almost as morbid as some of yours and Patty's stories! :)

Tiger Paw

Rustle, rustle. The watchman sat dozing on by a grove of young bamboos. Rustle, rustle. The Cornel was asleep in his tent. No one heard. Rustle, rustle. It was coming closer, it was closing in, and it was surrounding His Majesties Royal Army. Rustle, rustle.

Snap! A twig snapped under a stealthy foot. The watchman jerked awake. Rustle, rustle. The watchman listened closely trying to discern if it was a sign of approaching danger.

A brown hand closed over his mouth muffling his futile cries and a shining blade was pressed to his throat.

The Cornel watched as the watchman continued to struggle. The blade flashed and the watchman was laid quietly placed on the ground.

Reaching his hand out slowly for his bugle to give the warning signal, the Cornel was vaguely aware of a slight movement behind him and then the brown hands laid him down also never more to rise.

Everyone was asleep. No one new of the eminent danger closing around them, getting closer every minute.

The Sheiks battle cry sounded through the camp and a moment later an un-aimed bullet whistled through the harmless trees.

“Shiks!” the cry had barley gotten out of the sergeant mouth when a bullet struck him and he fell to the ground dead.

Many said later that they had never seen such confusion. Indians with turbans, knives and guns where running everywhere killing all in their path. Soldiers ran for their guns only to be shot before they got within a hundred yards. Tents fell down as the camels, horses and donkeys stampeded after pulling up their stakes when the first shot was heard. Buffalo plunged wildly through the battle snorting and stomping and the Elephants rushed around trumpeting madly.

In the midst of all the confusion a bloodcurdling roar of and Indian tiger was heard.

 “Shinbad” a voice screamed the districts’ name for this particular tiger that was always doing damage in His Majesties camps.  As if his presence needed to be more clearly known the tiger with a loud roar sprung into the camp slashing left and right with his mighty paws.

 Several men succeeded in catching some horses and leaping onto their backs galloped frantically away from the fight.

The Shiks upon hearing the roar of the tiger and the screams of his victims fled into the woods followed by the terrified soldiers.  In the middle of the confusion a calm voice was heard shouting above the din.

“Nag! Nag, come here!”

As if irritated that something could be heard above his bellowing the tiger turned and pursued the short man.  Terrified the man turned and ran still yelling at the top of his lungs for “Nag”.  He ran for his life but every tree root seemed to reach out and grab him as if it wanted the tiger to catch him.

 Finally one grabbed him and pulled him to the ground still yelling. With a spring the tiger bounded into the air to land with a crushing force on his victim. But it was not to be. With a crash an enormous black shape came thundering in between the tiger and man and catching the tiger with a twist of his head and truck hurled him against a tree. The tiger fell senseless to the ground and Nag knelt on the orange and black form till with a few final gasps the tiger’s life passed from him.

And that is how dear reader, the 28 Division of His Majesties troops in India found themselves delivered from two enemies in one night. And there we shall leave them fixing their camp and burying their dead.

                                      The End

How Dare You Stay Calm!

Here is a story I scribbled nearly three years ago.  I say scribbled because I really put no thought into it; I was just writing for the fun of it.  It has some blatant grammatical errors, but I decided to post it as is...
Oh, and even though there is an 'I' in this story, it is not a true story.  Some of the events were inspired by real life happenings, but some I made up.

    It all started one morning in late January.  Eight inches of powdery snow had fallen the night before, and the sun shone brightly on it, nearly blinding me as I stepped outside.  I started to place one foot out into the snow and shuddered as I felt how soft the snow was.  If I stepped out of the comforting safety of the garage I would surely sink into snow knee-deep!  And who knew what all was hidden under that innocent cover of snow!
    After considering my options, I grabbed a hefty shovel and fought my way through the snow towards the barn.  Finally I reached the barn and momentarily set aside my weapon to wrestle the old rusty door open.  It squeaked loudly in protest as I shoved it open.  A beam of sunlight fell across the dirt packed floor, reflecting off the metal dog food dish and nearly blinding me again.  I swung my shovel up to cover my eyes and knocked myself in the head.
    When I recovered, I stomped through the barn doing my chores.
    The dog ran hyper circles around me, bouncing and barking his ears off.  (Well, nearly so anyway.)  I managed to finish my duties despite his rambunctious activity and climbed the ladder to the loft to see why the cats weren’t venturing out into the snow yet.
    They were all still sleeping soundly.  Typical cat behavior.  I lowered the makeshift elevator.  There was a pop!  It was a weasel!
    Barker (the dog) boarded the elevator and I hauled him up.
    “Get them cats up, Barker!”  I yelled.  Barker yelped happily and charged the cats.  They jumped and hissed and when they were done acting brave they scattered into their favorite hiding places.
    Barker looked up at me, panting happily as if to say, “I did a good job, didn’t I?”  I congratulated him and gave him his favorite treat before making my way back to the house through the more than knee-deep drifts of snow.  Barker bounced up and down beside me, never running out of energy.
    As we neared the house, I heard the sound of frantic voices break the calm stillness of the morning.  Barker and I raced towards the house, snow flying behind us.
    I burst through the door and kicked my boots off, one hitting the ceiling above and the other flying off into some dark corner.
    As I climbed the stairs I could distinguish some of what was being said (or rather, yelled).
    “How DARE you stay calm?!?  A terrible disaster has just occurred and you’re just standing there!  Do something!  Don’t just stand there!  HELP!”
    I flew up the remainder of the stairs, trying to prepare myself for whatever tragedy lay waiting for me.
    I turned the corner.  Another set of stairs loomed ahead, seeming to glare maliciously at me.  I fought my way up the slippery steps, gasping for breath as I wondered who had shined the floor with grease!  The stairs seemed as though they would never end.  It was like a dream; running as fast as you can and getting nowhere.  I was getting desperate.  Something terrible had happened and they needed me!  I leaned forward with one last surge of energy, heard a loud snap and felt as though I was flying through the air.  Suddenly I was at the top of the stairs, sprawled face down on the cold wooden floor.  I leapt up and banged through the kitchen door, stopping short.  The sight that met my eyes was one I had never imagined to be the cause of such frantic cries for help.
    Salt and pepper from a broken salt and pepper shaker set was strewn across the floor in disarray.
                    –The End—

Helpful Links

Here are some links that to articles that I though had helpful ideas about improving writing. I thought I would share them with you all.

http://www.stumbleupon.com/su/2gVUuZ/www2.hn.psu.edu/faculty/jmanis/assign/e50xs2.htm

http://www.stumbleupon.com/su/5EVTTp/www2.hn.psu.edu/faculty/jmanis/assign/e50xs1.htm


And here for you poets-Grace I think that means only you-is a free online rhyming dictionary.

http://www.stumbleupon.com/su/2vVy7E/www.rhymer.com

I will post some of the other things I have in mind, soon, including ideas for things we could all do together. School just started for me and I am crazy busy however, so it may take some time. In the meantime-Josie, Grace, Angela-keep posting! I'll comment or post more when I can!

Untitled

    Screams of pain and anger rose up and assaulted Lyden’s ears as he fought.  Every moment he remained on the front line his life was in danger.  With a quick swipe of his sword, Lyden blocked an attempt to cut him in half, and then executed a few moves of his own.  In moments, he had disposed of the charging enemy. 

    He raised his eyes for a few moments, then tugged lightly on his horse’s reins and whirled back up behind the line of battle.  They flew up a hill made up of sand, rock, and scrub brush, then came to a stop in front of another rider.  “Captain!” he called, while pulling his foaming steed to a stop.  “How do things look?”

    Donear’s eyes clouded with worry.  “Bad.  They have far more troops than we have.   I’m afraid that we won’t be able to hold them off much longer!”

    Lyden turned in the saddle and looked out over the desert sands to where the battle raged.  As his heart denied what he saw, his mind was forced to accept it.   For at least a mile, the ground was covered with marching Aramens.  He quickly estimated that they had at least fifty thousand troops who had not even lifted a sword yet, compared to his measly three thousand which were already fighting.

      “Thank you, Captain,” he muttered, his voice rimmed with frustration.  He loped his horse down the hill, through his troops, and to the front battle line.  Just as he arrived, a company of men broke and ran, their faces a mask of fear.  He blocked their path.  “Onward troops!” he yelled twirling his sword high in the air.  “Onward, to victory!”  With that he let loose a battle cry and charged the enemy.

    Just in case you were wondering, there is more to the story, even though I don't whether I will post more on here or not.  Also, I don't have a title for this story; that is why I posted it as having no title.