I never want to be an adult or once there were two, now there is one.

She sits in a chair on the front porch each evening watching everyone go by. She never smiles or says hello. it was the other one who was friendly. It was the other one who would greet you as you walked by asking about your day, making you smile. They would sit there for hours gossiping and laughing and enjoying the evening together. Once there were two chairs on that porch, now there is only one.

Saint Valentine's Day Massacre

The bouquet of flowers sat on the car seat where he had left them. He had stopped at the flower market on his way to the meeting. She was going to love them, twelve dozen pale pink roses. He was pretty sure she was the one he was going to marry. When the police walked in to the building with their guns drawn, he was not afraid. When they made the seven of them line up against the wall, he was not afraid. Not until the shooting started did he realize these were no policemen.

As the men dressed in police uniforms left the warehouse, one noticed the beautiful pale pink roses sitting in the car of one of the dead men. He reached in through the window and slowly withdrew the roses. “My girl is going to love these." he said.

Corn and Moonlight

When I was a teen-ager I dreamed of getting out of there. The dreams were filled with big cities, exciting jobs and fascinating people. I saw myself there in the gleaming city, dancing, working, loving and living the life I knew I was destined for. I did not see myself staying there in that town surrounded by corn, stifled by it, drowned among it, wasted by the corn. So it shocks me each time I pull off the express way to visit my parents, how it draws me in that corn; the smell of it, the sound of it, the look of it as the moonlight bounces off the glistening ears. It sometimes creeps into my dreams the way the city did before I lived in it, luring me back to that town I swore I would leave forever.

The Plan

He stood by the grave and admired the many flowers left by fans. It was a lovely site to behold. He was still amazed all these years later the reverence people had for him and his music. The fact that even after his death his name could still bring millions and millions of dollars was at times shocking. But he was happy that his family was taken care of because he had had to leave all those years ago and he felt bad about that. He felt bad that his daughter thought he was dead, but it had to be done. His life had been spiraling out of control for so long that the only way out was death. So he had planned it, everything down to the last detail. It had worked perfectly. Everyone thought he was dead and despite the occasional " I saw Elvis story” in the Weekly World News he had lived a quite life. None of those stories ever got close to the truth. Did people really think he would still look like Elvis? After his "death" he had lost weight and dyed his hair blond and gotten plastic surgery. He looked nothing like himself. His current wife and children had no idea he was anything more then Ted Fromby from Winnetka. IL, High School History Teacher and baseball coach. He was really proud of his team; they had made the State play-offs this year. He took one last look at the grave, turned away with a chuckle and headed back toward the front gate where his family waited.

Not all dreams are sweet

She saw the future in her dreams. When she was six she dreamed of her high school graduation and when she was nine she dreamed of her college days and what she would study. The day she turned twelve she dreamed of her future career and at sixteen she dreamed of her wedding day and saw the man she would marry. Her dreams continued to show the future, so she made no plans and let her dreams carry her along. She graduated from High School, went to college and got a job just like her dreams foretold. All her dreams had come true so far and so she waited for the rest, waited for the man, the wedding the children and the life she dreamed of and while she waited she failed to take notice that her life was passing her by. She awoke upon the morning of the day she had dreamed would be her wedding day with no groom and no dress and no wedding. She had let the dreams rule her life and as some times happens not all dreams come true. She made a decision that day, the decision to no longer rely on her dreams to build her life. She would make the decisions, screw those stupid dreams, she hated her job, regretted her career path and college major and that guy she had dreamed of was no prince charming and so as the rest of her life unfolded she no longer dreamed about life but lived it.

The barn

There was a lantern on the barn as I approached from the west. My horse was tired and I needed a hot meal and a bath. The man and his woman were nice enough to provide both. I felt bad when I stole her cameo broach and his shot gun, but I had to survive. I left them tied up in a stall in the barn with some food and water. It may be a week before anyone rescues them, but they should be ok. I have grown weary of this life style but I go on. I dream of a small place of my own like the man and woman have. A small house and a head of cattle, I could graze in the mountains. A red barn, I would love to a have a freshly painted red barn with a lantern hanging from a hook. My husband would come in from milking our cow, kiss me and say that dinner smelled good. These dreams have plagued me for the last three years. I barley sleep any more for fear they will come in the night to destroy me. I can not give up now that I am so close to the end. The end will come when I kill him, the man who stole that dream of the house, barn and husband, the man who shot me and left me bleeding and for dead as I laid next to my dead husband in the rain that night three years ago. I am close to him for I can feel it in my bones. Once he is dead maybe I can sleep again.

The end: Tired and Sore

So Absurd

The whole thing was so absurd that she was not even sure that it was real and not some crazy dream she was having. So, she pinched her self hard, which was going to leave a bruise. She could not believe she was even in this situation at all. Every time she looked around she would just repeat these word----absurd, absurd, absurd. Every night she would go to sleep thinking she would wake up the next morning and everything would be back to normal. But every morning she woke up in the luxurious bed in this palace and pinch herself. She was a normal Midwest girl who some how got entangled in every girls fantasy and she was beginning to think that the absurdity of it all was that no one else seem to think it was absurd. Her parents even supported the whole absurd scheme. Her own parents, well now it seemed they were not truly her parents. Who knew when they took that crazy vacation 26 years ago and her Mom went into labor 2 months early and gave birth to what they thought was a healthy baby girl but in fact was a tiny little boy and that a nation waiting for the birth of the heir of the throne desperately wanted a prince and some patriotic nurse decided to give her country the heir they wanted not they one they actually had, me. Now 26 years later the truth is out and her I am the head of this little European kingdom no one in the Midwest had ever even heard of. It is just to absurd to even contemplate, my life has become a soap opera, so I guess I should just put on this tiara and go out to my ball and dance with the very handsome duke. Absurd!

The Book

The book was thick and black and covered with dust. Its boards were bowed and creaking when I opened it. Little did I realize at the time how opening that book would change my life forever. The dust scattered when I turned the first page and as I began to read the room around me receded. The story was beautiful and sad and I cried. When I looked up from the pages the room was bathed in the glowing light of sunset. I had read for hours and it had felt like minutes. I went downstairs and found something to eat, but my mind kept going back to that sad, beautiful story. I wanted to read it again and again. So that is what I did . I put my untouched meal aside and I picked up the book. I read for days. Not eating, not moving. It was only after they put me here that I realized what I had done. I had eaten my own hand because I could not get up from that book. I am not sure what happened to that book after the mailman found me and they brought me here. I hope it was burned to ashes but I fear that it was not. That book ruined my life, but if I could find it I know that I would read it over and over and over again.

Tall Skim Latte

She ordered the same thing every morning from the coffee shop on the corner of her block and then walked to the train to make the trek to work. Every morning the same routine over and over, but this day would be different because in the middle of her routine a strange thing happened. While waiting in line she was thinking about the article she had read the night before in Time magazine about the likely hood of a single woman over the age of 35 meeting a man and getting married, the statistics were very disheartening. According to the article a women past the age of 35 had a greater chance of being killed by gunfire then in finding love. At 37 she did not need a magazine article telling her the chances of finding a soul mate were bad, she knew that already. She was distracted from her thoughts by the man waiting in line in font of her who was acting a little oddly, she tried not to stare as he sweated profusely under his long trench coat, which was odd as well since it was already eighty degrees and then with a flourish the man stepped up to the counter and pulled a gun from his pocket aiming it at the cashier. Both she and the cashier screamed causing the gunman to lose control and turning toward her he fired his gun and the last thought running through her head was “Damn the article was right!”

To be covert

As she left the building she heard the sirens approaching. They would be here soon enough and know that she had killed that man. It was time to leave this city. She pulled out her cell phone and dialed the number. He answered on the first ring,
“I’m leaving.” She said.
“I saw a breaking news story about a man killed at an accounting firm in Chicago.” He replied
“I was careless, I got too settled, it won’t happen again. I will call you when I find a new place.” With that she hung up the phone and hailed a taxi. When she arrived at the train station she made her way to the bank of lockers on the lower level. She dug out the key from her bag and opened up the locker. Inside were a small leather bag and a suitcase. She opened the leather bag found the car keys buried under the stacks of cash. The car was parked at a lot on 59th street and it was her ticket out of this town. She grabbed the bag and the suitcase and made her way to the bathroom. The women’s bathroom on the lower level of the train station was where the junkies went to shoot up; it was the perfect place to change her appearance. She took a pair of scissors out of her bag and began to cut off her long blond hair. She was good with a pair of scissors and once she had found a new city she could get it cleaned up by professional. When she was finished cutting the woman in the mirror looked completely different. She looked older, although she could still pass for someone 10 years younger, she looked more professional and eerily she looked like Mia Farrow in Rosemary’s Baby. In her bag she also had a box of hair dye. She dyed her hair, turning it a medium brown. It always surprised her how much a haircut and dye could change your appearance. She gathered up all her supplies and went into one of the bathroom stalls to change into the jeans and sweater from the suitcase. Once she had changed she put the suit along with the hair dye and hair in three separate plastic bags, pulled on a leather jacket and walked out of the bathroom. As she left the train station she dumped the bag of hair dye in a trash can and turned north to walk toward her car. The car was parked three miles from the train station and along the way she could dump the last two plastic bags. When she reached the parking lot she fished the keys out of her purse and opened the trunk, throwing in her suitcase and the bag of money. She had no real plan other then to head west out of the city. She got into the car, started the engine and drove out of the lot heading toward the interstate once on the interstate she headed west toward Iowa. As she left the city limits she glanced into her rearview mirror and caught a glimpse of the skyline. She had enjoyed her time in Chicago. It had been an excellent home base with a good airport with flights everywhere. She had made a few friends and had enjoyed her cover job. She was going to miss this city. She regretted that. Regretted that she had become somewhat attached to this place. In her line of work that was something to be avoided. No attachments. The next city she would not let seep into her skin like this one had. She was determined to keep her distance. She did not like this feeling of loss and for the first time in 15 years she questioned her choice of career.

I follow

I have always been a follower. It was easier. I never had to think for myself, I could just follow someone who would think for me. It all started in kindergarten when Suzi Stanhope said, " Come on follow me to the swings." It was so easy to fall into this role. I always had lots of friends because I always agreed with what they said. People like that you know, they like when someone listens and does things just like them. It makes them feel strong. I have made a lot of people feel powerful and self confident. I thought I was happy all these years, but I was wrong. I have discovered you can only follow for so long, that finally one day it is if a cloud dispersed and you realize that maybe you have spent you whole life following people and never being true to yourself. When that happened to me I packed a bag, grabbed my car keys and left that town where all I did was follow. That was ten years ago today and I follow only my own dreams these days and while I may not be as well liked and have as many friends as when I followed, I am happier.

Our Secret Language

When we were six we created a secret language that only we understood. We would sit for hours speaking in only that language. Everyone around us would get frustrated not understanding anything we said, but we did not care, we were inseparable and no one else needed to know our secrets. As we grew the language grew with us, by the time we were eighteen the language was more complex then half the languages in the world. We still frustrated people and we still kept our secrets in a language only two people knew. As all good things do, it had to end one day. I was not expecting it, but I should have. She had fallen in the love the year before and I should have seen the writing on the wall, but I did not. It seemed as if one day she understood the language and the next she did not. That was many years ago and as those years have passed I too have forgotten most of that old language, but every so often a word will flit across my mind and I will be taken back to those glorious days where I spoke a language of two.

The Dark Place

I come from a dark place. At least that is what everyone says, my parents, my teachers, the parents of the other kids in my class. I am not exactly sure what that means but I have decided to embrace it. I have started refusing to wear anything but black because apparently people from dark places only like dark colors. Personally I would prefer to wear bright yellow and pink but since I come from a dark place, black it is. I like to wear my hair long, stringy and dyed black. I have started taking fewer baths, which is surprisingly refreshing. I refuse to eat vegetables and have started ordering my steak rare, it does not taste that good and I really miss broccoli but I guess that is the price you pay for darkness. I am now only listening to bands with sad disturbing lyrics like the Cure and the Smiths, my parents hate it. sometimes when I listen to the songs I can not help but laugh, they are ridiculous, all that angst and sadness. My writing has taken a turn toward the dark, I now almost exclusively write about vampires, while the stories are good, not to boast but I am a great writer, I would rather sometimes write a story with a happy ending, but I must live up to my image. I will admit the one thing I like about my new dark side is the eyeliner, I look really good with kohl around my eyes, honestly it is almost worth all the other stuff just to be able to have these kohl rimmed eyes. I do hope that when I graduate from High School next year and head to college I can maybe drop the whole dark thing because I am getting kind of bored of it, I should of never written that first stupid vampire story for my creative writing class because it apparently gave everyone the wrong idea about me. If only I could put on a cute summer dress and dye my hair back to blond, I bet my blond hair would look really good with kohl rimmed eyes--- hum maybe I should write a story about Marilyn Monroe, she wore eyeliner and pretty dresses and could be consider dark. I think I have solved my problem, my next story will definitely be about Marilyn Monroe.

When they come for you

"Listen up everyone, because this is important. When they come for you it,will be in broad daylight while you are sleeping. They are relentless and you must take every precaution against them. Always remember that when you are at your weakest is when they will try to get you, the cowards. Really the best thing to do is find a very secure location for the daylight hours, hire guards, do what ever it takes to make them loyal to you and never, never let your guard down." These words were drilled into my brain on that first night and I followed them to the tee. I found a house in the hills, I found guards who would die for me and I lived a quiet life for several years, but I guess I became lazy because most people I ran into were OK with me so I let down my guard. That was a mistake because here I am on the wrong end of a stake and I can see in this guys eyes that this is it he will kill me. I guess i should say all the things you should say when you are going to die, I have had a good life, I can die happy, etc, etc. But honestly I am not ready to die. I have a lot of living to do still. I have only really gotten into the grove of this vampire thing and now I am going to die. Damn Humans and their fears.

The Lost

That is what they called themselves, this rag-tag group of survivors. They felt lost and were actually often geographically lost. After the wars that ended the world they few who had survived in the city gathered together and started heading south. They had no maps and no compass, but they knew the sun still rose in the east and set in the west so they knew that they were headed in the right direction, that was until the dust and smoke from the burning of the world engulfed them, on those days they would wonder sometimes for hours in the wrong direction never knowing until the sky had cleared enough for them to see the sunrise. In the year that they had been walking they had seen terrible, terrible things. Things that stained their memories for ever. They travelled during the day for it was safer and found hiding places at night. They met few other survivors learning very quickly to avoid them. But every once in a while they would stumble across another who would join their group and tell stories of horror and hope, the hope of a place that had food, rules, clean water and a community that was thriving. So they continued their journey despite everything, each of them holding close to a small spark of hope that one day they would be found.

The Trust

She had inherited the money when she was five, but it had been held in trust for her until she was 25. Twenty years she spent in poverty never knowing that she was the one that had inherited her grandfather's estate. A grandfather she had never meet, a grandfather who had judged her mother unworthy and disowned her like she was nothing, a grandfather who had accumulated so much money that many believed him to be the richest man in the world, a grandfather who had left all to her perhaps out of guilt for his treatment of her mother. The trust was run by a small group of trustees, headed by her uncle. The uncle who had become her guardian on her mother's death, the uncle who had not disowned his only sister like his brothers had. the uncle that she loved and trusted and who had claimed they had nothing, the uncle who was swiftly going through her money like it grew on trees. When the lawyer knocked on her door and gave her the will and trust documents she started laughing, laughing at the injustice of it all, laughing at the audacity of her uncle, laughing at the regret of her grandfather, laughing at the lack at money that had forced her to turn down the acceptance to Harvard, laughing at her lot in life. When she stopped laughing she sat down and cried.

Cheering is a Sport, Dammit!

He had made it to the pinnacle of his career. He was the President of the most powerful country in the world. He commanded one of the strongest armies ever to exsist. He had it all. Or so it seemed, but underneath it all he was a simple man. He liked hanging out with his friends and being on his ranch. When he looked in the mirror he did not recognize the old man who looked back. God, this job was way more stressful then anyone told him it would be. He really just wished he could go back to that time in his life when he had been the happiest. Cheering! Cheering! Cheering!

The Art of War

The goose bumps rose up on her arms as she aimed her bowed and let loose the arrow. It flew swiftly and hit the pile of brush set up on the opposite peak. The brush burst into flame signally the warriors below that the advancing army was headed their way. She slung her bow over her shoulder and made her way, as fast as she could, down the mountain side. She wanted to be there with her regiment when they went into battle. This would be the fight of their lives. Everything they held true and dear was at stake. She joined her regiment just as they were preparing to head to the front lines. She refilled her arrow pouch adjusted her sword and bid farewell to her younger sister who would be staying behind to tend to the wounded. Her commander yelled the advance and she and the 100 other women in her regiment set off. As they approached the battle field she could smell the sickening stench of blood and knew that there was a chance she would not survive this battle. She prepared herself and as they reached the battle field she saw the chaos and did not hesitate, she rushed in with bow and arrow felling two of the enemy before they even knew what happened. When she ran out of arrows she withdrew her sword form its scabbard and plunged toward the fray. To her left and right were the women she had trained with from the time of her sixth year. As she fought on she would catch occasional glimpses of the red hair woman leading the regiment to the left of hers. The woman fought with such brilliance it was if she were a goddess of war sent to rescue them from this battle. But in the end she was merely a mortal and an arrow from the enemy pierced the red haired warrior's chest and she fell. When she saw the red haired warrior fall she wanted to scream in pain and lie down and cry, but the battle was not over and she had to finish this for she was an Amazon Warrior and if she was lucky there would be time after they won this battle to mourn her mother’s death.

The Long Black Veil

He was hanged over ten years ago but I can still remember the feel of his hands on my skin. His eyes would shine a brilliant blue brimming with love as we lay tangled in the sheets of my bed. He loved me with all his heart and that love for me killed him. He was with me when the man was killed but because he loved me he told no one and because I was weak, I stayed silent and watched as they hanged him in the town square. He was a good man. I wish I could have been a better woman, so I put on my veil and walk the hills where he is buried, it is the least I can do. I may not have loved him in life, but I can love him in death.



Long Black Veil

Ten years ago on a cool dark night
There was someone killed 'neath the town hall light
There were few at the scene and they all did agree
That the man who ran looked a lot like me

The judge said ``Son, what is your alibi?
If you were somewhere else then you won't have to die''
I spoke not a word although it meant my life
I had been in the arms of my best friend's wife

She walks these hills in a long black veil
She visits my grave where the night winds wail
Nobody knows, no, and nobody sees
Nobody knows but me

The sky froze high and eternity neared
She stood in the crowd and shed not a tear
But sometimes at night when the cold wind moans
In a long black veil she cries over my bones

By Danny Dill and Marijohn Wilkin

Organic Material

The rocks were carefully searched for organic remains but none were found. That is when we decided there was no life on the planet. To our shock and dismay we were wrong. When we landed on the planet and started our mining project we really did think the planet was desolute. It was only later when they attacked that we realized our mistake. We were looking for organic materials not robotic. That had been our mistake. We had been nieve. I leave this message as warning for others to not make the same mistake we had. If we had left them alone we would not be in this situation now. They are tough task masters and working for them is hell, but at least I am still alive, unlike most of my fellow humans who pershied in the war when they destoryed us with thier superior power. They are indestructiable. Do not let your knowledge of organisms blind you.