The bag hits the other end of the table, against the wall, with a thud. The hooded figure across from me peers inside carefully, as if a snake might jump out from inside and bite him.
“Where the hell did you find this?!” He asks.
“The corner store.” I reply, making a “GIVE ME MY MONEY” gesture with my hands.
“…really?”
“No, stupid. I murdered a guy and stole it off his rotting corpse.”
The hooded figure looks up abruptly, and I can practically see the fear drawn on his face.
Jokes on him, I actually DID get it from the corner store.
He swallows, gathering the bag in his hands and stands to leave. I stop him, holding one arm outstretched towards the booth of the restaurant, acting as a shield.
“Nope. Money.”
“Fine.” He pulls, seemingly out of thin air, another bag. Inside is a glistening array of jewels and gold, and I’m astonished.
“Where the hell did you find THIS?!” I ask.
The hooded figure just looks at me before saying, “The corner store, obviously.”
“…really?” I ask, regretting it the moment the words leave my mouth.
“No, I robbed a family, killed them afterwards.”
“What the hell’s WRONG with you?!”
“Wasn’t fun doing business with you, I won’t be leaving a review.” He says as he walks away, his long black cloak swaying with every step.
“Yeah, well, I won’t be leaving a review on the Shady Stangers You Sell Egregious Goods To website!”
“Not a thing,” he calls over his shoulder.
“Will BE a thing!” I call back.
“No.”
“Yes!”
“What the-?!” Screamed the girl in the red hood as she plummeted down from the light blue sky, landing with a THUMP in the soft grass.
“Hey,” I say, “Welcome to Earth, it sucks.”
“Who the f-“
“We don’t say those words here, Little Red Riding Hood.”
“Damn it!”
“Yeah, my thoughts exactly. If you’ll join Goldie Locks and That One Princess over there, we can begin the seminar.”
“Seminar?” Little Red Riding Hood blinks.
“It’s called: A Nonfictional Person’s Guide To Surviving The Real World. Made it myself.” I answer, standing up from where I previously sat, watching.
Within the past five minutes, I have witnessed the once in a lifetime event of a girl with bubbly, curly blonde hair, and a girl with a puffy pink dress hurtle down from the sky and land face first in this meadow. Now, apparently, we’re chucking Riding Hood into this recipe of weird. She glances over to a spot in the meadow with a few sparse trees, where Goldie Locks and That One Princess have decided to gather. They’re looking tensely about, unease painted on their faces like the drawings in their fairytales. I lead Little Red Riding Hood towards them, humming a tune as I do.
“Well, let’s hope Jack doesn’t decide to join us.” I say once we all stand together.
“Sorry, who?” That One Princess asks.
“You know, Jack. Jack be nimble, Jack be quick, Jack jump over the…really? No?”
The three girls shake their heads simultaneously.
“Anyway, you all fell out of the sky.” I explain.
Riding Hood begins sarcastically, “No, did we? Where the fu-“
“Shhhh. I’m starting, pay attention, I’m not explaining taxes more than once.”
“Where the hell are we?” Riding Hood kicks the dirt, “what is this place, why’d I just fall out of the sky? Who are YOU?”
“Your questions will be answered, creation of Charles Perrault and Brothers Grimm.”
“What?” Goldie Locks scrunches up her nose in confusion.
“Nothing, forget I said anything. Now! Who wants to learn about technology?!”
That One Princess raises her hand timidly.
“Excellent! So-“
“No, I meant I had a question. Isn’t that the polite way to ask?”
“Yeah. What is it?”
“Could you answer HER question? Why ARE we here?” She asks, gesturing all around.
“Jesus Christ, why would I know? You think I know why you fell out of the sky? It’s raining fairytale characters, you think that’s normal? NO!” I snap, losing my patience.
That One Princess shrinks back, but Goldie Locks stamps her foot, her blue and white checkered dress swaying as she walks away from us, saying, “This is pointless, I’m going!”
“Get back here before you get eaten by a bear!” I chase after her. Red Riding Hood starts cursing while pacing in circles, and That One Princess pinches her arms, as if thinking this is a dream, and trying to wake up.
Oh, wait, that’s a good idea. Maybe I’M dreaming. I pinch myself- nope. Meanwhile, Goldie Locks has placed herself in a tree, sitting confidently, as if she knows just where she is.
Red Riding Hood jogs up behind us, I guess tired of pacing.
“Get out of that tree!” I demand.
“No. I have a better view of what this place is from up here,” she replies, her eyes scanning the meadow, “hey! This isn’t so different from where WE come from! We don’t need your stupid seminar!”
Red Riding Hood scoffs, muttering something sounding like, “Figured,” under her breath.
“Hey, wait-“
“That’s a relief!” That One Princess exclaims, setting off eastward.
Little Red Riding Hood trails behind, and Goldie Locks slips down from the tree to follow.
“Guys!” I yell. They ignore me.
“Fine, but y’all are screwed when you have to figure out modern day taxes!”
Suddenly, someone crashes into me. I crawl away, and am met face to face with a disturbed looking Alice.
“Why’d I just fall out of the sky?” She asks.
“Goddamn it! What is this day?”
———— I, honestly, have NO idea what I just wrote, or even what this story was supposed to be, but I was bored, and this took up an hour so, uh, yeah.
Right. So, I know from experience you don’t want to cross Amber when she’s mad. And, oh, is she MAD. When I walked into the school this morning, I was NOT ready for Amber’s anger. Echoing slamming of locker doors, incoherent jumbled mumbling, scowling at everything, like if she could, she WOULD stab it. Yeah, not on a Monday morning, thanks. She’s not facing me, so I have about five minutes before her furious glare spots me and I am officially screwed. So, of course I just stand there like an idiot, trying to figure out what exactly has ticked her off this time. Amber shoves students out of her way as she passes down the hall, and now I have to play facilitator.
“Amber? Hey, Amber!” I call, running after her, giving each person she’s pushed an apologetic look.
She whips around, snarling, “What?!”
“Yeah, so…Kay. What, uh, happened?” I ask, caught off guard by her…um, new hairstyle.
See, normally, Amber’s long hair cascades down her face, like a waterfall. Lots of people admire it, straight, light brown, and, somehow, almost shiny. Today, however, anyone can clearly see it’s been chopped off, as if a five-year old had been given a LITTLE too much power over the scissors.
“God, what did they DO to you?”
“Hello to you too, Luis!” She retorts.
“Bold style choice, huh?”
“Shut up, or you get punched in the face.”
“Not if I call the principal.”
“Not if I kick you in the stomach AND punch you in the mouth.”
“Not if…Wait! Sidetracked! Explain?”
She relents, pausing in her path of molten carnage, terrified students scurrying away like mice.
“SOMEONE thought it’d be SO NICE if I CHANGED UP MY HAIRSTYLE!” Her patience lasted maybe thirty seconds before she started screaming, “So SOMEONE grabbed some scissors and HAD AT IT, LIKE MY HAIR WAS AN ART PROJECT!”
I wince, “Stella?”
“I AM MURDERING HER AND A KNIFE WILL BE INVOLVED!” She screeches, earning concerned and horrified looks from the student body.
“Ah, maybe not the wisest of choices?” I suggest, timid, as I know I’m next if I misstep.
“Maybe, but the other option is to convince my parents to get rid of her, and that’s too much work, since Stella, apparently, CAN DO NO WRONG!” Amber says, her voice laced with sarcasm.
Stella is Amber’s younger sister. That’s…kind of all that’s needed to be said.
“You should take this opportunity to dye it.” I offer helpfully.
And then she DOES punch me.
“Your crown is made of the people’s bones and hunger.”
“Is it?” the king reaches up, tapping his crown with a mixed look of curiosity and disgust, “I thought it was made of gold.”
“That’s…not what I meant.”
“Well, good. If it had been, I would’ve needed a new crown. I am 𝘯𝘰𝘵 wearing a crown of people’s bones!”
“Um, Mr. King, sir,” says Adam, showing no back bone whatsoever, “Layna just meant to maybe consider the townspeople more.”
“The townspeople? Why?” The king asks, shifting in his throne.
“Well,” says Adam again, looking over at me in a desperate cry for help, “‘cause, y’know, it’s hard for us. With getting enough to eat, and live and stuff.”
“Nice job, Adam,” I glare up at the king, “you don’t even care about us! You just sit on your throne of gold-your 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘭 throne of gold!” I wave my hand, gesturing to his giant, ornate chair, glittery jewels strewn all around it and in scattered piles.
“Yes, sorry, your point is?” The king raises an eyebrow, “I don’t see anything wrong with having extra money.”
“We want you to treat us better!” I cry, exasperated.
Narrowing his eyes, the king challenges, “Oh, so you’re going to order around your king?”
“We’re literally 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨! We have no way for-“
“Silence!” he demands, raising a heavy hand.
His order echos through the marble room.
“You and your…what was it? Friend?” The king blinks, impatience and confusion stuck to his face.
“Yeah…” I say. How does he not know what a friend is? What is this?
Adam leans over and whispers in my ear, “Are we sure he’s fit to rule over us, if he’s never had a friend, or knows what it means?”
I bite back an agitated response, and try to keep my voice flat as I reply, “No, Adam. Obviously not.”
“Stop talking to each other!” The king whines. “Regardless, you and your friend won’t stop pestering me lest I give you what you want, correct?”
“Absolutely not. Or, wait, yes? We won’t stop bothering you. Yeah, that one.” Adam stammers.
He stamps his foot, “Fine! I’ll tell someone to send you more food, or whatever it is you need.”
I huge surge of relief crashes over me, I can’t believe we did it! Adam and I quickly make our departure-with a signed promise from the king, of course-before he can take back his word. Maybe we’ll survive this year.
“Hand it over, now!” I shriek, gasping for breath. He just looks at me, blankly, then raises the knife and points it at me.
“Wait your turn,” he says, waving the sharp metal object around before turning back to the cake in front of him.
“You said I could do the icing!” I complain, tugging at his shirt.
Max sighs, “Ainsley, seriously.”
“It’s not even for your friend! And you shouldn’t be waving sharp objects in front of young children!”
“You’re only two years younger than me.”
“Yeah, whatever, the point still stands.”
“Speaking of points,” Max grins, holding up the knife again, “go get me a sharper knife.”
Muttering, I head over to the knife drawer, pulling out the shiniest, sharpest knife we have. Giving it to Max, he squeezes blue icing out onto the top of the cake, before spreading it out, making small circle motions with his wrist.
He hands it over to me, saying, “There! 𝘕𝘰𝘸 you can do the icing.”
Beaming, I take the knife from him, shoving him out of the way. Slathering thick frosting all over the round, spongy vanilla surface, I just 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 Kayla’s gonna love this! Finishing up quickly, I throw the knife in the sink and rummage through cabinets for a suitable container. Finding a large plastic one, I carefully remove the cake from it’s plate. Snapping the lid on, I look up at Max.
“Done! Now, c’mon, hurry up!” I rush out the front door, cake in my arms. Max trails behind me closely, and we begin our journey to Kayla’s house. I start skipping, excited. Her house isn’t very far from ours, so we near it within ten minutes. Jumping up the grassy hill her house sits on, my foot catches and I trip. Panic seizes me as the cake goes flying.
“Ainsley!” Max calls.
I feel overwhelming disappointment, sure the cake will smash against the ground, like a bug to a window shield, but just as it makes its descent downward, two hands catch it.
“Ainsley!” Kayla squeals. I can’t tell if she’s mad I dropped the cake or excited to see me.
“Hey, Kayla!” I gather myself, heading over to where she stands. I hug her before Taking the cake back. “I totally did not have that. I’m glad you caught it, or else your birthday cake would’ve been ruined!”
Kayla laughs, “Yeah, but that didn’t happen!”
Max reaches us, and begins lecturing me, “Ainsley, you should be more careful.”
“Says the kid who waves sharp knifes in front of his younger sister. C’mon, let’s go inside and eat some cake!”
———————————————- I didn’t have much time, or really know what to do with the prompt, so it’s kind of anticlimactic, sorry.
Standing on the beach of safety, the water almost seems to lash out in irritation, urging me either forward or backward. I step away. The sand squishes below my feet, it’s soft texture comforting me. I breathe in the salty air, and it burns my nose. I filter out the voices and movements of other beach-goers, their laughing and yelling lost in the thick, heavy worry of my mind. Trembling slightly, I reach one foot out to touch the water’s surface. It’s shocking cold makes me audibly gasp, and I have to reassure myself I can do this.
I can do this. I can do this. I can do thi-nope, I stared too long at the water. It roars menacingly back at me. Oh, WHY did I make a bet with my friends? I can’t swim! I’ll drown!
I do need the money though. Twenty whole dollars! You can do this, Aria, just step-one foot, then the other.
As much as I try, I can’t will myself to move. It’s as if some invisible barrier is between me and the sea. Maybe my friends’ tactic was the correct one- I just have to jump in.
Well, THATS terrifying.
Okay, one, two, three-
God, this water is COLD!
(Didn’t have much time but wanted to grow my streak, I might edit this later).
“I think I just met the happiest person in the world!” Mason slams the door shut.
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” I flick the light switch and am met with blinding light. It’s amazing how dark it gets in the science classroom.
“It is! She was like, WAY too bubbly. Getting excited about everything. And I mean EVERYTHING. We were talking about rocks.” Mason glides to the back of the room, pushing tables and chairs out of the way. He drags out a giant gray bin from beneath the teacher’s desk and begins digging through it.
“Ah, minerals. Yeah.” I kneel down to help him search.
We were looking for our science project. It had gotten lost in the commotion of school life, but now we needed to find it in order to receive a good grade.
“No, seriously,” Mason pulls out a giant cardboard box decorated with tissue paper and casts it aside. “I told her we had geology later and she said, and I quote, ‘Cool! I love learning about rocks!’ like, it’s GEOLOGY, Issac! Who likes geology?!”
“Who’re we talking about, exactly?”
“Emma. I think her last name is Vickers. I sit next to her in English.”
Yeah, Emma WOULD count as the happiest person in the world. She’s always joining group activities, smiling brighter than the sun, and skipping down halls like she owns the school.
I sift through the bin and find a miscellaneous battery. I can feel my glasses about to slide off my face, so I shove them back up as I gingerly place the battery on the ground.
“Man, why’d we have to choose to build a tower out of popsicle sticks?” Mason groans as he leans back from the bin and stands up.
This gives me an anxious thought. “What if somebody broke it?!”
Mason freezes, then turns and stares down at me, fear evident on his face.
We rush to the door, but before we reach it, it slams open, and we both are met with the ever-smiling face of Emma Probably Vickers.
“Hey, Mason! Hey, Issac!” Her hands are behind her back, so I can’t see what she’s holding, but I know it’s something.
“Oh, uh, hi, Emma,” Mason shifts on one foot, plastering a forced smile to his face. “Think maybe we could sneak by you? Somebody might’ve sabotaged our project.”
Emma’s eyes widen, “Oh, no! What’s it look like?”
“It’s kind of tall, and made out of popsicle sticks.” I say, preoccupied with trying to see what she has behind her.
Emma’s smile turns into a smirk.
“What?” Mason asks.
Wordlessly, Emma pulls out her hands from her back. She was holding our project!
“Hey!” Mason and I protest at the same time.
“I saw this the other day and worried it’d get crushed,” Emma explains. “So I kept it safe until today.”
“Well, thanks,” Mason reached for it, “give it to us, though, Emma.”
Emma shrinks away. “Okay, but first, can I join your guy’s’ project group? No one else will let me.” This information doesn’t even dampen her smile.
“We already did all the work!” Mason objects.
“Not the paper! If you let me be with you while you present it, I’ll write the whole paper.”
“I was gonna have Issac do the paper, he’s smart. Most of the time. When he wants to be.”
“Um, I think we should let Emma do the paper.” I had seen Emma’s previous essays, I knew she’d get us an A. Plus, I felt bad.
Mason sighs, “Okay, fine, why not?”
Emma claps excitedly, “Excellent! Now, let’s go, before we’re late!”
Mason and I exchange looks of disbelief as we follow her out the door.
