Category: Other

And… I may have gotten invested. This is unlikely to turn into an actual story, but I thought some of you would appreciate this first part. Enjoy!

“Whoa,” I whispered as I took in the scene in front of me. This was my first time offworld, and I could hear my hired pilot/bodyguard, Ralph, chuckling at my amazed reaction. We were in one of the many floating markets on Neptune, a pressurized dome of layered transparent graphene extending from the shipping docks and enabling the artificial atmosphere. Though the planet’s distance from the sun should have made it nearly impossible to see here, it was bright within the market, the entire floor glowing a rainbow of luminescence, dull enough that it was not painful to the eyes unless stared at for an extended period of time. Newcomers like myself simultaneously flinched whenever we saw methane ice flying towards the market, courtesy of Neptune’s up to 2,000 kilometers per hour winds, while veteran shoppers ignored them as they bounced harmlessly off of the dome and into our dark, blue surroundings, which reminded me of the depths of the ocean.

My attention, however, was quickly drawn away from the exterior and towards the market before me, bustling with activity like a beehive. The difference being, we were all here for pleasure or for profit. Still, the analogy was startlingly accurate, looking out at the geometrically placed, neutrally colored booths of wood and stone and steel, where sentient beings ogled at and haggled over the nonsentient and the abiotic. I took a step forward and had to stop. Despite having been told that it would happen, multiple times, in fact, I was still trying to acclimate to the fact that I was heavier on this planet, thanks to its higher gravitational pull. Ralph, the only person who hadn’t sounded like a robot when he had said it, had also promised that I would get used to it soon.

Still, I took a moment to observe the market from there before I moved. I tried not to stare at the Centauri too much, but it was difficult. They varied so much in size and shape, each with their own species name, but since all of them had come from what we called Proxima B in Alpha Centauri, they were collectively known as the Centauri. They had reached our solar system fifty years prior, but I had never seen them except in photographs until then. For security purposes, aliens weren’t allowed on Earth, so they had set up shop in various other places. It was probably better for them, since they came from the Dark Side, as we’ve since dubbed it, the cold half of the planet that faces permanently away from their sun. They never settled on Venus or Mercury, rarely on Mars or Jupiter. They preferred colder planets, like this one. If the dome weren’t heated, and this place matched the outside temperature, it would be about minus 200 degrees Celsius here, and we’d all have been icicles. As it was, it was probably around 10 degrees (Celsius), and I had a double-layered jacket on for thermal regulation.

The Centauri had set out this way millennia ago in a large group of interconnected vessels largely referred to as “The Lifeboat.” It was sort of like that old story, Noah’s Ark, except that they had the good sense to bring more than two of each species. Each of their sentient life forms had sent what was deemed a survivable, genetically diverse population, which of course brought their fair share of luggage, as well as a likewise diverse group of nonsentient beings, as livestock. It was largely agreed amongst the global community that their sun, a red dwarf, being young as it was, was unstable, and it wouldn’t take much for it to cause devastation. They sent out The Lifeboat so that if something happened, their entire population wouldn’t be wiped out.

Though I tried not to stare, I did spend a large amount of time doing just that. Even as I began to make my way forwards again, my eyes were locked, not on the merchandise, but on the beings. Being the first-timer, standard human tourist that I was, I didn’t know what any of the actual species were, and they confounded me. I saw a multitude of what I took to calling Squids, though of course they weren’t. They were a palish-pink color, with four hooved legs all under the center of their body, eight eyes, each with four eyelids, and at least twenty suctioned tentacles that sort of flowed outwards from their body, like a fountain. Their skins were coated with a mucus-like, sickeningly sweet smelling fluid that seemed to emanate from their suctions, and they had no noses or ears perceivable to the human eye. One tried to sell me some sort of pitch black vine-like plant, as a medicine I think, but his odor made it difficult for me to think and I left the booth quickly.

As I wandered further inwards, I saw everything from one-legged frog men (the leg functioning like an omnidirectional wheel) to glorified flies that must have been seven feet tall, at least, to what might have been Earth monkeys had they not had their noses and their eyes switched, and had they not perfectly understood and spoken English. This last fact I found out when I whispered a question to Ralph concerning their anatomy. “Well how else are we supposed to see what we’re smelling?” One retorted to my question, which I had thought would have been too quiet for them to hear above the noise. Inside the booths, which were run by all sorts of Centauri, and some by humans, were so many objects and trinkets that I lost count: bright and colorful and beautiful fabrics, statues, designs; mind boggling machines and puzzles; a whole slew of plants and animals and bottles up for sale, as pets and foods and medicines.

If the visual input was overwhelming, the audio was only just barely bearable. All around me were voices, high and low and everywhere in between, and whistling, chirping, chattering, clicking… and somewhere, through all the din, I swear I heard music, too. As I moved from booth to booth, not really able to hear the vendors but nodding along with their words while I read the signs and looked over the merchandise, I was also bombarded with new, unknown scents. Some were pleasant. For instance I was rather fond of one plant that smelled like a mixture of cinnamon, licorice, and honey, at least until it tried to eat me. Some were not ever even remotely enticing. Almost all, however, I didn’t recognize, and doubted I’d ever be able to name or even describe.

One of the best things about writing is something that’s also great about reading. It’s falling in love with the characters. You know, you meet them, at the beginning, and you only have some idea of where it’s going to go from there, and then you get to watch and cheer them on as they grow and develop as people. You get drawn to the nuances of them, the quirks, the little details of their personality, and even though every well-written character has flaws, you learn to love those too.

As a writer, you get to experience an enhanced version of that same emotion; that same experience of falling in love with the character, except this time it’s your character. And what’s so beautiful about that is they say we don’t *make* characters so much as we take parts of ourselves and give them names. So you’re not just falling in love with a character — you’re falling in love with yourself.

That’s such a big deal because we hold ourselves to impossibly higher standards than we hold everyone else to. But when I take my own traits — and their corresponding flaws — and treat them like they’re not mine they’re suddenly so much less of a problem. That’s also the jump between reading the character and writing them — there’s a definite and profound difference in, “I identify with this trait and corresponding flaw in someone else’s character, who I love,” and, “I love this piece of my soul that I have named, now that it has a name.”

This post is a sort of follow-up to last week’s announcement about Curious Critters’ Coadventure. This is an example story I wrote to illustrate what one of our stories might look like. Enjoy.

    “Where are we off to now, Faith?” Luis asked, his big blue eyes sparkling with excitement.

    “Well, I’d like to go to Southern Egypt, if you don’t mind,” she replied. “My friend Joel – he’s a gopher – is working on an archeology dig there, and I can only imagine what incredible discoveries could be under the sand!”

    “It sounds wonderful!” he agreed amiably. “But… will Egypt be too dry for you? You are a sea lion, after all.”

    “Oh, yes, that might be a bit of a problem, you’re quite right, but think of the adventure! The amazing things we might learn!”

    “If you’re alright with it, I am. I’ll go get our stuff!” He hurried off on his short hedgehog legs, full of enthusiasm.

    They arrived in Luxor, Egypt, a day later, and Luis cheerfully bounced through Immigration and Customs, dragging along a bored Faith on a scooter board. “Come on, Faith, you love to travel!”

    “Yes, of course I do, there’s so much to learn in new places,” she sighed impatiently, “But I don’t like the travel itself! Long lines and cramped flights… and heaven knows those airplane seats aren’t designed for anyone who isn’t bipedal, or at best quadrupedal.”

    “Well, I don’t suppose many of their passengers are aquatic, seeing as there’s a shortage of water on the planes.” He paused to thank the security agent before continuing. “They do have boats that tend to suit better. Oh, wouldn’t that have been lovely? A cruise across the Atlantic!”

    “Yes, yes, I know that they have boats, but those take so much more time! Why would I take eight or nine days to get somewhere exciting when I could only take one?”

    “Well, I suppose that depends on whether you care about how you get somewhere as much as being there. It’s a philosophical difference, really. See, I find the journey to be fun and interesting, so I don’t mind if it takes so long.”

    “You find everything fun and interesting,” she pointed out. She gestured exasperatedly at their surroundings. “You’re probably finding this fun, too!”

    He looked taken aback, nearly indignant – nearly – as he replied. “Of course I am! What’s not to like? There are so many interesting people! Did you look at that security agent, Faith? He was blue! Can you honestly tell me you’ve ever seen a blue cat before?”

    “No, but that’s not the point! This is airport security, Luis! It’s not supposed to be fun!” She had been about to carry on with a number of things that were fun, like archeology digs, biology hikes, museums and the like, but she was cut off by a snort from behind her.

    The snort had come from a white rabbit, about Luis’s height, hauling a black suitcase. She was shaking her head at either the absurdity or the obviousness of the statement, or perhaps a combination of the two. When she realized that the others were watching her, she smiled wryly. “‘M sorry, I just didn’t think that was something that needed to be said.”

    There was a bit of a challenge in the statement, and undertone of ‘I dare you to disagree with me,’ but if Luis noticed, he ignored it altogether. “It’s a point of contention with us. Well, not this specifically, usually, but the general idea of- I’m rambling, aren’t I?” She watched in amusement as his smile turned sheepish. “Sorry about that. I’m aware I have the unpopular opinion on the matter, but I hold to it.”

    “He can’t help it,” Faith commented, “He finds the best in everything.”

    “I’m getting that impression.”

    “Speaking of wonderful things, your accent is lovely. May I ask where you’re from?” Luis asked earnestly.

    “Edinburgh, Scotland.”

    “Ooh,” he hummed appreciatively, “I haven’t been to Scotland in ages. Have you been, Faith?”

    “No, not yet. It’s on my list, though. Plenty of things about Celtic culture to learn.” She paused, then barked once in laughter. “Which is an excellent example of more entertaining things to do than going through Immigration and Customs.”

    “Yes, it probably is, but just because that’s more interesting doesn’t mean that this can’t be!” He turned to the rabbit. “I’m sorry, we haven’t introduced ourselves yet. I’m Luis, and this is Faith.”

    He stuck out a mittened paw to shake, and she took it. “Mame. You’ve come from somewhere cold, I take it?” He wasn’t just wearing mittens, but also boots, a scarf, and earmuffs. He looked like he might be on a trip to Greenland instead of Egypt.

    “Er, yes, we just flew in from Wisconsin. But the clothes aren’t really for location. I’m just always cold. I’d probably be hibernating if we had stayed back home — it’s rather cold this week — but Faith asked if we could go to Egypt, and it’s not quite so bad here.”

    “Tourists?”

    “Yep!” Luis said, and Faith was quick to clarify.

    “My friend is running an archeology dig, and he thought we might like to have a look.” Mame looked at her for a moment, then laughed. “What is it?”

    “‘An archeology dig.’ Small world, in’it?” the Scot mused, steering them towards the exit. “We’re here for the same dig. I suppose I should have realized you were the gopher’s sea lion when I saw you, seeing as not many pinnipeds would be flying, and to Egypt of all dry places to go. You must be as curious as he–”–she jerked her head at Luis–“is cheerful, to be here.”

    “That sounds about right,” the hedgehog in question replied with a smile. “She’s a real explorer, Faith.”

    “You two got a ride?” Mame asked as they stepped outside.

    “We were just going to hail a cab.”

    “Ah, no, that won’t do. It’s nearly a two hour drive and the dig’s in the middle of nowhere. Best you ride with me, then. I rented a car. C’mon.”

    Faith certainly learned something on that trip– never let the rabbit drive.

    Cars and seat belts are a few more things that were never properly adapted for species without legs, and that was a more significant oversight than something like airplanes, which most self-respecting marine creatures avoided anyhow. Normally, the challenge of buckling into a car seat was manageable for Faith; she just buckled in sideways. Normally, the car was not going at Autobahn speeds with a driver too short to see over the steering wheel, and Faith found herself glad that Mame was ignoring the standardly sensible phones-while-driving bans as well as the speed limit. And for the fact that there were no other cars on the road. Had there been either other tourists or no cell connection for the digital mapping system, they probably would have crashed.

    Faith was relieved –and more than a bit surprised– to find them all in one piece on arrival. It hadn’t been a silent trip, but seeing as Mame was mostly laughing excitedly and barely making turns, she wasn’t really available for conversation. Luis had been pointing out nice things about where they were, mostly different observations about the sand, but Faith had been too busy muttering prayers in both English and Spanish to respond.

    Apparently, “two hour drive” was only for sensible drivers, because they got there in less than half of one. Faith was pretty sure that she’d have preferred the long trip, though she chose not to vocalize the thought.  Luis undid his own seat belt in the front passenger seat, thanked Mame for the ride in his annoyingly cheerful demeanor, and then moved to the back to help Faith unlatch hers.

“Well, we made good time. Are you excited to see the dig?”

“Are you crazy?” she asked, slapping her tail on the seat in distress. “I like the speed of airplanes. I also like not feeling the speed of the airplane! How can you be so calm about this?”

He shrugged. “The breeze was nice.” Oh, yes, that was another terrifying feature of their ride: the windows were fully open the whole time. All of them. Faith thanked God there wasn’t a sunroof, or that probably would have been open too.

Still, she was excited to be at the dig site, and she slid out of the car onto her scooter board without further complaint. “Dig’s right over there,” Mame said, pointing towards a taped off area, much of it lower than the surrounding ground. There was some inactive construction equipment, but there was something missing…

“Where is everyone?” Faith asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe they’re under.”

“That’d be good, wouldn’t it? That means they found something, right? You won’t have to wait while they dig, Faith!”

They moved around to the other side, just outside the taped square. Sure enough, there were stairs in a stone tunnel, like a rocky mouth to swallow any who stepped on it. “That’s not good,” Mame muttered.

“Why not?” Luis asked curiously. “They found something.”

“Yes, but why is there nobody up here? They wouldn’t all go into the crypt, would they?”

The others paused. That was a good point, and an unease settled about them. “Will we?” Faith asked quietly.

“I’ll go,” Luis piped up confidently. “I’m sure they’ve just found something dreadfully exciting, and they wanted to show the others.”

Faith sighed. Bless his heart, curse his head. “I’ll go too. I wanted to see an archeology dig, and I’ll be seeing archeology.”

“Well, there’s no way I’m letting the two of you down there alone. Impatient Curiosity and Stubborn Positivity? Recipe for disaster. Follow me, and don’t wander off, yeah?”

They each nodded and started down the stairs after her. If you’ve ever seen a scooter board (or other wheeled equivalent) going down stairs, you can imagine the difficulty of safely delivering Faith to the bottom of the steps, but they managed. It was loud enough that Luis was sure someone from the expedition would have heard and come to greet them, but there was no one waiting when the finished their descent.

The lighting in the crypt was ominously lacking, with the only light coming in from the entrance. The air smelled faintly of asphalt, but it was hard to tell. Save for the slight draft from where they’d come in, the air was stale.

They followed the narrow corridor until they came to an intersection. It was four ways, counting retreat. Their path continued into the darkness. There was a branch running further right than they could see as it dimmed with distance, and a left that sharply turned right only a couple feet in. A quiet, rhythmic scratching noise echoed through the halls, but it was impossible to tell where from.

“Which way should we go?” Luis asked, and even he was starting to sound a bit nervous.

Mame indicated the path they were on with her head. “The way we can see, probably. Left’s right out, there’ll be no light there, so it’s either right or forwards. I vote forwards.”

Luis nodded and followed her as she started moving in that direction, but Faith glanced towards the left curiously. “Why would they put in such a sharp turn?” she wondered aloud, “Do these paths run parallel?”

Being both behind by the nature of her transportation, and the only one facing that corridor, she was the first to see it as it rounded the corner. A snarling muzzle coming into view at incredible speeds, followed by the rest of the hyena. Or, at least, what looked like it may have at one point been a hyena. She barked in alarm as it slammed into the wall, using that as momentum to turn towards her. She took in its appearance in the flash instant. Was it a hyena?

It was probably either that or canine, at the very least, but it was hard to tell. The skeletal creature had sticky, matted fur where Faith could see it. The smell of asphalt — bitumen, Faith realized, what the Ancient Egyptians used to embalm mummies — grew sharper, coming from the creature. It had wraps, too, but not well done, more like it had gotten itself tangled in them.

As it leapt towards her, the others turned to see it. “Faith!” Luis cried out, yanking the scooter board towards and past him, and his friend along with it.

She just barely cleared the ferocious pounce, the thing sailing past its mark and hitting the floor with a thud. “We can’t outrun it,” they heard Mame assess, but they weren’t paying so much attention to her words as they were to the horrible, scratching scramble of claws on stone as it returned to its feet and the feral noise that none of them could even begin to characterize.

Back on the hunt, it pounced again, the only warning of its chosen target the trajectory of its jump. Luis, either in a stroke of genius or an act of terror, tore the earmuffs from his head and held them out in front of him, ducking at the same time. The dog’s mouth went just over his head, its mouth catching on the band of the earmuffs and preventing it from immediately dipping its head and biting him.

Mame, who was now standing right next to it, stepped forward and slapped it with her long ears, the sound of contact loud and clear as it echoed through the chambers. With a growl, the animal turned to face her, but it couldn’t attack, still held in place by the makeshift bridle, its reins in the charge of the frightened hedgehog beneath it, holding on like his life depended on it. Which, in all fairness, it may have.

Determining that it couldn’t easily get to the rabbit, it turned to the seemingly defenseless sea lion, but that proved to be an even worse idea. In his haste to protect himself, Luis had dropped the rope for the scooter board, and Faith was left facing mostly away from the fight. Between the thing’s newfound inability to bite and its lack of time to raise a clawed paw, it failed to protect itself from the tail slap to the face, or the ear thwap to its back.

When the thwaps proved unrelenting, and the creature was only getting itself more tangled trying to spin around to face both adversaries, it howled and bolted back the way it came from, moving fast enough to rip the earmuffs out of Luis’ paws.

They all stood in silence for a moment, staring after it, before Mame shook her head. “‘Found something dreadfully exciting,’ indeed.” She sighed. “Come on, let’s get out of here and call the police.”

“You’ll stay in touch?” Luis asked hopefully as he hugged Mame goodbye. They were back at the airport, preparing for their separate departures. They all seemed to have silently agreed to effectively pretend that the dig site had never happened, but he hoped that they’d still be friends.

“Of course,” she replied with a chuckle, “Someone’s got to keep an eye on you. Impatient Curiosity and Stubborn Positivity? Recipe for disaster.”

Luis grinned in response, but it faltered after a moment. “That was…” he remembered when she had last said that.

“As far as I’m concerned, we discussed going into the crypt and then had the fair sense not to. I retain full rights to use that quote.”

“Yeah, that’s fair. Good idea.”

Faith nodded in agreement. “And we’ll try to visit sometime soon. Scotland…” she smiled dreamily, thinking of all the wonderful things she’d get to learn.

“Right, right, daydream of adventures after you’ve got everything checked in and through security and all that,” Mame said gruffly, pushing them towards their airline’s counter so they could check in. But, for what it was worth, she was going to miss them, and she couldn’t wait for them to come visit.

Yes, I realize this is a day late for Small Business Saturday, but I post on Sundays. Anyhow, now that registration is up, I get to inform you of the website my mom and I have created: Curious Critters’ Coadventure!

It’s a whole lot of things plush related. First and foremost, we’re a travel agency for plush, which basically means that you can ship us your stuffed animals and we’ll take them fun places in the Midwest. The group’s adventures (yes, group — that’s the “Coadventure” part of it) will be posted to our Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter, and at the end of the trip a more personalized version will be sent to each furry friend’s home, in either digital or print photo book format.

We also do stories, where we work off a write-up of the critters’ personalities to spin a story with them as the main characters, and graphic adventures, where we write a story and then stage the plush in photo positions for it.

Basically, I love stuffed animals and now I get to work with them! I love my job. Even if you don’t purchase a package with us, take a look at our social media and consider following our local adventures!

Well, it’s NaNo season again, and as such I’m going to give you all some unsolicited writing advice. I don’t know about all of you, but I have horrible impulse control, and a lot of fun story ideas. For a long time, the result of this was droves upon droves of partially started books. “Ooh, what about this story?” So I started it. “This seems like a neat concept.” And I started it. The result being a lot of “I started this based off of a half-formed concept and don’t know where to go with it, but I have now jumped from the train of thought of my other story and don’t know how to get back” situations.

The solution to this was, surprisingly, really simple. I made a concept document! Now, I just type up notes in my “Write it down!” doc and get back to it when I have the time. This means that I’m not rushing to come up with a full plot for a single piece of dialogue or a vague idea, but I also don’t feel like I’m abandoning them. I can keep expanding on the possibilities, knowing that when I get to them, that work will pay off, but also that I don’t have to have all of the details in my head. For someone who had previously done little writing down the things I needed to remember, preferring to just, well, remember them, it was a bit of a difficult transition to make, but it’s certainly been worth it.

A good example of what I couldn’t have done had I mentally catalogued the ideas instead is actually this year’s NaNo. I was working on another story, see, and it wasn’t until partway through October that I realized we were almost to this time of year again. Not wanting to come up with a new concept with such little time, I turned to my concept doc. If I had been trying to remember all of them and find the most fleshed-out idea to use, I probably still would have ended up choosing the story I did, but I would have misplaced some of its details. I also wouldn’t have been choosing from the full eleven choices that I had written down, because I wouldn’t have remembered what all of them were at any given time. I say this with full confidence, seeing as I just tried to remember all eleven (I cheated; I already have the number from counting them in my doc) and could only recall seven of them.

Anyways, just a friendly suggestion: write down your ideas! That might seem obvious, but for me it wasn’t, so I’m going to assume there are other folks like me who need the nudge.

This is another one of the poems I wrote during my eighth grade poetry unit, though it wasn’t one that I turned in. I may or may not have been under the influence of chocolate when I wrote it.

My heart melts
As I read
I fold the message
How sweet
I toy with it
In my mind and mouth
Both feel good
Oh how I love Dove chocolate hearts

This is another poem I wrote for the poetry unit, about a snake “hugging” a mouse. The narrator is a seven year-old boy who doesn’t realize what’s actually happening. It is imperative to the humor of this story that you read it in the voice of a pretentious small child. Warning: dark humor, euphemized death.

"Timmy, go outside!"
Mom's hollering across the house.
The door slams behind me.
She yells something
about attitude.
I mutter back about her not being the boss of me.
I'm seven now, after all.
I make sure it's just loud enough for our door cam to pick it up.
Really, I want to be out here.
It smells nice,
like pines,
and grass,
and wind,
and yesterday’s rain.

Not like inside.
Inside doesn’t smell nice at all.
Something’s broken, I don’t remember what.
When it’s nice and cold like today it turns on,
and the whole house smells like something is burning.
When it isn’t on,
it smells old.
I’m not sure which I hate more.

But I’m not inside anymore.
I’m trekking through my trees,
deciding what kind of adventure I’ll be having today.
Then I spot them.
I freeze.
I don’t want to startle them.
Either of them.
There’s a snake coiled around a pine,
and a mouse in front of it.
I wonder what they’re doing,
and I stay super still so they might let me see.
The snake leaps towards the mouse.
I flinch.
I’ve heard of some really scary snakes that’ll kill you with a bite,
but it doesn’t bite the mouse.
It hugs it tight,
like Aunt Joanna does to me when we see her.
I grin in delight.
I didn’t know animals hugged each other!
The mouse doesn’t look happy.
It’s squirming around,
like it’s trying to get loose.
I guess the snake really is like Aunt Joanna,
and that mouse really is like me.
I feel a bit bad for it.
I know what it’s like to get hugged by someone you really don’t like,
but I also know that I’m supposed to be polite and let them hug me,
and I think the same goes for mice, right?
So I just stand and wait and watch.

The snake squeezes harder.
Relatives always do when you try and escape their hugs.
Doesn’t the mouse know that?
If it would just stop squirming the snake would probably let it go.
Eventually, it does.
The mouse goes still.
I guess it figured out my trick,
cuz the snake lets go of it completely.
Either that or it said something really nasty.
I got in trouble for doing that to Aunt Joanna once.
She stopped hugging me faster than my sister runs when she sees a spider,
but then I got a talking-to and no dessert.
I think it’s easier to just stand still like one of the trees until she lets go.
I’m so excited that I sprint back to the house.
“Michelle!” I yell for my sister.
“You’ll never believe it!”
“I just saw a snake hugging a mouse!”

This is one of my favorite poems that I wrote for my eighth grade poetry unit. I present to you, “The Beast.”

The Beast prowls by the gates,
impatient to be unleashed.
Eager to return to the hunt
and sink her teeth into the prize.
But she has been banished here
by the keepers of her prey.

She cannot escape,
yet she scratches at the mass that holds her,
the horrible sound carrying down the corridors
as the obstacle slowly chips away.
She howls in frustration
as pieces of her prison fall away,
yet in whole it stands strong.

Bored, she turns to her cell.
What here can she do?
What to climb on?
What to destroy?
It depends on where she is held-
the keepers rotate her containment.

Sometimes she has company.
A keeper is kept with her,
much to their annoyance.
She scrapes at the walls,
calling out for freedom,
and bothering them in hope of release.

This time, she is alone.
The keeper would not stay with her.
The other obliged.
They needed help with the target anyways.
So there is nobody to appeal to;
no chance of sympathy.

I am a keeper:
the one who keeps her company.
Who escaped that fate, this time.
As her prey is moved again,
the other keeper turns to me.
“Unleash the Beast.”

I protest the order.
We know what will happen.
She will come for it,
again.
But the other stares me down.
“It’s been long enough. Go.”
And so I do.

I loiter down the passageway,
unenthusiastic about my task.
But I have my orders
from the head keeper.
I undo the latch.
Do I really have to?
Yes, I do.

I open it hesitantly, slowly.
The Beast pushes towards me.
As soon as it is open
just enough for her to squirrel through
she is out.
She ignores me, running past.

She is free!
She does not know where the target is,
where it has been moved to now,
but she does know where it often is.
She closes in on that place,
leaping towards her anticipated prize.

And the cat is on the counter again.
Time to lock her back in Mom’s room
while we eat our dinner.

This is a narrative on a trip to Six Flags that my mom and I went on. Enjoy!

“Are you insane?” I asked my mom, watching across X-Force’s twisting track as a car of screaming people descended American Eagle.
Of course, this was the woman who had walked through the entire theme park oggling almost every ride that I shied away from, and had already ridden the worst of them on past ocassions. How she had gotten me to go to Six Flags again, I wasn’t quite sure – probably the Justice League ride, which I do enjoy – or worse, how she had gotten me to ride Viper. Granted, I had already ridden Viper once before, the last time we had come to the park, but I hadn’t liked it, and it was a severe lapse in judgement to ride it again. I suppose everything I read about “second chances” and the lot had gotten to my head, and it hadn’t occurred to me that those ideals were aimed at people, not at roller coasters. While I grasped the handles tightly, as though plummeting to my death (which it certainly felt like I was), she was whooping with the careless ease of an adrenaline junkie (which she most certainly is).
“Do you really have to ask?” She responded, staring at American Eagle with a hunger in her eyes characteristic to people who actually like roller coasters. “Come on, you said you’d ride it this time.”
That was true – I had said that I was going to finally ride American Eagle that visit, since I was tall enough and the line wasn’t all that long. But that had been back in the car, when we had first arrived, and there were other aspects of that conversation that she was neglecting to consider. For instance, the fact that I hadn’t had wind in my hair and recent plummeting experiences for my mind to call on at the time. Or the exchange prior to my making that stupidly bold statement.
“I’d like to ride American Eagle this time,” she had remarked as she pulled into the parking lot. I knew what she really meant was, “I’d like for you to ride American Eagle with me this time,” and I looked out the window to see it.
“It’s the wooden one, right?”
“Yup. It has some record for longest wooden roller coaster, I think.”
“It doesn’t look too bad,” I had reasoned.
“It isn’t.”
“Any drops?” Drops are my kryptonite. They say it’s not heights or falling that you’re afraid of, just the landing. I’ve found that isn’t true. I think that some people genuinely are afraid of the altitude and perspective of heights, I’m just not one of them. Then again, I’m not afraid of landing either. It’s unpleasant, to be sure, but thanks to martial arts training I have plenty of experience with poorly done landings. No, what bothers me is the falling bit, where there’s nothing, just the wind around you, the drop in your stomach as you fall, and the complete and total lack of control. That’s what frightens me.
“Nothing serious,” she had replied. She would know, I figured. She had ridden just about everything in this park, at some point or another.
We had very different definitions of serious, it would seem. I stood there, watching the car speed forwards and downwards, and even though I was far from it, I could imagine the plummeting feeling that I hated so much, and I knew that ride held far too much of it for my taste. It was ironic – I could ride swinging cars that sped in circles and tipped you sideways, until you were horizontal to the ground, and I didn’t mind at all, but I couldn’t take a steep descent.
“Yes, I said that I would, but you also said that there weren’t any big drops.”
“There aren’t.”
I stopped picking at my thumb to gesture wildly at the tracks in front of us. “What do you call that?”
She frowned. “That’s not a big drop.”
“Yes it is!”
“Not to me.”
“You’re insane.”
“I know.” She gestured towards it. “Please?”
“Absolutely not! Why don’t you see if there’s a single rider line?”
There wasn’t.

In preparation for my 11th birthday, my parents and I set up a Harry Potter themed birthday party. My dad had a lathe for wand making, we had foosball as Quidditch, my mom made an awesome Dementor piñata, and I invented a school, complete with houses and symbols.

Aloha is a running joke in our family (which I won’t explain because it isn’t actually relevant) and we named the school based off of a slight misspelling of a common spell. We named our school – Alohamora. Below are the houses and their designs (bear with their simplicity, I was ten).

House 1: 
Symbol: Shark
Founder: Sirauwani Sharktooth ♀
Colors: Orange and Grey
Characteristic attribute: Courage

House 2:
Symbol: Nene
Founder: Guinairo Goosefeather ♂
Colors: Brown and White
Characteristic attribute: Loyal

 House 3:
 Symbol: Volcano
 Founder: Lilinokeao Lavaglow ♀
 Colors: Red and Tan
 Characteristic attribute: Ambition
 

House 4:
Symbol: Awa
Founder: Kanisoria’a Kavaroot ♂
Colors: Green and Yellow
Characteristic attribute: Studious