The Journal Is Up!

Cover

 

Tuesday, July 6th

9:40-10:15: Craft: read “Shitty First Drafts” by Anne Lamott and talk about revision

10:15-11:45 Writing Studio:

1.     Choose the pieces you are going to include in the book and reading. You have until the end of the day tomorrow to work on them, but we would like to write them down.

2.     Email me your “because” poems

3.     Write your author’s bios 75 words

4.     Workshoppers: print out copies of your pieces

5.     Email me your best/worst pieces

11:45-12:30 Lunch

Workshops 12:30-2:00

Workshops

Theresa A Group:

Molly

Mariel

Jake

Samantha 

Jack

Rachel A Group:

Daniel

Mick

Olivia

Tomorrow: Theresa B Group: Julianna, Aazum, Kerry, Eldon, Angela, (Harriet)

Tomorrow: Rachel B Group:  Lina, Kaila, Morgan, Matt, Leila

2:00-3:30 Group

Revision Week: Monday, August 5th

Craft Talk: Theresa and Rachel
Topic: Publishing Your Work

Workshop III: Eldon, Kaila, Aazum, Morgan, Mick, Kerry

11:45-12:30

12:30- 2:00
 Workshop III: Continued 
Writing Studio

2:00-3:30 Group/Studio
 

Thursday, August 1, 2013: Talismans

9:30-10:30 Fiction Craft

10:30-11:45 Writing Studio 
Prompt:   

1) If you liked the nonfiction piece sketch of your talisman from the craft class, you can develop that into a memoir piece. 
2) Write a piece about a character and his or her talisman. What is their talisman? Does he or she have his talisman with them? Is it lost? What does it represent to that person?

 Lunch 11:45-12:30

12:30-2:15 Poetry Craft

2:15-3:30

WORKSHOP II 2:15-3:30: Jake, Julianna, Daniel,  Mick, Angela, Mariel

Writing Studio

Group Exercises and Games 

For the folks who liked the Pantoum, here is a really great villanelle. 

Wednesday, July 31, 2013.

Monologues
9:30-10:30 Fiction/NF Craft:
Examples from: Oscar Wilde, HG Wells, and Roller Coaster.

Prompt: Write a monologue. You can set it anywhere, and if you want, the setting can be dynamic (as in the roller coaster monologue), or in a bunker that is about to be infiltrated.

Lunch 11:45-12:30

12:30-2:15 Poetry Craft
2:15-3:30
Workshop I: Olivia, Harriet, Sam, Molly, Lina, Matt, Laila
Writing Studio
Group Exercises and Games

Tuesday July 30, 2013: Dialogue

Fiction/NF Craft
Dialogue
Dialogue Tags
Adverbs

Prompt:
Write a piece which is almost all dialogue (not a play)
Write a piece which is almost all narrative and contains only one of the following as dialogue: "Yes", "No", "Maybe."

Wednesday, July 24, 2013.

Said and Unsaid

9:30-10:30
Fiction/NF Craft
Dorothy Parker, "You Were Perfectly Fine"

10:30-11:45
Writing Studio

11:45-12:30
Lunch

12:30-2:00
Poetry Craft

2:00-3:30
Workshop
Rachel's Group: Olivia, Matt, Aazum, Sam, Lina, Molly, Harriet, Leila, Mick

Theresa's Group: Eldon, Julianna, Morgan (absent), Jack, Jake, Daniel, Mariel (absent), Kerry, Angela

Tuesday, July 23, 2013.

Unreliable Narrators

Prompt:

PROMPT: Write a piece of flash fiction from the perspective of an unreliable narrator. Do not reveal, until the end that the POV is unreliable. (Twist). Note: there is an axiom that says that fiction tells the truth with lies. Try to do this with your unreliable narrator. Try not to go for the most shocking thing. Try to tell a story and reveal something about human nature. 

Workshop: People in bold are workshopping today. Please email me a copy theresa.benaquist@gmail.com and print out one copy for your workshop instructor and one for yourself (or you can look at it on your computer, but you should have it in front of you). 

Rachel's Group: Olivia, Matt, Aazum, Sam, Lina, Molly, Harriet, Leila, Mick

Theresa's Group: Eldon, Julianna, Morgan, Jack, Jake, Daniel, Mariel, Kerry, Angela

Friday, July 19th.

Craft: Style

Workshop I (complete)

 

Writing Studio Prompt

Write a scene or short piece that takes place in another era. Try to be convincing and think about how people thought and spoke in that time and place. Think about the technology they had.

Lunch

Workshop II

Writing Studio

Thursday, July 18th.

 Writing prompts for Epistolary Stories

1. Write a confession (fiction or nonfiction) in the form of a letter.
2. Write a short story in Epistolary form, from the perspectives of two or more characters, about the same event or situation. (1K-7500K)

Group Game: Zombie 5

Workshop I this afternoon.

Week I: Workshop Groups

We will have our first workshop tomorrow afternoon. Tomorrow morning, you should pick something to share. It can be any piece or excerpt from a larger piece, that is 1000 words or fewer. Please email your piece to everyone in your group so they can print it out and/or read it on their computer.

Workshop I, Thursday:
Mariel
Kaila
Kerry
Julianna
Jake
Matthew
Samantha
Kerry
Aazum

Workshop II, Friday:
Morgan
Olivia
Daniel
Leila
Lina
Jack
Mick
Harriet
Molly
Angela

Monday, 7.15.13.

Showing vs. Telling

 

o   Prompt for the day: Think of a dilapidated old house. Now write a short story that takes place there. What does the house look like? What does it smell like? What are the sounds? What time of year is it and how does the house feel (temperature, stuffy, drafty, etc.)?

o   Prompt for the day: Your character and his wife visit a new house that they're thinking of buying. Your character's wife is enthusiastic about the house, but it's really a terrible place. The character hates it but is afraid to say what he really thinks. Show the scene. But.. do NOT tell the reader that the house is terrible. Do NOT tell the reader that your character hates it. Do NOT have the character tell his true feelings about the wife. Instead, make the reader see and feel it all. And eventually, make the wife see it too.

The Purchase Review, 2012-2013 Issue

The Cardboard Box

by Caroline Norfleet

The Angel's Wish

by Lena Cavalcanti

The word ‘unbelievable’ would’ve been what crossed her mind if she wasn’t a young, and rather persistent, lady in waiting living in the 'Great British Empire' who always wanted what was out of reach. You see, sadly the truth is that when it came down to that subtle fact, it was indeed very believable. However it’s not as though she would let that end her vigorous efforts, in fact, she made it her mission to obliterate such a notion, or at least, she had.

Now her legs ached and her stomach gave a low curling moan as her mind shifted gears and she headed back for home. As far as any stranger could tell, what this strange and childish girl wanted was to wear trousers and smoke cigars and parade around telling others that the ladies of England needed equal treatment to men in every respect known to society. In a numb-minded stranger’s eyes she was a raving suffragist, and what’s more a threat to the city of London.

But they would be wrong, because what Adeline Ale really considered herself to be was bored, and what she wanted was something to do outside of her own home that either involved the company of others, or the credibility of a book. Both of which, as was noted, were undoubtedly out of reach at the moment.

As she made her way down the coblestoned roads she occupied her mind in the puddles made where the carriage wheels wore-away the street. She made a game of counting each one she passed until the scale of her numbers conscientiously took her off the main road and down a corner she hadn't yet bothered to explore. It turns out that you can get very easily lost that way, or at the very least, forget the particular direction in which you began walking in. Civilized people keep their curiosity from taking control of situations like this, they don't stray off the beaten path, and they certainly don't spend their time wondering what it must be like to be a small patch of water in a wide stretch of land. As one can probably already gather Adeline was not one of these people, but she also wasn't a fool.

She was well aware of the fact that it must've been at least half past noon by now, and she could almost imagine the form  of a twisted lanky shadow following her suit. Despite that, Adeline didn't particularly mind, there wasn't any real urgency in getting back to the university, even if it meant that Thomas would have to stand at her window a half an hour longer than he would've preferred. She pitied him quite honestly, he clung onto friends with horrible self setting standards, friends who made him wait on a dull Sunday. He held onto people who were impolite, he had gluttonous friendships, he was much too good to tag along with someone so awfully self-centered, so selfish.

The thought halted her, selfish, yes, that was the word for it. A selfish brat, that's what she was, and the realization felt almost as though it were a gag reflex. Such a word acted as though it were bait at that moment, rotting flesh for crows and maggots to swarm upon as she began to hear the hushed tones of their voices again. Her keepers were hungry for bloodied water. They echoed the phrase like a seashell would the ocean, creating a lapsing mantra as though it were a monotonous caw over and over in the back of her mind. Their noise ricocheted itself through her very bones.

Selfish bitch, stupid whore ,stupid selfish bitch, selfish, stupid, selfish, selfish, stupid, selfish, bitch.

Adeline wanted to scream, to claw her head open, to do something, anything for them to shut up, but a lass it was hopeless. They'd cease when they felt the need to, telling them off would do no good any how's. You cannot be afraid of something that isn't really there, or at least that's what she would've liked to believe. Slowly she knelt in the empty street listening to them yammer along, their voices becoming elongated and slow so that she could be sure to remember every nasty variation.

A selfish little whore, too stupid for words, unreasonable bitch, just like your mother...

The last line was what ultimately drew her tears, she wasn't one for crying, but it didn't strike her as odd to have such a thing affect her so severely. It stung like salt in a festering wound and made her want to wretch in the middle of the street, but as swiftly as the chorus of  her keepers voices came in their raspy whispers, they became garbled and decayed in the same measure. Such an attack may have left her weeping silently for an eternity's worth, but it also may have only really been 10 minutes at the most, regardless how long she remained kneeling has no dire significance, because eventually she stood upright on her own two feet again.

Silently she wiped the salty remnants out of her eyes, sniffed 4 times, and shook the strands of hair that were once clinging to her cheeks out of her face. When Adeline had finished composing herself she carefully extracted a small coin purse from the depths of her corset (where despite her best interest she sometimes carried things minuet enough to be manageable) and opened the clasp. Sure enough, there were only about 3 shillings left after having to leave the rest to her father for his carriage into town that evening, but she supposed it would suffice.

Taking the first two into her hand Adeline scanned the rundown street, searching for another puddle until she spotted one further down the road. In tentative steps she made her way their and upon reaching it let one coin fall from her from her grasp. She then stood it edge a moment longer, taking giving the wish time to form among her thoughts before it came clearly into view.It was made for Thomas of course, and for him she requested a more reliable companion. Someone who would never ask him to wait longer than he should, someone who could make a skeptic  genuinely smile, because she couldn't be that person, no matter how hard she tried.

Upon locating the second water made land fill her next wish was made for her father, the man who raised her despite all odds without her mother. She asked for him to find peace after all this time, to stop taking blame for a nearly faultless tragedy and to remember the man he once was. The one who told her stories of the gods, goddesses, and hermaphrodites alike without a care in the world. The one who taught her to question everything everyday without hesitation, even if only for the sake of bothering everyone else. All she wanted for him now was the joy he once held in his very being, and if that were really too much to ask, then at the very least she would want for him to remember the ideals of his clever mind that seemed to be ever-present in their lives a long while ago.

When Adeline was down to her last shilling she realized what needed to be done. After finding the last little pool of murky brown moisture in front of a large center wall, she clutched the silver disc to her breast a took in a long breath. Her final wish was her own, but in comparison to the others, it seemed like a small favor. It was that of a puddle to a river, a small patch of water in a wide stretch of land, and unlike her walk home, it was more urgent than she would've liked to confess. As the coin shimmered upon the surface of her palm, she pleaded with the universe to give her a reason to be happy again. It didn't have to be grandiose in size or rationale, but it did have to exist, otherwise what was the point of going on the way she was? Why should she continue living if there was nothing for her to look forward to? Would it not be better for everyone if she was completely out of the picture? If she was really so selfish, so awful, why did anyone need her? She needed the answer to one, if not all of these questions by the time next summer came around and no later than that, without them she knew what would have to be done, and so slowly she let her last shilling leave her.

Now one must realize that there is a certain effect known as sonder in the perception of the human psyche, the realization that every stranger lives their life as vividly as you might your own. They have thoughts, feelings, and hardships as difficult and tireless as anyone else's. Your story and theirs live simultaneously with one another, but are also directly parallel from each other. It is only until we as humans find some middle ground, some meeting point that our existences collide with each others and we become part and parcel of the essence of the people surrounding us. It may not be a simple concept to comprehend, but one can easily take into account that everyday we experience such a profound understanding of that subject when we pass a stranger on the street, it is just that we do not conscientiously take it into consideration. It certainly wasn't coursing through Adeline's mind as she dropped the shilling until the very last minute, when a pair of dirty, bleeding arms outstretched towards her and shoved her into an indented corner of the building beside her. In that moment her head flooded with such a notion, as she came face to face with a boy whose bony body had seen better days, but whose eyes gleamed so brightly their emerald, no, chartreuse color that she thought perhaps one could forget who they were by staring into them long enough. A boy whose face, she would learn, may have always carried anguish and fear wherever he went, but whose heart always had the will to continue onward. A boy who learned to live with a name so heinous in the nature, yet so lovingly ironic to his very core. Malefactor, yes, her Malefactor, and so then one can assume that before the coin even fell into the water, Adeline's wish had been granted...well sort of.

Halloween Came Early This Year

by Daniel Mignault

I admit it: I had been warned not to take a breath, to lead-line my lungs, but nevertheless when the door opened I let out a little breath and apparently that was all the man in the Halloween mask needed. By the time I realized that I had been detected the rifle had already come out. It was a little battered carbine and it had a stump for a handle like someone had ripped a piece off but when I saw it I saw it like an American atom bomb, all painted up in red and blue over the cartoon Radiation sign and the promise of a few square miles of sand turned to glass. The Halloween mask sighted along the rifle and turned around the room like a cameraman trying to get a good angle, and hell, that's all he was trying to do, I guess, get a good angle.

Ten minutes later he kicked open the fruit crate and shot my sister with a rattle that I had theretofore not associated with any sort of firearm. There's a first time for everything. The round went through the wooden lid, painfully small as she held it like a Testament, chipped it, but my sister wasn't metal but meat, and therefore was susceptible to the kick-back that hurled her against the ground and back into the crate's roof. The impact tipped it backwards and as she fell back she dropped the lid onto the crate again. By the time it hit the ground she had already been boxed up for a funeral so halloween mask opened some holes for earthworms, being polite to the little squirmers, salt and dirt of the earth, and opened some holes in my sister too. She coughed a little and that was it. She was a wailer, and I'd expected wails. That little cough was a letdown for me n' him alike.

All this I watched with... not so much horror. Horror wasn't attending me, horror was more on the sidelines and maybe ready to call by later and see how I was doing. More like - I don't know - I anticipated it? Not a premonition. All I know is I knew they'd die, I knew how they'd die. Halloween mask was mostly just the climax of something a few days in the making. Like a ghost. Except ghosts don't usually carry guns, much less ratty carbines.

Feel free to stop enabling my delusion any time. No? Buy another few shots then. I'm dying of thirst here.

Jesus that stuff's hot. I swear, the bartender here makes cocktails with hot sauce, goddamned if it's cost effective, he's just fulfilling some deep complex or mania or fetish or what-have-you, getting his rocks off or appeasing the demon worm in the tequila bottle by putting Tabasco in booze. Love that guy but he's an awful person, I can't lie here.

Where was I? Halloween mask. He shot my sister. After that.

After sister came brother, after brother came mother, after mother came father. My brother was three short bursts through the closet door which missed and a golf club from a backpack which didn't. Far as I could tell he'd been praying to whatever damn deity he'd found on the internet this week. My mother was all set to beg him for life but he just hit her over the head and then teed up a swing, took out a few teeth, sent them on little pilgrimages to unexplored territories. While she was keeled over he rolled her down the stairs with his foot. She thumped on every step. I could hear her cursing and crying all at once. Mom was always

Scream! What, no. Shut up, okay? Yeah, that was the movie where Halloween mask got his mask. Scream. Except I think the left eye was out and the little pump for the fake blood was leaking, so it drizzled a little. Which wasn't a huge problem as regards all the real blood that was there. Sorry.

Dad died with a pistol in his hand, the old bureau pistol and the cowboy look in his eyes, except I guess he wasn't white hat or black hat. Just an extra, maybe. No. 3 murdered man. I could tell he was planning a real do-'r-die situation, hero beating all the odds. Dad wasn't too bright. Pistol weren't loaded. The carbine rattled at him and Custer's Last Stand turned into Custer's Last Fall on the Couch, and then it rattled again and nearly jumped its handle and Custer just plain died.

Hell with it. Get me another glass.

Good, y'all got the good stuff. The rest is piss. Piss with hot sauce in it, I can't lie about that, I really cannot lie. God.

What was next? Well I had been there the whole time, watching, and I knew that I wasn't going to die. I knew they were dying, but I knew I wasn't going to die and I needed to fulfill that. So while he was shooting my father I picked up a paperweight, old glass deal, coral-decorated coral-covered gimcrack from some Caribbean resort, and I shattered it over his head. He didn't look hurt, really, just shocked and a little angry, but it had cracked and so I drove the pointed end through the back of his mask like Neanderthal man on a mission. He didn't like that.

He turned his little jumpy gun and pulled the trigger, I said thanks to my head for telling me I wasn't going to die. It jammed though, so I retroactively declared the thanks genuine and hit him in the nuts - no point in aiming anywhere else really - and when he turned green, or what I could see turned green, and he felt that particular burst of trauma that characterizes that specific biological rattling, I popped 'im one across the face. Another one went into the stomach and on the third the paperweight went through his hand. Then he dropped the carbine, and the fourth hit was a rattle-clack of lightning that turned his cheeks into little red abysses and sent his teeth caroming back into his mouth and turned the damned Scream mask into threads and plastic. I think I burst the fake-blood bulb, too, but again, I cannot lie, there was enough of the real to make up for that. I think he might've had a face behind there. But if it was it was lost in a few seconds of heat and metal and a cough that stilled my predictions. For the first time in the whole damn spree, after a few days of knowing What Came Next, it was over.

So there I stood, my entire family dead, some stranger in a Halloween suit dead, me in the middle of the room carrying a little rattly rifle and a glass shiv. Pretty shaken up, still just a kid. Guess what happens next. Just keep my luck in mind and look at this face, covered in rips and tears, and think about it, and guess.

Yeah, that's right. The police showed up.

Three weeks later I walked out of the woods wearing an outfit made out of stitched-up police uniforms and biting down on a copper badge while I pulled bullets out of my arm. The blood showed but I convinced the grunge kids that it was a fashion statement. They loved me out there. They bought so far into my monster mask, my little knife and my rattly gun. I remember they tried to take it off once. I remember their faces when they realized it wasn't rubber, that there weren't any ear hooks. Wear this kind of Nosferatu face long enough and everyone will convince themselves it's a mask. Maybe that was what happened to him.

But I should shut up. Who do you need dismembered? And get me another drink while you tell me. And some crackers. My mouth is on fire. Jesus H.

Daniel is so close to discovering the secret. He can smell it in the tang of ozone before a storm, and the hot-flash scent of rain on concrete. Every time his arm is numbed by blood loss and his eyes dilate in the brightness of a high-watt light bulb, he can taste the supernal Secret that governs all things. It is so close. He enjoys medium-quality fast food, writing and the internet. He does not believe much in anything, yet. Thank you.

And in due time you shall repay the same service to me.

And in due time you shall repay the same service to me.

by Derek Stanley

My father

Led me through life

My father

Showed me the light

My father

Taught me what’s right

Growing up my father set the example and guided me. He taught me what I needed to know in order to better myself and those around me. We went on adventures together, big and small. He held my hand as I grew up and helped me grow into who I am.

My father

Needs me at the end of his life

My father

Wants me to show him the light

My father

Has become what is right

As his life comes to an end he needs someone. He needs me to help him along like he once did I. I will help him live and be the best. We can still go on adventures, but maybe only in our minds. He held my hand as I grew up and now I will hold his.

Dan's Speech

by Derek Stanley

Dan was tapping his foot and bouncing his leg. He had never done anything like this before. So many people, so many parents, even his own watching him. He had come out to people before, but not so many and wasn’t trying to teach them how to help their own kids. He had a plan though and was ready, just really really nervous. In his head, the new pink song "Try" was playing in his head, encouraging him to do it even if he gets hurt. 

"And now Dan will be talking about coming out."

The nervous energy flowed through his body, he couldn’t sit still.

He thought about the first time he had come out. It was to his friend John, the trusted one. John had listen to his friends story, and afterwards he just gave him a hug and let tears flow from Dan's eyes. Dan felt like it was his first time again, and he was hoping John would show up to make him feel better. He had no time though his time was now. He got out of his seat and went up to the podium. All eyes were on him, and he could feel the sweet flowing down his temples. "Okay you can do this" and he started but completely disregarded what he had written down:

"Guys I need to tell you something, I'm bisexual and transgender... ok, now that that's off my chest i can continue. It was easier for me to come out because i know this is a safe spot and I know there are people here to support me, but it is still difficult. I mean, there is that chance that you, my parents, peers, and fellow people might act differently now that you do know or treat me differently. Here's the thing it takes so much come out to you. And so many kids and adults don’t have what I have. They live in a community where it is unacceptable and disgraceful. Those teens and even adults are held back from truly expressing themselves because of who they chose to kiss.

Courage and trust those are what help someone come out. Lets start with trust. In a town like are’s, which is accepting, finding people who you trust and have faith in to keep your secret or let it just be is pretty easy because everyone is generally supportive. However, if you think your child is gay, do not force it out of them. It does not help and does not work. In some teens it causes them to close up because they feel like it is wrong to be gay or bisexual or whatever they are. Let them have enough trust in you so they can come out on their own time.

For me, coming out was not easy. I didn’t know if I could trust that my parents and if they would accept me. My friends are all rulers and I am a protractor so it felt like they would treat me differently, so I stayed quiet and tried to fit in with everyone else, which was pretty easy being bisexual. However I still felt like an outcast. Then I met Will and Matt. They are both openly gay so I felt like they could relate. I asked them both how did they know and they both said

“I just knew, it wasn’t like a choice, it was always that way.”

Those words filled me hope, hope to be normal. But not just hope, I also felt something different. Courage, courage to stand for who I am and be open.

Courage can do that, make you more able to be open and express who you are in your own way. Some are not so lucky as I was. They live in community’s that reject the slightest implication. And it hurts when you aren’t accepted, or loved. But you can help make this a community where it is safe and comfortable to come out, to be who you are. Express creativity without worry, whether your straight or gay or anything in-between. Coming takes trust and courage. Let them tell you when they are ready, when they trust you, when they have the courage to be themselves. When they’re ready. So I came out to you, and if you want you can come out to me.”

Dan stood there for a moment. Not a sound the second he stopped. His heart race increased as he looked for a reaction in the crowd. He looked over to his friends on the side of the stage. Then the auditorium erupted with cheering and clapping. Joy rose through Dan. A huge smile lightened on his face. He smiled and felt a weight lift and went off to join his friends. He felt accepted by his whole community. His family his friends everyone. His friends gave him high-fives as he joined them and sat down to hear the other speeches for the GSA community speech. The leader was now standing at the podium.

“Give it up for Dan!”

The cheers rose once again. And as the leader continued to talk Dan fell into a calm joy.

Circle

by Derek Stanley

We were laughing, having a good time, singing songs around the campfire. Rocking back and forth to the music, singing out of key, and cuddling up with who ever we wanted, we didn’t have a care in the world. Everyone I cared about was there, and... Well... it went all wrong. We in the middle of singing “American Pie” when a fog creeped in surrounding us. We began to shiver and neared the fire as our breath clogged the air with moisture. However, the fire no longer gave any heat. Huddling together, and wrapping ourselves in blankets, we tried staying warm but nothing worked. People started shaking wildly as the fog became thicker. I squinted, but could barely see anything out of the campsite. Then a screech worse than a thousand nails on a chalkboard entered our ears. It defeated us, as we started screaming in pain and falling to the ground. The dirt around us began separating into a curved line like a finger being pushed by a child in sand, as the screeching continued. Our ears started to bleed. The fog in the air turned black as night and we began to choke. We were gasping for breath, surrounded by a black screen as the circle was completed and the noise stopped. I looked around and half of the people were gone.

“Hey everyone get to the fire.” But only the people in sight came close to the fire the rest stayed hidden in the darkness. A voice no one recognized echoed out of the darkness

“Smart boy.”

The adult, John, stepped up. He was tall and well built. Growing up he had been like an older brother to me, taking me to amusement parks and teaching me little tricks. He had always defended me when I was in trouble. Now was no different.

“Who’s there? Show your self!” No response. John walked out of the circle and into the darkness. Silence consumed the air with nothing but the sound of the crackling fire. A metallic tang entered my mouth as my eyes started to close. Then, out from the darkness was a shriek, a terrible scream of pain and anguish.

“HELP ME!!!”

The sound of skin being torn from muscle entered our ears like peeling the skin off a carrot and muscle torn off of the bone followed like the ripping of duck tape off of human skin. Someone in the group yelled,

“Duck!”

At that moment, clean bare bones flew through the air towards us. We knew they were John’s. Some of us cried; Cried for our lives and for our friends. I cried for I had lost part of my family. Suddenly, my best friend Adam yelled,

“Guys, look, a clearing!”  

“What are you talking about? We are surrounded.” I was too late calling out. He started to run straight into the darkness. But unlike last time there was no silence after he left us. Another low grunt sounded,

“Hello”

The sound of a heart beat rang around us as if on surround sound. A slow bu-bump bu-bump bu-bump it sped up and we knew it was Adams. bu-bump bu-bump bu-bump bu-bump faster and faster. bu-bump bu-bump -------- Silence. Then his heart flew through the air and landed in the fire. Thump.  Adam’s lifeless body was revealed to us on the edge of the circle with a hole straight where his heart should lie. He didn’t deserve this; he was a good kid. He was always there when my heart was broken and was always willing to talk. We had been side by side since kindergarten. I couldn’t take it.

“What do you want?!”

Silence came in return. After minutes of anxiety Adam’s lifeless body began to speak.

“You, Greg. All I want is you and then I will leave this place, for good. Or who would you like to die next?”

The scary part was their was no tone in his voice, just straight words. His threat didn’t sound quite right yet the more I thought, it was all the more. Without thinking I started to walk. I put my foot outside of the circle but something pulled me back.

“No Greg, you can’t. We all want you here. We can sit it out. Don’t be a hero. It’s a trap.” I turned and saw Grace, my ex-girlfriend, tears streaming down her face, her make-up spreading all over her face. I stared to turn to head back, but then something grabbed my ankle and started to pull. Grace and the others grabbed my arms and tried to pull me back.  It felt like I was tied to two horses walking in opposite directions, ripping the bones from the ligaments that attached them. Then of coarse Adam had to start talking.

“Let him go. He’s mine.” It wasn’t just Adam’s voice though. Their was another. And that moment it tugged harder, just for a moment it let go, and I was launched forward into everyone, knocking them down. It didn’t seem right; something was wrong. Why would that thing in the darkness just let go like that? Then I realized the circle it was getting smaller. Narrowing in on us. Losing space we all went to the center. Looking around I noticed our numbers had dwindled from 15 to 5. Grace, Luke, Alissa, Hank, and I were the only survivors left. The circle stopped with a little room to walk around. We all sat down in relief.

“Grace, of all the people to grab me I didn’t expect it to be you.”

“Is now really the time Greg?”

“Well considering we could die at any moment, yes.”

“Just because you broke my heart does not mean I stopped caring. You were and are the only light to me. In fact you seem to be glowing, keeping the darkness away.

The others looked towards me and then around. The fire was gone taken by the darkness. The only light was emanating... from me.  What was I? Some sort of freak? I looked at myself from all the angles I could. I was positive, the light was coming from me. I stared at the four of them. They seemed to get smaller bit by bit as my vision started to fade. Black covers my mind, I can’t see at all. I start to feel pain, subtle pain. It’s an itch of life leaving my muscle and blood from my veins being clotted with black and green molecules like fungi. My life faded from me. I was left in darkness.

Light shined on my eyes as I wearily woke. My neck was wet and warm with blood. The stream followed down the chin and split down my neck. Grace’s tears dropped on too my leg as her sobs echoed into my ear. The smell of rot and decay shifts in my nose. I move my head and look around. To both sides, dead bodies lie with gashes in the chest and side missing limbs were spread around the campsite. Maggots feasting on the blood wet muscle inside. Bones poking out of the deflated coarse dry skin. I shifted into a sitting position. It was morning and the sky had cleared. No more darkness, no more dreams and only reality and death.

“Grace... Grace!”

“Oh thank god you are alright. Everyone else is dead. Everyone except us. I thought I was the only one.”

“No I’m here. Hey, I’m here. It will be ok.”

His shoulders became soaked in tears as he patted Grace on the back. After a while there was no more tears and the two of them stayed hugging surrounded by the death of their friends.

“What happened after I passed out?”

“Adam... He...”

“Take your time.”

“He stood up and walked through the darkness and came after us. Frightened Luke, Alissa and Hank away. They... They ran into the darkness and were torn apart. I saw it too. It... It had... It was... It was terrifying. At least you’re still alive. Can you be mine just for now.”

Then it clicked. She was the one who said I was hers when the beast had grabbed me. I looked into her eyes. They were so alone, yet a hint of darkness. The sun started to fade into darkness once again. A deep snarl sounded from the behind me. The grass around him started to wither and the vibrant green turned gray and dull.

“What? What are you doing?”

“You will be mine Greg. I promised I would never give up hope.”

The terrible screech returned, flipping my insides twisting the organs together. My pores started to widen and bleed. The warm blood leaving my cold body covering it. I looked around in agony to see my dead friends turn to look at me. Scarred faces. Blood cover hollowed eyes, decay had become them. They were screaming, like skulls with their mouths wide open letting death and pain escape.

The circle is drawn and I am surrounded by darkness and my friends that lie within it. Slowly the circle shrinks closer and closer. All the voices of the dead enter my ears.

“Join us. Join us.”

“Join me Greg. I love you.”

“How could you do this Grace? You killed everyone just to be with me! Of all people me! Stop it before you kill me!”

Then the light cleared through the darkness. And I saw its... its eyes gleaming. Darkness of red, with yellow pupils. They were filled with blood and hate. Then SLASH! And I was dead. Ripped right in half. It tore through me, muscles turning to shreds and pieces. Fresh warm, meat that looked like you could eat for dinner on a plate. The cutting felt like knifes being jabbed into the stomach and being pulled up. It hit my spine and took the bone and snapped it in half. My face shocked and sorry lay there lifeless as it devoured me. I watched Grace as satisfaction came to her face. Eventually she left and the beast with her and my body was left with other. I was left open. Organs and muscles ripped apart covered in the blood that once flowed through my body. My friends have all died at my side, while Grace still walks the Earth. It was forever known as Grace’s Graveyard.

So, any questions?

Derek Stanley is a writer who is inspired by everything he sees and experiences. He transforms life from a raw form into something he can feel and understand. He has a dark mind, yet words of all kinds find their way to the page. He is something... Different.