Chicken Scratch

The Teenage Writing Site

It happened very suddenly like few things ever do. Richard was loath to call it instantaneous because he of course knew that to be impossibility. Things don’t just happen with no time elapsing. His skepticism did nothing to change the facts. One moment there had been empty space, the next a planet.

Upon the discovery scientists everywhere became immediately befuddled. As Richard sat down to discuss the matter with his peers in physics it began as all such discussions inevitably did. Ignoring the matter of how a planet found itself in a spot where no such body of matter had previously existed, there was still the issue of how they were all still alive. After all gravity is the force of attraction that exists between bodies of mass so with bodies of mass as colossal as the Earth and its new neighbor there ought to be enough of an imbalance in the universe as to disrupt the Earth’s orbit, throw nature into chaos, and spell destruction for the humans. Yet no such havoc ensued.

So focused on the why were they on the why that they neglected to see the what. After a few days of complete disbelief then intense effort to understand they finally looked at the new planet, and much to their horror it was not a particularly lovely sight to behold. The land scorched, the oceans dead, the skies filled with soot to such a degree that it was a miracle . Once they began looking Richard managed to find his answer. Someone very clever had established a series of devices around the planet and where projecting some kind of stasis holding it in place without affecting the space around them. A very clever rigging indeed.

Naturally they fixed telescopes on constant watch and waited to try and once again understand they why. Four days after its arrival something, while perhaps much more subtle than the arrival yet equally as immensely huge, happened. An opening in the clouds of gaunt appeared and through that opening came a shuttle, its voyage the longest six hours in all of human history. As it escaped the hell it came from energy glowed between the satellites then pulsed into the planet destroying it in its entirety.

When it landed and humanity let out a collectively held breath and were immediately let down. They had expected answers. Answers to what exactly varied. Some saw it as an opportunity to explore new technology. Others were looking for conformation of long held faith that life does exist elsewhere and we not solitary in the massive universe. Richard wasn’t interested in any of those audaciously large ideas, only the man he saw coming out of the shuttle. Like all the passengers he was very simply put, old. They exchanged one long glance and when they locked eyes Richard was shaken to his core. Those eyes held an understanding that Richard had been seeking for years and begun to fear he would never find.

Of course then there was the issue of what to do about them. Despite humanity’s desperate cry for answers none were given. There was no reply to where they had come from, what they had left behind, who they were, and how they did it. The questions were directed in a massive deluge but the arrivers stayed silent in all but talk of settlement. They insisted to meet with people of authority who would let them settle. Richard, desperate to cross his path with that of the man once again, was very insistent and persuasive as to why he should be included in the meetings. He knew physics and engineering. He could help them with the logistics and so they let him sit in.

Upon arrival he realized he was useless. The arrivals knew exactly what they wanted needing only someone authorized to give it to them. They demanded they be given space in a desert needing nothing else but their shuttle to be returned. There was no talk of sharing resources or establishing a place for them in the political order of the world. They brought with them all the technology required to build their settlement and had no desire to interact with their adopted world only to be left alone in solitude. The committee only reluctantly accepted the solitude part after being warned that the arrivers were more than capable of keeping out unwanted visitors. Realizing this would be the last time he would see the man Richard pulled him off to the side.

Wasting not a moment he got straight to the point. “Who are you?”

“An old man who has seen too much.”

“Damn it, you storm into my planet and then can’t even find the decency to explain anything. You may have gotten the rest of them to back down but you know what? There is one thing that just hasn’t sat right with me. You all came here roughly the same age being far beyond your primes.”

“Is there a point to this?”

“Why did you come here only to refuse to live among the rest of us? You have no future. What happens when you all die? What then?”

“You let us die. You have presumably seen what we did to our planet? The same goes for our settlement. You let us die, you let our settlement implode into dust, and you let all of your questions die with us.”

“But why?”

“You said it yourself. We have no future. Let a group of old souls live out the last of their days in peace.”

“It doesn’t have to be this way. I can help you; I can help you build a future. Why wont you let me help you?”

“Your help would be lost on us. There are those out there that need it so much more than a bunch beyond salvation or redemption such as my companions and I. Do that for me. Help those you can and those who still deserve it.”

“Fine then. Just run away and die.”

So then the years went on and the arrivers died. True to their word their settlement was died with them and humans forgot the questions that had seemed so desperate at the time. Richard did his best to help those he could, switching his focus from the numbers to the machines with which he could really help people.

All the while things got worse. So much worse than anyone ever imagined they could get. The land became scorched, the oceans dead, and the skies filled with smog. Richard could only delay the inevitable and what was left of humanity had to fight to secure a future after it became abundantly clear that the Earth was now dead to them. The most terrible part of it was that people had long given up hope of things getting better. They stopped having kids because nobody wanted to bring children into that forsaken planet they once called home. Everybody gave up, except for dear old Richard. He continued to build and so he sent into orbit a grid of satellites, the ultimate combination of engineering and physics. He could now transport the dying Earth through space and time. His finger hovered over the button to initiate the process when his wife Susan confronted him.

“Richard don’t you dare hit that button.”

“My dear Susan this is how it happens. Don’t you see it? I am just continuing the cycle that we already saw finish.”

“Why Richard why? Why do you need to continue it? You know that it still ends with out death just as us staying put does.”

“I’m not even sure I have a choice. The timeline might be fixed. There might not be an option to change what happens. The cycle might continue indefinitely.”

“Richard you are the strongest willed man I have ever met. If anyone can break what happens, if anyone can change time itself it is you and that is why I love you and married you.”

“Don’t you see Susan? If I change our future I change our past. The man you love, the man I am, never exists. I have become so much. I have done so much and you are asking me to wipe that all away. I don’t want to be erased; I don’t want some imposter to take my place in time.”

“Don’t you hear how selfish you sound? Don’t involve people who never asked for our involvement. It can only bring them anguish from questions we refuse to answer.”

“You know just as well as I do that we get over our un-answered questions. We move on and become who we are now. Look around. If these are to be the last of our days then I want them to be in the sunlight and on the Earth as we used to love it, not in this wasteland.”

“I suppose there is not much convincing you at this point.”

“No my dear Susan there is not. I have already seen how this ends.”

“Well then the end together is better than the end alone I suppose.”

With that Richard and Susan hit the button together and take what’s left of humanity so many years back instantaneously. In an ultimate twist of universal irony Richard proves himself wrong.

The old lady. Sam remembers her because he almost hit her when he was driving to school this morning. She had stepped out into the middle of the street and he had had to slam on the breaks. She hadn’t even flinched! She just stood there in her black shawl, cawing angrily at him and muttering curses under her breath. Stupid old witch. Now he’ll be late for first hour.

He quickly finds a parking spot and rushes to class. He just barely makes it before the bell. Roll call; Anderson, Jake; Appre, Simon. Blah, blah, blah. Nowadays, classes are practically bursting, with about forty kids per class. After attendance, Sam starts to drowse. It’s English class and the teacher is droning on about some green light. The advantage of such big classes is that you never get called on. The bell rings, startling Sam out of his horrible dream. He shivers and heads to physics class, saying hi to a few friends on the way. In physics, he is more awake and begins to draw. There is an almost remembered picture from his nightmare, and he feels like this may be the most important drawing he ever does. He starts to sketch what he remembers, but he can’t get the hair right, so he stops.

After second hour, he has Latin: boring. Shoot! His homework! He’ll have to do it while the teacher is checking the other kids’. He should have plenty of time. “Sam, I see you didn’t do your homework.” Crap; now he has to come up with an excuse; “Sorry, I left it at school last night.” Please buy it. “OK, but try to remember it tonight.” Yes! “But you still have a detention. After school today.” Shit! The rest of Latin flies by while he quietly fixes the hair on his drawing and works on the arms. Forth hour: math. Ever student gets assigned a question from the homework: one through twenty-eight. Breezing through the simple quadratic, Sam sits back down and starts on the legs of his drawing. Weird posture, kneeling like that in the middle of a plaza. LUNCH!! Sam goes to sit with his friends, but he can’t find them so he eats alone. He doesn’t touch his drawing so he can’t get it greasy.

Sixth hour – chemistry. Sam tries to draw, but he gets called on three times during class. He hadn’t noticed the class was so small before. He does get the legs done, though. Next: study hall; he finishes his physics lab write-up, his chem notes, and his Latin homework. Then he perfects the posture of his drawing. The kid has his head thrown back, like someone screaming. All that’s left is the face. Getting up, Sam notices that the study hall is only about a quarter full; it must be flu season. He goes to history and begins trying to figure out how to capture the drawing’s face, but he’s called on almost immediately. Looking up, he sees that there are only eight other students in class. That’s weird, he thinks. Maybe all the Spanish kids went on a field trip. With so few kids, he barely gets any drawing done at all; he gets called on to answer twelve questions and read aloud eight times.

Ninth hour, band. He gets to band, but it consists of him, two flutes, one trombone, two saxophones, and a percussionist. The music sounds weird and empty, but nobody else seems to notice. What’s up here, Sam wonders. How can so many kids be missing? After struggling through band, he goes to psychology – the last class of the day. He gets to class, but he is the only one: in a class of forty-two yesterday, there is just one student today. But the teacher doesn’t notice. She gives the whole lecture as if everything was normal! Am I going crazy, Sam wonders. What’s wrong? When he asks the teacher about it, she looks at him like he’s wacko.

Bring. The final bell. Sam goes to the Latin room for his detention, but the teacher isn’t there. He doesn’t know how he could’ve missed her; the halls were completely empty. After finishing the face of the drawing, Sam decides to leave, now completely confused and a little scared. He walks through the deserted halls thinking about the drawing: a boy kneeling in a town square, looking at the sky and screaming. The whole scene looks familiar, almost like he had been there before. He steps into the crowded parking lot and stops dead; nothing is moving. In fact, none of the cars have any people in them. There are lines of cars idling at the stop signs, but nobody to be seen. Sam starts to run. He sprints home, where his five year old brother should be home from kindergarten. Gone. His mom. Gone. His dad. Gone. He grabs the phone and calls his mom. Answering machine. He dials 911. A recorded message. Sam dashes outside, through the congested but lifeless streets, into the town square. He looks around. The Gap – empty. McDonald’s – empty. The mall – empty. The fire station – empty. The town hall – empty. Spinning around, a sheet of paper falls out of his backpack; it’s his drawing. Looking at the picture, Sam falls to his knees in shock; the boy in the drawing is him. He starts screaming, louder and louder, until it feels like his throat will burst; then louder still, the scream exploding out of him, resounding around the empty square where hundreds of people are walking, echoing through the deserted rooms where thousands of people are working, surging around the world where billions of people are living, just one curse away.

She forgets what their faces look like after 35 days. The one photo she had of them had been long gone by them, destroyed by fire and time and hate, so now she's just left with fleeting memories that are already faded at the edges. She remembers blonde hair and kind smiles and the deepest blue there ever was, but nothing else comes back together. It's a puzzle missing the most important pieces, and they're long gone.

The graying man with the optimisitc words dies ten days after that, and then she's left alone, alone, alone. He died while extending a hand out for a frail boy on the ground when the bullet ripped through his chest and then everything turned red. She didn't stay long enough to figure out if it was an accident or planned or to get to say goodbye, her feet carried her away as fast and far as they could. She doesn't forget, so now she stays alone, because alone protects her, even if alone kills her a little more each day.

Not long after that the days start to blur together so much she just stops counting. This is forever now, the loneliness, the war, the death and destruction, there is no after. This is the after and the before becomes a dream she can't remember because it slipped her mind the second she woke up. Her words fall on no one's ears as she crawls house to house, state to state, trying to find somewhere safe, somewhere she can stay. Her heart tells her there isn't anywhere like that anymore, that everything is this, but she hopes.

Mirrors aren't worth her time anymore, she doesn't look like her anymore; her hair is so caked in blood and dirt and grease that it's not even the same color and she's nearly positive someone could smell her miles away. She's alive, though, so she doesn't care anymore. She has bigger concerns, like her lack of food, sleep, and sanity. Words don't come out of her mouth anymore, because what's the point? They don't fall on anyone and she's scared one day she'll open her mouth up to talk and ever her words won't come out.

She starts counting days again the day she comes across him. The gun pointing straight at her head he wields is visible before his face, but when the moonlight shifts and shines on it, she finally gets a glimpse. It's clear he's somewhere around her age, but his face is marred with a bruise that makes it hard to decipher his features and his hair flies in a million different directions.

"Are you with anyone?" he grunts, keeping his gun perfectly steady as he looks around. 

An answer doesn't come from her mouth, but by the grim look on her face he assumes she's alone. The bullet could kill her before another single word was spoken and she'd be gone, a problem no more, but her silence kills him and he can't find the anger within him to do it. The gun slowly comes down and she doesn't move even then, her eyes simply fixed on him.

"I'm looking for my brother," he speaks, though he doesn't know why. He should just leave, get out of here and leave the weird, mute girl to whatever she was doing before.

"I..." her crackles out of her body, and the girl's face suddenly looks surprised at the sound that comes out. "I haven't seen anyone for months."

He nods and finds another question popping out of his mouth before he can stop it. "Where are you going?"

Tilting her head curiously to the side, a new look in her eyes that hasn't been there in who knows how long, she replies with a shrug and the dim response of, "Anywhere."

No more words are spoken, but by the way he stands by her side and helps her collect her things, it's merely implied that they will go anywhere together.

The first time she smiles again it sneaks up on her and comes from nowhere. The boy with the dark blonde hair and gruff words is talking about his brother, the one he's trying to find, and even his words soften. He speaks about how smart he is, going halfway across the country for college, and how it had been them together against the world for as long as he could remember, always and forever. A smile cracks across her face when he finishes his story and makes a crack about his brother's height. The motion of smiling feels foreign, like some kind of action not capable of being brought over from before, but she can't deny she likes the feeling.

"Do you think he's alive?" she asks. His face becomes hard, his eyes dark, and she regreats letting the words leave but she's been thinking about it since the word brother left his mouth the first time they met. 

"He wouldn't be stupid enough to die on me, I'd kill him," he replies. She thinks the answer is a copout, but she doesn't say anything.

It's a whole 25 days before the thought even crosses her mind that they don't know each other's names.

"Caroline," she whispers out one night while they hide out in a small shed with creaking boards and an earthy smell.

"What?" he asks, his voice exhausted and gravelly.

"It's my name."

His head whips up and a small smile he attempts to hide finds its way to his lips. "I'm Jess...it's nice to meet you, Caroline."

"You look like a Jess," Caroline mumbles, just before the world becomes black and sleep takes over her body.

"What is going to happen to me when we find your brother?" she finally questions one day as they drive down the highway. The question has been weighing down on her for a while, but it wasn't until just now that she could get the guts up to even think about asking it. 

"What do you mean?" he reples gruffly. "What would happen to you?"

"I mean, do I get left behind?" she responds, her voice oddly small in the space. "I don't think I can go back to being alone, I don't think I can go back before meeting you."

The words hang in the air, unanswered vocally, but one hand comes off the wheel and meets her's. There's no declaration of love, no long response, but she doesn't need one anyway. Her fingers interlace with his and even though the world is still falling around them, she can't help but feeling at least she has a hand to hold. She think she'd be ok as long as his fingers never leave her own.

Clara ran. She started, and didn’t stop until her chest was screaming for air and her legs couldn’t support her anymore. Her normally pale skin was flushed from exertion, and her long brown hair was tangled from the wind. She slumped against a tree, catching her breath. Wait…. A tree? She had run into the forest without noticing!

Clara looked down, and was surprised to see several cuts and scratches from branches that she’d brushed past along the length of her long legs. She hadn’t even felt them at the time. She had only been thinking about…no. She couldn’t say his name. It hurt too much. Even just thinking about it brought back the pain, which rose up in a wave, threatening to overwhelm her again. She tried to fight it, but it was too much, too strong, too soon. Clara gave in, and the tears flowed freely. The sobs broke through, despite how badly she wanted to keep them in. Curled up in a ball at the base of a tree, she let go.

Eventually she stopped crying and regained control of herself. The first thing she noticed was how cold she was now that the heat from running had fled her body. Clara wished for a pair of strong arms to hold her, keep her warm, make her know that everything would be okay. Just like…wait, no…don’t say it….. But it was too late. The word was slipping out from her grasp. Just like Daniel used to do.

Daniel. Those 6 letters, two syllables, just a name. And yet so much, much more. With that name came a thousand memories, good and bad. Feelings of friendship, trust, growing love, and also more recent ones of pain and rejection. That name used to mean home. Now she didn’t know. All of it came rushing back to her.

Clara arrived at Daniel’s house, walking up the lawn as she’d done so many times over the last 8 years, ever since they met in 3rd grade and became best friends. But recently it had seemed like more than that…. She had tried to deny her feelings for him for a long time, but in the last few months he’d finally seemed closer than ever. She remembered when they had gone to the school play together. She had looked over at Daniel, studying his profile in the semi-darkness as he gazed intently at the stage. He looked over, catching her watching him. At first his eyes questioned her, and then he shook his head and grinned. That was when Clara admitted to herself that she really loved him.

Letting herself into what was almost her second home, Clara called Daniel’s name, but knew he wouldn’t be able to hear her over the loud music he was blasting. She recognized the vocals. It was Death on a Beach, Daniel’s new favorite band.

Grinning, she strode down the hallway. She could imagine what he’d say to the news. “You got it? That’s so awesome! I’m really proud of you Clay!” Clay was his pet name for her, used only when it was just the two of them. “Let’s go celebrate!” He’d smile his gorgeous smile, the corners of his lips lifting, lighting up his whole face.

Already looking forward to spending the night hanging out with him, Clara burst through the door, proclaiming as she did so, “Make way for the new editor of –“ She choked on her words as her voice died at the sight in front of her. The image of Daniel, her Daniel, kissing another girl. Wait…not just any girl. Monica, her old best friend. She used to be friends with both Daniel and Clara, until she suddenly decided she was too cool to hang out with them. And now her tongue was in Daniel’s mouth. It made Clara want to puke.

“Clara! What are you doing here?” Daniel gasped after hastily pulling away from Monica, surprise clearly written on his face.

“Me? I come here often, in case you’ve already forgotten. What is she doing here?” Clara demanded, her voice rising with her temper.

“Clara, it’s not what it looks like! Just let…just let me explain!” Daniel stammered.

“No. How long has this been going on?” She had to know. After a second, someone answered, but it wasn’t Daniel.

“A couple months,” Monica responded before Daniel could say anything.

“That’s all I needed to know.” She was barely containing her emotion. A couple months? But he had been seeming closer than ever! Why wouldn’t he tell her? But she had to control it for just a little longer. She couldn’t let them see her cry, especially not Monica. “Goodbye Daniel,” she stated and started backing out of the room.

“Clay, what’s going on?” Confusion colored his words.

“Don’t call me that! Leave me alone! I hate you!” She followed her words with a sharp slap across his face. The blow rocked his head back, and her hand stung, turning red. And here came the tears. She turned and ran out of the room, seeing Monica’s satisfied smirk out of the corner of her eye. She left the house, and instead of going towards her house, she ran away, away from everything. Faster than she’d ever run before, trying to escape what just happened. Running to…

…here. Where was here? Clara looked around again, but still didn’t recognize anything by her. She was lost. Pulling herself together, she was about to go try and find a way out of the forest when she heard a rustling noise behind her.

Spinning around, she frantically checked for anything that could’ve made the noise. A light glanced off of something in the corner of her eye, and she whirled around to see, but all that were there were two yellow circles that disappeared too soon for her to be sure they were ever really there.

After waiting a few seconds, she decided that nothing was there, and relaxed her tensed muscles. Suddenly she thought of how to get home! It was so obvious! Her phone…which was at home, charging. So much for that.

Clara shivered, and looked around; the forest no longer seemed full of life and energy. It seemed cold and dangerous with shadows and trees pressing in on her. It was getting dark…. In the twilight, shapes seemed to glide just out of view, indistinct. Bushes changed into hunched over forms. Branches became groping hands.

She shook her head and curled into a ball under a thick part of branches. Even though it was early spring, nights were still cold, and she was freezing. Her exhaustion wrestled with her coldness over consciousness. Clara couldn’t fall asleep, but stayed in a half awake state into the middle of the night, until she was startled completely awake by the sound of a branch snapping.

Looking up, she saw the two yellow orbs again, but this time she realized what they were. Eyes. Huge eyes. But in the darkness she couldn’t tell what they belonged to until the creature padded into a clearing and the moon struck it.

A huge, grey monster was now right in front of Clara. She whimpered in fright, and the wolf’s ears twitched in response to the soft sound. She slowly stood up and backed away, edging around the tree to get it between her and the wolf. Its eyes never left her, always watching warily.

As soon as she got around the tree, she started sprinting blindly away as fast as she could. She couldn’t hear the wolf start running, its heavy paws somehow making less noise than her feet, despite their weight. She had never been a very fast runner, and after a few seconds she could hear the wolf’s breath right behind her.

She abruptly stopped running, not because she paused, but because the ground had disappeared from beneath her feet. She had tripped over a branch, and fallen into a small hole beneath the roots of a tree.

The wolf was momentarily confused, and Clara used that second to try and scoot over to under the roots. As she moved over, a sharp stab of pain shot up her leg. She looked down for the source, and found it immediately. Her ankle must have broken in the fall. It was twisted at a grotesque angle, and the sight nauseated her. Trying to slide over again, the pain brought a gasp out of her lips, alerting the wolf to her location.

It pounced, but couldn’t break through the strong roots. Clara shrank away as it reached its paws through gaps, trying desperately to find her. Eventually, the wolf seemed to give up, and the attacks ceased. Clara was too scared to breathe for a minute, but her heartbeat finally slowed to a more normal rate. Just when she thought it might be safe to move, the wolf’s jaws burst through a gap, snapping, grasping for something. Its fangs found purchase in Clara’s right arm, and they clamped down, making her shriek. She was going to die. She knew it. The weight of the wolf was pressing on the roots, making them sag. Soon they would give in, and her slight protection would be gone. It would be all over….

The weight disappeared from above her, taking the jaws, and the flesh enclosed in the teeth, with it. Clara didn’t realize at first. For a second, she didn’t feel the pain. Not until she glanced down at her arm and saw the chunk missing. Then it hit. She fainted from the pain and shock, and the last thing she saw as she blacked out was a pair of boots standing next to the hole.

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________

When Clara awoke, the first thing she saw was a group of anxious faces watching her. The second her eyes fluttered open, the faces and their bodies crowded around what seemed to be a hospital bed. Her mind panicked from the group surrounding her, claustrophobia kicking in. She could feel and hear her heartbeat speed up, corresponding with the tones from the machine next to her bed.

One face, tanner than the others, seemed to notice her hysteria, and said sharply, “Everyone back up. Give her some space. Can’t you see that she’s overwhelmed?”

She knew that voice. No. She had to be sure. Clara forced her eyes to focus on the faces, moving from one to the next. Her mother and father, her parents’ best friend Andrew, someone who had to be a nurse, and…there he was. Daniel was here.

“What is he doing here? Make him leave!” she called frantically to no one. Then directed at Daniel, “Get out!” She saw that her words cut into him, saw the pain in his eyes. This made her even madder. What right did he have to be hurt? After what he did to her? “Get him out of here!” she pleaded again, desperately looking for support from her parents. She didn’t get it.

“Sweetie,” her father began gently, “Daniel saved your life. He saw you run into the forest and got help. If it wasn’t for him, that wolf probably would’ve killed you.” He placed a comforting hand on her arm. “Please just hear him out. I’m not sure what’s going on with you two, but listen to his side of the story first.”

Everyone else slowly exited the room, heading into the hallway outside. Clara was left alone with Daniel. Neither of them spoke at first. She ignored him, and instead took the opportunity to examine things more closely. First she looked down at herself. There was a heavy cast on her ankle, and bandages covered her arm. Looking up, she saw that there were two beds other than hers, but they were empty. The walls were covered in ugly flowered wallpaper. Over in the corner to her right, a TV was on some cooking show, muted.

For a few seconds Clara just watched the mouths move without words coming out. It was just how she felt. She wanted to talk to Daniel, say something, anything, but the words wouldn’t come.

When she finally began to speak, Daniel started at the same time. After an awkward halt, he told her to go first.

She began. “Daniel, I’m sorry that I reacted the way I did. I know that whatever you do with Monica, or any other girl, is none of my business.” Although she hadn’t been able to find the words before, now that she had started, they just spilled out of her mouth, tripping over each other. “It’s just that, well, I like you, and I thought that…maybe…well maybe you liked me too.” Clara blushed. “Apparently I was wrong. I’m sorry.”

When she finished, she waited for him to say something. He was speechless for a moment, then found his voice. “Clara…. I know how this sounds. But I swear that it wasn’t what it looked like. Monica came over because she said she needed help with PreCalc. She kissed me right as you walked in!” He was leaning towards her now as he spoke, desperate for her to listen, to believe. “I didn’t want her to, I promise! She took me by complete surprise. I don’t like her. And she lied about it going on for months – there’s nothing there in the first place! You have to believe me!” He blurted, warm chocolate eyes pleading with her. “Monica just wanted to hurt you. She was jealous.”

Clara was shocked. “Jealous? Why would Little Miss Perfect be jealous of me?”

“Because I like you,” Daniel stated plainly, as open and obvious as if he were commenting on the weather.

“You…what? You like me?” she managed to ask, mind reeling. It was a good thing she was already lying down.

“Clara, I have been madly in love with you since the day we met.” Daniel was smiling now.

“Why didn’t you say something?” she demanded, trying to take it all in.

“I didn’t think you liked me back. I didn’t want to tell you and risk what we had. I’d be nothing more than your friend for the rest of my life if it meant I got to be by you. Can you forgive me, Clay?” he questioned, eyes worried.

“Maybe if you buy me dinner,” Clara replied, grinning. Daniel’s smile was brighter than the sun shining through the windows.

Here's a piece I wrote last summer.  I'm still editing, and appreciate feedback! 

I don’t know where she came from. She just appeared one day, when I was about 7. I was sittin' in my bedroom, staring out the window towards Ol’ Widow Maggie’s manor as Momma braided my hair all pretty, with my favorite pink bow.

Old Widow Maggie’s place stuck out real bad on this side of town. It was all dark on the outside, because all the paint had worn off the sides and alls that was left was old, sick-lookin’ boards. All the other houses were painted real nice tan colors, but no one would bother to help poor Maggie out because of all the stories. Some people said she was a witch, and when smoke rose from the chimney, that was her, boilin’ frogs and newts and such in her cauldron. Momma and Da just said they were too busy to help and she didn’t want help anyway. My best friend Clarice says she has about 40 cats that she lives with, and when one dies, she buries it behind the house and that's why nothin' grows. I asked Clarice how she knew so much and alls she said was, " 'cus I lived here longer'n you, silly. I know things like that."

I suppose she must be right, 'cus nothing is ever behind that manor, not even kids cutting through backyards. I sat there thinkin' about that while Momma braided, and I thought that the inside of the manor was probably as black and lifeless as the outside, and that I hoped I'd never have to be any closer to it that I already was.

Momma was almost done with my hair when a girl came skipping out from the side of the house. I never liked looking at that house for too long, the vines creeping up the flat walls whispered of secrets and darkness and forbidden things. But somehow, with this girl skipping about outside, it wasn't quite so bad, and maybe a little more mysterious.

"Momma, who's that?" I had asked suddenly, twisting around in my seat.

Momma had scolded me for moving and messing up her braiding, and told me she didn't know, and it was none of my business and to stay away from her and the Old Widow Maggie.

"I don't want you going anywhere near there, Elise," she'd said, "You leave those poor people alone and focus on your piano studies. You have a recital soon!"

Well, there's one sure thing about the seven year old me, and that's by putting a taboo on the Widow and the new girl, I'd wanna know everything.

So I started asking around. Clarice said her Ma said she was probably Ol' Widow Maggie's niece or something, but my other friend Jack said she was a little girl that the Widow had kidnapped! He said he saw it happened one night at midnight. I told Jack he was a liar, and just a farmer boy, and he kicked me. He said I was just a rich snob, and if I didn't watch out, the Widow would get me, too. I didn't know who was right, but there was something about that girl, that was for sure. I said I wasn't scared, but I was.

I was kinda mad at Jack for calling me a rich snob, but I wasn't too sore. He didn't know that my Momma and Da were phonies. Halfway, anyhow. My Ma and Da weren't as rich as all the rest of the towns-folk, but they pretended they were. Da went and got an important-sounding job out of town, and got a loan so he could get a fancy-lookin' car. Momma went to load of fancy luncheons and business parties and took me everywhere. She even made me take piano classes all summer so I'll be like all the other folk's kids, all musical. One day, Momma took me to the grocery store, like always. I was bored outta my mind, but had to stay right next to Ma with my hands folded nicely, so I didn't embarrass her and give it away that we're not really that stinkin' rich.

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The day after that, it stormed hard, and lasted for days. Normally, folks wouldn’t complain, especially the farmers from the other side of town, but this storm was different. It was on the fourth day, when I went out to lunch with Momma, that I heard some men saying it was a cursed rain. It was destroying their crops and flooding their basements. Even I, seven year old Elise, knew something was going on. I thought about what folks had said about Ol’ Maggie being a witch.

Through that whole entire week, I didn’t see the little girl at all. Not even poking her nose out the window to taste the rain. I would sit out on the porch during the worst of these storms, I remember, and look over at the Widow’s house to see only an empty chair. I was sad, and a little angry, because I felt like this girl was my property, my very own new neighbor, my secret friend. I wanted her to be like me and like what I liked. Instead, it seemed like she had simply disappeared.

One day, though, the rain stopped. It was sudden, early on a Sunday morning, when the clouds ran away and the sun shone brighter than ever. And just like that, she was back. As if nothing had happened. I was entranced by her. She never stayed in one place too long, dancing around the yard, stopping to stiff a daisy, then leaping away through the tall grass of the side yard. Her toes were muddy, and the hem of her dress grew increasingly damp from the dewy grass, but she didn’t seem to care. Sometimes, I could hear a sweet, quiet hum, even all the way from my porch, as if she was twisting and twirling in time to a delicate violin ballad.

I had to spend most of my days indoors; Momma made me practice my piano twice a day, and all Clarice ever wanted to do was sit indoors and play dolls. Occasionally, I would steal glances out my window to watch the girl. I was so jealous of her. Momma said jealousy was unbecoming, but I didn’t care. I wanted to dance and play all day like the girl, but Clarice and her sister Anne said jumping about was improper for a lady to do. I would sit inside, instead, and dream, and then wish for my dreams. On the weekends, I would walk past her house, but she would never see me. I wanted nothing more. Jack said, at church, that I was under a spell, but I knew that wasn’t true.

I noticed one day that the girl had a plastic clip in her hair all the time that was the same kind of pink as mine, and that made me like her even more. At church the next week, Clarice told me to stay away from the girl.

“You’re sayin’ the same stuff as my Momma, now!”

“No, Elise, we can’t be her friend, shes weird!”

“What do you mean, she’s weird?” I was getting angry, at Clarice, for being mean to my neighbor.

“She just is, okay?” And then Clarice shut up and wouldn’t say any more.

After the service, Clarice still wouldn’t talk, so I told her she was just jealous of the girl’s pink clip ‘cus it matched my ribbon. Clarice kicked me, harder than Jack did, and the locked her mouth and threw away the key. I kicked her back and pinched her ‘til she unlocked her mouth.

“Just leave me alone, Elise!” She whined.

But then I got all sweet and gave her a hug and said I was sorry, and she said she’d tell.

“When I was walking to your house, the girl asked if I wanted to come to a tea party in the Ol’ Widow’s house,” Clarice began, “I was scared! Her eyes felt weird. They made my tummy hurt. And she talked like a grown up.” Clarice was staring straight at the floor now, and had her hands folded all nice in front of her. And I was getting madder. Then, Clarice said that the exact same thing happened to Beth, and Jack, and even little Anne. I was furious now. Why didn’t the girl invite ME to a tea party? We were neighbors! We had matching bows! I didn’t understand.

Then Clarice looked me right in the eye.

“Please don’t go over there, Elise. My Momma’s right. That girl is bad news.”

But I was mad.

Right when I got home from church, I told Momma I was goin' for a tea party and Clarice's. I kept my Sunday best on, and put on my fanciest necklace, the one with the cross, and all the jewels, and I set out for the Widow's house. I could see the girl as soon as I stepped outside, her pink bow shinier than ever. I made sure that my bow was straight, and started out. The afternoon sun was dull, and the air was still. It felt like no one was around except me and the girl. I liked that.

She didn't seem to see me until I'd marched right up to her. She stopped twirling and turned to face me, her billowing dress falling into straight pleats around her waist. I looked up.

Her eyes were gold. They shone, and stood out like beacons in the speckled sunlight. I could not look away; I was enchanted. She blinked, smiled, and curtsied, her slim fingers spreading her faded blue dress out like a fan.

"Would you care to join me for a tea party?" She asked. Her voice rich and flowing, like a spoonful of molasses.

"Yes, please, thank you very much," I managed to remember my manners, and as she turned and gestured, I followed.

"We shall go in the back door," she cued.

The doorbell echoed throughout the house, bouncing off walls. It sounded like my own, but deeper. After a heartbeat or two, the Widow swings the door open, and steps aside to let us in. The door swung closed behind me, leaving us in a darkened entryway, similar to my own, and exactly like I'd imagined. I follow the girl, glancing upward at the Widow, half expecting to see a pointed black hat pressed down over her curls. Instead, the Ol' Maggie stops me.

"Oh, dear, that necklace!" My hand crawls up to my neck.

"Oh, darling, let me hold onto that. We wouldn't want you losing such a...pretty thing, now, would we?"

The girl smiles at me. The curled lips made my stomach churn, but as I glanced into her eyes, I felt reassured. Reaching up, I unclasped the dangling cross and handed it to the Widow. She accepted it between forefinger and thumb, as if lifting a dead mouse.

To my left, Widow Maggie ascended to a silent kitchen. All the walls were painted dark gray and were peeling, casting shadows where the sunlight hit. The girl and I went through a door on my right. It lead down to the basement. She walked without pausing, and I followed close behind. I longed to look into her eyes again. This next hallway was dark, but I was not scared; I was with my friend. The walls were white now, but the trim was black, to match the closed door at the other end. The blank walls screamed of abandonment and made me feel unwelcome. I knew, however, that I was safe. The girl opened the door and curtsied me inside, the pink, bow-shaped clip dipping down as her hair swayed.

“Welcome to the tea party, Elise. Everyone else is already here.”