Tip Tuesday - Let There Be Inspiration!

I've always told myself, and maybe you have too, that I cannot write unless I have inspiration. Day after day, I live life just waiting for someone to inspire me, something to get me excited about writing again. I want the best idea, and I want it to be easy. Starting to see the issue? Who am I writing for? Is this the attitude I should have? No. If it is my goal in life to use my gift of writing for God's glory, I cannot just sit around waiting for an idea to hit me on the head. Full time authors certainly don't do this. They have deadlines, yet somehow they manage to publish amazing books. So how on earth do they do it? My English teacher posted this in our classroom a while back, and I believe it sums up my main idea pretty well:

Is this easy? No. But should I let it stop me? It better not. If I never write, if I never turn on the faucet, if I just sit around waiting, I may never find the river of inspiration I'm looking for. So let's write. Turn on your faucets, and if that means only writing 100 words a day, just do it. At least you'll be going somewhere, and eventually, you will find the current. 

Tip Tuesday

It's 9:45 p.m. and I just remembered that I was supposed to fill in for Hope today. Here's a quick tip, although I hope it's not one we've already done.

Sometime when my brother came home from college for a visit, I had asked him to read one of my stories. He did so cheerfully, which I've been so grateful for so many times, and he gave me a wonderful little tip that has greatly improved my writing: Try not to use adverbs to describe your verbs. Why? Because chances are, if you're wanting to use an adverb, you probably need a stronger verb. Instead of saying "The boy quickly climbed up the ladder," you should be saying, "The boy scrambled up the ladder." Of course, this doesn't mean you should always abstain from using adverbs. It's just a reminder to check your verb choice.

Stephanie Morril posted in more detail about this on Go Teen Writers if you want to know more:
http://goteenwriters.blogspot.com/2014/01/why-should-i-not-use-adverbs.html

The Aldridges and the Indians Part 5 - Final!

 All righty, here is the last part of the story I was posting before we took our break!  =)

The next morning at breakfast Inga decided it was time to bring up her request.
    “Aunt Rena,” She began.
    “Yes, child? What is it?” Aunt Rena looked up from her plate of “rich food”, as Inga had come to call it.
    “I-I was just wondering....” Inga paused slightly and Aunt Rena jumped in.   
    “Elisabeth, must you stutter so? It’s quite unbecoming of you. If you have something to say, say it without hesitation.” Aunt Rena instructed.
    “Yes, ma’am. I was wondering if I could go back home.” Inga said quickly and louder than necessary.
    “My hearing is not impaired, Elisabeth. You needn’t speak so loudly. Go home? Is it just because I asked you not to stutter?” 
    “No, Aunt Rena! Quite not. I’m just missing my family, that’s all. I didn’t realize this was going to be an extended visit. Well, I guess I didn’t know how long I’d be here, but I certainly didn’t think it’d be this long, and I have been feeling rather homesick of late. It’s not that I don’t like England or anything; on the contrary, your home is to be spoken of with high regard, as well as the care I have received during my stay, extended though it may have been. So it is with utmost hope that I request this, that you may understand my reasons and consent.” Inga concluded.   
    “My goodness, child! Such a speech! It sounds as though you are requesting to be released from prison!”
    “Oh, no, nothing like that, dear aunt --”
    “Elisabeth, I wasn’t finished, and I don’t intend to hear another of your pleading speeches. Your request is granted. When do you wish to leave?” Aunt Rena asked.
    “Oh, as soon as possible!” Inga exclaimed eagerly, then caught herself. “Ah, whenever it is convenient for you.... It’s not a hurry.”
    “Very well. I became aware of the fact that the train for the United States leaves tomorrow morning. Would it suit you to leave then?”
    “Oh, yes, aunt. I will be ready and waiting.”    
    “Very good. Go on now, one of the maids will help you pack.”
    “Oh, if it’s all right with you, I’d just as soon pack on my own.”
    “As you wish, Elisabeth.” And so the two departed.   Inga ran up the stairs and into her room, grabbing up her suitcase and stuffing her nearest belongings into it with a flourish. So excited was she to pack, it was quite a sloppy ordeal, and one of the maids had to repack later that evening when Inga was in bed.      
    The next morning Aunt Rena’s chauffeur drove Inga in one of the finer carriages to the train depot. Soon Inga was aboard after the farewells had been exchanged. She felt a tingle of excitement as the train started up and chugged down the tracks toward the dock, where she would board a ship to continue her journey home.
                ________
Back in Kansas, Benjamin and Caleb were heading down to Uncle Red Deer’s teepee when Eliphelet came running up to them. 
    “Say, Benji, Caleb, you want to take that pig back?” Eliphelet asked.
    “How come, Phelet?” Benjamin asked, using Eliphelet’s nickname that they’d given him.
    “’Cause Shua and Hama have been making me and Eli take care of it. They don’t care one bit about it.” Phelet complained.
    “Aw, that’s too bad, Phelet. Ah, I have an idea! Have you seen an extra cow or dog around these parts lately?” Caleb asked, grinning with an idea.
    “Maybe. Why?” Phelet asked suspiciously.
    “Because I was wonderin,’ that’s why. But if you tell us where those two animals are, maybe Benji and I can help ya’ll take care o’ that ol’ pig o’ yours.” Caleb explained.
    “Hmmm..... How come you want to know?”
    “Because they’re ours, and we haven’t seen ‘em since we got here.” Caleb said.
    “Ah! How about if I find them and return them, you take over complete responsibility of the pig?” Phelet bargained.
    “Nope! Not good enough. It’s your family’s pig, you’ve gotta take care of most of it. Just show us where that cow and dog are being stowed away.”
    “Well, I think they’re planing on eatin’ that dog soon.” Phelet said.
    “Nuh uh! I haven’t seen one dog bein’ ate since we’ve been here, and that’s been a long time. You’re just trying to scare us.”
    “Oh, all right already! Follow me.” And the three youngsters trooped down the path away from the teepees.
                ___________
    “Anika, Anika!” The call rang out as Ma was doing the wash a few days later. Grandmother Tia was running swiftly towards her.
    “What is it? Is something wrong?” Ma asked.
    “I don’t know, there’s a wagon coming!” Grandmother Tia exclaimed. “Are you expecting someone?”
    “No, I don’t think so.   I wonder who it could be!” Ma gathered the laundry and together they hurried back to the teepees.
    “There, you see?” Grandmother Tia pointed to a wagon slowly approaching.
    “Do you suppose we should get the men?” Ma asked.
    “I don’t think so. There’s just one wagon.”   Grandmother reasoned. Ma nodded. Soon the children had gathered around, and by then the wagon was stopping in front of them. A young lady jumped out of the back and ran towards them. It was Inga!
    “Inga! You’re home!” Adah was the first to speak, running and surrounding Inga in an embrace. “You didn’t tell us you were coming!” Adah said in delight as the others crowded around.
    “It was a surprise!” Inga said, laughing.
    “Well, you certainly surprised us!” Ma laughed.  
    “Ah, good, I wouldn’t want my surprise to be ruined!” Laughed Inga. “Where’s Papa?”
    “He and some of the others went hunting.”
    “Ah, fresh meat for supper! Sounds good!” Inga smiled.
    “Really? I thought you might be missing fancy food!” Ma chuckled.
    “Nope. I’m ready to be an Indian again! I’ve had enough of fancy life!” Inga laughed. “And am I ever glad to be called by my real name again!”
    Ma looked at her questionably but when Inga didn’t elaborate decided it wasn’t of importance.
    “Well, come, you must be tired from your trip. You can rest until supper.” Ma said.
    “Ah, I’d rather not. I’m tired of being pampered, I want to do something useful!” Inga said with an exaggerated sigh. They all laughed as they headed towards the teepees with Miss Piggy trailing after them.

                THE END!

Of Men and Dragons--Part 1

    This is one of the first stories I wrote.  The only fiction I had written up to that point was what I had written for a creative writing class and perhaps another random story or two.  My point is, it is not very well written.  However, I enjoyed writing it at that time.  So, enjoy this story that has been hidden in the dust bin and was never completed.  Yes, that habit started early on.  *sheepish grin*  By the way, I just made up the title on the spot because I never bothered to name the story.  So, if it seems cheesy, that is why.  Enjoy!

 

   Robert coughed hard, trying to clear dust from his throat and vent some of his frustration out on something.  “Come on, horse.  Gimme a break.”  His brown eyes narrowed and he bounced the loop of the rope in his hand, preparing to cast it at the wild horse once again.

    The stallion reared and let out an angry cry.  It was wired and upset.  With another scream it galloped towards the fence, a wild look in its eyes.  Surprise filled Robert as he realized its intentions.  Dust swirled up and around the horse as it reached the fence and then shoved itself upward into a soaring jump.

    “No!” Robert clambered over the fence and hastily threw the rope.  The horse could not escape, he would not allow it.  The moment the stallion landed the rope settled about its neck.  Robert could not help but grin.  “What a perfect throw,” he thought, “I doubt anyone else could hav- Umph!” He opened his mouth trying to draw in air.  Sticks and rocks scraped his elbows and tore at his pants and shirt.  In front of him, the black tail of the horse streamed.  Panic coursed through Robert’s body; he had to let go of the rope.  Yet, his hands seemed glued to it.  Pain shot up his side as the horse turned sharply, swinging him into a boulder.

                                                                                    ~

    Black dots swam before Robert’s eyes when he opened them.  He raised his head slightly, stopping when pain pierced his side.  It was night-time.  Was he near the ranch house, or had the horse continued to drag him away from it?  He slowly raised himself into a sitting position.  “Oh!’ He groaned. 

    Suddenly, from behind him, he heard the crack of a twig.  “Hey, Steven, is that you?”  Robert called out, hoping it was his brother.  “Could you come give me a hand?”

    Silence.  Then, cold metal touched Robert’s throat.  “Who are you?” an unfamiliar voice queried.  Robert turned his head slightly, his eyes straining to make who was standing next to him.  “I asked,” came the voice more forcefully, “Who are you?!”

    Trying to keep unneeded fear from tainting his answer, Robert said with a forced calm, “My name’s Robert, and what are you doing on my property?”

    “Your property?  Ha!  I happen to know that this is not your property.  Do you know where you are?  You are in Ventigo!  The home of the elves!  In fact, the very land you are sitting on does not belong to anyone but the birds and the beasts and the plants.”

    Great, thought Robert, Not only am I hurt, but I am with some loony guy who thinks he is in the land of the elves who is an animal rights person.  “Listen,” Robert said, hoping to talk a little sense into the guy.  “I don’t have a clue what you are talking about, but I think you must be confused.  My home is right over there,” he waved his hand towards the left, “and I would greatly appreciate it if you would help me there . . . after you put down the sword.” Robert slowly edged away from the sharp point.  I wonder where he got that thing.  I am definitely going to have to report this guy to the police.

    “Your home is over there?  Whatever, there is nothing over there but a lake.”  The man grabbed Robert and yanked him to his feet.  Pain shot up Robert’s arm, and black dots made their appearance again.  A firm hand shoved him forward.  “Move!” 

    “Alright, alright,” Robert muttered, gently massaging his hurting arm.  For the next hour, he and the crazy man walked over uneven terrain to who knew where.  Whenever Robert began to stop to rest, the man poked him in the back with the sword.  As time passed Robert became painfully aware of the full day’s work he had already put in.  His feet felt like lead.  Finally, not even the fear of being stabbed in the back with the sword could keep him on his feet.  Pain and exhaustion won out.  Robert could hear the man threatening him.  Before he could defend himself blackness claimed him.

~

    Robert jerked, and sat up.  Where was he?  Around him light flooded in through dirty windows and an empty door frame.  Unfamiliar walls and a ceiling seemed to be staring out at him through knots in the wood.   I guess last night was not a dream.  “But if it wasn’t, where is the man that kidnapped me?” he muttered, while trying to lay his tousled brown hair in a sense of order.  Disgust filled him as dirt came off on his hand.  He slowly slipped off the cot on which he had been laying.  What a dump.  If this is where that guy lives, I don’t blame him for going crazy.  Dirt covered the floor and walls, and the cot that had served as Robert’s bed was, well, Robert didn’t even want to touch it. 

    He took one step out of the cabin, and then stopped.  In front of him, gigantic mountains rose high into the sky.  White fluffy clouds danced around their middle keeping the rest of their mass hidden in the fluffy folds.  Robert squinted his eyes trying to see their tops.  He shook his head in amazement.  They could not be seen.    

    “Good morning!” came a musical voice.  Robert jerked in surprise and whirled around.  A young girl with slanted eyes and a pert nose was watching him.

    “Good morn-hey!  Why are your ears pointed like that?” 

    The little girl tossed her golden hair with a laugh.  “Why aren’t yours?  I guess Lyden was right.  You aren’t an elf!”

    “Who’s Lyden?”

    “The elf that found you.  Don’t you remember?”

    “Well, I never really got to see his face, and it wouldn’t matter even if I had.  It isn’t like he introduced himself to me.”  He brought his eyebrows down in a scowl.

    The girl let out another tinkling laugh.  “Since you haven’t seen it fit to ask, my name is Lydell.  What is yours?”

    “Robert.”

    “Well, Robert, follow me.  I am sure you wish to resolve your being here as swiftly as possible.”

    Robert hesitated, and then realized that, since he had no clue where he was, following the girl was his best bet at getting out of here. He followed the girl, which he judged to be about ten into a forest of stately trees.  Lush green grass, with groups of flowers scattered about, grew under the canopy of leaves.  Birds that he had never before seen lept from branch to branch letting out calls that made him want to sing and dance.  The girl seemed to have no reserves around strangers and laughed and chattered while, every now and then, turning around to see if he was still following her.  Robert entertained himself part of the time by studying her clothing.  She wore a green dress with brown piping.  It looked common enough, what caught his attention was a small belt that was buckled around her waist with a dagger hanging from it.  Did all the young girls around here go around armed?   For the most part he ignored what the girl said.  Then he heard a word that caught his attention.  “Did you say dragons?” he stopped and stared.

    “Yes, haven’t you been listening?” she glared at him for second, then continued.  “As I said before, we live quite peaceable here except for the dragons that plague us ever now and then.  They are violent creatures, and there seems to be no hope for their befriending.”

    “You talk as if they could be befriended; as if they could talk.” 

    “They can.”

    His eyes widened in shock.

    She reached down and gently fondled an orchid.  “They don’t speak like you and me; however, they can communicate through the mind.  And before you ask how we know, we know because they overpower us with their minds so we can’t defend ourselves.”

    Robert looked around him at the forest, suddenly feeling chilled.  “But it feels so safe here.”

    “But it isn’t.  Not a bit.”  She cocked her head, “However, perhaps someday we will be able to break through to the dragons.  Many of our old songs and ballads speak of such a day.”

    They continued on in silence; Robert pondering on what she had said, and the girl seemingly content to study the surrounding wildlife.  Then once again, her musical voice took wing, and he found himself hearing descriptions of the animals that they caught sight of now and then.  Some of the animals were the same as ones that lived near his house, while others where as different as the day is from night.  This place was most certainly a wonder.  Yet, even the beauty of it did not keep fear from wrapping its fingers around his heart.  This place was most certainly not anywhere near where he lived, and how he got here, and who these people where, was an even bigger mystery.     

Tip Tuesday

    Have you ever read a book that had so many characters that you kept forgetting who was who and what so special about them?  Lots of characters can be fun to write about, but you want to make sure your reader can tell them apart.  How can this be done?  One way is to make their circumstances and who (or what) they are very unique.  Tolkien's Lord of the Rings is a good example of this.  In the first book, Frodo has a dizzying amount of companions with him through part of the book.  There is Gandalf, Legolas, Gimli, Boromir, Aragorn, Pippin, Merry, and Sam.  That's a lot of characters to keep track off and tell apart.  However, most of them are fairly easy to keep straight.  Gandalf is a wizard.  Legolas is an elf.  Gimli is a dwarf.  Aragorn is the rightful heir of Gondor (he is also the other main character in the books).  And Boromir is the slightly suspicious character who comes from Gondor.  All of those are easy to tell apart.  The hobbits are a bit more tricky, but you can usually keep them straight as well.  Now, imagine if they had been all hobbits or all men or all elves?  That would be so confusing.  
    Another way to help readers to tell your characters apart is simply by using nicknames.  Have you ever read the Sugar Creek Gang books?  Each one of the boys in the gang had a nickname (Circus, Poetry, Dragonfly, etc.).  As soon as you read the nickname it would immediately draw your mind to what character it referred to, making it easy to tell them apart.
    You may not think that your characters all run together, but remember, you are the author, of course they don't seem to run together to you.  You created them. :)  
    Hopefully this was helpful to you.  Have fun writing!
    

The Value of All--Part 1

     I will warn you that I really didn't like the way this story came out (yes, I actually finished this one).  I enjoyed writing it, but the overall storyline didn't satisfy me.  I didn't feel like it had much of a point . . .  Anyway, with that being said, hopefully you will still enjoy reading it.  :)

          “What do they value the most?” the man leaned on the mahogany table, the tips of his fingers resting together. 

          “What indeed?” his companion smiled, his gray eyes hard and cold. “You never can tell.”

          “It is an interesting thought.”

          “Of course,” he leaned back and his smile grew wider, “Of course.”

          The air was crisp and chilly carrying the feel of fall.  Elitia walked down the sidewalk, dry leaves crunching beneath her feet while newly fallen ones drifted down and gently brushed her face.  The world was a maze of bright colors beneath a dreary sky. 

          “Argh!” her face contorted into a scowl as she tried to untangle her black hair from around a twig.  It came out reluctantly while pulling out several strands in a last attempt to remain.  She tossed it to the ground and continued on her way. 

          A small house on the corner claimed her attention.  Her eyes looked distastefully at the flaking paint that could no longer claim to be white.  A ramshackle porch sagged wearily against the house; the only beauty it could claim was the colorful leaves that ordained its gray wood. 

          The steps creaked beneath Elitia’s feet as she made her way to the front door, its screen ripped out and its glass cracked.  Her feet felt like lead and her whole body yearned to be away from this place.  Yet, at the same time, this old house held a source of comfort.  Perhaps it was the memories tied up in its worn frame.

          Elitia shoved the door open with a bang.  Inside, the house showed the efforts of a meticulous housekeeper:  her mother. 

          She stood there for a moment in the empty hallway.  The house was silent.  She must not be home.  As she entered the very last room on the left she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror:  a pale girl with large green eyes and jet black hair stared back at her.  She shuddered.  Even the contrast of her hair and face bothered her.  No wonder it bothered everyone else. 

          Her backpack hit the ground with the thump, and her black leather jacket landed on top of it with a swish. 

          As she prepared to head to the kitchen in search of some goodies, a scrap of paper caught her eyes.  It lay lopsided on the desk and was covered with a familiar scrawl.

Work called.  They didn’t say why. 

There is some soup in the fridge for supper.

Love you.

          Elitia’s stomach growled reminding her she hadn’t eaten lunch.  However, she ignored it, her mind intent on the note.  Something wasn’t right.  She stood there for a moment longer until her stomach sent up a more determined protest.

          “Alright, alright.  Pipe down.”

          Inside the kitchen a worn out refrigerator chugged wearily in the corner, its exterior sparkling from a recent scrubbing.  The door clicked quietly as Elitia opened it and rummaged through the containers until she found the right one.  She methodically ladled the soup into a glass bowl and then stuck it in the microwave.  While her hands performed these simple tasks, her mind reviewed the day.  Like usual, it had stunk.

          Kids had made fun of her.  Her teachers had rejected her.  And even her friends had seemed aloof.  She took a deep breath trying to control the emotions raging through her body.  Her lips quivered.  Why couldn’t she fit in?  And why was there a nagging fear at the back of her mind?

          The microwave dinged.  It sounded loud in the silence.  She opened it and took a bite of the soup while using her elbow to close the door.  “Yum.”  At least one thing has gone right today.

          The front door slammed.  “I’m home!” a cheerful voice announced.  A freckled face peered into the kitchen before the young girl came dancing in.   Red hair stuck out crazily from around small ears and a wide smile swallowed the girl’s face. 

          “Can I have some soup?” Colette swung her backpack onto the kitchen table and slid into one of the wobbly metal chairs.  “Where’s mom?  Is there any bread to go with it?”

          Elitia blinked against the whirlwind of questions.  It was typical of her sister.  Yet, like usual, she had trouble adjusting to the sudden change of pace.

          “Go put up your backpack,” a frown turned down the corners of Elitia’s mouth, “You know better than to put it on the table.”

          “Can I have some soup when I get back?”

          “Of course.  Do you think I’m going to starve you or something?”

          Colette grinned impishly and dragged the bag off the table allowing it to crash into the floor before she headed towards her room. 

          By the time she returned, Elitia had fixed another bowl of soup and had scrounged up some crackers from the cupboard. 

          “Can’t I have some bread?” Colette asked between slurps of soup.

          Elitia ignored the question.  It was a stupid one.  When was the last time they had extra bread sitting around?

          “Where’s mom?”

          “Work.”  Elitia dumped her empty bowl into the sink, hesitating before she moved away.  Guilt poked her mind, but she promised herself that she would clean it up before her mom got home.

          “Why did she have to go to work?”

          The question floated behind her unanswered as she left the room.

          A loud buzzing sound filled the air.  Elitia cracked her eyes open, her mind struggling to remember where she was.  Home.  Her room.  In bed.  And that was the phone ringing. 

          She ran a hand over her face and shoved her feet out of the covers.  Darkness filled the house as she stumbled towards the phone in the hall.  “Hello?” she yawned as she said the words and leaned against the wall. 

          “Honey, its mom.  I'm headed home.  I'm sor-“ a loud screeching sound cut off her mother’s words.

          “Hello?”

          No one replied. 

          Elitia froze, the phone pressed tightly to her ear.  Her fingers felt numb, and her stomach dropped to the ground.  Think.  She just got cut off that’s it.  There’s nothing to worry about.  She set the phone down trying to breath.  Trying to think. 

          She stumbled into the kitchen and shakily poured herself a drink of cold water.  As she took a sip she replayed the conversation in her mind.  It’s nothing.  She repeated to herself.  But still the uncertainty remained.  She could have sworn that that screech had been her mother's voice.

          It was morning.  The realization come slowly as Elitia tried to straighten up.  The kitchen chairs had not been made for sleeping.  She stretched and heard her back crack.  What had happened?  Then it came back in a rush.  The phone call.  The screech.  Mom.  Maybe she was home.  Elitia rushed into the hall and to her mother’s room.  The bed was empty and unwrinkled.  She then checked the driveway.  The car was still gone. 

          Cold air seeped up from the boards and into Elitia’s feet as she stood there.  Maybe I could call the place where she works.   She shuddered at the idea.  That place gave her the creeps.  But still . . . 

          She picked up the phone and dialed. 

          “Hello?” a business like voice said cheerfully on the other end.

          Elitia shuddered.  It sounded ominous to her.  “Uh, yes.  I’m calling about my mother, Jane Walsh.”

          “Yes, what about her?”

          “Well, um, I was just wondering when she was going to come home.  You see, she left last night and hasn’t come back,” Elitia took a big breath to settle her erratic nerves.

          Colette walked out of her room fully dressed and ready for another day of school.  “Who are you talking to?”

          “Shh!” 

          “Let me look.  Jane Walsh, correct?”

          “Yes,” Elitia played with the peeling wallpaper as she waited.  And waited.

          The lady finally started talking again, “As far as I can see she left for home a little bit before midnight.  If you would like I can check with the police department.  Perhaps her car broke down.”

          “If it wouldn’t be too much trouble.”

          “Not at all.”  There were a few more moments of silence.  “What is your name?”

          “E-Elitia.”

          “Elitia I really don’t know how to say this, but it seems that your mother had a car accident on the way home.  It was fatal, honey.”

          Elitia gritted her teeth.  If the lady was trying to sound sympathetic, she was failing.

          “Are you still there?”

          “Yes.  I am.”

          “I am so sorry.”

          “Thank you,” the words barely fit past the growing lump in her throat.   She put the phone down, unable to tolerate anymore of her slippery words.  “No,” she whispered.

          Colette stared at her, her blue eyes wide and fearful, “What’s wrong?”

          Elitia shook her head.  Words refused to come.

          “Is it mom?”

          She managed a shaky nodded. 

          Tears welled up in the young girl’s eyes. 

          That’s all it took to break the dam.  Elitia crumpled to the floor and wept.  “She’s dead,” she sobbed. 

          A knock echoed through the house.  As she started to rise from the floor the door burst open.  Forms dressed in black entered like a horde.  They appeared blurry and disjointed through her tears.  Hands grabbed her arms and jerked them behind her back.  From somewhere nearby Colette shrieked.  That brought her to life. 

          “Leave her alone!” she struck out.  Her fingernails gouged into someone’s face.

          “You little wretch!” a hand slapped her cheek. 

          She struggled even more.  Screams tore from her throat as she lashed out with both her hands and feet. 

          Something slammed her face into the ground and her hands were cruelly twisted behind her back.  The cold metal of handcuffs touched her wrists.  But she didn’t care.  She continued to kick as hard as she could. 

          Then out of the mist she saw a fist moving towards her.  Stars appeared and a black hole beckoned her.  The last thing she heard was Colette crying her name.