I told myself that if I got accepted into the Fine Arts Honors
College, I would make the portfolio I applied with public to those of you who
are interested in my work.
Excerpts from my series of short
stories:
{Pointless}
Cold fingers against her temples felt
nice.
The scene looked like one from an old
novel, she thought; tall candles flickering, sending a yellowish light across
the writing paper and quill spread in front of her. She enjoyed writing with a
quill, even though it wasn’t the easiest form of writing. It wasn’t modern, and
that fact made her drawn to it even more. She had mastered neat handwriting
with it long ago, and frankly, it was her favorite.
Sighing, she took her hand away from her
face. She began scrawling pointless words on the paper. Whenever she gave
thought to it, it was pointless,
but she could never attempt to stop herself from continuing. It was like
something had latched on to her against her will, feeding her these words to
write; alas, it was nothing like that. Knowing all too well what it was like to
do things against her will, she understood it was of her own doing.
It was baffling, though, that she wrote
this at all. Why did she write all of these letters—these pointless, pointless letters?
She concluded, sadistically, that there wasn’t a good explanation. It was her
mind, her truly ruined mind, ruined from the years of the life she had led,
proving that it was wearing down; much like her heart. She would never admit to
the latter.
The tears returned, never failing to
splash on her page, creating obstacles for her to avoid. If she were to write
through them in her writing haste, the paper would tear, and she would have to
begin again. And she knew she wouldn’t be able to write this again.
Leaning back, she reminded herself to sit
upright. In the midst of her quick words, she had hunched over her desk,
becoming consumed with her own thoughts and the process of putting them on the
page. It was an awful habit, she knew, and that wasn’t usually how she did
things. But this was different. Somehow, she allowed herself to completely let
go of everything else, just so she could write. That, in the depths of her
ruined mind, amazed her.
“Pointless,” she murmured, near inaudibly.
Wiping the remains of the tears from her face, she looked at the finished
letter, and began to read the words.
{Safe}
“Vince,” she says, stifling a yawn.
“Marie,”
he mimics her tone, which was, as he would put it, all-too serious yet
completely entertaining to him.
She
ignores him and continues. “I’m going to fall asleep,” she states, a bit
factually. “Do you know what you’re doing? You look like you’re preforming
surgery on the computer.”
Vince
shoves his messy blonde hair out of his face to give her a look she rolls her
eyes at. “You could, you know, not insult me while
I’m helping you. It really hurts my feelings and my self-esteem.” His
last sentence drips with sarcasm only Vince could use. His sarcasm was so not
serious, but it made Marie wonder if that was his only way of being truly
serious, and his sarcastic words were actually straight from his very profound
and, at times, pleasant heart.
Then
again, Vince was never one to have a hurting self-esteem. “Oh, right, I forgot
you were helping me,” there’s some venom in her tone; he grins, and she hates
that he finds her so amusing when she’s aggravated, “I probably forgot because
I didn’t, you
know, ask you.”
He
chuckles, and she balls her hands into fists. “You are adorable,” he chirps,
and then continues on poking at the PC console.
“Adorable?
You are the only person to ever call me that,” she murmurs, and crosses her
arms over her chest in annoyance. She didn’t like to be called something so
childish. She was the Champion. She was strong and courageous, the first of her
generation to take on the challenge of beating and winning the Tournament, earning the
hard-earned title of Champion. Even as a child, she recalls, no one called her
adorable. They called her smart and independent, or respectful and mature.
He
laughs again, making her attention snap back to him. “You’re really upset about
that?” he begins to place things back in the PC and move around some wiring.
“Upset
about what?” she’s already rolling her eyes, and he looks up to grin at her.
“Being
called adorable? Because—don’t get mad—you actually look even more adorable
when you’re upset about being called adorable.” He reattaches the side of the
exposed console and stands up, looking her right in the face. His grin fades to
a smirk. “Done, Your Highness,” he bows dramatically.
She
doesn’t give it away on her face, but she’s amused by him. She’s always amused
by him. “Thank you,” she finally says. She wants to add something, but can’t
seem to find the words.
It
seems like that’s what happens every time.
“No
problem. Want me to escort you to your room, since you’re about to fall
asleep?” His own brand of sarcasm seasons the words.
“No
thanks,” she retorts, acting like this conversation was a waste of her time.
But she didn’t have to stay in the office with him until midnight while he worked
on a broken computer. And she certainly didn’t have to chat with him the whole
time. Vince was completely aware of this. “Do you want something for your work,
though? I could probably—“
He
cuts her off, “Marie, you know good and well the only thing I want from you.”
His tone is anything but sarcastic. The serious look on his face startles her
to silence, and she takes a step back, finding herself up against a desk. She
grips it with her hands. Her heart picks up when he walks—slowly, eyeing her
and only her with
each step—around the desk separating them. He walks up to her. She feels a rush
of emotions she doesn’t want to feel, emotions that confuse her whenever she
tries to scribble them in a letter, but she isn’t confused in this moment. She
knows what she is feeling clearly, probably for the first time in her entire
life, as her heart pumps in her stomach, and shock waves paralyze her brain.
He
reaches for her, and places a hand on her face gently. Her eyes close, but
quickly flutter open again. She can’t let herself enjoy his touch.
“We
don’t always get what we want,” she whispers. His face fills with sorrow, and
he runs his thumb across her cheek, staring at her deeply, like this is the last
time he would ever get to look at her like this. Maybe it would be, but he scares
that thought away. He moves his hand back down to his side.
Every
fiber in her being regrets saying those words. Her hand twitches—she almost
reaches for him and pulls him close—but she grips the desk again, restraining
herself.
“You’re
going to be the death of me, Marie,” he says, and smirks, but there is no
happiness or amusement written on his face.
She
tries to be gentle. “It’s just…I just…I have…”
“Yeah
I know,” he spits, bitterly, “It’s just you just you
have a lot on your plate, I get it. Adding in something would be too much,
right?”
She
nods, and says nothing in response. She can’t trust herself to speak. If she
starts, she might never stop, and what she would be saying would be things
she’s not ready to say.
“Yeah…”
he trails off, and his gaze wanders. “It would be too much, and I’m not worth
it.”
There
it was. The sarcasm that seemed so ironic it wasn’t.
“Vince,”
she begins. Her tone was soothing and kind. “That’s not it at all.”
“Save
it,” he interjects.
“What?
Let me talk to you,” Marie says with desperation.
“Seriously?”
he gives her a look, “You’re going to give me the ‘it’s not you it’s me’ spiel?
Save it,” he repeats.
“Save
it?” she echoes, confused and aggravated and trying not to cry. She really
wants to cry. She almost wishes she wasn’t so good at suppressing it, so she could
let it out right now and show him the sincerity and severity of her feelings.
“Save
it,” he replies, more casually, “for when it’s true. For when another guy
waltzes into your life and you can look him in the eyes and claim it’s not you,
it’s me, and mean it. Save it.” That sentence angers her more than she would
like to admit.
Finally,
she can’t take the rush of emotions. She feels like she’s feeling every emotion
at once, and the only way she can let it out is by yelling: “It is you, Vince!”
He
nods, unfazed by her outburst.
“It’s
you and it has always been you!” He nods again, and motions with his hand,
beckoning her to go on. She takes a step closer to him, getting into his face,
looking straight into those blue eyes, and she continues. “It’s always been
your aggravating, irritating attitudes and your lack of seriousness! It’s
always been you dodging questions, and answering questions with questions! It’s
always been you,” she
points an angry finger at him and pokes his chest, “driving me absolutely crazy
with how you find amusement in the most absurd things! It’s always been you and
your sarcasm and jokes, one’s that are timed wrong but always seem to make
everything better, somehow! It’s
always been you, with your sad blue eyes that never convey the emotion you
want, but instead the emotion that you’re actually feeling,
whether you realize you’re feeling it or not. It’s always been you, and your
ability to find everything infinitely tragic, and infinitely entertaining all
at the same time. It’s always been you, and how you look at me like I’m the
best thing you’ve ever seen, and, even if it’s just for a second, how that one
look convinces me that I just might be the best thing you’ve ever seen. It’s
always been you—“
His
arms wrap around her, embracing her tightly, but he kept his face against her,
looking into her eyes. “Maybe,” he starts, his tone matching her annoyed one,
“it’s always been you.”
Even
with her heart pounding and her brain filling with chemicals, she still
clenches her jaw. “Are you really turning this around on me?”
“Yes,”
he states obviously, “now let me continue. It’s always been you, Miss Marie,
with your stubbornness to not accept how you truly feel. You’re too stubborn to
even admit to yourself that
you might have
feelings for someone that you don’t approve of. It’s always been your inability
to give yourself a break. It’s always been you having high expectations for
yourself, expectations that are unreachable and you refuse to see that, and
drive yourself insane trying to fulfill them. It’s always been you stressing
yourself out, trying to be perfect, when no one is perfect…But it’s always been
you, who somehow or another makes me doubt that no one is perfect, because you
seem like perfection walking. It’s always been you, with your gray eyes that
shine with wonder and amazement. It’s always been you, with a courageous
attitude like no other and the radiant confidence to match…”
She
wraps her arms around his neck and stands on her tip toes.
“It’s
always been you…” he continues, and closes his eyes, “That I have loved with a
love that I thought I would never see in my wretched self again.” After he says
those words, he opens his eyes, like he was afraid she would have disappeared
from his arms.
But
she didn’t disappear, and he doesn’t wait for a reply. He kisses her with
fierce determination, and then more gently, before breaking away. She
didn’t want him to leave, she didn’t want it to end, she began to pull him
back, and he didn’t resist. He couldn’t resist.
“Vince,”
she says, moments later, her breath a whisper.
“Marie,”
he mimics her, and rubs his hand over her back. “Don’t tell me you’re going to
fall asleep, because if you seriously will
be able to sleep tonight, you’ll be the only one in this room who can.”
She
looks around, suddenly aware of how unaware she had been, but the room was
still empty apart from the two of them. Meeting his eyes again, she feels like
she could melt. A part of her feels alarmed at this feeling of exposure and
vulnerability, but another loves it, and wouldn’t want it any other way. “I
hate to ask this, but…Are you leaving in the morning?” She knows the answer.
She can only hope it will be different, and he won’t leave.
“Yes,”
he whispers, and his eyes look so sad she has to look away. But he places a
hand on her chin, and moves her face back to his. “I’ll be back,” he reassures
her, so closely his lips are brushing hers, teasing her to a point where she
can’t say anything more, just kisses him again.
“I…”
she sighs, and takes a step back. He’s not alarmed by this. He simply slides
his hands down to hers. “I can’t promise you that anything will be different
when you come back.”
“I
hope it will be, but I know that you can’t promise me that. I just wanted
this.” He pulls her back to him, and hugs her tightly. “I just wanted this,” he
repeats, quietly in her ear.
She
wants this too. She wants it more than she wanted anything. She wants him, and
everything that accompanied him. His love and affection and however that came.
She wants it.
We
don’t always get what we want.
She sits in her room and watches the night turn into morning. He
was right, she couldn’t sleep. Whether it was the flood of oxytocin or the
burning confusion that rests in her stomach, she doesn’t know.
What now? The
thought repeats in her mind. Things between her and Vince may have gotten
serious before, but he had never said those
things in the past, and that’s what haunts her mind the most. He had
never kept his feelings for her hidden, but he was never quite that vocal about
it either. She was left dazed and confused. She had another month until he
would return to the Stronghold, and what would she say? How would she say it?
How would she know that whatever she says wouldn’t be a complete mistake?
She
wouldn’t. She knows this.
She
couldn’t. She couldn’t tell him anything except for what she always has. She
nods at this thought, and thinks about how safe that
makes her feel. It was safe to tell him what she always has when he puts her in
this position. It was worded differently every time, but it was the same
meaning, and same rejection.
But
then, she feels ridiculous for wanting to be safe. Suddenly she wants to find
that courage that Vince told her she has, and the radiant confidence he spoke
of. She hugs the blanket around herself tighter, and it reminds her of how nice
it was to be in Vince’s arms. She felt the safest she has ever felt in his
arms. She was engrossed in him, and was wrapped up in him and nothing else. For
a while, it was just them, and nothing else in the entire world mattered more
than them in that moment. Nothing mattered more than his eyes on her, and their
lips finding each other, over and over; his hands on her, her arms locked
around him.
For
a moment she’s lost in the memory. She finds her way out of the dreamlike
thought, angrily stands from the chair, and drops the blanket to the floor. She
sits at her desk and prepares to write. She dips the quill in the ink, and
begins.
Dear You,
My emotions are conflicting and I am
beyond confused. I can’t tell if this is the last thing I want, or the only
thing in the entire universe that I want. Things were going well in my life.
Everything was easygoing and I finally felt like I was in control. Then of
course, he waltzes in, ruining that balance that I thought I had.
Oh
but I love him. I love him so much it overpowers everything in me and—
She stops and scoffs at the last thing she
has written. She let the writing take hold of her in the moment. Deep within
her, she knows it was how she truly felt, and it was escaping through the power
of her getting lost as her thoughts turned into words. But she wouldn’t admit
that.
She
crumples up the page and tosses it aside. Oh, the times she had done that
through the years were an uncountable amount.
Starting
fresh, she writes again.
Dear You,
Today
was an average day at the Stronghold…
She
couldn’t dare tell the person of what had happened that day. She would soon
start trying to forget it and erase it from her memory, like it never even
happened. Even though, like all the others, she would never send this
letter.
Excerpts from my novel “The Leader’s
Origin”:
Harry gave me a wary look. He was sitting across from me at the
little table in the commander’s office, one that must have only been used for
interrogations. He was twitchy, and flinched every time Marla started to speak
to him. She was being successfully stern and intimidating; she kept raising her
drawn-on dark eyebrows inquisitively and a bit unbelievably at everything Harry
said, making him stutter and say “I mean…That’s not what I meant!” a lot. In a
weird, twisted way, she was enjoying interrogating him and watching him flinch
under her spell of intimidation.
Commander
Jayson was seemingly taking notes, but was otherwise uninvolved. Cory was
uninterested in the whole thing and stood beside Marla, not trying to even pretend
to pay attention. Commander Sam was pacing silently around the room, apparently
upset about the whole thing. Cory rolled his eyes at him.
“Commander
Marla…” Harry cleared his voice, and his eyes watered, “It really wasn’t
anyone’s fault, I
don’t think.” His voice wavered, “I mean…Felix and I were left alone and
then the train just shut off! It felt like…Sabotage! And Vince just came down,
saw us in a panic, and did what he could and it worked!”
She
made a noise of disbelief and raised her perfectly shaped brows. She paused,
waiting for him to say something in a stuttering panic, but he looked her in
the face and said nothing more. “You think it was sabotage?” Her
voice was harsh, he flinched.
“Well,
not really…But in the moment, Felix made that comment,” said Harry.
Sam
scoffed and made a gesture with his hands, “There is no sabotaging that system!
It’s perfect and that’s the first time it’s ever malfunctioned! And you shouldn’t
have messed with it. I knew putting you two on train duty was a mistake, we
should have—“
“Okay!”
All eyes were suddenly on me, including Cory’s. I smashed my lips together,
regretting blurting that word out; but I couldn’t listen to Sam drill in on
Harry like that. I knew I had to say something. I looked over at Sam, who had
rage written all over his face and flaming eyes. “Okay…” I repeated, a bit
gentler, “Harry and Felix do a great job with the trains, but that’s
unimportant,” I waved myself off and continued: “Your little rig was not
perfect; there was faulty wiring that didn’t even need to be there in
the first place. If anything, what I did made it stronger and less hazardous.”
“That
isn’t true!” Commander Sam yelled, and threw his hands up in the air. I heard
Cory muffle a laugh.
“Sam,
calm down,” he said, not hiding his laughter this time. Sam scoffed again,
crossed his arms over his chest, and looked at Marla.
She
turned her attention from Harry—who finally relaxed in his seat—to me. “Vince,”
I resisted the urge to flinch, “Even though what you did didn’t do any damage
to the train, you did it without permission. What were you thinking? It seems
like you know better.”
“Commander
Marla, I guess I wasn’t thinking. You’re right, I know better.” Shrugging, I
said: “It was as Harry said, I saw them in a panic and then I was helping them.
I didn’t think about it. The only thing I thought about was saving them from
punishment.”
Something
crossed her face, and now Cory was the one raising his eyebrows. Not
necessarily questionably, but out of astonishment. “I see,” was all she said. “Harry
can go. Jayson, would you take him back to his room?” Commander Jayson nodded,
and they left, with Sam following them out.
“Sam
is a little sensitive to…Everything,” Cory explained. “Marla, chill out,” he
said, his tone gentle, and placed a hand on the small of her back. She was
rigid and sitting straight as a board on her chair. She sighed, and shook her
head, like what he said was pointless. It probably was. “No big deal,” Cory
added, and slid his arm around her. The action made me a bit uncomfortable,
since it was just us in the room, but then someone opened the door, and Cory
quickly moved.
It
was a guard I hadn’t met. “Commander Sam told me to tell you that he got word
electronically from Champion Lea,” he had their attention. “It said that he wants
this compound and the other selected compound to give at least five guards, and
he doesn’t want any commanders leaving from this compound—this rebellious
town—to accompany a Golden City scientist to Snow Town for some research.
They’ll be expected to leave in a few days, with more information to
come.”
“We’re one of
the selected compounds?!” Marla asked excitedly. Her face lit up, and she
wasn’t holding back her enthusiasm.
“Yes
ma’am. They don’t want to send any from the Golden Compound, they’re too busy,
and so they selected us and the Swamp Compound.” The guard inched for the door.
“Alright
then!” Marla grinned. “You can go now,” the guard nodded, relieved, and left.
She looked up at Cory, “who are we going to send?!” She was now on her feet,
pacing the room, grin planted on her face. I couldn’t help but be amused at her
childish glee over something that only she could be excited about.
“I
don’t know,” Cory said, as he took his seat and watched her. “There are plenty
of guards here. Picking at random—“
“No,”
she objected quickly, “that’s ridiculous. There has to be some thought behind
it. We can’t send commanders, so whoever we send has to be responsible enough
to be trusted to fly to Snow Town.”
“Flying
there? At this time of the year?”
“Well,
we can’t expect them to hike up Mount Cornelius. They have to make the flight.
It won’t be terribly snowy.”
“Maybe
not in a few days, but whenever they’ll be coming back is the
real issue,” Cory spoke.
“Then
we have to send someone responsible enough to make decisions like that and who
can handle those situations. Brian and Thane, from patrol, they’re good candidates,”
said Marla, her pacing picking up. Cory nodded. “Tim from the control room is a
good one. He does a lot around here and a lot with the new guards.” I
recognized the name.
“Will
is a good one,” Cory added, and Marla stopped to glare at him. He was holding
back a grin so badly his face turned red.
“Hilarious,”
she was unamused, and Cory busted out in laughter. I didn’t know a Will, but I
assumed he wouldn’t be the best choice. “You could try taking me seriously every
once in a while,” she crossed her arms over her chest and gave him a look, and
then looked at me—for the first time in a while. “Vince takes me seriously,”
she said, mostly to herself since Cory was still cracking up, “maybe…” She
paused, and Cory paused, and they both examined me.
“What?”
I said, but I knew what was happening. I didn’t like it.
Cory
grinned at me and shook his head, “The look of complete terror on his face
makes me against this.”
“It
doesn’t scare me,” Marla mused. She smirked. “He’d do a great job if
we sent him. I like him.”
“Well, he did just get
in trouble for doing something without permission,” Cory chuckled. “Probably
shouldn’t reward that by sending him on a secret mission with a Golden City
scientist.”
“Commanders,
stop talking about me like I’m not even here,” I said. They looked at me for a
moment, and then Marla looked at Cory again.
“He’s
smart enough to know that wasn’t a big deal. If anything, it was just to
appease Sam, and make him feel like some sort of justice was being served for
his control panels being messed with. And it was to show his fellow guardsmen
that it’s a bad idea to mess with things without permission.” She pointed at
me, “Seriously, bad idea to mess with things without permission,” and then
focused back on Cory.
He
laughed and shook his head at her, “Whatever you say.” He smiled, probably the
most genuine smile I’ve seen from him, and then said: “I’m cool with sending Vince.
We all know he’s the second best flyer in this room.” He looked at me.
“Whoa, second best? I—“
“So
it’s settled?” Marla cut me off, and acted like I wasn’t in the room again.
Cory
nodded, “Vince’s the fourth guard. We just need one more.”
“Wait,
wait, wait!” I finally got both of their attentions. “What if I don’t want to
go to Snow Town and accompany some scientist? I was just getting used to things
here!”
“You
want to go.” Cory said.
“What?
No I don’t!”
“Vince,
you’re a Guard of Lea, and Lea needs you. We both agree that you should go, and
that means you should go.” Marla said.
“First
of all, that logic is weird, second of all…I…” I let out an annoyed breath, not
knowing what else to say. There were so many thoughts hurdling through my mind
all at once.
Marla
approached me and put a hand on my shoulder. She looked me right in the eyes
and said: “If you’re certain you don’t want to go, I suppose we won’t make
you…But…We’re going to make you.”
“Again
that’s not logic!” I yelled, and Cory laughed behind her.
“Vince,”
she spoke sternly, and I was listening, “You owe me. I’m saving you from a
punishment you deserve. If Commander Jayson had any say, you would be in the
weight room being pushed to your limits all night. But it’s my command, and I’m
saving you, and I want you to go to Snow Town.”
“I
really hate the fact that I take you seriously, Commander Marla,” I said, and
she actually laughed.
“And
you’re honest,” she added, and chuckled again. “So you’ll do it, great!” She
smiled, and I sighed.
“Yeah,
I’ll do it.”
“We’ve
got a taker,” Cory said, unenthusiastically, and stood up to join Marla. “Who
will be guard number five?”
“Flint,”
I said, and they looked at me.
Cory
sneered, “Yeah, right. All he does is pretend to
guard the fences, and then steal my cigarettes.”
Grinning,
I added: “Send him to Snow Town, and he won’t have the chance to steal your
cigarettes.”
He
stopped, considering. Now Marla was the one who looked amused. “Looks like we have
our guardsmen going to Snow Town,” she said. “Alright then,” Marla didn’t
complain, “seems like a good grouping. We’ll have to get organized pretty
quickly. Vince, what will you need for the trip?”
Before
I could answer, Cory was answering for me: “He’s going to need warm clothes,
sleeping bag, food, water, supplies—the whole nine. All of them will. And of
course smokes for Flint, the kind that’s not stolen from my pocket while I’m
walking down the hallway—how does he do
it!” He threw his hands up in complete bafflement, and I laughed. “No
laughing matter!” He scolded me, but I continued. “Dang it! Marla, he doesn’t
take me seriously.”
She
waved him off while she wrote down necessities. “Don’t worry, no one does.” His
mouth opened and he gave her a look, and she couldn’t stop laughing, and I
couldn’t stop laughing.
Weird,
I didn’t think the commanders could be this lighthearted; I guess they’re not
as bad as I’d thought.
Continuation from “The Leader’s Origin”:
Shore was just as I remembered. Bright, smolderingly hot, and
filled with people, that made it the total opposite of Snow Town. The cities
might have been the same size, but Snow Town seemed so much smaller, and Shore
seemed like a vast yet compact enclosure. I never realized just how many houses
and buildings lined everything, and all of the
groupings of people that filled them and any other empty space. Now, it was
slapping me in the face and making me feel trapped by buildings and people.
As
I walked, fast-paced, towards the place I knew all too well, I felt like the
sea of people coming towards me and running into me were just that: A sea. They
were waves splashing me and rocking me, and I struggled—desperately—to swim
through them, but it was never-ending water.
Suddenly
lightning struck, and lit up the roaring ocean around me, and I screamed;
swallowing more salty water and kicking my legs to stay above it. Then I was
back, pushing my way through people, as I started to breathe harder and realize
how anxious I was becoming. The people never stopped. I could see nothing but
people, with no sign of anything else. I could scream, but it was pointless,
they didn’t hear me and they didn’t move away, only towards me. But I had to
keep going, I knew this; I knew I couldn’t stop.
Like
a miracle, the people stopped, and I pushed my way on to the empty Rock Beach.
The sun was setting, sending a cinematic glow across everything. The waves were
calm. The wind was still. It was almost as if time was frozen; I saw a girl,
sitting on a boulder, looking at me with a small smile. At first I thought I
was looking at an angel, I laughed when I realized it was Rayne. It was funny
that I would confuse her for an angel. She sat there, wearing the peach-colored
dress stained with charcoal and paint splatters that she wore all the time,
barefoot (go figure) and had her hair lying down across her shoulders, damp and
frizzing out; but honest to God, nothing was more beautiful.
Like
some demented fantasy, as I moved towards her—as quickly as I could, which
wasn’t fast enough—she grabbed her stomach, and blood poured from her mouth. She
yanked something out of her stomach and examined it as her eyes weakened. It
was a blood covered knife. She turned her attention from that to me, a look of
pain and terror in her eyes, and I screamed and started to run towards her.
Even though I felt like I was moving, I wasn’t getting any closer to her. As
she sat there, I could see life start to leave her, and she slumped off of the
boulder. As she lay on the ground, panting for life, Lea appeared, with the
knife in his hand, laughing. I stopped in place, suddenly terrified, and he
pointed the knife at me. Fear filled me like it never had before.
And
then, as quickly as everything appeared, everything disappeared, leaving me in
complete darkness as the sea water engulfed me and I began to drown.
Final chapter from my novel “Snake
Eyes”:
The Puppet Master
It’s time to face my father. There are bottles of liquor neatly
arranged and covering the countertops, something that is never seen in Saydan
Manor. All alcohol is kept hidden. There is the distinct smell of my father’s
cologne, one that was strong and harsh—like him, I suppose. Suddenly, I realize
Father’s home, and I’m about to face him for the first time in years. I run a
hand through my hair; it’s trimmed to my shoulders, my father won’t like that.
Walking into the living room, I notice it’s completely identical to when I
left; except for a fine coat of dust on everything. Evidentially my father
wasted no time in this room.
The aged floor creaks, and I freeze. I
think of turning around and darting out of here, but no, I cannot do that; I
need to do what I came here to do. I can tell Father all the things I
desperately wanted to growing up; I can finally tell
him what he deserves to hear. Not only for him, but for Nella; for my mom;
everyone that he screwed over during his pitiful lifetime.
I walk into the large, empty foyer. The
study door is open, no need to close it anymore, since the house is empty now.
There my father sits at his large desk—which isn’t as large as my young self
remembers it—a glass of alcohol in his hand, a piece of paper in the other. I
enter the study. My father smirks, without even looking up at me, “Samuel
Lea,”—the name sends a pang through my chest—“what brings you back to this
home?” He finally looks up. The man has aged, well past the few years I’ve been
gone, and his hair has completely whitened, but his tone, the condescending,
arrogant, almost humor-filled tone was still the same. The way he spoke made
you feel smaller than him. That angered me even more.
At first I said nothing, just looked at my
father. How was I supposed to answer that question? “You have to be as
condescending and arrogant as he is, Lea.” The Presence answered.
Mustering up all my courage, I speak:
“Don’t you know, Father? I thought you knew everything.”
“Still just as mouthy as your mother,” he
spit the words and then gulps down the rest of his drink, “I had gotten used to
a house without mouths likes yours.”
“Must feel nice to know you ran your
family away,” I say, keeping my tone matching his and not letting my anger out.
He chuckles, “Is that what you think?
Well, of course it is. That’s always something you would have thought. You’re always the
pitiful little child, and everyone should feel sorry for you. Right?”
“Like you knew me,” I laugh humorlessly
and start to feel myself losing my cool, so I breathe in deeply and compose
myself. “You never knew me, and you will never know
me. I’ll go the rest of my life insuring that. You ran your wife away, your
only child, and what happened to Nella?!”
“I finally fired the old lady shortly
after you left. I hired a maid for a while, but eventually fired
her, too. I like the house better empty and untouched.”
“You fired Nella?!” My
tone wavers, and a slight smirk grew on Dad’s face. “She was the only parent I
had and you fired her!
She raised me! Fed me! Did everything you never
did!”
“Maybe I should have been more involved
when you were younger, maybe you wouldn’t have turned out so—“
“Shut up, Endell!” I yell, my voice
morphing into someone else’s. The shock of my voice makes my father look
surprised for only a second. I clear my voice and try to calm down, “She was
the best parent I could ask for.”
“Yes, because she was a parent to many.
You weren’t the only child she’s ever raised; she’s been with several families.
She’s probably raised dozens of children, because that’s her job. And
she’s probably raising more children right now. And have you ever heard her
mention any other children to you? No. Because they were nothing but jobs. And
you were nothing but a job. That’s called false love, Samuel Lea.”
“You would know all about that, wouldn’t
you, Dad?”
He pauses, “Wrong, I don’t pretend there’s
love when there’s not. I see the logic—the truth.”
“Just like with Mom?”
“Don’t bring your mother into this.”
“Why not? You ran her off too, because you
chose to see the
logic and not love her!”
“So that’s why you, as you put it, ran
off? Because I didn’t love you? Oh, I’m so sorry, you pitiful little child.”
His tone and attitude has changed, and it surprises me. I had never heard my
dad be blatantly sarcastic on such an immature level. Age must have changed
him. Since I paused, he poured himself more liquor and took a swig.
“I left when I realized I didn’t need your
love. I never did. When I was young, I thought I did, however, I did not. I
never needed you at all. And by the looks of it, the tables have turned. You’re
the one sitting alone in an empty mansion, drinking yourself crazy, becoming
full of self-pity, when I am out in the world making something of myself. I am
quite successful, with riches even you couldn’t obtain, because instead of
inheriting everything in my position, I earned them.”
He busts out in crazed laughter, and I
clench my fists at my sides. “Right, right. You’re the big-shot. I almost
forgot. Congratulations. What are you going to do with all that money? Maybe
you should give it to me, because I deserve it more than you. Without me, you
would have never gotten it. You would never have
been as successful as you claim you are.”
Speechless. I am incredibly speechless. He thought he was the
one who got me where I am? He took
credit for my success?
“I did push you
out of the house, or run you off. Throughout
your life I pointed you to one goal, leave home and become something. Whether
you choose to believe me or not, I did influence you a lot, and my teachings
are hardwired into your brain. Without me to push and influence you, you would
never have left. You already claimed that I’m the reason you left, am I wrong?”
Anger boils inside of me like water. I
could feel my blood bubbling under my skin. I hold my fists so tight, my
fingernails cut into the skin and I begin to bleed. “That is not true! You
did not influence me that much, you’re
just an immature coward who won’t accept defeat! For the first time, I’m more
successful than you, and I turned into someone you never would
have believed I could have been, and you are not going to take
credit for that!”
He stands up quickly with a mad look in
his eyes, “But it’s so true! It makes more sense the more you think of it, but
you refuse to consider it. Samuel Lea, I’ve been the puppet master, and you’ve
been nothing but a puppet.”
He sounded like my possessor, except The
Presence makes more sense. And with The Presence, there was no puppet master
and puppet, we help each other. I’ll help him reach his finest, and strongest,
form; he helps me reach endless success. Endell Saydan, however, is nothing but
a crazed old man with nothing to live for except false ideas.
“You claim that I believe in false love,
but you believe in false ideas, Endell.”
“Except that, deep down, you know it’s the
truth. I got you here, and you can’t become anything without me, Samuel.”
“That is not my name!” I
yell, and grab his liquor bottle and slam it against the wall. Glass clinks to
the floor, and the alcohol goes everywhere. Suddenly I can’t stand to be in
this room; to be in his presence.
I leave, slamming the door so hard the house shakes, and stomp to the kitchen.
I reach for the backdoor, when a force stops me.
“That’s it?!” The Presence speaks, “You’re just leaving,
after practically proving his point by getting defensive about his theory?!”
“Because it’s not true!”
“I know this, and you know this, but you
need to do something else…We need to do something more…”
“What do we need to do?” I feel my anger
strengthen, and I know my possessor is doing something inside of me. His shadow
appears. “I’ll do anything.” Once I say the words, his shadow morphs into me,
and I see my reflection in the glass door: Skeleton with red eyes. I feel
something different about
me, something I never have felt before. But it feels good.
“We need to prove to him that you can
become something without him…” A thought occurs in our mind, and I grab the bottles of alcohol
from the countertops and smash them on the ground. I grab the remaining bottles
from the cellar and spill them in a pathway from the kitchen to the study door.
I splash some all over the door, and then use up the rest covering up the
downstairs as much I can. It’s not much, but it’s enough.
Quickly I rifle through the kitchen
drawers, and I soon find matches. Lighting one, I toss it into the drink, and a
wall of fire lights up in front of me. Accomplishment fills me, and I leave the
house. Standing in the backyard, I watch my entire house catch flame, and then
I walk away devoted to proving my father wrong and becoming something without him.
Prologue to short story:
The Seagull Incident
There’s a flood of intimidating teenagers surrounding Anna as she
stands in the school hallway waiting. She lifts her head from its position
towards the floor and quickly scans the faces of those around her. Of course,
no one she’s friends with is taking the SAT today, so only unfriendly and
vaguely familiar faces border her vision, except for her dad who is lingering
close by. Why
doesn’t anyone else have a parent with them? She wonders, and also
questions why this fact doesn’t embarrass her as much as she thought it should.
There was something comforting about having a familiar face nearby, she told
herself, especially when nerves and that puking feeling inhabits her insides.
She studied every day for months for this dreadful exam, but even so, she feels
out of place and helpless when she’s ushered into the gymnasium and waves
goodbye to her father.
She waits in line for what feels like
ages. The teenagers around her have already clicked into their groups with
their friends. Anna keeps to herself and hides behind a guy with a very large
backpack. Finally, she makes it to the front of the line, and gets asked her
name. “Anna Cabana?” she replies, unsure. The lady thrusts a piece of paper at
her, and she takes it, asking “Where am I supposed to sit?”
“It’s in alphabetical order, kind of. Good
luck.”
That’s reassuring.
She wanders around the desks after
dropping her favorite Batman bag in the back of the room and looks desperately
for her name. People are filing in, and finding their names quickly and
painlessly. Oh
my gosh, Anna, look! She commands, becoming frustrated with her
inability to find her own name, and behold! She finds her desk.
Once she’s seated, a sense of safety and
security floods over her, and suddenly she’s ready for this test. The
instructors stand at the front of the room reading off protocols and the
schedule for today.
“Any beepers, watches, pagers, cellphones,
or anything that makes noise or alarm must be muted or shut off immediately or
you could be prohibited from taking this exam and your scores will be
cancelled,” one of the ladies reads off.
While they begin to pass out the first
section of the test, she remembers: While she muted her phone, she did not turn
it off because of its faulty power button that she refuses to trust – and the
mute button does not eliminate the fact an alarm will go off and the alarm is
an obnoxious performance from a flock of very loud seagulls.
She panics, and any sense of security she
previously felt evaporates.
The exam begins. At first she was shaken
up, urgently trying to remember when the
alarm is supposed to go off, and how she can deal with this predicament. Her
plan was, at the first break, get into the women’s bathroom and sneakily shut
off her phone. She relaxes and focuses on the test and forgets about the alarm
as much as she can.
It’s time for the first break. Anna stands
up and heads for her bag. Once it’s in-hand, she goes out into the hallway, and
sees a dreadfully long line from the bathroom. Unfortunately, there will be no
getting into the women’s bathroom within the given five minutes. So as she
stands there, two feet away from the SAT Lady who guards the SAT room, her alarm
goes off, and the sound of squawking seagulls emerges from her drawstring
Batman bag on her back. She stands there, completely paralyzed with
bewilderment. A young—cute—boy walks past her, turns, looks at her and says:
“Do you hear seagulls?!” and continues to walk away. Knowing the alarm will never cease
without her putting a stop to it, she puts her bag down and pretends to rifle
through it and quickly swipes the screen, sending the chorus of birds and the
faint sound of waves and other beach noises away. Thankfully, the SAT Lady is
oblivious, even with the other teenagers staring in her direction, wondering
why there are seagulls in a high school in upstate New York.
She returns to her desk relieved, yet left
thinking:
Why must my life be so embarrassing?
