Category: Fiction

Killing someone is harder than it looks. I should have used a gun. My old bow and arrow worked, but it was messy.

See, a few years ago, an old witch cursed me. She cackled when she did it too. She claimed my dreams would come true, and I naively thought that was a good thing. Dad’s new girlfriend moved in yesterday. I dreamt about that affair a year ago. Mom and Tony, her tennis instructor, are somewhere in Mexico on vacation. That one was just last month. And if last week’s dream is any indication, Richie is about to piss off some very important mobsters.

The worst thing happened two nights ago. I dreamt I was murdered. And no one cared. I’m not sure which upsets me more actually.

I went and tried to reason with the old woman, but she blames me for Natasha’s death. We were best friends. She’d been drinking that night, but so had I. I should have called a cab, I should have called someone, but I didn’t. I walked away with a broken wrist, her granddaughter didn’t walk away at all.

So, trying to talk to her didn’t go well. In fact, she spit on my feet, yelled at me in Russian or something, and closed the door in my face. I knew that I had to act fast.

I wrote down everything I could remember from my dream. I saw a middle-aged man. Brown hair, mustache, shabby ill-fitting suit. I had no idea what his beef was with me exactly, and I had no time to figure that out. We were in an alleyway that looked very familiar.

Figuring out the where was crucial. I racked my brain until it finally came to me – right behind the high school. I graduated this past May so there was no reason for me to be there, but that was the alleyway, make no mistake.

I grabbed the bow and arrows and ran to the school. Half way there I worried that I was walking into a trap – would it be better to avoid the school all together? Or would that cause events to shift, cause this man to kill me somewhere else? No, I kept going.

Nighttime came fast. I didn’t have to wait too long for the man of my dreams to arrive. Honestly, I don’t remember firing off the arrow. I saw his gun and I shot. Years of archery paid off, he clutched his chest and fell over. Actually, strike what I wrote earlier, killing someone isn’t that hard at all. I just wish the detective had believed me when I went in to confess, but I guess pretty blonde girls can get away with anything in this town. I wonder what I’ll dream about tonight? I wonder why that guy wanted to kill me? I wonder if that cute detective is single?

Love,
Lauren
P.S. – I should really tell Richie to lay off the ponies.

“I should have dumped your ink a long time ago,” Sylvia said as she tried to open the fountain pen.

“You can’t, I won’t let you.”

The pen wrestled out of her hand and started scribbling something on the nearby pad of paper. Sylvia stood, stunned that the pen could somehow write on it’s own.

“But…how?”

“I’m more powerful, because you loved me.”

She watched as the pen’s scribblings came together to form a tiger. She grabbed her book bag and bolted for the door. She slammed it shut just as a loud roar came from the other side.

“I guess you don’t love me back, huh?”

She fumbled in her bag for the little booklet that came with the pen. Sylvia scanned the instructions about how to fill it and how to clean it. She was just about to wad the whole thing up in disgust when she saw the small print on the very last page.

This pen is magic, use at your own risk. To reverse the magic, please empty the pen, put it back into the original black case, and say these words three times: Fountain Mountain Poo.
“Fountain Mountain Poo?” Sylvia said out loud.

“Doesn’t work as long as I’m full of ink,” the pen sang from the other side of the door.

She dug around her bag to see if the case was in there, but she remembered it was sitting on her desk which was inside her room with the tiger. All she had on her was a sketch book, a few colored pencils, and a large eraser with the words, can be used on ink, written on its side.

Perfect! Now, all she had to do was open the door and maybe she could erase the tiger and whatever else the stupid pen was thinking up, before….well, she wasn’t quite sure what would happen if she was eaten by a pen drawn tiger actually.

With the large eraser in front of her, she pushed open the door. The tiger leapt for her, but she quickly slashed at its mouth, erasing all but one sharp fang. Sylvia erased the tiger part by part, but before it was completely erased, its left paw swung at her and knocked the eraser to the floor. She dropped to her knees, picked up the eraser, swiveled, and finished off the beast leaving nothing but disjoined black lines all over the floor.

“Look what you did,” the pen shouted. It started to draw again. “Try this on for size.

“Is that… a clown?” she asked.

The pen laughed. Sylvia dropped the eraser. When she bent over to pick it up she noticed blood. Her blood. The tiger must have snagged her right hand, blood was dripping everywhere. She squeezed it and swallowed. Clowns scared her, no, terrified her, and this one was no exception. The pen had made him tall and menacing. No time to be scared, she thought. Sylvia grabbed the eraser with her left hand and lunged forward. She took out the clown in four slashes.

The pen was still laughing, so she grabbed the case and jumped across the room. She picked up the pen, threw open the ink well and dumped it. She then shoved the pen into the case and snapped it shut.

“Fountain Mountain Poo. Fountain Mountain Poo. Fountain Mountain Poo.”

The laughing finally stopped.

Later that evening, after she had cleaned up her room, bandaged her hand, and finished her homework, Sylvia was reading in bed.

“Sylvia.”

“Yes?” she asked, looking around her room.

“Fill me back up, please. You know you want to.”

And that’s how Sylvia’s fountain pen got buried behind her Mom’s prized rose bushes.

“Landing procedure beginning.”

The mechanical voice echoed through the empty ship. I glanced out the window and saw the dark red planet growing bigger by the minute. I shut my eyes and swallowed hard. Please don’t crash, I said out loud to no one.

The past few years had taken it’s toll. I felt old. Too old to just be seventeen. The trip started fine. One happy family on their way to an exciting adventure. Until the sickness came. One by one I watched, helpless, as it started. Fever, chills, seeing the dead. The hardest was my sister, who died just a few days ago. She kept talking to my parents as if nothing had happened. One by one, they fell sick and saw people who weren’t there, and then they were just gone.

As soon as the door swooshed open I walked out expecting a welcome party, but was met only with silence and the faint smell of blood. My eyes burned and teared up. I wiped the sweat off my forehead and decided to follow the blinking light at the end of the hallway.

“Don’t move!” a female voice said. “Who are you?”

“My name is Michael, we were expected today.”

“How many in your party?” she asked.

“Just me.”

“But you said we,” she said as she pushed passed me. She was a young girl, possibly 15, with short brown hair, much like my sister’s.

“Some things happened on the way here,” I said.

“Well, some things happened here, too.”

“What?” I asked.

She walked away from me, muttering, “They might be back. We have to contact Earth.”

“That could take awhile,” I said.

“Well, what do you suggest?” she yelled.

I hugged myself with my arms and shook my head. The only person here and I already couldn’t stand her.

“Come on…let’s go. We need to keep moving.”

I followed her at a distance for her own safety.

We entered a command center, maps were displayed on a large wall with red blinking lights. Two men, or what was left of them, were lying on the floor, dried blood trailing from their bodies to a door on the other side of the room.

“What the hell happened here?” I asked again. Again, she ignored me.

She kicked the one guy out of the way and stepped over the other one. I noticed her glancing down ever so slightly, and I wondered if that was her father or brother, maybe.

I tiptoed over the bodies and walked over to the other door. It swooshed open with a cold breeze that made me shiver and I looked around. There on the ground was the body of a young girl. I blinked. I blinked again. The cloudy eyes of my new friend stared back at me. I ran into the command center, but it was empty. I shivered again and wiped the sweat from my eyes. She wasn’t there, she was just gone.

“You are a loser.”

Roger stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. His head hurt. The party had been loud, but the music couldn’t drown out Mindy. Everyone saw her dump him. Everyone saw her leave with the captain of the football team. Everyone would be talking about it on Monday at school.

Roger turned on the shower and stepped under the hot water.

“I’m not the loser,” he thought. “She is. She dumped me. She’s the one missing out – I’m a catch! Craig’s a moron who’s only claim is football. Who cares?”

He turned around to grab the shampoo and screamed.

“What the hell, Roger?” Mindy yelled.

Roger was standing in Mindy’s bedroom. He was wet and very naked.

“I…uhm…I’m…”

“You’re naked!”

“I was in the shower.”

“My shower?”

“No, my shower.” He said, covering himself up with his hands.

“Here, put these on and then get out. Pervert!”

“I’m not a pervert. I swear, I was in my shower, and all of a sudden…”

“You expect me to believe that?!?! Get out….use the window so my parents don’t have a cow.”

He opened up her window and crawled out on to the limb of the large oak tree. Something he had done just last week when leaving after curfew. He turned to say something, but Mindy closed and locked the window and drew the curtain.

He hugged the limb, trying to decide if he could think his way back to his own house, or if he was going to have to walk the six blocks in these tiny shorts with the word CUTE on his butt.

Roger was just about to drop down to the ground when he saw Craig walking up to Mindy’s front door. He slowly started to lower himself off the tree so he could hide when he heard a loud rip. He had snagged on something and ripped the booty shorts right in half. Roger sunk to the ground, hoping Craig hadn’t seen or heard him.

“Hey…who’s there?” Craig asked.

“I’m not the loser…” thought Roger, hoping this would somehow magically teleport him back to his own shower.

“Hello?”

Roger needed a plan, and fast. He stood up, the bush just managing to cover his lower half.

“What are you doing here? And without clothes on?” Roger could tell that Craig was getting mad. This was it. In an instant, Roger had his plan.

“Nothing, I just climbed out of Mindy’s window…her Mom was coming, you know how it is. Do you think I could borrow your lettermen jacket so I can get home?”

Craig, looking like his puppy had died, handed over his jacket. Roger threw it around his waist, fixing the sleeves so they covered his front and walked away.

“I’m not the loser,” he thought. Roger blinked as steam surrounded him. The hot water felt good on his head and he smiled as he realized that Craig’s leather jacket was getting soaked. “I’m just fine.”

NOTHING BETTER THAN A GOOD STORY

By: Jennifer Gregson

Lola turned the street corner, her heart racing.

“Yes!” she yelled, dropping to her knees. She wiped her hands on her blue and white Monroe High School cheerleader sweater. “I found it, I finally found it.”

Practice that morning had started as usual, but then she heard the laughing. And the pointing – how could she forget the pointing. It’s hard to keep secrets in high school, especially when your parents get arrested for embezzlement. Nothing better at Monroe than a good story.

That’s why she took off after the stupid rainbow in the first place. She was just trying to get away from the cacophony of squeals, but then she realized there was real money to be had if she could just run fast enough. As the bright colors faded in the sky, Lola realized there was no pot of gold.

She knocked down trash cans, searched behind trees, and looked under shrubs. She only stopped once she saw him. The little man dressed in green with the knife sticking out of his back.

“Whoa.”

“Murder.” The tiny voice seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere. Lola spun around, but didn’t see anyone.

“Excuse me?” she asked.

“He was murdered.”

“I can see that, but what I can’t see is you.”

“Down here.” Standing directly in front of her was another little man, this time dressed in brown with a diminutive detective’s hat on.

“Oh, hi.”

“Don’t hi me missy. You are under arrest.”

“What?”

All of a sudden, with a wave of his tiny hand, a large brown sack came out of nowhere and covered Lola head to toe. It closed up and lifted her.

“Please, can’t we talk about this? I just got here. I didn’t kill him, I swear.”

“Then who did?” he squealed.

“How should I know? The tooth fairy?”

The bag dropped and opened.

“Do you really think so?” he asked, his tiny face touching hers.

“Uhm…sure, I mean, she’s gotta be running out of money, right?”

Lola could relate.

The small man helped Lola out of the bag. He studied her for a few minutes, nodded in agreement, and shoved his hand into his pocket.

“Here.”  He handed her a tiny green bag with a small rainbow on it. She pulled the strings open and shook out the contents into her hand. Five gold pieces glinted in the late afternoon sun.

“Shiny,” she said, “thanks!”

“No problem. They’ll turn into real money as soon as you leave. Not much, but enough to say thank you for helping us and to help you forget what you saw here.”

“What?”

“We can’t have you talking about this now can we?”

All of sudden Lola realized she didn’t want the money. She put the gold pieces into the bag and handed it to the leprechaun.

“What’s this?” he demanded.

“Once upon a time,” she said with a smile, as she turned to walk away, “a leprechaun was murdered and the tooth fairy was on the loose.”