In the woods of Norway, behind a dilapidated wood cabin, is a long field with strands of grass that go until they meet the mountains.
Sam was alone. He was geared and had a dusting pan and a backpack large enough to carry two bowling balls and he was pinker than ever, having to walk until he got there.
He stepped through the grass and avoided ant piles looking for one thing in particular: Dinosaur Bones. The layer underneath the soil carries oil and a prophesized T-rex skeleton.
…
He started on a dirt patch, grunting as he dug. Rather quickly, his shovel rang, hitting something metallic and he tried digging around it, but it seemed too big.
He paused,
“What is this thing?” He asked himself while he dug and it seemed to trigger a reaction in the metal object.
It slowly whirred, lifting itself from the ground. It was a saucer! A UFO. Sam in disbelief, put his hands on his head and then dropped his arms.
“What the hell!?”
Sarah, a pale girl with dirty locs of hair, muddy eyes, and a black puffer jacket.
She tightened her warm beanie against her face, exhaling her breath. She ignored the stinging of her fingertips, her cheeks were sore and purple.
Sockets dried and malnourished, she took a step on the ice. Slowly, and with a gasp, she fell through. Cold. Heartbeat. Need. Oxygen.
Then light, shone through the water and into her eyes.
I’m drunker than a sailor with daddy-issues.
This college party is absurd. I couldn’t if I was on the dirt or if I was floating.
Turns out I was actually throwing up into the corner of the backyard. Before that happened, I was outside—well… taking shots— with crowds talking and someone actually dived off the roof into the pool.
I thought that was only in moives.
Now I’m in my pink T-shirt, cooped outside next to the DJ, bobbing his head to the music. The song shook the ground. We’d get a noise complaint any minute now and I’d be going to jail. But I’m too drunk to care…
But I couldn’t help but dance a little.
Then suddenly, it all stopped. And my heart stopped beating and I’m on the ground.
Silence…
“Whoa… What’s going on here?”
A prank? Mist pours from the sky. No. They are legitmately frozen. Did I just freeze time?!
Someone in dark cloak, with a weapon tucked in their boney fingers. Who is that?
“Heart attack.”
The man said with a cruel voice. I’m starting to accept my fate. Not much I can do but accpet i’m dead. I died a virgin with no friends.
**The worst day of my life was the day of the funeral. **
My husband, Tarry, was the best partner I ever had. The brunette boy had that cute cheeky grin. He sat on one knee like he knew what I'd say.
That's how it began.
If you want to know how it ended, it was a week ago. I was crying in my empty room to a dusty old photo of him. His soft, gentle lips and his fluffy hair between my fingers. Now what am I supposed to do?
I had no one by my side.
I could write a poem about it because that's the only way I can explain how I feel. Somewhere in an abstract world, the perfect words exist, I thought.
A day later, my pale, shaky hands felt the frills of my black dress. Since the car accident, my life has become less meaningful.
In the mirror, I twitched the creases of my mouth upwards and my smile was torn out of me. My makeup was even worth putting on. This a funeral for Christ's sake!
I sat and my hands rested on my solid cheeks until I got in my brother’s black SUV.
It wasn’t any better when we got there either. I was that one lady mourning the casket like a mad woman. To be fair, that was the last time I’d see him before he decomposed in the dirt.
I cried hard. I cried long.
I remember my youth and being asked my first question from another child my age: “What’s your favorite color?”
I knew her favorite was blue, so without thinking, I said “Blue.” I never felt connected to the color blue. Even now, when I hear that question I still say “Blue.” just to get it over with.
But now that I'm alone and pondering the question: What is my favorite color? When I really think about it…
My favorite color really isn't my own favorite color.
Maybe… I'll never have a favorite color.
The first I recall is drinking at Loney’s Bar, and next thing, I’m tied up in these beginner-level handcuffs you could probably find in a Dollar Tree.
Don’t underestimate me, I thought. It’s the absurd** idiots** that think I can’t bust out of these like they’re children’s toys.
All I need is something sharp.
My eyes trail to the open concrete floor, focusing on a metal paperclip. It was something I slipped behind my back, using it to work on these handcuffs.
But, I hear footsteps and stop to conceal myself. A shadowy figure reaches through the door, turning on a blinding light.
“Hi. Little lady.”
The man whispered. My eyes stared at him coldly.
“Mmmghf…” I realized I couldn’t speak. There is a towel in my mouth. Great, no shit-talking for me I guess.
His smile was yellowed and twisted, I wondered how much longer before I threw my fist into his jaw. He doesn't figure out I'm not afraid, and neither does he know that my hands are being freed.
He crouches to my face, playing with one of my strands of black hair. His breath smelt like rotten eggs and mildew.
“You’re gonna be a fun one, aren't you?”
A growl escaped me, but knew to breathe as I felt my wrists being released and almost out of instinct, I punched him.
After that, I pulled the towel out my mouth, kicked off my leg restraints, and stood.
He stepped back, and I exchanged another blow. It echoed through the room and he fell right on his butt. He was out cold.
I sighed.
“I'm never getting kidnapped again.”
Greg and his Mother we're an odd bunch, as they we're clowns. Since he was born in the apartment until the end of his junior year. For most of his life, she'd been alive.
It was sudden, like the gods had snatched her, and so quickly. Breast cancer. It was because she couldn't feel it.
Thing is, pain isn't a thing anymore.
So she couldn't of known. She shouldn't of got that surgery. Perhaps he was the reason she died. It felt like the world was being torn apart. He was stripped, exposed.
But, one thing, he didn't want to end up like her. He was going to remove that surgery all cost. For his mother.
**The scale tipped in my favor. **
My opponent picked rock twice, and that leaves it likely for them to pick scissors. That leaves me with rock. Yes! Rock! But, can they read my mind like I am now? Had they gone paper?
Do they know I’d be jumping rock? Had my life come to an end because I picked rock!? I panted staring the man dead in the eyes, praying.
Maybe I’ll play paper to be safe? Why would he play scissors? We just had a rock stalemate a round ago. Perfect. Then paper, or maybe scissors to end this thing for good. If he picks rock? No paper. Paper is the best option.
I'm going paper.
The stage was set.
I trapped my breath until my cheeks turned blue, my heart enduring quicker and quicker speeds. A constant drum. I will pick paper. No doubt.
_“Rock, Paper, Scissors.” _****
_“Scissors!” _**** **I yelled, sure I’d be dead. The crowd went silent and I figured that I’d be six foot under some random graveyard—God—why’d had I changed last minute? **
My eyelid peered wide and I saw his hand signal: Paper.
“Yes…” I mutter, my heart too banged to speak. I had won, though, I lost my faith in myself. I guess after the stalemate he thought the same thing thing as me.
The thing was, he wasn't indecisive. I guess that really paid off. For now.
“Yes!” I screamed.
Children shrieked on the playground—awfully restless and loud. “That’s why I don't have kids,” she thought, sitting on a park bench and her gloves grasping her coffee.
She seemed to be alone in the cold. Except for the parents, talking underneath a pine tree. They know each other. They must talk frequently. Have a lot of connections.
I should get into connecting. Talking more, she thought.
She leaned forward. One stranger had a black coat and a briefcase and the other normal. These weren't parents. She couldn't just sit and watch. Could she?
The neighborhood is a little shady.
It all came so fast. What was in that briefcase? Drugs? Weapons? Why at a playground?
She twiddled her thumbs and stayed on the park bench.
Mudbone Lake was chilling still. I sat between a trusty bucket and my special fishing rod, or Lucy’s what I like to call her.
Crickets hissed from the nearby woods. The smell of smoke reached from all the way out from camp and into the middle of Mudbone. I took a whiff of it.
I had armfuls of bait ready a long fishing. I cast my line, clinking far and long. I knew that my odds of snagging good fish were low.
“**I swear nothing lives in this lake.” **
I spit the sunflower seed left in my mouth.
A lizard peeks at the algae creating ripples when there are none. Is something alive in that water? I thought this lake was devoid of animals.
Crocodiles wouldn’t swim in dense water—I wouldn’t doubt if one got a little curious though. I’m not fond of crocodiles trailing under me. So I paddle. I guess that must’ve alarmed it because I saw it again, but closer.
Was chasing me? No doubt—It was chasing me. Is that even a crocodile? It has six legs and a glare that you wouldn't find in a any swamp. And was chasing me. Great.
I tighten my paddle. Currently, I am stuck in the middle of a lake. Not ideal for getting away. Crap. What do I do?
“Man. Somethins’ in the water!”
I plead. I hear a distant noise from the camp.
“What?”
Had she not heard me? I said something in the water dammit! I see two yellow eyes gaining behind me. It’s jaw a grotto of razors. Crap! Now I know it’s wants me dead.
That can’t be a crocodile.
What can I do? Paddle harder. I sweat. I gain speed. Yes! I put every inch of strength into forcing the water behind me. Water splahing behind me like a speed boat.
This is why I work out, for this very moment. I felt a shadow grow behind me. God, it’s behind me. How is it behind me already?!
Harder! I try and scream for help.
At this point, I'm certain on going to die. It rises like a giant, casting it’s shadow upon me. It's claws are bloody and going to impale me like a skewer.
This is it.
I feel tears roll down my cheeks and I stop paddling. The paddle clinks against the wooden boat.
“Anyone… Help.”
THE END.
