%%USERNAME%%    %%ACCWORDS%% %%ONOFF%% |
 |
Magic is all around us-in our art, our dreams, our personalities, our life's work. Open! |
| [Introduction]
Story: This campfire isn't just about magic, it's about life. We all have our own personal demons to overcome, some more literally than others. This story is about how two different kinds of personal demons combine. The story is about several new students in James Joseph Jasper University, a college famed for its exceptional studies in religion, history, anthropology, art, literature, philosophy and all related topics. The college also has some areas of study not many people know about, studies which venture into... the supernatural. The students, who are brought together as one by one they find this mystical underside of the college--or it finds them--must learn to overcome the challenges and obstacles put forth by forces of evil. First, however, they must fight a more personal battle: overcoming the challenges of their own insecurities, their own failings, and the difficult rules of college life and college work. May all of us have the fortune to overcome our own individual struggles, and thus be able to come together against our common ones. Your character profile: I want to try something new with the character profile. Instead of the usual method (Description, Personality, etc.), use this model: Name Date of birth Lucky number (pick a number between 0 and 21; this will be very important later on. MAKE SURE YOU DON'T HAVE THE SAME LUCKY NUMBER AS ANYONE ELSE!) Hair color Eye color Physical description (describe as briefly as possible) Religious beliefs Political views Occupation (everyone is already a first-year college student, so write here if you have a part-time job in the college, like working in the library, snack bar, book store, etc.) Living currently (which dorm you're living in (see list below) and if you have your own room or roommates (don't mention who roommates are)) Favorite place to be (by this I mean a special room or small area, a place your character enjoys being alone and keeping to themself. This is also important) Personal philosophy (one or two lines) Worst fears Brightest dreams Favorite and least favorite things (include past moments, physical things--anything) Majoring in... Also: If you want, you can also create a second character, an animal. However, you can't make your addition entirely about the animal, introduce it in the middle of the story. Also, animal characters cannot talk, and do not have any special magical powers, although they will all have mystical significance (yes, there's a difference). Some recommended animal choices: -Snake -Bull -Lion -Eagle -Dove -Black cat -Black dog College Stuff: Here are some of the college classes the characters will be taking. Choose one of these three as your first course, because everyone has to have at least one in common. The rest of your college courses (up to three) you can make up on your own, but those ones won't have very much importance in the story, and, of course, they should be believable college courses: 1) Music: Parallels and Significance in Nature--Taught by Professor Rita Desmontes. Meets Thursday morning and Friday night. 2) Magic Realism in Writing: Plays, Novels and Poetry--Taught by Professor Brian Wiles. Meets Tuesday afternoon and Friday afternoon. 3) Time: What Is It? A Study in Myth, Tradition and Logic--Taught by Professor Laughton Lewis. Meets Monday morning and Thursday afternoon. Here are the dorms. Every character starts out as a freshman student, so only a limited number of dorms are opened to you; pick one from among those to live. Still, it's important later on in the story to know all the dorms and where they are, so here's a list of them: Mian: Both genders. Four floors (1st, 2nd, 3rd, 4th), each divided into four halls (A, B, C, D), each with single-person rooms & shared bathroom and kitchen. Zuckerman: Same arrangements as Mian, but boys only. For sophomores and up ONLY. Ziller: Divided into 2 halls, #1 for girls & #2 for boys. Students live in apartments with 1 or 2 roommates. Campbell: Same arrangements as Ziller, but only 1 hall. Boys only. Leary: Same arrangements as Ziller, but only 1 hall. Girls only. Morrison: Same arrangements as Mian. Mostly seniors and juniors, minimal freshmen. Konigsberg: Same arrangements as Mian, but girls only. For sophomores and up ONLY. Here are some after-school clubs and physical education classes offered at Jasper University. Recreational Clubs: Film club Theatre group Baking club Book club Activist clubs: Animal Rights Club Amnesty International Club LGBT Club Environmental Club Phys Ed Courses: Tai Chi Judo Ballet Yoga Tennis Fencing Golf Bowling Archery Crew (boat-rowing sport) Cultural clubs: Christian Union Temple of Solomon (Jewish Club) USA (United Student Atheists) Asian Students Club ADHD Support Group/Students With Disabilities Club Finally, here are all the other buildings/places of interest on campus: L. Westminster Purcell Center: Snack bar Fitzgerald Hall: Dining hall Swimming pool Waite Sports Center: Gym/Sports building Tennis/golf courts Teacher's offices Book store Buckminster Hall: Concert hall/theater Gazebo/Picnic field/Lake And, of course, the Andrew St. Martin school library! Last rules: -Banish all your preconceived ideas about magic--Harry Potter, Lord of the Rings, whatever. I have a very specific new mythology for this story. Don't try to make up any magical on your own, it will just upset the storyline! -Some times in the story I will ask the person whose turn it is next to pick a number, or try to solve a riddle, or something. This is a new experiment in solving problems to progress the story, and I will have it all planned out ahead of time. Don't try to decide what happens in the story after you choose; leave that to me! -You have a week to add. -Fighting and romance are okay. It's okay to mention sex, but please refrain from extremely graphic descriptions of sex or violence. -Have fun! |
| Name: Timothy Montgomery Weiss Date of birth: December 16th, 1987 Lucky number: 1 Hair color: Corn yellow Eye color: Aquamarine (bluish green) Physical description: Short-haired, usually dressed in black or green. Lean and unmuscled; generally unathletic. High, overly youthful voice. Religious beliefs: Brought up Jewish, currently experimenting with all. Political views: Liberal socialist Occupation: Cleaning staff at Buckminster Hall Living currently: Mian, 1st floor, Hall B, Room #7. Favorite place to be: The school library, and (as wierd as it may sound) the enormous, spacious shared bathroom in his dorm hall. Personal philosophy: "Life's too short to confine your attention to any one thing in particular." Worst fears: Cats (they simply do not like him); ants; the possibility that people are destroying the planet; the possibility that he will never make anything of himself, and that he may end up as just another mindless drone in the giant hive-mind that is society. Brightest dreams: Deciding--once and for all--what he wants to do with his life and doing it productively, making his college, his professors and his parents proud, impressing his friends, gaining access to that higher level of truth and thinking hidden within the human mind. Favorite things: Writing, The Twilight Zone television series, the color green, grapefruit, learning about new things, being on top of his personal and academic work, finding creative ways to balance his college budget. Least favorite things: Writer's block, his indecisiveness, the fact that--when it comes to work--he is a procrastinater, milk (as a drink), boredom, lethargy, math, physics, the fact that he has never had a girlfriend. Majoring in: Undecided. Stuck between Comparative Mythology, Philosophy and Fiction. However, he can't decide which area of study, of the three, is the best for him. |
| Name: Stephen Thomas DOB: August 4, 1986 Lucky Number: 3 Hair Color: Brown with blonde tips. Eye color: Blue. Physical Description: Stephen is a big person. He is tall, muscular, and just plain goodlooking. He is a California tan. Though he be intelligent, he's not the brightest bulb in the shed. Religious Beliefs: He does believe in God, but he was always one of those people who said "Just one more minute" when his mom scolded him to get up for church. Political views: He's not into politics. Occupation: Nearby McDonald's cashier. Living currently: Lives in Campbell with two roommates. Favorite Place to Be: The beach. Personal Philosophy: Finish what you start. Worst fear: He has a strange fear of porcelian dolls. (as do I) Brightest Dreams: To one day be a professional athlete. Favorite Things: Ice Cream. Cheeseburgers. Beaches. Gyms. Fast cars. Sports. Least Favorite Things: Dolls. Books. Teachers. Schools. Majoring In: Majoring in: Literature (First Course: Time: What Is It? A Study in Myth, Tradition and Logic) |
| Name: Lionel Baxter(goes by Leo) Date of birth: May 23, 1986 Lucky number: 17 Hair color: Brown Eye color: Dark blue Physical description: 6'0", tannish complexion, 185 lbs. Muscular and athletic Religious beliefs: non-denominational Christian Political views: Conservative, but no real politics beyond that Occupation: Helps in Library Living currently: Ziller, 1 roommate Favorite place to be: On a mountaintop after climbing it. Personal philosophy: Do what you gotta do, as long as it doesn't interfere with what others gotta do. Worst fears: Doesn't give off like he's afraid, but is afraid of losing those he cares about Brightest dreams: Hasn't decided, just trying to make it through school and get the girl. Favorite and least favorite things: Likes to read and write. Hates when others pick on those smaler than themselves. Majoring in...Philosophy. First class: Time: What Is It? A Study in Myth, Tradition and Logic |
| Character profile: Name: Dalila (means gentle) Akil (means intelligent) DOB: February 14, 1987 Lucky Number: 9 Hair color: Black Eye color: Violet Physical Description: Big eyes; long, pin-straight hair; usually dressed in something flattering and black-colored; exotic and beautiful due to Egyptian heritage, 5'4, 115 lbs. Religious Beliefs: Believes in all Egyptian gods Political Views: Believes in natural rights; would rather have a King/Queen that treats their people right rather than a corrupt government; otherwise she's pretty much aloof Occupation: Freelance Artist/Photographer/Actress; Cashier at snack bar (works there for fun) Living Currently: Mian Dorm, 3rd floor, Hall A, Room #9 (Parents are paying for everything she's got *this doesn't mean she's spoiled, quite the opposite*) Favorite place to be: In Egypt, surrounded by the peace and quiet of a desert oasis Personal Philosophy: In the words of Elizabeth Bowen - "Illusions are art, for the feeling person, and it is by art that you live, if you do." In the words of Henry. W. Beecher - "Every artist dips his brush in his own soul, and paints his own nature into his pictures." Worst Fears: Being alone and forgotten; dying alone Brightest Dreams: Becoming a world-famous artist and having the freedom to explore her creativity whenever she wishes; traveling with a close friend to Europe and Asia (especially Japan), inspiring others in a positive way Favorite Things: Chocolate, peace/solitude, sketching, any form of art, the illogical and the insensible and the odd, being hyper (often from sugar highs; gets extremely weird and nonsensical), meeting (and inspiring) people Least Favorite Things: The fact that she was raped by an uncle at 14, annoying preppy people, stuffy crowds, water (she admires the way it looks but would never swim in it; she also drinks as little water as possible), stupidity, ignorance, disloyalty, and the subject of history (unless said subject is covering anything weird, which is, to her, interesting) Majoring in: Fine Arts Main/Important College Course: Time: What Is It? A Study in Myth, Tradition and Logic Minor/Not Important College Courses: Judo, Advanced Art I, Advanced Drama I Clubs: Theatre Club |
| Name: Mercy Jackson Date of birth: January 21, 1987 Lucky number : 15 Hair color: Dark brown with dark maroon stripes. Eye color: Pale Green. Physical description: Her hair is thick and curly, and falls to her waist. Average height and a slim build. Religious beliefs: Atheist Political views: Isn't intrested. Occupation: Coffee Shop Living currently: Ziller, 1 roomate. Favorite place to be: Her room Personal philosophy: "You only get one chance so run wild and dance naked." Worst fears: Drowning, Never falling in love, never making an impact. Brightest dreams: To become a History teacher, travel the world. Favorite: Apples, writing, sunset/rise, watching the rain, and white roses. Least Favorite: Ducks, flying, thunder, magazines, and hot tamales. Majoring in: History |
| Name: Harry Fisher DOB: June 22, 1988 Lucky Number: 7 Hair Color: the bane of his existence, dark-red and curly Appearance: 6 ft 2 in, though he slouches to appear slightly shorter. He tried a beard for a while, but it refused to grow dark enough to make it worthwhile. He has blue eyes and the standard freckles and pale irish complexion. Religious Beliefs: Catholic Politics: on the fence, sometimes conservative, sometimes liberal Occupation: pizza delivery guy for Mama Mia's Dorm: Mian, 1st Floor, Hall D, Room #3 Favorite Place: the old downtown cemetary Personal Philosophy: Life's not worth living if you're not having fun Worst Fears: spiders, roller coasters, hospitals (sick people) Dreams: getting a job on Saturday Night Live Major: Acting, comedy Classes: Magic Realism in Writing: Plays, Novels and Poetry, Acting 101, psychology 101 Clubs: Theatre Favorite Things: pizza! a full theatre, yoga, SNL, ribs (as in BBQ), hot wings Least Favorite Things: broccoli, home, math, riding the bus |
| [Okay! As the story begins, we are about two and a half weeks into the college session--the date, my addition, at least, is Wednesday, September 12. This current week is the first week of classes, meaning some characters have had classes already, and some people will not have them until later on in the week (for the times and days of the three main classes, see above). I'm in all three classes because I need to be able to narrate each one.] Even though "Meat Night" wasn't an actual event at James Joseph Jasper University, it may as well have been on Wednesday night, the 12th of September. When Fitzgerald Hall opened for dinner, the entrees available were spicy chicken wings, spaghetti and meatballs and fried fish. Also available as side dishes were mashed potatoes with turkey gravy and chicken soup. It was more than Timothy Montgomery Weiss could bear, but, for Harry Fisher, it was heaven. And they were best friends. To put together his meal, Timothy had passed over the entrees completely, stopping at the vegan table, the salad bar and the dessert table. His tray held Tofurkey, peas, a chaotic self-made salad with vinaigrette dressing, as well as two cupcakes and many, many grapefruit slices. He sat, wearily, and took a moment to study his friend's dinner--pasta, several large meatballs, potatoes, soup, and, of course, lots and lots of hot wings. Harry noticed him looking, and held out a wing teasingly. "Boy, these wings are pretty good. Sure you don't want a piece?" Timothy shooed the proffered wing away. He had become a vegetarian a year and a half ago, for many different reasons, but most of all because he was inspired by his high-school readings on the Hindu vegetarianism. He had never looked back. "I wasn't looking at your plate hungrily, I was looking in revulsion." "Sure you were," mocked Harry. "You can pretend all you want, Tim, but you and I both know that eventually you'll come crawling back to the side of the meat-eaters." "Well, I won't do it tonight, at least, so all the more wings for you," retorted Tim. Harry shrugged, "Works for me," and went off to fill a second plate with ribs. There was silence at the table, while Tim ate, until he came back. "So, did you do that assignment for fiction class yet?" he asked. The two of them shared a class, Magic Realism in Writing: Plays, Novels and Poetry, and for Friday their assignment was to come up with a half a page on the meaning of the term "magic realism". Tim looked up. "Did you?" "Yeah," said Harry. "It's really easy." Tim nodded. "I know. That's why I haven't done it yet. I've been getting some work from my other classes and they've been a higher priority, so I've been doing them first." "Really?" asked Harry. "What kind of class could it be that makes you put off anything to do with writing?" Then he remembered that there were only two things, besides writing, that his friend loved to study. "Wait. Is it by any chance a philosophy class? Or a mythology class?" "You know me so well," said Tim with a grin. "I have an anthropology/philosophy class about time which met Monday Morning, which, frankly, constitutes a crime against humanity. There's also a mythology/psychology class called Mythopoeic Thinking, which is probably my favorite, and, finally a class about music." "Music?!" said Harry. "You don't know anything about music!" "I can learn, can't I? I think now would be a great time to start on that, and it seems like a great class. I'm thinking about making the piano my instrument of choice." "Well, good luck, man, that sounds like a whole lot of work." "Bah, I'll be fine. Now, are you ready?" Harry looked up from his plate, grinning with frenzied excitement. "Oh yeah. Let's do this." "Good." Tim had noticed that the Dining Hall was almost completely empty now, and soon the cooks would start clearing the food out. "Let's go." He ran to the dessert table, filling a second tray with as many cupcakes and grapefruit slices as he could hold. Harry, meanwhile, did the exact same thing with the wings. The two met up back at their table, conveniently located at the farthest end of the hall. It had been Tim's idea. He was an average college student, born to middle-class parents, and the second oldest of five siblings. That made him roughly $20,000 in debt... at least. And he could only afford to eat 7 meals a week at Fitzgerald Hall. Something had to be done to compensate. Tim now took several large Tupperware containers out of his bag, and gave half of them to Harry. Harry filled the containers to bursting, and then stuffed them in his bag. Tim did the same. They both grabbed their empty trays. "All right," said Tim, quoting from their favorite movie. "I want to get in, get on with it, get it over with and get out. Get it?" "Got it." "Good." That was the signal. The two walked, calmly, up to the bussing station and dropped their empty trays in. The cooking staff came in to clear away all left-overs. Harry and Tim calmly proceeded to the exit, past the large sign which read, BRINGING EXTRA FOOD OUTSIDE DINING HALL IS FORBIDDEN!. Suddenly they noticed one of the cooks glancing at them. Instantly they took off running. "Go! Go! Go!" They ran for five whole minutes, not stopping until they passed the streetlamp and came right up right up to the gazebo, their fallback spot. They sat for there several minutes, catching their breath and laughing. Finally, Harry spoke up. "Do you really think you can keep doing that all year?" Tim, gasping, nodded. After a while, Tim excused himself, as he had to go home and finish his work up before waking up early the next morning for class. He left Harry, who was several containers of wings richer, and headed back to Mian, where the first thing he would do would be to put away his own spoils of the night. It wasn't until he was alone that Tim really let himself feel doubtful about the coming year. Harry, of course, was probably right: Tim had chosen all the classes with the most work, and he'd probably regret that later on. But such was Tim's curse; he was ambitious and loved to learn, but he procrastinated to a fault. And he couldn't decide what to focus on, not if his life depended on it. He had grown up wanting to be a writer, but, at the advice of his parents, who were college professors, he had begun to study philosophy and comparative mythology to get story ideas. Now, he still wanted to be a writer... and a philosopher... and a professor of mythology. Logically speaking, it was a simple matter of finding a way to combine all three subjects in one. But that was one thing Tim couldn't even imagine doing. He worried, now, that he would never be able to do it, if he lived to be a hundred. And, as Tim walked home that night, back to Mian, loaded with cupcakes and grapefruit, the worry and the indecision hung heavy in the air around him. And it followed him home... like a ghost. |
(Thursday afternoon) *Dalila* Dalila surveyed her room with satisfaction. She had finished decorating it just now, and she was immensely proud of the results. What had been a plain, white-walled room exuding hospital-like sterileness was now an extravagantly colored area that seemed more like a palace than a freshman college dorm room. Dalila had covered the walls with her favorite pieces of art and CD album covers, with sheer golden drapes hung in random places. She had set up several small tables and littered them with candles and books of all kinds, choosing to display some Egyptian artifacts as well. Above her headboard (which she had also draped in sheer cloth) was one of her greatest works of art: a depiction of Khonsu, the Egyptian moon god. Whenever people had asked Dalila why she had chosen this particular god, her only reply was: "The night and the moon and the stars are beautiful. People should learn to appreciate the dark as well as the light, for there is truth in both." Her bed was clothed in soft opalescent fabric, with several pillows of contrasting colors grouped at the head of the bed. She clapped her hands happily and exited, heading off to her first class: Time: What Is It? A Study in Myth, Tradition and Logic. She was looking forward to it. On her way out, she bumped into a tall person, and grunted as she was slammed into the wall. The guy looked down at her in surprise. "Oh, sorry!" he said, chuckling. "I didn't see you there. You're a bit shorter than normal, aren't you?" Dalila shook her head, as if she had heard this joke a million times (which, in fact, she had). "It's okay," she said, smiling at him to reassure him that she was okay. Aside from the bruise she would carry on her shoulder from that wall, of course. "What's your name?" "My name's Harry Fisher. Yours?" "Dalila. Dalila Akil." "Ah," Harry said, raising a brow. "I knew you must be foreign. You've got a slight accent. Romanian?" Dalila shook her head slowly. Harry frowned. "Lebanese? Turkish? Bulgarian?" he offered, and she shook her head again, suppressing laughter. "...Irish?" he tried, and Dalila burst out laughing. After a moment, Harry smiled too, if a little uncertainly. "I'm Egyptian," Dalila said, and the confusion immediately cleared from his face, and he laughed too. "I was close with the Turkish one at least," he pointed out, and Dalila nodded to make him feel better. Checking her watch, she uttered an exclamation. "I've got to go, Harry, but I'm sure I'll see you around!" Dalila said as she rushed off to class, leaving Harry in a slight daze of confusion. People don't always follow Dalila's way of quick thinking and random follies. |
| Mercy threw her hair into a side ponytail as she made her way down the hall, twisting and turning through the crowd of students on her way to her, Time: What Is It? A Study in Myth, Tradition and Logic. She tugged at her messenger bag's strap as she took the stairs three at a time. When she was rounding the corner, a body slammed into her own. She fell onto her tailbone, yelping at the pain that shot up through her back. "I'm sorry! You're the second person I've collided with this morning!" A voice rang out from the floor infront of her. A tanned skinned girl sat on the floor, and started to pick herself up. "Uh...it's okay...I wasn't watching. My bad." Mercy said, hoisting herself up with help of the wall. "Um...I'm running late. See you around, okay." She turned and briskly walked down the hall. "Well that was..weird and random and not to mention slightly odd all at the same time..." |
| (Thursday late-night or Friday early) Harry unfolded from his car with relief, standing and stretching for a moment before reaching back in for the stack of pizza boxes. His manager at Mama's let the employees take home any pizzas left over at the end of the night, or ones that had sat too long in the warmer. Harry had three small cheeses which he was going to give to Tim, and a more eclectic collection for himself and his roommates. He supposed eventually he'd get tired of pizza, but for now he wasn't about to turn down free food. He yawned fit to unhinge his jaw as he shut the door and crossed the parking lot. The one good thing about his little rabbit was that he never lacked for parking space. And did he mention that it was free? Well, almost free. He'd paid his dad fifty bucks for the car shortly after earning his license and he'd put in several thousands of dollars worth of work to get it running again. With any luck, it would see him through college as well. He could almost thank his father for being such a packrat he'd kept the thing for so long. He knocked on Tim's door. No response. Harry grinned. "Free pizza!" In a moment there was a scramble of noise, and then the door swung wide. "Did you say free?" Harry laughed and handed off the boxes. "Here, had some prankster call in and order a ton of stuff and never showed. Barny was fit to spit when he realized it." He grinned and shrugged, "More for us!" "Thanks, but, do you have any idea what time it is?" Tim rubbed his eyes and tried to look annoyed rather than tired. "Don't you have class tomorrow?" "Yeah, but not 'til afternoon. And that's what I call a crime against humanity. Say, Tim?" Harry paused. "What?" "You seen a cute little Egyptian girl around?" He raised his hand even with his waist. "About yay high, violet eyes, sweet little accent?" Tim was giving him a suspicious look. "You're incomparable." "Why thank you. Seen her?" "At this hour? Don't be stupid." "I ran into her this afternoon and for the life of me I can't remember her name. Left so quick I totally forgot to give her mine, either." "Dumbass." "She had me in those eyes. Violet ones. Can't recall seeing violet eyes in a black-haired chick before." Tim arched an eyebrow. "She got you just like that?" He smirked and snapped his fingers. Harry laughed, then yawned. "Gots to go, see you at lunch, are you going to lunch? I get free dinner, after all, what with working tomorrow." "Sure." "Noonish okay? Class isn't until one-thirty." "Whatever." Harry waved and scuttled back to his own dorm. He managed to squeeze most of the pizza in the mini fridge and kick off his shoes, but then he, too, was out. His work shift was Thursday through Sunday, 4 pm to close, which was midnight, or whenever he delivered his last pizza. Thirty hours a week with whatever he could make in tips. Was it worth it? At the moment, he was too tired to care. Tomorrow was Friday and with any luck he'd see that little chicka around. Hmm, Egyptian, maybe I should ... zzzz .... |
| Stephen headed back to his dormitory in Campbell. It was all monotonous. He sleep in, then his roommates woke him up, he headed onto to class, slept through the entire thing, and headed home. There was little variety. He also chose literature. Who chooses literature? He was always good at writing. He was the first toddler of his generation on his street to become literate. He could whip up a clever tale in five seconds and hop to writing. However, now, he had to run with the big dogs. He had to perform at his best all of the time. Before, he chose random times to do so. Now, he would have to do some work. He hated this college. |
| (Thursday evening, 6pm) Archer Draws His Bow. Lion Shakes His Mane. Wave Hands Like Clouds. Crane Spreads His Wings. Such were the movements learned in Tim's Tai Chi class. Notwithstanding the fact that the class met on Thursday evening, one of Tim's heaviest work nights, it was an enjoyable experience: useful, and promoting good health, yet the movements were slow and the pace was relaxing. This was fortunate, because Tim was nearly half dead with exhaustion. And it was only the first week. Good Lord. Slowly, Tim performed Wave Hands Like Clouds, hands revolving gradually around a focal point in his midsection, as if he was rolling a ball around in his palms. The concentration he felt right now was glorious; Tai Chi seemed to be the only thing he could set out to do and actually keep his focus on. The homework he had gotten so far didn’t seem hard, but it was a lot of work for only the first week of classes, and it gave him a bad feeling about the rest of the year. But here, now, he felt in control. With that, he was contented. (Sometime earlier, Thursday morning, 9:15am) “Timothy Weiss?” “Yes.” “Hi. Come on in. Welcome.” “Thanks,” said Timothy, shaking Professor Desmontes’ hand. “But, um… where is everyone else?” Indeed, the two of them were sitting in an otherwise empty, albeit beautiful, classroom. “Oh, you don’t know? Nobody else is coming right now. This time right now is your meeting time with me. Every student has one individual meeting with the teacher and one group class period, on Friday night.” Tim was surprised. “Um… that’s highly irregular.” She laughed, “Well, that’s why I like it. People aren’t really ‘regular’, and, in my experience, not everyone learns the same way. It’s important to pay attention to differences.” Professor Desmontes was a very young teacher, perhaps only ten or fifteen years older than Tim at most. Her outfit consisted of an official-looking denim suit with a tie, and a skirt. She was also extremely pretty, with brown hair done up in a tight bun and glasses. It was an extremely meticulous and businesslike appearance, and Tim hadn’t been expecting her to be so easygoing and good-humored like this. But he did think this was a great idea, and told her so. “Thanks. Anyway, Tim, do you major in music?” “No, I must admit I don’t.” “Okay, that’s fine. Is there any instrument you at least want to learn more about, and perhaps try learning how to play?” “I was thinking the piano…” Without a word she took him over to the big piano in the corner. “Can you play it at all? Can you compose music?” “Not really. My dad can play it very well, and I used to watch him. I used to try teaching myself to play by mimicking his hand movements and that worked for a while, but eventually I forgot almost everything.” “What was the first thing you tried to learn?” “’Here Comes the Sun’, by the Beatles.” “Can you remember how to play any of it now?” Tim sat down at the piano. He felt ridiculous, but slowly it came back to him and he managed to play, albeit shakily, the opening chords of “Here Comes the Sun“, before he lapsed into forgetfulness again and stopped. ”Not bad.” Professor Desmontes then told Tim to watch her fingers very carefully, sat down and played the entire song on the piano without blinking. Tim was dumbfounded. “All right,” she said, standing up and tapping the piano. “For next week, I want you to do the reading I’m going to assign to the class tomorrow. Also, I want you to use one of the practice pianos in Buckminster Hall to try and play more of ‘Here Comes the Sun‘. If you can play the whole thing by next week, great. If not, don’t worry. But do try it.” “Um, all right. Thanks, Professor Desmontes.” “Oh, no. Please call me Rita.” (Thursday afternoon) The first thing you noticed on entering Professor Lewis’ classroom was an enormous poster of a reproduced 16th century wood-carving. The title, written at the bottom in medieval text, was “Time revealeth all things”. It showed an angel-like old man with a long beard and wings, representing Time, guiding out of a cave a young naked woman, representing Truth (the Naked Truth, Tim though to himself). They were watched by the demon of Hypocrisy, a vomiting fat child with bat wings. Next to the poster was a large photocopied quote: ”And Nietzsche, with his theory of eternal recurrence. He said that the life we lived we're gonna live over again the exact same way for eternity. Great. That means I'll have to sit through the Ice Capades again.” –Woody Allen, Hannah and Her Sisters Tim hadn’t been sure what to think of these two things the first time he saw them on Monday morning, but now all he could do was look at them and hope that everything that happened in this class would be as interesting. “Now that we’re having our second class, I’d like to assign you to your groups,” said Professor Laughton Lewis. “You’re going to be put in groups of three. In addition to doing all in-class work with your groups, each week I’ll give you a group project that MUST be completed with your groups. You will NOT have enough time to finish it in class and when you are not in class you may NOT finish it alone. So you’ll need to find time each week to work on it together outside of class. To make sure you do this, I’d also like each of you to keep a daily journal.” Several people groaned, and he continued. “I’d like you all to understand that this class is not just some sort of scientific class about E=mc2, or whatever. It is a class dealing with philosophy, human perceptions, human history and even the process of scheduling and self-organization. Now, here are the groups…” Five minutes later, Timothy was sitting at a group table with his two partners: a girl with EXTREMELY long red-brown hair, and a well-built man with what appeared to be blonde hair, who was already sound asleep in his chair. Both Tim and the girl, who introduced herself to him as Mercy Jackson, were unsure what to do about him; Tim had a desperate urge to wake him but couldn’t bring himself to do it. Finally, Mercy reached out with her pencil and poked him in the arm. He woke with a start. “OW!” He looked around. “Which one of you did that?” Both Tim and Mercy put their hands up. The man looked from face to face, confused, and finally gave up. “So, what are we doing?” “Did you listen?” asked Tim. The man paused. Obviously, he hadn’t. “Never mind,” said Mercy. “His notebook says his name is Stephen Douglas.” She held it up so Tim could see. Tim then tried to explain to him the first week’s assignment, as Professor Lewis had explained it: to read The Time Machine by H.G. Wells and write a group paper about how it was influenced by the writer’s beliefs, whether it seemed believable and what are some possible alternative methods of time travel. Before he finished that description, Stephen was already asleep again. Tim and Mercy spent half the remaining class trying to wake him before giving up and continuing on with their work. Tim was so upset he almost tied the man’s shoes together, which seemed like a fitting thing to do to someone who never moved when he was asked to. But then he remembered that he was a mature adult and that it was a virtue to be tolerant… but he left Stephen’s shoes untied and went back to work. (Friday, 12pm) “Oh, yeah,” said Harry. “I have a guy like that in my class. Really lazy. All he does is lie around and look at the ceiling.” “Really?” Tim was incredulous. “Who’s too lazy to participate in acting class?” “I know!” Tim and Harry were in Fitzgerald Hall, having just finished lunch. Now they were just killing time until class. “We need to meet more active people, I’m telling you. Maybe we should go to some late-night parties.” Tim was a little reluctant to go to any of those typical college parties, which he strongly suspected would involve too much dancing which he didn’t know how to do, too many practical jokers, and way too much illicit alcohol. He changed the subject. “Have you met any of our dorm-mates?” “Yeah! There’s this really cool senior who lives on our floor in Hall A! His major is nature photography, and he took time off last year to go into the jungle and take pictures of all the wildlife! I mean, these are, seriously, the best wildlife pictures I have ever seen; you need to see them. He has an entire album of nothing but close-up photos of an army ant colony. There are pictures of the ants getting food, attacking bigger animals, feeding larva, bringing food to the queen, laying eggs... everything. There’s even a picture of these ants killing a tarantula! And the photos are GIANT!” Yikes. Giant carnivorous ants. Tim winced. “Please don’t talk to me about disproportionately large insects, okay? Especially ants. It is one thing I cannot handle right now.” Harry laughed. “Fine, sorry, forgot. Scared of ants. So… you want to meet again here for dinner tonight?” Tim slowly shook his head. “Sorry, but I’m not sure about tonight. I have a lot of work I’d like to get started on (yes, I know it’s Friday!), and between that and my class tonight I think I’ll be staying in. Plus, this meal we just ate was my seventh meal in Fitzgerald Hall for the week, so if I eat here again before tomorrow afternoon it’ll just come out of my own pocket.” “Oh. Okay.” Suddenly Harry remembered something and checked his watch. “Speaking of class, ours starts in five minutes. We’d better get going.” “Right,” said Tim, who was already getting up. “And hey: is it just me, or have you been getting an insane amount of assigned reading homework for only the first week of classes?” “Oh, don’t get me started on that. I’m going to be spending half my free time this week reading! Read a book for this class, read a whole lot of textbook pages for that one. I tell you, I hope we don’t get some kind of huge reading assignment today in Magic Realism class!” They would. (Friday night) Tim sat in the dark and silent practice wing of Buckminster Hall, sitting at the front of the smallest piano he could find (still almost as big as Harry’s car). He stared uncomfortably at the keys, and they seemed to stare back at him. What am I doing?, he asked himself. I don’t know anything about music. He thought about Harry, and what his college year was shaping up to be like, and he thought about the massive amount of work he’d most likely start when he got home tonight. And, slowly, he started to play. It wasn’t easy, but it was easier than he had thought it would be. Obviously, watching Professor Desmontes—Rita—play it was just what he needed. The otherwise-empty hall filled itself with the strains of the piano playing “Here Comes the Sun”: Here comes the sun,/ doo-doo-doo-doo,/ Here comes the sun/ And I say/ It’s all right… It was still shaky—just like all aspects of Tim’s life here at college, like his economic status, his food situation, his homework situation, his—well, etc, etc, etc. But, at least for right now, he was in control. And with that, he was contented. |
| Leo walked across campus towards the dorms. Today was getting tired fast. Leo was never very happy about school. But he liked this school, he just didn't like schools period. This school allowed him to meet people like him. But right now, he just wanted to get to bed. He had been up all night studying these new courses. They were new to him, even though he had been here for a while. He needed the rest. *Sorry so short, I don't have much time on my hands right now. Will make up for it in the future.* |
| (Friday, mid-evening) Dalila stretched gracefully to work out the kinks in her sore muscles. She had just finished her second judo class of the week, and she found that she was enjoying it a lot. They had just begun the randori phase, or freestyle. Dalila discovered that she had a knack for it; after all, she was a natural gymnast. It was easy to learn the moves and incorporate them into her martial arts. She sighed happily and sung her bag around her, realizing that the sun was due to set in about an hour. Remembering the picnic slash park area nearby, she resolved to shower quickly and head back to catch the last rays of the day. Maybe she would bring her sketchpad along. She hadn’t drawn anything all week; she’d been too busy with classes and work. But tonight was her night off, and there was a nice warm breeze ruffling her black hair. A smile crept onto her face as she skipped up the stairs and to her dorm. Twenty minutes later, she was dressing in clean clothes and packing her bag with art materials. She brushed away a damp strand of hair impatiently and set off toward the park, eager to sketch. Dalila arrived without any trouble, and quickly settled down in the middle of the field, glancing at the sun, which had just begun to set. She had a slight view of the sparkling lake, and pulled out her sketchbook with anticipation. Relaxing easily, she let her hand work its magic, skimming over the page smoothly at a steady pace. A landscape emerged, full of flowing lines and her own artistic style. The setting sun, complete with the perfect, grassy field, and a hint of the shimmering lake was drawn with an impeccable grace and quality. Dalila sat there for a good ten minutes after she had finished, admiring her work breathlessly. Sketching was, to her, a way to unleash the inspiration inside of her, and set it in a form understandable to others. “Hey there. Don’t I know you?” a voice called out in the semi-darkness. With a start, Dalila realized that she’d been sitting alone for far too long, and now it was nearly dark. Hurriedly, she grabbed her materials and scrambled to her feet, clutching her bag to her chest and peering out into the shadowy field. A figure stood by the gazebo, and as her eyes focused on him, she realized it was the boy she had bumped into yesterday. Dalila’s face broke out into a huge smile, full of relief. She walked over slowly, intent on remembering his name. Harry, she thought. It seemed right. She looked up quite a bit as she got nearer to him, and discovered that he seemed even taller than she remembered. “I am so glad it’s you!” she gushed, slinging her bag over her shoulder. Harry grinned. “Afraid I was some predator lurking in the dark?” he teased, and Dalila blushed, thankful that it didn’t show in the darkness. “Well, kind of. I was just startled is all,” she answered easily, noting that Harry was shifting as though uncomfortable. She peered at him curiously. “Something wrong?” “Ah…kind of…” he said uneasily, backing away a bit. “You’ve got a spider on your shirt.” Dalila looked down and spotted the tiny thing, clinging to her shirt as though it was afraid of falling off. She flicked it away gently, watching it zoom into the shadows and down into the darkened blades of grass. Looking up again, she realized that Harry was smiling a bit dolefully. “Have a fear of spiders?” she asked sympathetically. He began to nod, then shook his head quickly. She laughed. “How about we forget this happened, if you’re so embarrassed about it?” she offered, laughing again as he answered. “I wasn’t scared! I just don’t like those little buggers!” |
| Mercy sat cross-legged on her bed, reading,The Time Machine,with her music humming rhythemically in the background. The dim light from the lamp strained her eyes, sending sharp pains into her temples. However, she didn't turn on another light, just kept on reading. It's one of those things that keep her quirky and a little unique. Her hair was tied into a bun, another strain to her temples, and she wore lime green reading glasses that gave her a sophisticated edge. Though, she'd never wear them in front of anybody except her roomate, who was probably out jogging on the treadmill or sprinting to the beach. Mercy thought she was a little off her rocker, but she was kind and was alot of fun to talk to. She shifted uncomfortably and tossed her book onto the bedside table that seperated the two beds. Following that, her glasses that tapped nicely on the book. She gave a irritated look at her stereo, resting on her chest of drawers, and stood, making her way to it and pushing the off button fiercly. She pulled a light-blue hoodie over her tanktop and slipped on white capris. She steping into black flip-flops and strode out the door, almost knocking into a guy as he was walking down the hall. He seemed caught up in the college haze. Mercy shook her head and walked down the hallway. Opening the door to the mid-evening sunset, Mercy shieled her eyes against the dimming rays. She was immedialtly drawn to the lake, walking briskly towards the water's gleam. She sat in the same position she was in earlier, breathing in fresh air. "Hey Mercy...what'cha doin'?" Mercy turned halfway, waving at Tim as he walked towards her. "Oh...I'm just...chillin', I guess. What about you?" "I was headed to my next class." She smiled. "The I wouldn't want to keep you. Have fun, eh?" "Yeah. See you around, okay?" "Yeah. Bye." With that, he walked away, leaving Mercy to her thoughts and such. |
| Saved by the bell, Harry thought as his phone rang. He flipped open the little cell, recognizing the number. "Yo, Barny. Yeah, I'm on my way, be there in five." He smiled down at the girl. "Well ..." "Dalila Akil." "Dalila Akil," he parroted with a wink, "that was my boss, I'm supposed to be at work right now. Will I see you around campus?" She laughed. "Are you serious? I'd say that'd be a fairly safe assessment." "I beg your pardon?" "Harry, we share a class together!" She stepped closer, shaking her finger at him. "Today's class, in fact." She stuck her tongue out. "Guess you didn't see me." "Um, no," he replied, taken aback. "But if we do, then I'll see you next week, okay? Got to run!" "Wait!" "What?" She was pointing now at the little car. "You drive that?" "Are you making fun of Bigwig?" "What?" "My car. Vee-dub. Killer bunnies. Watership Down ring a bell?" He sighed. "Nevermind. See ya!" He was pulling into the pizza joint when he realized something: She knew my name! "What are you grinning about?" asked today's cashier, Margi. "Oh, nothing," he answered, grinning. He dropped his empty delivery bag on the stack and grabbed the next from the warmer. "It's going to be a busy night," Barny informed him. "Hurry back this time, right?" "Sure thing, Barny!" Man, nothing, and nothing was going to spoil this night! |
| Name: Karnaya Orna Date of birth: 01-14-89 Lucky number: 21 Hair color: Red-gold Eye color: Violet Physical description: 6' skinny, almost white skin, gracefully built Religious beliefs: None, but is obsessed with mythology Political views: None Occupation: Works in a TaKwondo school as an instructor two-three days a week Living currently: Mian - ALONE Favorite place to be: In a tall tree in the park, writing, reading, or sketching. Personal philosophy: Better yourself to better others Worst fears: Doesn't really have any, except torture. Brightest dreams: Becoming an actress or Vetrinarian (Or BOTH) Favorite and least favorite things: :) Fave: Books, Paper, Pen, Computers, Cats Least: ]P Snakes Majoring in...Doctrate of Veterinary Medicine Classes: Magic Realism in Writing: Plays, Novels, Poetry Tae Kwon Do Animal Anatomy OT(My next addition wil be actual plotishness) |
| Name: Alasia Rebekah Teal Date of birth: October 22, 1988 Lucky number: 13 Hair color: Blond Eye color: Emerald Green Physical description: 5’7” slim athletic, always (or usually) has a smile on her face. Wears jeans/shorts tank top/ T-shirt and flip-flops/ sneakers. Religious beliefs: Non-denominational Christian Political views: Could frankly care less Occupation: Barnes & Noble (YEAH!) Living currently: Mian, 4th floor, C hall, room #2 Favorite place to be: In a secluded area of a park, in the rain, or... a library or bookstore Personal philosophy: Look on the bright side of life, things can always get worse than what it seems. Keep a positive attitude when the going gets tough. Worst fears: Claustrophobia (short time periods are fine, but when things get stuffy), snakes, needles Brightest dreams: To publish an award-winning novel Favorite and least favorite things: Fav. - New books (love the smell), thunderstorms, lazy afternoons, horseback riding, most animals, chicken (to eat) Least Fav. -Unsecured tombstones (‘ouch’ when they fall over and break a leg), extreme gore, lies Majoring in English Lit. Classes: Magic Realism in Writing: Plays, Novels and Poetry, Creative Writing, English I, Advanced Functions Recreational Clubs: Film club Book club Phys Ed Courses: Tennis Archery __________________________________________ (Thursday Evening) With a sigh, Alasia Teal slid her well-worn binder into her messenger bag. After adjusting it comfortably into place on her shoulder, she fished her keys out of her small, brown leather pocketbook and stepped out into the cool night air. The young woman took a moment to peer up at the starry sky before stepping out of the shadow of the Barnes & Noble where she worked as a cashier. She started across the nearly deserted parking lot to her 1970 dark green Dodge Challenger convertible (courtesy of being a well-behaved only child). As a bit of a night owl, she enjoyed these late evening as long as she didn’t have to be anywhere in particular. More often than not, she encountered instants of inspiration at these times. The drive back to campus and her dorm room was also peaceful, thoughts adrift in other plot lines as the country tunes from her mp3 player hummed in the background. Alasia parked, then headed to the top floor of Mian. (Friday Morning) Things started, as she usually preferred them, nice and slow. Her alarm started beeping at 10:30, a gentle reminder that she wasn’t a lazy bum who slept all day. She rolled out of bed wearing her blue/green/black plain pajama pants and a black tank top. Her curly blond locks were pulled back in their customary nighttime ponytail, awaiting the rejuvenation of a hot shower before she styled them however her mood told her to. While munching on a chocolate-chip Pop Tart, she flicked through the newly written pages of what she hoped to be her big novel. Occasionally, she’d pick up a lime green pen and make a correction. When she was through with that, she pulled out her short story to do the same. In a few hours, she’d be heading to her second class of Realism in Writing: Plays, Novels and Poetry. Her assignment for Magical Realism sat in her binder, waiting to be turned in. |
| Name: Noel Marie Bryant Date of birth: December 24th, 1987 Lucky number: 4 Hair color: Pink Lemonade Eye color: Honey Brown Physical description: A pale girl with a splash of freckles over her cheeks and nose, Noel has chin-length, slightly wavy hair that was once brown and has since been bleached and dyed the color of pink lemonade. Her eyes are a warm honey brown, her lips almost always have a smile on them (though that smile may at times be as acerbic as it is sweet) and she tends to dress comfortably in sweaters, t’shirts and loose-flowing skirts of various shades of black and gray with little bits of color here and there thrown in (bright green converses, a glittery violet belt, a multicolored scarf, dangling blue and silver earrings, etc). She is by no means fashionable, but there is a distinct style to her clothing that is all her own. Religious beliefs: Brought up Wiccan, is currently something best described as a militant-evangelist Atheist. She professes to belong to the "Church of Reason". Political views: Libertarian Occupation: Administrative assistant in the religious studies office Living currently: Mian, 1st floor, Hall D, Room #5 Favorite place to be: The coffee shop Personal philosophy: “If you’re not outraged, you’re not paying attention” Worst fears: Water (she nearly drowned once and can’t swim) and bees (she’s allergic) Brightest dreams: She wants to be in the Senate. Favorite things: reason, bee figurines, classical and hard rock music, going out for coffee late at night, arguing with people over anything and everything, roleplaying games, writing, singing, and kickboxing Least favorite things: irrationality, rap and country, routine, television, stupid people, alcohol and drugs Majoring in: Religious Studies Classes: “Magic Realism in Writing: Plays, Novels and Poetry”; “Religious Pluralism in South Asia”; “Religion and Psychology”; “Judo” Clubs: Film, Theatre, and Book |
| The class Music: Parallels and Significance in Nature ended late Friday night. It wasn't until Tim had gotten out of there and had almost come home to his dorm that he realized what had just happened. It was Friday night. His first week of classes, as a college freshman, was over. If he hadn't been so tired, he would have jumped for joy. Tim was so tired he barely had time to go through his nightly routine: wash dishes, put his bag away and get washed up for bed. He had been hoping to get started on some work right then, but he could already tell that was not going to happen. Almost everyone else in the whole college got to sleep in the next morning, but Tim--oh, cruel world!--had to go to work the next morning. Tim worked the weekend shift at Buckminster Hall, the only shift that he could fit into his schedule, and that included early Saturday morning AND late Saturday night. The best thing for him now was to try and get as much sleep as possible before he had to wake up... on a Saturday... at an earlier time than he ever had to get up for class. Student jobs SUCKED. “Actually, it’s not such a bad job,” Tim told Harry the next day. They were sitting on the outside balcony of the L. Westminster Purcell Center snack bar, which was one story up and afforded a great view of the picnic field, except where it was blocked by Konigsberg, the older girls’ dorm. “They gave me the tutorial this morning. My shift lasts about three hours, but I only have to be working as long as there are things that need to be cleaned. Plus, I’m not the guy who has to clean the bathrooms, so that’s good news. Basically, I wait for the guard to come, unlock the place and turn on all the lights, and then I get to work. I cover the concert hall first—the audience seats, the stage, then the backstage and the basement—and then I move onto the rest of the first floor, then I go up to the second floor classrooms and finally the third floor—taking down chairs that were put up for the night, sweeping everywhere, emptying trash cans, etc.” Harry nodded. “Sucks that you have to get up for it so early on a Saturday, though. And tonight you’ve gotta do it all over again. Even my job only makes me work late weekend nights.” Tim shrugged. “If it gets too hectic, I can always quit. I mean,” he added on reflection, “Sure, my parents would be pissed, and sure, I need to be making money to make up my family’s debt to the college… but, anyway, it’s not that much work. I can handle it. Just one thing: since I woke up early today and will be working late tonight, I will most likely sleep through breakfast tomorrow. So, if you want the Tupperware to make a Sunday brunch food run, I brought them with me so I could give them to you now.” Harry nodded eagerly. “Hell yeah! Did you see the menu? They’re serving cinnamon buns, cornbread, oatmeal, pineapple rings, strawberry pancakes…” Tim stopped him. “Fine, fine. Bring me any extra food you don’t want, okay? And I’ll need these back,” he said, as he handed over ten or twelve large plastic containers safely hidden from view in big paper bags. “By the way,” said Harry, as he accepted the bags of Tupperware, “I heard some guys are having a party tomorrow night in Ziller. Want to go check it out?” Tim mused on this. “I should really start thinking about what I want to write for the short story due next week for Magic Realism…” “Tim!” Chuckling, Tim bowed his hand. “Defeated. You win. Fine, then, let’s go check out the party at Ziller’s tomorrow night.” Hopefully it would be nice; if not, well... At least he still had a social life; most people, it seemed, were worried about getting shut indoors for work and study their first year of college. “So, how’s Magic Realism working for you?” The class had turned out to be an in-depth study of how magic realism fits into a good story, and the semester was divided into three parts: one in which they exclusively wrote and looked at short stories, then one of just doing poems, and finally one of looking at plays, and writing part of a big play or lots of short plays. Everyone had to do one final project, which could be either a poem collection, a longer story or a whole play. “I like it a lot, actually. Hey, did you know that Egyptian girl is in my theater club?” “Really? You don’t say. Hey…,” Tim‘s attention was caught for a moment by a flyer someone had just put up, “It seems there’s been a series of late-night robberies of students in the area of some of the dorms and the freeway.” That was where Mian was located. “Oh yeah,” said Harry, reading over Tim’s shoulder. “‘Students were all wandering outside in that area while alone, when each of them encountered an unidentified assailant or assailants who pulled up suddenly in a station wagon, jumped at them and quickly ran off with the student’s bag.” “Yikes. And it’s only the first week of classes.” Harry corrected him, “It was the first week of classes. We’ve entered the full-blown college year, man.” “Yeah, I guess we have,” sighed Tim. “Speaking of which, I need to go. I have to get to the Library and rent out a copy of The Time Machine before they’re all checked out.” |
| Now it was another day, and Leo found himself working in the library. He liked doing this. For two reasons: 1) He liked meeting all of the people that came into the library, and 2) he caught up on some reading. As it was, with his primary class this semester being Time: What Is It?...blah, blah, blah, he was required to read The Time Machine. He had the last copy in his hand. That was when he noticed a guy looking at him kinda grim. "Please tell me that isn't the last copy of that book?" the guy, who Leo recognized as Tim, asked. Leo sighed. "Actually it is, but we get another shipment in tomorrow." Tim just sighed and started to walk out. "But, here," Leo said, tossing him the book, "Just until the shipment comes in." Tim thanked him, and walked out. Well, Leo thought. That was my good deed for the day. |
| (Saturday morning) Dalila hummed as she stepped lightly from the shower. Today was going to be a good day. All she had to do was work for the morning, and then she was free for the rest of the day. She dressed for work quickly, pulling up her still wet hair into a loose bun. Gathering up her things, she made sure to touch the little figure of Khonsu by her bedside before heading off to the snack bar. Dalila was making her way though the dorm halls to exit when she spotted a bright green poster. Curious, she paused to read it. "Party at Ziller, Saturday. Food, drinks, and dancing. Everyone welcome," she read to herself, thinking. She did need to meet some more people; it never hurt to have friends all over the place. She began walking again, still thinking of the party. It was probably going to be crowded, and that thought wasn't inviting. But if everyone was welcome, then there could be some interesting people there... Dalila arrived without incident at the snack bar, and began preparing for opening. It was an easy, almost mindless job, and Dalila definitely didn't need the money, but she enjoyed helping others. Besides, it was yet another way to meet people. She smiled happily to herself as she arranged the fruit appealingly and checked the croissants to make sure they were soft. All good. She looked up as the first customer came to the counter. "Can I help you?" she asked, eying the girl's pink hair in wonder. Such a pretty shade of pink, it looked almost natural on her. Dalila thought she'd seen her before, in Judo class. "What's fresh?" the girl asked, scanning the fruit trays and other appetizers. Dalila didn't hesitate. "We just got some strawberries and kiwis from the kitchens. They cost a little more than the other fruits, but they're worth it." The girl's honey brown eyes glanced at Dalila sharply. "Trying to squeeze the money out of me this early in the morning?" Dalila stared at her in shock. "No...you asked me what was fresh, and I answered. You don't have to buy the fresh stuff if you don't want to. I mean, maybe you're allergic to strawberries or something. Then of course, you wouldn't buy them. I'm not trying to get your money. I don't need it." The girl sighed and rubbed her temples. "You know what, this is way too early to be arguing, as much as I like it. And I'm not allergic to strawberries. Let's," the girl hesitated, "let's start over. I think I know you from somewhere." "Yeah, we're in the same Judo class. My name's Dalila," the Egyptian girl said warily. The other girl nodded. "I'm Noel. Sorry for being snappish. I've got a lot to do, and I don't like taking crap from people whose main concern is money." "Oh, me neither!" Dalila babbled. "Selfish, arrogant people are sooooo annoying. Money isn't everything. I mean, it comes in handy, but when people start killing each other for it..." "Yeah..." Noel said, giving Dalila a strange look. "I've got to run. I'll just take a few strawberries and a roll, please." "Sure thing!" Dalila chirped. After Noel left, Dalila's face clouded over. She'd said something weird again, and she hadn't even had sugar yet. Hopefully she hadn't offended the other girl. All she wanted was to make some friends and have fun at college, without all the drama that had accompanied high school. Noon rolled around, and Dalila gratefully left her shift, smiling and waving at the manager as she left. What now? She spied another poster, this one a crimson red. There was a picture of a purse on it, and she stopped. "Robberies? Here?" she said aloud. Glancing at the poster again, she realized that all the crimes were being committed near Mian. Each victim had been alone. She shivered. The last thing she wanted was to get attacked whilst alone. Not again. She definitely needed to find some friends. |
| {Saturday Afternoon} Mercy sighed an exasperated sigh as she watched the many college kids file into 'Java City', the coffee shop where she worked. They sat at a round table, pulling out notebook computers and typing away, shunning the outside world. She tied her apron around her back and walked over to the crowd, pulling out a small pad and tapping her pen in irritaion on the table. "Can I, help you." She asked, receiving irritable moans in response. The group ordered and Mercy resumed her boring routine, flicking flecks of dust off the counter, waving at the many people who just waved to wave, you know, the usual. ONce her shift was over, Mercy headed back to her room, and began to get ready for the party. She slipped a black tanktop on, skinny jeans, and wedge heels before heading out to the party that was slowly getting started downstairs. She laid her 'Java City' shirt on her bed, knowing she'd have to get to her secind shift right after the party ended. |
| (Saturday Night) What a night from hell! thought Harry grimly. He looked down at the pizza boxes in his hands, and then at the door that had just slammed closed what seemed like two inches from his nose. For a moment he seriously considered taking the hot wings and pelting the guy's front windows. Serious, who wouldn't want hot wings? And they're even paid for! He looked at the recipt again. Yeah, 223 Willow Drive, that's where he was at, but the guy insisted it wasn't him. Harry stuffed the boxes in his bag and reached for his cell. "Barny, it's Harry. No. Yes. Yes. Wait, Barny -- no, of course." He sighed. Barny was not having a good night, either, and he had to open on Sunday. Boy, was Harry glad he wasn't on the opening crew! Why Barny did that to himself Harry didn't know. Who in their right mind would want to close and then open every Saturday night? The man was crazy. "Would you just ...!" Another sigh. "Yeah, sure." He waited a minute while Barny picked up another line. "Hey, Harry, that's Willow Street for that delivery of yours." "Thanks, Tammy, tell Barny I'm on my way, okay? I don't need to listen to him lecturing me all the way across town." "I heard that!" "Bye!" Shaking his head, Harry climbed back into his car and took off again. The night had been one long agony of mistakes, bad directions, and now a bad address. If one more person screamed at him and slammed a door in his face, he was going to pelt them with olives. The only thing keeping him going now was the thought of the party that evening ... and the hope that that violet-eyed Egyptian girl would be there. Dalila. Dalila Akil. It just rolled off the tongue. "Whoops!" He swore. There was 224, and across the street 221. Where was 223? He turned around and cruised the street again. 219, 221, 225 ... Was there something screwy about this or was it just him? Okay ... I see the mailbox, where's the damn house? Oh, please! This was one of those houses that had another in its front yard. Muttering under his breath, Harry turned around again and pulled into the driveway. There were no lights on. Oh, doesn't this just get better and better! Grabbing the boxes, he slid out and walked up to the door. A chorus of girlish screaming answered his knock. An exhausted man in his late thirties opened the door. Behind him, Harry glimpsed some colorful sleeping bags, pre-teen girls hugging pillows, and a glowing tv behind him as the man handed Harry a couple of bills. They screamed again at something on the screen. Two bucks? he thought as the door closed again. I haven't even paid for gas yet tonight. His phone rang as Harry backed his car down the drive. "Yeah, Barny?" He groaned. "No, come on, I don't -- fine. Fine, fine! But you owe me, man." Why was it when you don't want something to happen, like a test, the hours fly by but when you really want to get somewhere, the day never arrives? The next couple of hours dragged for Harry and it was with great relief that he turned his car into a space outside Milan and dragged himself from the interior. He tromped towards the dorm, yawning. He had two pizzas, at least, which would at least make up a little for having to -- "Ow! Augh!" Hands reached in the dark for Harry's pants and he struck out against his unseen attacker. "Hold'im!" hissed someone. "Pizza guys always got cash!" "Gerroff me!" shouted Harry. He kicked, mentally counting three assailants as he got someone, another had him by the arms, and a third hit him with something hard and cold. He folded up, dropping, something warm and wet running into his ear. The sidewalk felt really cold against his cheek and his brain stopped making sense. He remembered thinking, What a night! and then nothing again for a long, long time. |
| Karnaya, ready for the Ziller Party in a tight red tank top and skinny black jeans, stepped out of her dorm, checked that she had everything, and locked the door. Humming a silly tune, she walked down the Mian hall. Her purse was held on a long arm. Her long legs carried her rapidly down the stairs and out the door to the fresh air. She stopped a second to take a deep breath. The cold air hit her nose with a blast. "Damn....forgot my jacket....oh well.." She muttered to herself as the goosebumps appeared on her flesh. She continued her steady pace for a minute or two while rounding Mian before falling flat on her face. What the.... she thought to herself. She usually didn't fall. She looked back to where her feet were draped. She saw a person, cheek to the sidewalk and pockets inside out. A couple pizza boxes lay scattered, the pizzas laying half in, half out. She pushed herself up onto her hands before carefully disentangling her legs from the man's jacket. She gently shook his shoulder. Nothing. "Ok..........I'll need some help here." She dug in her purse for her phone, found it, and dialed someone from Taekwondo. "Hey, Mr. Landgren, could you come help me? I'm at Mian. I just fell over a guy lying on the sidewalk, out cold. You'll come? Ok. Great. See ya!" She waited for a bit, stood and looked for the headlights that would precede Landgren. He came and helped her carry the guy to her room. She used one hand to turn on a light as they passed. "Thank you, sir." She said as she waved good-bye to the kind instructor. She closed the door and turned back to her unexpected charge. She made a mental list of things she needed and set off to get them. She covered the guy with a light blanket and gently checked for serious injuries. |
| Alasia sighed, retreating to the wall, a soft drink in her hand. The party at Ziller was loud with music pounding from strategically placed speakers and she was surrounded by a large crush of people. Some were tucked away in corners, entirely engrossed in each other. Disgusting. Other partygoers were dancing drunkenly, laughing merrily. All around her were fellow students grasping plastic cups and the room was filled with the acrid scent of alcohol. It was almost overpowering. Alasia could hardly believ that she had come here. But she had, to stave off Friday night boredom. Well, her can of Dr. Pepper was running low, so she gently but deftly wound her way through the crowd to the refreshment table for another. The smell of beer was sickening and the young woman only found relief by standing beside an open door, where a breeze filtered in. If she went outside on the patio, she’d be faced with a cloud of smoke from who knows what. Alasia was also mindful of t6he fact that someone had splashed her sandals when they spilled their drink. Yuck. At least her dark green tank top and low-rise jeans hadn’t been speckled with ick, yet. She took another breath of crisp night air, observing the party with a writer’s eye, mentally creating a biography for nearly everyone she saw. There was a medium tall young woman with dark brown hair and... maroon stripes, wearing a black tank top. She was peering around and it looked like she was filing all the sights away too. Then there was a young man with straw-colored hair. She remembered him from her Magical Realism class. Tim was his name, and she thought that she could recall seeing him in the halls of Mian. One more glance around the room with her green-eyed gaze picked out another figure. Alasia recognized her from Mian for sure, not many students had violet eye. She looked like the artistic type and with her unique appearance, it suited her quite well. |
| Noel hadn't been attending JJJU for more than a few hours---hadn't even attended her first class yet---and already she knew that these people were quacks. At other universities, you sometimes saw the feminist groups and the preachers standing opposite one another on the cross-campus malls, having shout downs about women's rights and good Christian morals. Here, things were not so orthodox, and Noel found the change refreshing, but no less dismaying. Instead of long tirades on the shortcomings of men and maddening sermons on the shortcomings of humanity, here you had people standing on the lawn outside the coffee shop screaming back and forth about the failings of the Baconian Project and the need to escape samsara. Why couldn't people just be rational Mumbling to herself in irritation between bites of her sweet roll, she crossed campus to her dorm, wondering if there'd be any people worth her time in her building or if she'd be surrounded by sniveling fools clinging to their illusory gods... or bodhisattvas, crystals and faeries. Still, she couldn't help but be excited. The community college from which she'd transfered simply hadn't cut it. Its Religious Studies department was far more interested in preaching and preparing its students for ministry than teaching socio-cultural anthropology. After one professor had told the class to pray and another had condemned Shaivism as Satanism, Noel had known it was time for her to transfer to a university. JJJU had offered a world-renowned, exciting program, and she had been ecstatic when she'd been accepted. Still, it was going to be difficult; she'd started the semester a week later than everyone else, and knew she'd have to work hard for a week or so to catch up. Her first day of class was tomorrow, and she hadn't even seen her dorm yet since the moving van had arrived and her boxes and stuff had been unloaded into her dorm before she'd arrived two hours before. When she arrived in her room she set her fruit and half-eaten roll on her desk. Everything around her was a mess; she had paid the movers well to transport and unload her stuff, but that apparently didn't mean they were going to put her stuff down in any kind of rational order. Sighing, she set about tugging her things into place, dragging her desk out into the hall briefly to give herself more room to maneuver her bed into the corner. Her books could wait a couple days, but she shoved the bookcase up against the wall and carefully unpacked her nine little bee figurines, before putting on a System Of A Down CD and beginning to hang up her clothing. It was as she was hanging up her skirts that she spotted an older man and a pale skinny girl dragging an unconscious---or dead!---young man down the hall toward the staircase. "What the heck?" she murmured as they went by. Stepping outside her room, she watched them briefly as they proceeded down the hall. Then she dragged her desk into her room, closed and locked her door, and hurried after them to see what the heck was going on. |
| Name: Nik Kirby Date of birth: July 27, 1987 Lucky number: 2 Hair color: Brownish-blonde Eye color: Olive-Brown Physical description: Has a light, sun-kissed tan, with long wavy hair, usually worn down and adorned with beads, or scarves, or headbands and things like that. Her features are more striking or stunning; not nessecarily "cute". She has wide, emotional eyes, a nose with a tiny bump, and high cheekbones that give her amazing bone structure. Her smile is broad and perfect, with lips that are usually splashed with color. She is of average height, maybe 5 feet 7 inches or so. She is a slender girl yet keeps her womanly stature with a hint of curves here and there. Most people would call her style slightly Bohemian Chic. She has a tattoo, a teardrop, on the plam of her left hand. She has a certain elegance and grace that's easy to see but hard to explain. Religious beliefs: Does believe in God, but doesn't attened church every Sunday, and only reads the bible here and there. Political views: Conservative, though sometimes takes the liberal side. Occupation: Helps in the library anytime she has to spare. Living currently: Mian, 4th Floor, Hall D, Room #3 Favorite place to be: In the storage room of the library with all the old books with the worn covers and ancient text. Personal philosophy: You've got a lot of choices. If getting out of bed in the morning is a chore and you're not smiling on a regular basis, try another choice. Worst fears: Any kind of natural disaster. Brightest dreams: To see an act on Broadway. Favorite things: Photography, old books, fresh flowers, scented candles, rainy days, romance movies, clear and starry nights, winter, and violin music. Least Favorite: Spiders, people with no emotions, waiting in line, and the smell of gasoline. Majoring in: Marine Biology. Class: Magic Realism in Writing: Plays, Novels and Poetry. Others: Tennis, Tai Chi. |
| Name: Gabrielle L. Saunders Date of birth: September 21, 1989 Lucky number: 6 Hair color: naturally highlighted sandy blond Eye color: Mostly green but if she gets sad or stressed out they become a grayish blue Physical description: She wears XL but it’s because she has a bigger build than others. She has a wide Cherokee face (inherited by her great grandmother) and wears glasses that actually look good on her but, she’s only 5” 2’. Political views: If it were up to her, she’d tear down the entire Political system and start over. It’s horribly flawed in her opinion and needs drastic attention. Occupation: small used bookstore on third street called 2nd’s on 3rd Living currently: Mian- 4th floor, hall C, room #8 Favorite place to be: In the very last isle of the fiction section in the library. Hardly anyone goes there with their busy schedules. Personal philosophy: Dream of greatness and make it so. Dream of something greater and keep making it better and if you can, inspire others along the way. Worst fears: Being completely alone and unloved. Also, she’s not afraid of the dark, but what could be hiding within it( thanks to her over-active imagination) Brightest dreams: Becoming a world wide known author and illustrator and having her novels turned into movies which put the best of them in the dust. Favorite things: painting, writing, mythology, mastering the skills she posses, collecting unique jewelry pieces, and spending time with friends and family Least favorite things: spiders, un-honesty, and shallowness Majoring in: Fine Arts Other classes: Magic Realism in Writing: Plays, Novels and Poetry, Creative Writing, and archery |
| Thankfully, Tim was not disturbed on Sunday morning and was able to sleep in. He woke up in the late morning, fully refreshed, and noticed on his bedside clock that it was still well before noon. He had been planning to wake up late, miss brunch at Fitzgerald Hall and eat breakfast in his room instead; however, since the brunch meal didn't end until two o'clock, he still had plenty of time to get down there. Harry had been right about the food--and then some. Harry himself wasn’t there, however, and didn't show up for the entire meal, which was weird. Tim recalled how eager he had been to come in and eat, and then carry off some extra food in Tim's Tupperware boxes. Perhaps he already ate and left before I got here, thought Tim, taking out his cell to call Harry. No good; Harry's cell phone had been turned off. The meal was delicious, but Tim left feeling disappointed that he hadn't been able to sneak out with any cinnamon buns or pineapple rings to eat later on. Immediately after leaving Fitzgerald Hall, Tim headed for the library to check out some books. Working at the front desk was Leo Baxter, who sat next to Tim in Time: What Is It?. “Hey,” whispered Tim as he headed for the second-level stairs. “Did I thank you yesterday for letting me check out The Time Machine?” Smiling, Leo looked up from his book; which, as Tim saw, was another copy of The Time Machine. “Don’t mention it.” The upstairs was Tim’s favorite section of the library: it had film-viewing rooms, private study rooms, a graphic novel section and part of the library’s expansive movie collection. Someone had hung up posters for a new student band, apparently called “Demon Genius”. Tim caught sight of two library workers shelving books, one of whom he recognized from his tai chi class. He was about to say hello, but before he could she vanished into an elevator. He turned to the other library worker, who was putting a returned book back on the shelf: The Knights of the Rose. “Um, excuse me?” he said. She turned. “Do you mind if I read that book you’ve got in your hand?” “Oh. Of course. Here you go.” She handed it to him. “Thanks.” He headed towards the back hall, where there was a quiet room for reading, well out of the way of the rest of the library. Not many people knew about it. As Tim passed by, he noticed a locked door he had never seen before. There was one sentence on the door, written in calligraphy so tiny and so delicate that Tim could barely read it: ”Est superius, ergo inferius. Pater est Sol. Mater est Luna.” Huh. He shrugged and moved on. Someday he would have to find out where it led. He could ask a library attendant next time he saw one. As he entered the quiet room, he noticed a bunch of students sitting at a nearby table, arguing. He recognized one of them as a classmate, Alasia Teal, who waved when she saw him. She was holding up a flier for the party Harry had told Tim about, and insisting it had taken place on Friday night. Several others were telling her that it had happened last night. "What? No," Tim stepped in to clarify. "Last night was Saturday night. The party on that flier wasn’t last night or Friday night. It’s TONIGHT—Sunday night. You guys must have gone to the wrong party. There's probably a party on this campus every night, but only a few are actual 'get-together' parties and the rest are just stupid fratboys having keg parties." “Well,” said Alasia. “I went to this party on Friday… and you were there.” "Impossible. On Friday night I came straight home from my last class—which very ended late in the evening—and went to bed." "I'm very sure I saw you there." "Well, it most certainly wasn't me, so it must have been... someone who looked like me." Alasia nodded, but said nothing. Tim, feeling suddenly uncomfortable, excused himself and left. He checked the book out and headed for Mian. Once outside, he tried Harry again. No answer. Despite himself, he was worried. Tim and Harry had known each other ever since middle school. Harry always had his cell phone with him, and always answered it before the end of the second ring. He had only failed to answer his phone once, in ninth grade—he had been knocked off his bike by a van, and was unconscious for three days. Unhappily, Tim shoved the phone into his pocket—and jumped. Sitting in the middle of the sidewalk was a dead cat, mouth and eyes wide open and fangs showing in an angry lifeless glare. Covering the ant’s body were big black ants, swarming in such huge numbers that Tim’s blood ran cold. He headed into the road to walk around the cat—missing a passing car by about a foot—and headed home with redoubled speed. Tim meant to start his homework as soon as he got home, but the first thing he did was to watch a few episodes of his favorite show, The Twilight Zone. The events of the day had left him feeling anxious and a little irritated, and watching the show was helpful, but it didn’t last. Finally, he sat down, made a list of all the work he had and checked off the things he had already finished. After some thought, Tim decided to finish the short story, which he had put off thinking about it for the last few days. He had already decided on a plot, which was adequate, but, he felt, not the best idea he had ever come up with. What Tim really wanted was to write a short story that drew inspiration from all of his interests: mythology, psychology and philosophy. But every time he tried to brainstorm such a story, his mind stalled. Even now, he couldn’t even grasp the basic idea of it. Before settling down to work uninterrupted for—hopefully—a few hours, Tim called Harry’s cell phone once more. He heard it ring, and then nothing. Harry’s phone was still turned off. The time for the party had rolled around, but if he didn’t know where Harry was, Tim didn’t really feel like going. I wonder where Harry is, he thought to himself. I hope he calls me before the end of the night. |
| (Stephen) OT: Boy, you guys write awfully long...Yeh, maybe I should start trying that. (Friday Afternoon) Stephen Thomas headed into his literature class. He wondered what type of freak he would have for this class. Probably some stout geek who analyzes Romeo & Juliet's idea of love since he can't get a date on Friday night. Stephen thought. However, if Stephen's friends ever caught him using the word 'analyze', they would jeer at him until the cows comes home. Apparently, the teacher was a handsome, medium-sized, well-built man who seems to have brains and looks (Stephen knew there would be something weird about him). Stephen's idea of his look may have been wrong, but he could still overanalyze English classics. Therefore, he found it safe to sit away from said teacher. The bell rang and class began. "Hello, class." The teacher began. "My name is Mr. Dorfin." Stephen almost laughed. Almost. "I am gonna be your new literature teacher, and someone please tell me what was grammatically incorrect about what I just said." A girl in the front raised her hand. "Yes?" "You used gonna instead of going to." She replied. Boy, Stephen was gonna hate this class |
| Leo set his new copy of the Time Machine down when it started to get busy in the library. It wasn't unusual. He just didn't like stopping and starting over and over. BUt, hey, it was a job, after all. He made his way through the library to see if anyone needed any assistance. He came upon the room where a good deal of students had met. They seemed to be discussing some sort of party. He noticed Tim out of the corner of his eye. Tim left soon after. He also saw the point of argument. The girl was sure that some party or another had been two days earlier, instead of tonight. That was when Leo remembered the fliers. "I think that the party all of you are discussing was tonight," he said, to the obvious dismay of the girl. What a shame, too. A good-looking girl, and he had to go against her on a topic. "It's just that, working in the library, I get asked about all of the parties that are on the fliers. And the one ya'll are discussing is definitely tonight." The girl, whom Leo recognized as Alasia Teal, seemed to lighten up a little, but only a little. "Well, I was sure I saw TIm there, but he said he didn't go." This wasn't unheard of either. He had heard of some students dabbnling in the Arts, and it kind of uneased him. He didn't let it be known. "Maybe it was just someone who looked like him." |
| (Sunday Afternoon) Dalila rubbed her temples, annoyed. That party last night had been, to say the least, disappointing. All loud music (which, normally, she didn't mind), paired with drunken partygoers and, for lack of a better word, provocative girls. There was definitely no stimulating conversation or even the slightest bit of fun. It was all madness, and the only effect that Dalila had gotten was a migraine. She sighed, and tried to stave off her anger. After all, what had she expected? Really, college students would be just that, and at a party...she'd have better luck meeting someone at the library. Perhaps she'd go there later. Dalila resolved to never, ever go to another party unless she was the one throwing it. Suddenly, Harry popped into her mind. Had he been at the party? She couldn't remember, but she had the sudden feeling that something was wrong. Her head spun, and she clutched her head. Gasping for breath, she reeled forward onto her bed. It felt like all oxygen had left her body, and fireworks were exploding inside her skull. She cried out once, and then the pain was gone. She stood, dazed, and regained her composure. What had that been? |
| (Sunday afternoon and night) Harry didn't want to open his eyes. Either he had a massive hang-over, or someone was trying to drill a new hole in his skull. Either way, he would much prefer to sleep through it, except that he definitely needed to use the bathroom and there was something uncomfortably lumpy under his left hip. Of course, getting up meant convincing his eyes that the sunlight coming in through the window was not going to fry his brain. Sunlight? That seemed odd. Was there a window in his room that let light in at this hour? What time was it? Wasn't there something he was supposed to be doing right now? Stretching out an arm, Harry fumbled for the little alarm clock on his bedside table. His fingers met a wall instead and he paused, almost startled enough to open his eyes, but then he figured he must have just slept backwards. Turning around just seemed like too much work and all this thinking was making the pounding in his head worse. Tentatively, he shifted position, but even that little movement sent stabbing pains into the space behind his eyes. He groaned and turned his questing fingers to exploring his head. This time, his fingers found the soft fabric of gauze and tape along the hairline of his right temple. The whole side of his face felt tender and puffy and, he realized belatedly, smelled funny, not particularly unpleasant, but odd. He stubbornly forced his eyes open, to stare at a completely unfamiliar set of patterned sheets and a poster he definitely didn't remember ever seeing before. He closed his eyes again quickly against the sunlight and resulting nausea and desperately tried to remember what happened last night. Something about wings and olives ... and eyes, violet eyes. What the hell? From the smell of himself he still wore his uniform shirt, so he'd worked last night, that explained the wings. Ugh! He'd better stop thinking about food or he definitely was going to throw up. It was most certainly day, but what day was it? Wasn't there something he was supposed to be doing right now? Hmmm, thinking hurt too much, maybe he should sleep a little more ... No, no, there was something he needed to do. Tim! Tim would know, and if there was anybody who could be counted on to crash at a moment's notice, it'd be Tim, they were best friends, since sixth grade. "Tim?" There was no answer and that wasn't like Tim, unless Tim was also wasted and passed out somewhere, but, no, Tim didn't drink. Wait a minute, I don't drink! Do I? No, he was pretty sure he didn't, not since that one memorable occassion at Sally Jacobsen's party shortly after his mom died. He'd dragged Tim along to that one, too, and a good thing, too, as it'd turned out. There wasn't much he could remember from that night, other than Tim holding him by the shirt as he leaned over a trashcan and horked. Tim had let him crash at his place, so he wouldn't have to face his dad, but he hadn't stopped lecturing Harry for weeks. "Tim?" Still no answer and now Harry dared his stomach to roll over onto his back. He felt almost unbearably stiff and mucky, he really must have been in bad shape to fall asleep in his jeans. He kept his eyes shut tight until the world stopped spinning and then opened them a little at a time. Oh, damn, I have no idea where I am! This was a girl's room. The girl in question lay on the lopsided couch, long, graceful legs sticking out from under her blanket. With a lot of fumbling and silent cursing at weak, unresponsive limbs, Harry got himself to a semi-seated position and blinked fixedly at a door that looked like it led into a bathroom. A bathroom sounded really, really good right now, if the floor would just cooperate and stop moving. Getting to the bathroom without falling felt like a major accomplishment and he just leaned there for a minute before going in. He sat on the bathtub after using the toilet and leaned his head against the cool tile. He hadn't turned on the light and the darkness was soothing. Tim's going to kill me if he ever finds out about this. He managed to find his way to the door, the only thing on his mind getting back home, but there he paused. Where are my keys? Where's my wallet? My phone? "Harry? What are you doing?" The blonde girl was awake and giving him a strange look as he stood by the door. He stared back. He had no idea who she was, except that she looked somewhat familiar. He groped after the lock and she rose from the couch, dressed only in short shorts and a tank-top, and he realized that she was almost as tall as he was. "Harry," she said, taking a step closer. "I'm supposed to be keeping an eye on you." He got the first lock open and reached for the other. He shot another glance at her as she took another step. "I gotta del'vry. I don' sing ...." He continued to stare as she came even closer. "Harry," she continued gently, "you're not thinking clearly, you've got a concussion." "Tim?" he murmured, pulling at the doorknob. "Is your name Tim?" she asked. "I thought it was Harry. Your nametag says Harry." "Nametag?" He stared at her blankly. "Uh, yeah," she replied, tapping the plastic square pinned on his shirt. "Anyways, Tim or Harry or whoever you are, you need to go back to bed." She reached for his arm. He shrugged her off, or tried, but the sudden movement set the room to spinning again and he slumped, still futilely trying to open the door. Then his knees gave out on him and she caught him, she was surprisingly strong. Before he knew what was happening, she was pushing him back down on the bed. His eyes closed of their own volition and he slumped down into the cushions, letting her slide his legs under the blankets. "Tim," he murmured again. He needed to tell him something, but what? And what did it matter, he was so tired! So ... tired .... The next time Harry was aware of being conscious, he felt something tickling his nose. He rubbed his face sleepily and the irritation went away, but was back shortly, along with a high-pitched cheeping? His right eye was almost completely swollen shut so he raised his head a little to look around and found himself nose to nose with one of the biggest rats he'd ever seen! He bolted upright and found that he was sitting, previously lying, on the concrete steps of a stairwell that looked comfortingly familiar. No doubt the rat had been attracted to his strong cologne de pizza. Speaking of the rat, it still stood on two legs on the stair below Harry, wiggling its nose at him. "Go away!" The rat continued to stare at him, making Harry feel quite a bit like today's special at the cafeteria. Tentatively, he touched his nose and face. The right side was most definitely swollen and puffy, but he didn't seem to be missing any skin. The bandage from before remained as well. He scowled at the rat. "You're too late, Rat," he muttered. "I'm awake now." He giggled. "No late-night Harry-munching now." He checked his pockets but was still as without his wallet or keys or phone or anything as he'd been before. And, he suddenly realized, he was barefoot. He stood, using the rail for balance, looking both up and down the stairwell a moment before heading down. After his first step, the rat raced down to the next landing and stopped. Harry held onto the rail as the world spun a bit and decided to ignore the rat. "You're a figment of my imagination," he told it. "There aren't cat-sized rats outside sewers and horror stories." The rat merely wriggled its nose as Harry continued down the steps. When he reached the landing and turned, the rat ran on to the next. That rat so looks like it actually wants me to follow. I must be losing my mind. The behavior continued as Harry made his slow, careful way to the first floor. He hung on to the rail for a minute to catch his breath and at least slow down the world's spinning. The rat cheeped, running back up the stairs from where it had retreated to stare, nose wiggling, at Harry, and then run back down. "What, Lassie, is Timmy stuck in the well?" He watched, bemused, as the rat repeated his behavior, then moved towards the door. "Ow! Why you ... bloody rat!" Harry cursed, kicking. "Ow! Get away!" The rat, back on the edge of the landing, stared back at Harry, nose wiggling. Harry scowled as the rat ran back down the stairs, to stare up at him from the next landing down. "The door to the basement is locked," said Harry. "And I am definitely losing my mind, talking to a rat. Swell." Darting forward, Harry rammed the door opened and slammed it again, leaning against it, relieved, when the rat did not manage to squeeze out with him. Now to find out where the heck he was. He started down the hall, hand against the wall to help him stay upright. His legs shook with effort and he choked back bile, sliding to the floor as darkness lapped at the edge of his crooked vision. "Harry?" Footsteps approached. "Harry!" Fingers grabbed his jaw and he winced, but his eyes would not focus on the face. "Harry, dude, are you stoned or somethin'?" "Ungh!" was all he managed. "C'mon, man, let's get you home." "No!" Harry pulled back, staggering, almost falling. His unknown assistant grabbed at him. "Chill out, Harry, seriously. Yo, Vince!" he hailed another passing occupant. "Give me a hand, will ya?" Harry fought his way free, dropping to the floor and staring eye to eye with Lassie-the-Rat. He practically threw himself back into their arms. "Okay, okay! Go! Let's go already!" |
| Karnaya got up and saw the guy, Harry by his name tag, standing in the bathroom door. "Harry? What are you doing?" She asked, puzzled as to why a guy with a concussion was up and about. 'that must hurt like hell!' she thought, a little smile sliding onto her lips. She watched him open one lock, starting on the other as he mumbled something about a delivery and singing. She went closer, slowly so as not to alarm him. "Harry, you're not thinking clearly, you've got a concussion." He mumbled again. "Is your name Tim? I thought it was Harry. Your name tag says 'Harry'." "Name tag?" He stared at her blankly. "Yeah. Anyways, Tim or Harry or whoever you are, you need to go back to bed." She reached for his arm. He shrugged her off. The world seemed to go slo-mo as he spun and slumped, his hand still on the door. She caught him and carried him awkwardly toward the bed. She stood and watched him for a few minutes. 'He's out cold.' she went into the bathroom to get ready for the day. She was so tired. She had stayed up half of the night last night to take care of the concussion. She had bandaged it and made sure it wasn't still all dirt encrusted. She had been very careful to not wake him. Sleep was the best thing for it probably. She showered quickly with the door locked and put on her Taekwondo uniform. She had a couple classes to teach today. She glanced at the clock radio on her nightstand. 'Five!? Damn it!' She screamed in her head. She wrote a quick note to Harry and flew out the door. "Here, try pointing both of you feet foreward. It'll help your stance alot, sir" She walked around the room, looking at their stances. Satisfied she called out, "Set!" She ignored the sighs of relief, chuckling in her head. She remembered the feeling of legs after disuse and hard exercise. "Line-up!" They did so calling out yes ma'am as they did so. She bowed them out and shook hands with them all. She headed out to her car to drive home. She dragged herself to a chair and flopped into it. She still had that homework to do. Then she remembered the party last night. At Ziller. The one she didn't go to. 'Oh well, There'll be others' She showered again, donning her black PJ's and got out food. After eating, she slipped into her bed and read. She hardly noticed as her eyes closed. Her last thought was that she should find out who that guy was.... (Sorry for sorta copying part of your entry KC, I like to put my charries side to the last post or two to base my post on. ^.^) |
| ((Crud, crud, crudder monkeys. I could've sworn I'd checked the dates before I wrote. :'()) Alasia frowned to herself as she headed into Mian after returning from her evening church service. She'd been hoping that the praise and worship songs would stick in her head and carry her on until she closed her eyes to sleep. But that wasn't to be the case. Instead the day's earlier events tugged on her mind. She remembered the incident in the library and the memory brought a slight red to her cheeks. All those students, arguing with her just because she commented on the party. Then there was Tim, insisting that he hadn't been there. Oh, she believed him, but she was also certain that someone who looked exactly like him at that party. What she didn't get was how, she didn't think he had a twin. Alasia supposed that she had gone to the wrong party. College courses were mixing up her free-time with work and school and she appreciated the fact that guy guy helping in the library... Leo, she thought... had cleared things up before she could embarassed herself even more. Hmm... maybe next time there was a party she'd confirm things with him. A trio of young men seemed to be scuffling by the basement door. However, Alasia was too preoccupied with her own thoughts and the pull of sleep. She covered a yawn with her hand and pushed the 'up' button on the elevator. Hopefully things would be better tomorrow. |
| Something’s rotten in the dorm of Mian, Noel thought as she slunk down the hall after the whispering student and professor, who bore their human burden so casually into the 10 o’clock darkness of the dorm building. The body they carried---and Noel was as positive as she was ever positive of anything that it was indeed a body, for otherwise, she was sure, it would be paramedics who were transporting the young pizza delivery man---flopped limply in the arms of the murderers as they rounded a corner and disappeared from sight. Noel wondered what the young man had done to deserve being killed and disposed of at 10 o’clock at night. Demanded a tip? Brought sausage instead of pepperoni? Was five minutes late? Had they simply wanted his money? Those delivery guys always had money… She waited for a few moments until she was sure they had gotten a little bit more ahead of her, and then she slipped around the corner, clinging to the shadows. But it was pointless to hide. There was nobody there to see her. Instead, as she turned the corner, she heard two doors slam shut almost simultaneously: a dorm room and the exit. Crap! Noel thought. Which one? Well, the answer was logical enough. There was no reason for the two murderers to have brought the body into the dorm room. After all, they needed to get rid of the body, hide the evidence, and a dorm room made no sense for that. However, there was a huge dumpster out back… Crossing her arms over her chest as she pushed out the door into the cold air, she shivered and scanned the night. A single lightpost stood at the back side of Mian, but it was burned out, and shadows seemed to twist against the brick building and huddle between the pavement of the parking lot and the concrete back wall. Sure enough, she heard the slam of the dumpster lid on the far side of the lot, and she froze, knowing if they looked up in her direction, they’d see her standing there at the top of the rickety iron stairs. Not wanting to be seen, she crouched, trying to make herself as small as possible. It hadn’t really occurred to her, until now, that she might actually be in danger. She’d just wanted to know what had happened. She still wanted to know, but she wished she’d dragged someone along with her, or stopped to grab her knife… It was too dark to really see who was out there, but she definitely saw people-sized shadows moving around near the dumpsters. There were two of them, and they were walking toward her. She jumped to her feet, intending to open the door and run back to her room in case they’d seen her. She’d slam and lock the door, find her knife, and call the police. No, call the police, then find her knife. But, it turned out, there was no need. Instead of coming back up the stairs toward her, the two approaching figures froze, as though they’d heard the same thing at the same time. Then, from the opposite side of the lot, back near the dumpster, there was a shout. “You two! You don’t belong here! This area is ours!” There was a fast motion that Noel assumed to be the two killers turning around to face the newcomers. “Nero says otherwise.” That was definitely a female voice. Yet she and her murderous companion were backing away from the others, who had stepped out into the center of the lot. They seemed tall, and darkly dressed, but Noel couldn’t be sure. She thought there might have been three—one man-sized shadow seemed to stand a little in front of two others. It was this one who spoke, and he had the deepest voice Noel’d ever heard. “Until Nero comes and tells us that himself, I suggest you and yours keep to your own side. And girlie” --- the female figure stiffened at that and Noel couldn’t blame her --- “I know what you’ve done tonight. We’ll find it.” The two murders turned and fled, and after a few heartbeats, the other three slowly began walking back in the direction of the dumpsters. But then the man’s deep voice returned. “I see you.” Noel froze, her heart in her throat and her eyes burning sightlessly down toward the darkness behind the dumpster. She couldn’t see him there in the heavy darkness, and couldn’t tell if he were looking at her or even if he were still there, but she was sure, as sure as she ever was of anything, that he had spoken to her. The voice did not return after that. The blood pounded through her, so loud she could hear it, as she rose shakily to her feet and wrenched open the door. Then she ran through the halls of Mian, back to her own floor and her own dorm room, where she locked the door, found her knife, and sat shaking on the floor amidst her unpacked boxes while contemplating whether to call the police. You need evidence, she thought. The cops will most likely just think that it was some guy who had passed out at a party and was being brought back to his dorm. In fact, that’s what I’d think too… but it just doesn’t seem right. I know something terrible happened. I need to see if the body’s in the dumpster. Then I can call, tell the cops what I saw, and let them deal with it all. She really, truly did not want to venture back out of her room. By the time she worked up the courage, it was close to midnight, and she was positively shaking in fear. She threw on a mottled pink jacket over her charcoal gray, knit tunic-style sweater and slipped her feet out of her flip flops and into a pair of black converses. Her capris would have to remain; she didn’t know where she’d packed her pants. She slipped her knife into her back pocket, grabbed a flashlight, and thusly armed, strode with a modicum more confidence out into the hall. It seemed brighter now in the lightless back lot of Mian as midnight approached, but she had her flashlight out and at the ready anyway. Noel could see, quite clearly, the distinct contours of the dumpster as her light shone on it. She could also see that the lot was deserted. Trembling in the cold, she made her way down the shaking, creaking stairs and over to the dumpster. Throwing it open, she cringed against the smell of old spaghetti and kitty litter and peered inside. There was a sudden flurry of motion in the interior of the dumpster as something large and black twisted in the dumpster, hissing and staring up at her with beady rodent eyes as it gnawed on something metallic between its teeth. With a choked scream she jumped back, dropping her flashlight on the ground. The animal or whatever it was lifted itself out of the dumpster with long arms and scampered off into the night. “Oh god oh god oh god,” the atheist girl chanted like a mantra for a couple seconds. “What was that? Oh god.” She was literally a step away from tears. Quivering, she bent to pick up her flashlight, then quickly straightened and pointed it in the direction the animal had gone. Whatever it was, it wasn’t there anymore. Wrapping her arms around herself, she approached the dumpster again. The lid was still wide open, and when she peered inside, there were no black furry monster-creatures. Nor was there any dead body. Instead, there were pounds upon pounds of trash. A glint of something caught her eye, and she remembered the creature chewing on something. Scrunching her nose against the smell, she leaned over into the nearly-full dumpster and reached down. Her hands found the object and she pulled it free. It was a key ring with a dorm key and a car key. And right next to it was a library card belonging to some guy by the name of Harry Fisher. “What the heck?” Noel asked, straightening. But then something else caught her eye, and once again she leaned down and fished through the trash. This time, when she straightened, she came up clutching a silver handheld mirror. “Bet you’re worth some money,” she told it, holding it by the handle and glancing into it to see her reflection. It was finely crafted and looked like an antique. Well, okay. There are no dead bodies in the dumpster. Maybe that guy was just drunk and being brought back to his dorm to sleep it off. Anyway, I should probably bring this card and keys to Fisher’s dorm room. Doubt he meant to throw them away. Let’s see…. This is a Mian key. 1D3. First floor, eh? Must have signed up for the dorms rather early. Feeling a good deal less frightened and a little warmer, she headed back inside and strode to the first floor, Hall D, to knock on Harry Fisher’s door. |
| Nik twisted the blinds in her room shut, letting slits of light from a street lamp rain over her and her newly furnished room. She wound her hair into a long, curly ponytail. She placed a chunky necklace ontop of her beige tanktop and put on a glittery street-sweeping skirt. Walking out into the empty halls of Mian, she chose not to wait on the elevator and slipped through the stairwell door. After 4 floors of stairs, Nik opened the door to Floor One located in Hall D. While stepping out into the seemingly empty hall way, a pink haired freshman collided with the heavy door. "Whoops! Sorry..." Nik got out of there quick. She didn't need to carry any drunken college students back to thier rooms. The walk to the library seemed to move like a snail, and every sound shot new menacing thoughts into Nik's mind, wondering what could be creeping inside every shadow filled corner. The expanse of starry sky above her captivated her intrest and made Nik pause and stare up at the endless anomaly. There was somthing so mystical, so mesmerizing it almost haunted the night air. She fumbled with the door knob of the library, pulling it closed quickly behind her, not wanting the eerieness of the night to seep in with her. The master librarian was closing up shop, and had her bag tucked securely under her arm. "I'll be back later." With simple words, she walked out the front door. The air in the library was a little too intense for Nik and took residence in the place she loves to be--the storage room. She sat on a stool and brushed her fingers over the leather-bound books, picking out one at random and flipping through the old brittle pages. A creak echoed through the main room. She snapped the book shut, dust floating through the air. It was going to be a long night. |
| Gabrielle sat behind the counter on the stool with her head resting in one hand while the other drew in her drawing pad. Seconds on Third was usually slow with only a few regulars. She yawned and stretched then tried to get a kink out of her neck. She'd slept on a water bed since she was born. "These matresses just aren't cutting it." She mumbled to herself. She set down her pencil and looked at the isle's of books. "Maybe..." She hadn't read a book for the heck of it since she'd arrived. She was about to get up and go check out the fiction section when Norma came in with luch. "Chicken breast sub." She teased as she came in. Norma was the owner of the small store and was great to be around. The woman glanced in a mirror and played with her short brown curls that were just a few shades darker than her skin. "So, how was that party?" She asked "Party..." Gabrielle avoided eye contact as she picked up her pencil again and began drawing again. "Oh, yea... well... it was already packed when I got there so..." Gabrielle glanced up and saw the older woman crossing her arms and looking at Gabrielle like she was crazy. "Uh-hu. You want to tell me what really happened, sugar?" She said in a matter-of-fact tone that she hadn't heard in a while. Gabrielle cleared her throat. "I just didn't feel like it, really. I mean, I was tired and had a lot of homework..." "Right." Norma rolled her eyes. "When you asked for a job here, what had you said to me?" "I'm punctual?" Gabrielle asked, more sarcastic than serious. "You said you wanted to get out and start living a little instead of seeing it through the pages of books. How are you gonna do that if you don't start getting out there?" "I know... but it really didn't seem like my thing in the first place. I'm not a crazy party animal and I really don't want to be." "Sweetie, you really need to-" The bell above the door rang as a guy came in with a box of books. "Wife wants me to get rid of some of her collection." He said as he struggled with the box. Gabrielle slid off the stool and went around to help him. It wasn't heavy for her... at least not too much. "Whoa, you're pretty strong young lady." The guy complimented. Gabrielle smiled and quickly set the box down on the counter before the strain showed on her face. She didn't like it when people thought she was weak, even though she was... in more ways than one. "Thanks." She said cheerfully. "I grew up with three brothers and a dad who liked competing. I've learned how to hold my own." She said. The guy nodded but he didn't seem too interested. He left seconds later. She was used to it. Not many people listened to her. In high school she didn't bother talking too much since people tuned her out. Most of them just weren't interested in books and art. It was one of those small sports towns. Norma looked at her. "Why don't you eat your lunch before you put those books away. By that time it'll be time to close up shop." 9:00 pm Gabrielle walked down the dark street quickly. "Don't think about it." She told herself. "This isn't a horror movie and you won't get jumped by a monster or anything so relax." Gabrielle hated it when her imagination went crazy and made her feel like she was being watched. She was close to being back at the dorm so she made herself slow down and look up at the sky. "Wow." She whispered. She always loved the stars, they seemed to put things into perspective for her, no matter what and tonight was a cresent moon; her favorite. Gabrielle cut across the lawn and noticed a snake slithering into the bushed. "Hey little guy, better not stay long or somebody who doesn't like snake's'll find you and step on ya." Gabrielle waved and walked on. She noticed a few people in the hallway and said hello to them as walked by. She took out her key and went up the stairs and through the hall to her room, #8. She passed a woman who, Gabrielle noted, had a great facial features for drawing. She smiled and nodded to her before passing her and unlocking her door. |
| (Whew--at last! Sorry this addition took so long to write! Since nobody seems to want this person, I am adding him as an independent character. That means he doesn't belong to any one person and you're all free to use him as you wish—just try to stay accurate to his original personality!) Name: Elisha Dreyfuss Date of birth: June 2, 1987 Lucky number: 0 Hair color: Black Eye color: Copper Physical description: Always dressed formally, in a dress shirt (generally white) and clean black jeans. Curly, yet well-trimmed hair covered by a black yarmulke, wears narrow gold-framed glasses over his flint-hard eyes. Religious beliefs: Orthodox Jewish, VERY observant Political views: Complicated, as it is heavily influenced by his religion. However, has a very dim view of all extant forms of government. Occupation: No official job, although he is sometimes paid to do tax calculations for relatives Living currently: Morrison, 2nd floor, Hall A, Room #1. Favorite place to be: Synagogues, classrooms, music observatories Personal philosophy: As of yet unknown Worst fears: As of yet unknown Brightest dreams: As of yet unknown Favorite things: Anything mathematical or algebraic, classical music, jazz, religious holidays, good books, family, cleanliness Least favorite things: Distractions/interruptions to his studies, anti-Semitism, people who can't be serious, Mel Gibson, people who complain about how boring math is Majoring in: Linguistics/Numerology/Cryptology Classes: Music: Parallels and Significance in Nature Judaism in the Roman Empire Psychology 101 Literary Dynamics of Opera * * * Thankfully, Harry was found, late on Sunday night—brought right to Tim's door. He had been mugged the night before, and hit in the side of the head, hurt badly. He had spent most of Sunday out cold in a student's room and somehow had managed to find his way out of her apartment that evening. Once he got outside, someone passing by recognized him, and apparently he asked for Tim, so they took him to Tim. Tim had called 9-1-1 immediately and Harry was quickly taken to the hospital, where he was examined and found to have no long-term injuries. Hopefully, he would be out by the weekend. Harry never could remember whose room he had awoken in, or how he had managed to leave there all on his own, but according to the doctor who treated him, it was nothing short of a miracle. Whoever it was who had been taking care of him, they had allowed him to remain unconscious that whole time without calling for an ambulance or even reporting the injury to the college office. It was not only a foolish move, but if the concussion had been worse, Harry could have developed permanent brain damage or amnesia due to a lack of proper medical care. The doctor had told Tim, "Your friend must have the best guardian angel on the planet." Without Harry around on campus to liven things up, the week started to fly by. Suddenly it was Wednesday again. Tim was walking home. He had just met up with Mercy and Stephen, and they had written their first group paper, on The Time Machine. Now it was only the middle of the afternoon—and, miraculously, he was done with all his of homework. That, of course, didn't mean that Tim had no errands to run. He had to go back to his room and find his wallet and library card, then he had to go into town and buy groceries, then he had to go to the library and find a book for his Mythopoeic Thinking class, then he had to start thinking about Yom Kippur, which was on Friday, and if he did all that, then maybe he'd have enough time to watch an episode of The Twilight Zone later that night with dinner. As he entered Mian through the front door, which led him in through Hall A, he noticed someone in the hallway of the adjoining Hall D (Author's note: the four hallways of Mian are arranged in a square shape, so Hall A connects to Hall D). He stopped and looked again: it was Harry's door they were knocking on. Whoever it was, it was clearly Tim's job to update them. "Excuse me?" The person knocking was a girl, pale—freckled and in very distinctive, multicolored clothes. The thing Tim immediately recognized in her, though, was her hair. It was pink. "Yeah?" "Hey," Tim paused. "You're in a class with me, aren't you? Magic Realism and Writing? You're… um… uh… damn it, I can't remember. Sorry." "Noel." "Ah. Right. Noel. I just... I can never remember a name the first time." "It’s really all right. You're… Tim, right?" "Yeah. Listen, um—the guy whose door you're knocking on? Harry Fisher? He's in the hospital. So nobody's in there." "Oh, my God…" Noel trailed off, then paused for a moment to reflect. "Well… this explains the fact that I've been knocking on this door every day since Saturday night and nobody's ever answered. What's wrong with him? Is he okay?" "He's fine now. He got hit on the head in a mugging—which, come to think of it, was on Saturday night. He'll be back by the weekend. But, if you wanted to tell him something, I can give you a number to reach him at the hospital." "No, no, it's all right. I'll—um—I found something he had dropped, and I was going to give it to him, but I’ll—think of something.” She slung her bag over her shoulder and headed towards the door, stopping for a moment to turn and call back, “Thanks!” “Anytime,” Tim replied. When she was gone, he walked on to his room, shaking his head in wonder. Jeez, thought Tim. The doctor was right... Harry has the best guardian angel on the planet! * * * * * As evening set in a few hours later, Tim walked into the library. He was studying recurrent themes in mythological heroes, so he headed upstairs, where most of the nonfiction books were located. It was apparently a very popular night for studying, as several other people were already going through the shelves. Tim recognized all of them. “Hello, all.” “Hi, Tim!” said Alasia. “Hey, there.” said Stephen. “Fancy seeing you here,” said Noel. “Hello!” said Dalila Akil, another girl Tim knew from Time: What Is It?. The last student was searching off by himself, further down the aisle. None of the others knew him, and he was certainly not the kind to introduce himself and start up a conversation. However, as he saw Tim coming he nodded slightly. “Hello, Tim,” said Elisha Dreyfuss. “Jesus. Do you all have books to check out from this section?” “I don’t think any of us are going to be checking anything out,” said Dalila with a hint of frustration. “For some reason, I can’t find any of the books I want, and I don’t think anyone else can either.” Tim sat down at the nearest computer and turned on the search engine. He had expected to find a long list of books; after all, James Joseph Jasper University was famous for its Social Sciences department. As it turned out, there were a few books available—unfortunately, one was lost, two were checked out and one was overdue. Tim sighed and got back up. “Told you,” said Dalila. “You guys need some help?” Everyone turned at the sound of the voice. It was the student who worked in the library, the one who had given him The Knights of the Rose from her book cart on Sunday. “Yeah, we’re all looking for books that don’t seem to be here,” said Dalila. “Do you, by any chance, have a larger selection somewhere else in the library?” The library girl sighed. This obviously was a problem she had encountered many times. How much time did she spend here? Tim couldn’t recall ever seeing her elsewhere on campus. “Yeah, I know about this problem. I’m really sorry. New books come in every day; really the only thing to do is wait. Although... no, I really shouldn’t… oh, what the hell. Come on.” She walked off toward the back of the wing, and, intrigued, everyone followed. They came to the locked door—the one with the Latin inscription on it. She looked both ways before taking out her keys. “Please try not to tell anyone else about this room.” She opened the door, led the surprised group down a dark set of stairs, and ended up in a huge wing of the library Tim had never seen before. The difference was eerie: the overhead lights were so much brighter, the shelves were bigger and the books were more impressive, too: more visually striking, rarer and so many of them that they seemed to line the walls up to the ceiling. “This is the room no students are allowed to be in,” the library girl explained. “It’s where all unsorted and unarchived books go to be filed. There are more books here than all the rest of the library combined. Whatever you want, it’s definitely here.” She was right—and then some. Tim went up to the nearest shelf, keeping an eye open for any title that mentioned heroes or mythology, and the first book he selected at random turned out to be just the one he needed. Tim stared at the book for a minute, then shrugged and dropped it into his backpack. And it wasn’t just him—in another corner of the room Alasia could be heard, exclaiming in surprise as she found an advanced functions textbook on her first try. "Hey," he called to the library girl. "What does that quote on the door mean? I understand the second part is Latin for 'Sun is father, Moon is mother', but what about the first part?” "Yeah, it is kind of confusing, isn’t it? The quote actually isn't originally Latin, so the translation isn't perfect. It's an old mystical proverb—As above, so below'." |
| Dalila stared in awe at the huge expanse of shelves. She wondered how she could possibly find the book she wanted amidst all these unsorted ones. Hesitantly, she walked toward a random shelf, picturing the title in her head: Secrets of the Ancient Egyptians: The Unabridged Version. Dalila had the abridged version, but the book had left much to be desired, and after some research, she'd found that there was an unabridged version. Adjusting her dark-colored, layered tanktops, she stood on tiptoe and grabbed the first book her fingers touched. Grunting slightly with the effort of pulling it out safely, she managed to grab it just enough to pull it out. Settling back down, she flipped the book to view the front, and stared. "Secrets of the Ancient Egyptians: The Unabridged Version," the book proclaimed, "The last known copy!" Dalila's violet eyes kept on staring long after she dropped the book. |
| (Wed night) "Harry." Harry rolled over. Then sat up. "Dad?" The older man looked like a somewhat shorter, plumper version of Harry with less hair and spectacles. He held up a plastic bag. "I brought your birth certificate, social security card, and passport. You talked to the bank?" "Yes. Your credit card was expired, anyway." "Do you need any money? How much was taken?" "Payday's this Friday," Harry replied. "There wasn't much to take. Don't worry about it." "I warned you about debit cards." Harry sighed. They stared at each other in awkward silence. "Thanks," he finally said. Harold senior shrugged. "I'm staying at the Holiday Inn. We can go get your new driver's license tomorrow before I leave." "They're going to let me out?" "In the morning. I finished all the paperwork before I came upstairs. Insurance is all taken care of. You're technically an adult, so they can't keep you if you don't want to stay, anyway." Harry plucked at his thin blanket. "You really didn't have to come all the way out here." Setting the baggie on the bedside table, Harold snorted softly. "From what the nurse told me, going to the bathroom still tires you. That was a pretty nasty blow you took." His eyes went to the still-substantial, dark-purple bruise on the side of Harry's face. "Too bad you didn't come sooner. Could have avoided a scar." "My hair will cover it, anyway," said Harry with a shrug. "That may be." He sat down on the edge of the hospital bed. "Harry, why didn't you call me?" "It was nothing, Dad! I'm fine, really." "You weren't fine!" exclaimed Harold, shaking his finger under his son's nose. "You had a concussion. You could have gone to sleep and not woken up again! Harry," he said, in a softer tone, "I know we don't see eye-to-eye on a lot of things, but I love you and you scared me. When I got that phone call from Tim, I --" "Dad. Dad! There was nothing you could have done. I was mugged." "On campus!" "It's not their fault, either! Sheesh, you always have to have someone to blame! Well, there isn't anyone! And it's not my fault, either!" "You watch your tone, young man." Harry took a deep breath, grinding his teeth and looking away. "The police are working on it, but there's not much they can do without a suspect and I still don't remember much. I don't even remember driving home. The last thing I remember has something to do with a mixed-up order, something about wings and olives. My boss says I worked for another couple hours after that. The next thing I remember is that girl's room, and the doctors aren't even sure if that was real or if it's just my head trying to make sense of things. I could've just been lying in the stairwell all day, though I would've thought someone would've seen me sooner if that was the case. And how would I have gotten inside, anyway?" "And what's all this about a rat?" Harry blushed. "Not sure. I don't even remember saying that stuff. It's all a blur. I remember getting put into the ambulance, and Tim says I asked for gummy worms and a dictionary," he paused to rub his neck, "but I don't remember that at all. That shrink they had me talking to even has me wondering about what I do remember." "Are you on anything?" "What? Drugs? No! Dad! Come on, I wouldn't do that." "Hmm, well, the tox screen at least came back negative." Harry scowled and looked away, crossing his arms over his chest. "Nice to know you trust me," he muttered. "Hallucinations are nothing to joke about, son. You're not still seeing them, are you?" "No." "Well ... good, then. I will see you in the morning. There's a lot to do." "Yeah," grunted Harry. He rolled back over onto his side as his father rose and left the room. Looking over the side of the bed, he scowled at the rat staring up at him from the floor. "This is all your fault, you know." |
| "Well, that's certainly interesting to know. Why didn't we find out sooner?" Karnaya said, keeping her voice markedly even. Apparently the guy she'd helped, Harry, was in the hospital. "Do you know what room he's in?" She asked her companion, a short blonde. "Yeaaa, totally!" Sashira exclaimed. She gave Karnaya the room number then walked off, eyes on all of the guys walking around the quad. Karnaya glanced after her, not interested in even trying to follow. She walked back to her room in Mian. Her purse was still flopped on the bed beside her books. She snatched it up and dug out her keys. She had errands to run. Very important errands. Her first stop was a florists. She ordered a bouquet and had it delivered. Next she went to a card store. She picked up a blank card and filled it out. Next she drove to the hospital. She walked up to Harrry's room. She paused outside the door. She hadn't been in or near a hospital since her mother's extended stay. 'stop it!' she said to herself. 'it won't do you any good!!!' She stepped into the room. According to his closed eyes, Harry was asleep. She looked around the room. Bare white walls, machines of every kind. She walked over next to his bed. The little stand next to it had little decoration. A couple bouquets, no cards, yet. She smiled as she put her card where Harry was sure to see it. She considered just walking out of the room. But she felt she had to stay for a little bit. "Get well soon, Harry." She said. She then bent and placed a light kiss on his cheek. "See ya 'round" she whispered and put her hand on his for a second. His eyes opened and he looked at her for a long moment. He muttered something about it being true. Now she couldn't leave. She had to stay now, right? |
| Alasia gently slid the text under her arm and began to prowl around the rest of the shelves. Her fingertips skimmed over the bindings, barely concealing her delight at being in this expansive library. There were so many different titles here, several of which would be perfect for looking at for ideas. Her blond head spun as she attempted to bend her mind around the potential. Who knows, maybe a publish worthy idea waited in one of these tombs. With that thought in mind, the young woman began to circle the room. Looking at nothing in particular, she found herself drawn time and time again to the shelf containing books about unexplainable apparitions and true ghost hauntings. Puzzled by this, she reached out and a book just seemed to fall into her hand. The title read Do They Exist? Sighting of Angels, Demons, and All Other Supernatural Beings and she flipped it open. She’d barely read the first line when she lifted her blonde head to stare out into space, the beginnings of an idea skirting into her mind. |
| (Friday) Gabrielle woke up and found that her clock had accidentally been unplugged when she’d dropped her old music box behind the nightstand the night before. “Oh crap!” She yelled as she jumped out of bed and jumped into the shower, taking the quickest one she had her whole life- two minutes. After that she used the towel to dry her hair and pulled it back in a messy bun. She threw on some jeans a shirt and a pair of earrings before she grabbed her stuff and ran out the door. She wouldn’t have ran so hard if she’d have remembered that the teacher locks the door for the tardy ones and wont let them in no matter how hard the plead with him. Gabrielle couldn’t believe it. “This is not the type of impression I want to leave on my teachers…” She groaned as she finally gave up, though she noticed through the window a girl with gold-ish red hair and violet eyes staring at her with a sympathetic look. Gabrielle couldn’t help but think she’d look great in a painting as a mermaid or some kind of phoenix queen wearing a dress of fire- she was sitting near the girl with pink hair and the girl with amazingly big eyes and great bone structure. Then she noticed, since she didn’t forget faces (especially when they inspired her to paint something new), that one of the guys wasn’t in the class. He’d had nice dark red curls- perfect for a centaur or one of the little goat people with flutes (another painting idea). She shook her head. “Stop staring and go you goof.” She told herself and turned to leave. As she walked down the hall, wondering what they were talking about in Magic Realism in Writing: Plays, Novels and Poetry, she noticed something slither across the hall floor. Gabrielle stopped and tried to figure out what she’d just seen. Her curiosity got the better of her and she found her pace going into a speed walk just to catch up to what she’d seen. When she rounded a corner she thought she saw the tip of what looked to be the tail of a snake. “What the…?” She realized she was now at the library doors. When she walked in she spotted the snake for sure, slithering behind some computer desks and into the corner of fiction- Gabrielle’s favorite place to go. She rounded one of the shelves but stopped and backed away when she noticed the snake slithering up onto the lower shelf of the farthest wall. Books began to make noise. The snake had gotten stuck. Gabrielle sighed. “What? Was I supposed to save you again?” She mumbled to herself as she walked closer and took out a few books to uncover the snake. When she did, she was surprised by a couple things. The first was that the snake looked like it was smiling at her. The second was that behind the books was a wooden panel-slightly off color from the rest of the shelf. When she pulled at it, it came loose and she found a book and a white crystal attached to a silver chain inside. “What in the world…” Gabrielle took out the book and crystal, inspecting them. She looked down at the snake who was still looking happily at her. “What am I supposed to do with these? And what am I supposed to do with you?” She asked. The snake slide up to her. “That is entirely up to you. I suggest taking them. They’re yours if you want them.” The snake said in a smooth voice.” Gabrielle’s eyes widened and she nearly fell over. She spent three minutes making sure she’d heard the snake just talk. “Well… are you gonna faint or something?” Gabrielle shook her head. “This is so cool…” She said, a little out of it but still pretty excited. She just had an idea to paint the goddess of snakes. She slid the crystal around her neck and tucked it under her shirt . The book she hid in between the others and the snake she tried to hide in her arms as best she could as she put the panel back along with the books and left the library as quickly as possible. |
| “What are you doing with the leftover bread?” asked Elisha. It was Friday night, and the sun was just going down. They were in one of the smaller dining rooms of Fitzgerald Hall, which was reserved for special club events; it was the end of the pre-Yom Kippur meal, organized by the Temple of Solomon, JJJ University’s official Jewish student club. From now until sundown the next day, Tim would not be allowed to eat or drink anything. He looked at the plastic bag in his hands, full of bread from the meal—rolls, bagels and a half a loaf of challah. “I’m taking it home for some other time.” “Why bother? It won’t be as fresh by then, and anyway, there’ll be more of it tomorrow night when we break the Yom Kippur fast. If you really don’t want to waste it, just leave it behind and someone will take it for the college food drive.” “I know, but I need it. I can’t afford to eat all my meals in Fitzgerald Hall, and with all the schoolwork this place gives I don’t have much time to go shopping.” Tim tried to act like it was a perfectly normal and necessary thing to do; he knew Elisha, who came from a much richer family, might not understand. “Oh,” Elisha nodded. “Well, never mind then.” He started to get up. “Well, see you around. I have to get up early tomorrow to go to synagogue.” “I should go too,” Tim grabbed his bread and book bag and got to his feet. “See you around, Elisha. Have a good Yom Kippur.” “Thanks, you too,” called Elisha, from the doorway. “Don’t forget to atone.” Tim followed him out into the night air and watched him walk off towards Morrison. A mathematical genius and a religious Orthodox Jew, Elisha didn’t have very much time for anyone with different interests. Tim had spent the last two weeks trying to become friends with him, but not matter how much time they spent together—whether in music class or the Temple of Solomon club—Elisha still seemed somewhat distant to him. The person Tim really wanted to hang out with that night was Harry. Unfortunately, since Harry had come home from the hospital the day before, he had been busy making up overdue work for his teachers. So Tim was on his own tonight. After dropping the bread off in his room, he headed into the library, thinking maybe he’d rent a movie, or check out a book, but most likely he would just end up doing work. “Hey!” Tim turned his head to see who was calling him. Sitting at the front desk was the ubiquitous library worker girl. Slightly confused, Tim walked over. “Hi,” he said, “what’s up?” “Tim, there’s an item on hold for you.” “Really? I didn’t request anything. You’re sure?” She nodded. Her smile seemed to hide a healthy measure of knowing amusement. “Oh, yeah. You’re definitely supposed to receive this.” “All right,” said Tim, giving in. “What is it?” “Can I see your library card, first?” “What? But you know who I am! You just called me ‘Tim’!” “Procedure, I’m afraid. Anybody who comes in for this thing has to show their library card beforehand.” Tim nodded and dug his card out of his pocket. The girl scanned it and gave it back. “It’s this way.” To his surprise she invited him behind the desk and took him to a door that said Authorized personnel only! She unlocked it and held it open for him. “Say,” asked Tim as he stepped through the doorway. “Did you say this thing was being held for other people, too?” “Yeah. We’re also holding it for three other people—Harry Fisher, Dalila Akil and Noel Marie Bryant.” With that, she closed the door, and Tim was surprised to find himself alone in a dark hallway. He started walking, even though he could barely see in front of him, amazed at how many secret rooms in the library he had been given special access to already. Exactly how many secrets were there here? His thoughts were interrupted when he came to the end of the hall, which was illuminated only by a series of candles. His mouth dropped open. Set across a small, polished wooden table were: -A steel sword—about two-and-a-half feet long, from the tip of the blade to the pommel. There were no fancy decorations and it clearly wasn’t made of any fancy material, but it was straight, sharp and it shone beautifully. -A small bag, made from sackcloth—simple and old, stuffed to bursting with gold dust and packed tightly with intricately cut precious stones, which glowed in the candlelight. -A golden-glass pitcher—lined with tiny stones and pearls, and majestically covered with what looked like a tiny crown. A tiny golden cup was attached to it by a long chain, and the pitcher was clearly full of some kind of liquid. -A long wooden stick—about three feet long. It was covered in intricate carvings: patterns, scenes, individual characters—there wasn’t a blank spot on the entire stick. The very top was carved to resemble flames painted gold, making the stick seem almost like a torch. Not far from the table, on which all of these treasures lay, was an end table—which held, bizarrely, several candles as well as an electric lamp. Tim flicked the lamp on, brightening the room significantly, and found a note: Please take one of the things on the table—it’s yours for now. If you were going to die and you wanted to be found holding only one of these things in your hand, what would it be? Est superius, ergo inferius. Instinct took over. Tim dove for the bag. He came closer to see it better in the dim light. “Jesus.” He picked up a handful of tiny golden flakes and let it seep through his fingers. He had to take this one. If it was only his “for now” as the note said, he probably didn’t have the right to spend all of it—still, even a quarter of the bag would put him and all four of his siblings through college. But before he could take the bag and leave, he went over to the stick, just to pick it up for a minute and admire the carvings. He couldn’t get over how cool it was; clearly the work of a master craftsman. Just holding it seemed to give him energy and invigorate his senses. If only the stick had a practical application, it would be his choice, hands down. Then Tim remembered what the note had said, and he put the stick down. There was only one thing he wanted to have in his hand when he died. He picked up the sword. It wouldn’t pay his way through college, and it wasn’t beautifully crafted, but he felt good having chosen it. He didn’t even have to worry about getting it home without anyone seeing or stopping him. As he soon found out, behind the table was a door which led him out to the back of the library. He stuck the sword under his coat and ran home under the waning moon. |
| Dalila bit her lip. No matter what brush she used or what music she listened to, the image in her head refused to be translated into a watercolor. This rarely happened; usually she was able to create pieces with ease, no matter what the medium. But it seemed as though this piece was meant to stay inside her head. Sighing in irritation and setting down her brush, Dalila decided to visit the library. Egyptian Artifacts: The Illustrated Edition needed to be returned anyway, unless she wanted to pay the late fee. She checked her watch. Nine forty-two. A bit late to be out, especially in the fall, where nights were longer. She remembered the poster advising to stay within well-lit areas at all times and never go alone at night, and she shuddered, simultaneously scolding herself for being afraid. It was a short walk to the library, and there was nothing to be afraid of anyway. Her mind flashed to Harry. She'd heard snippets of what had happened to him, but she hadn't had a chance to talk to him yet. She didn't want to think about it anyway, not when she was preparing to go out herself. Shaking her head and pulling off her smock resulted in a tangled mess of hair and fabric, and she wrestled with herself in self-embarrassment for a moment before it came off. Grabbing her book, she slipped her library card into the back pocket of her jeans and fixed her fallen tanktop strap with some annoyance. Before she walked out, she ran a hand through her hair and hoped her cheeks weren't too red. Being klutzy wasn't fun. Dalila arrived without trouble, and walked up to the front desk where the beaming library girl was waiting. "So, Dalila," the girl said slyly as she scanned the card and took the book, "there's something on hold for you in one of the back rooms. I'll point you to it." "But I didn't reserve anything," Dalila said, confused, but the girl just smiled and led her through a door marked Authorized Personnel Only. Dalila felt chills run down her back. Was this some sort of prank the upperclassmen were pulling? Before she could say anything, the library girl closed the door, leaving Dalila alone in a dark hallway. Willing herself to go forward, she took one step, then two, three, and then walked with a little more confidence as she saw a faint glow up ahead. She quickened her pace, finding herself at a gleaming table topped with items that seemed to glow as she looked at each in turn. There was a cloth bag full of gems, glittering beautifully with their many facets and topped with golden dust. A pitcher that seemed to be made out of a mixture of glass and gold, almost like a frosted cream color that showed her reflection, with inlaid baby pearls and gems. Its lid was a shining crown, and a long chain connected to the handle had a tiny cup dangling from it. Upon further inspection, Dalila realized the pitcher was full of an unknown liquid. Her jaw dropped as she spotted the last item: a polished wooden stick nearly three feet long. Etchings of all sorts covered the surface, some obvious in meaning and others less so, but each intricate and beautiful. The top of the stick was painted to look like flames, and she reached out to stroke it, almost expecting her hand to be burnt. It wasn't however, and she took hold of the stick, holding it reverently. Then, she saw the note, sitting on its own table, surrounded by more candles and, strangely, an electric lamp. It was already on, and somehow she got the sense that she wasn't the first to view these majestic treasures. Please take one of the things on the table—it’s yours for now. If you were going to die and you wanted to be found holding only one of these things in your hand, what would it be? Est superius, ergo inferius. She stood there for a moment, contemplating. She was already holding the stick, and something within it and her had already connected. It felt a part of her, and as she righted it, setting it on the ground and holding it like a staff, it felt absolutely natural. Dalila felt a calmness settle over her, much like the feeling right before she fell asleep at night: that calm energy that settles and reassures, comforts and soothes. She made her choice, not based solely on the feeling it gave her, but because it seemed as though she should have it, as if it were meant for her, and her alone. She looked at it again, admiring the carvings. Whoever had done it had done a beautiful, enchanting job, and she got the sense that these etchings meant to the artist what her art meant to her. Gripping it tight, she headed out the door behind the table with the note on it, feeling resolute and sure of herself. No one would attack her tonight. Walking purposefully back to her room, she wondered what, exactly, the stick's purpose was for. She pondered a bit as she glanced up at the moon, well into the sky. It should have a name, she thought suddenly. It couldn't just be called "stick". It was so much more than that. She stopped for a moment, gazing into the sky, where clouds flitted across the stars and moon, and thought. "Dreamstalker," she said aloud, feeling at once embarrassed and confident. She giggled to herself, quietly. It sounded cliche, yes, but it also sounded...right. She went back to her room, satisfied and wondering what the morning would bring. As she lay in bed, with Dreamstalker placed beside her, she hazily, in that half-awake/half-asleep state which oftentimes prompted new images of art to form in her head, wondered if the name she had given it would have any effect on her dreams. No, she decided. It was all fantasy. Her eyes fluttered shut, and her breathing slowed. When she next opened her eyes, the landscape that greeted her was enough to make her wonder if she was insane. |
| Friday should have been relaxing. Since it was Friday night, his roommates were all out, either working or partying, or both. He had the radio on low, his books spread out on his desk, a handful of food and a soda, and a weekend free where he didn't have to work -- running pizza, that is. He wasn't supposed to drive yet, so his father had given Harry some money to make up for the loss. They'd spent the better part of two days making the rounds of DMV and Social Security Office, etc, bank, etc, etc, plus all the phone calls, to get things straightened out. There was paperwork to fill out for the college, and each of his professors had to be contacted, but, luckily, with the hospital paperwork as back-up, all of them had allowed extra time to complete his assignments, which had included a pop quiz in his psych class. Now his dad was finally gone, Harry had the new razr phone he'd been drooling over for most of a year, and a peaceful night to really get the majority of his work done. But Harry couldn't concentrate. His eyes unwillingly dropped to the cat-sized rat sitting patiently by his chair. "Go away!" he hissed. Lassie only wiggled her nose at him. "Go away!" They locked eyes for a minute before Harry looked away. "God, I am so losing my mind." He tossed a fluffy kernel of popcorn at the figment of his imagination. Lassie snapped it out of the air, gnawing on it happily. It might have been cute if it wasn't so damned irritating! Harry rose. Lassie scampered after him. Harry darted out of the room, slamming the door behind him. Thankfully, the hall was empty. He strode down the hall to the bathroom and sat down on a toilet lid in one of the stalls. A minute later, a whiskered nose popped under the door. "Oh, craaap!" groaned Harry. He drew his feet up. "Just leave me alone! Please. Please ... Please." Closing his eyes, Harry willed his mind to dismiss Lassie. The creature had only shown up intermittently since Harry had checked out of the hospital, and even then, the most he'd seen was a nose or paw, or the whip of a tail out of the corner of his eye. The doctors and Harry's father had all said that his jumpiness was natural and would wear off over time, but they didn't know about the rat. He'd successfully played that off as nothing more than a hallucination from the concussion. Unfortunately, that hallucination had shown up full-time once he found himself alone. "This isn't -- isn't happening to me!" he whined, burying his face in his arms; but he couldn't hold that position for long, his lanky frame started to cramp and Harry gingerly set his feet back on the floor. A second later, he jumped up, pushing past the rat to exit the stall. He examined the healing bruising on his face and the puckered stitches in the mirror, but, upon catching sight of Lassie again, darted off into a run. He made it into the elevator, hitting the button for the top floor. The doors closed without any rat following. Harry gulped in a couple breaths and then hit the emergency stop button. Sinking down onto the floor, he leaned his forehead against his knees. He felt something ... on his foot. Harry looked up. His eyes rounded in horror. "No!" he whispered, shrinking back against the wall, arms going to his head, shaking his head in denial. "No, no no no no no no! Aaa-ugh! How can you be in here? Why don't you leave me alone? Oh, God!" Lassie leaned forward, her weight pressing down onto Harry. He leaped to his feet, pressing buttons crazily, gasping for breath. "Out! Out! I've got to get out of here!" He banged on the doors. "Dammit! Let me out! Open! C'mon!" Squeezing out the moment the doors opened, and scraping some skin off his elbow in the process, Harry raced down the hallway towards the connecting stairwell to the next Hall over. He took the stairs two and three at a time, running up the corridor to bang on Tim's door. His desperate mind didn't stop to question if Tim would even be home, he had to be, he just had to! "Tim!" he called, pounding on the door. "Tim! Tim, let me in! God, Tim, please!" |
| Ok. Karnaya thought. You'd think after being in the hospital for a while you'd rest. Not go pounding on people's doors. She shook her head slowly as she approached Harry. He still hadn't talked to her after the incident. Well, he probably didn't even know she existed so what could you expect. Still, it would be nice. She passed him without a second glance, since she knew his features well after watching him while he was unconscious. Digging through her small red and black bag she got out her room's key. She unlocked the door to the room across from where Harry was knocking with increasing intensity. She walked into her room a little ways and set down her gear. Still in uniform from taekwondo, she went back to the door and leaned against the frame. "I heard something about a party over in..uh...morrison I think. He's not likely to be home." She said, pausing afterwards, hoping he would hear her over the racket he was making. It rivaled a Martial Arts class in it's volume. (sorry it's so little. have a pounding head which doesn't want to think of words right now.) |
| Just as Gabrielle made it to the library doors she froze in place. "What am I doing?" She asked herself and took the book out from in between her text books. The old leather binding practically begged Gabrielle to open its pages. She turned around and looked and the girl working that night in the library then, back down at the book. "I can't take this book. It's not mine." She said and walked over to the librarian. “Excuse me…” She said as she set her books down on the counter. The girl looked up and gave her a smile. “What can I do for you?” She asked cheerfully. Gabrielle felt the snake wriggle in her pocket. “Well, I found this in your fictional section. It isn’t tagged like the rest so I thought you might like to do that.” She said as she handed the old looking book over. “Oh, and this necklace was with it too.” She added as she pulled the chain over her head and set it in the girls open palm. At first Gabrielle couldn’t tell what she was thinking. “Where exactly did you get this?” She asked with a confused look. “The back corner in the fiction section.” Gabrielle replied. She felt the snake lither down her pant leg. Her eyes widened and she looked down. The girl followed her gaze. “Where did it go?” Gabrielle whispered. “Where did what go?” The girl asked. Gabrielle quickly looked back at her. “Oh nothing.” She said and blushed; feeling a bit stupid. “Well, see ya.” She said as she picked up her books and turned to walk away. “Just a second please. Could you tell me your name?” She asked as she went to her computer. “My name? Oh, Gabrielle Saunders. Is everything okay?” She asked. Was she going to get in trouble or something for finding a book with no school markings or something? “Gabrielle Saunders.” The girl repeated and began typing. She picked up a note pad and looked at what was written on it before looking up at Gabrielle. “Hmmm… you aren’t on the list…” “List?” The girl smiled as though she had a secret she was itching to tell. She nodded. “Yes, a holding list. I wonder if you went unnoticed…” But she stopped when an exotic looking student came walking in. When she stopped at the front desk the girl smiled "So, Dalila, there's something on hold for you in one of the back rooms. I'll point you to it." "But I didn't reserve anything," She said but the girl walked out from behind the desk and lead her away. Gabrielle thought to wait for the girl to return but for some reason she found herself following from behind. The girl lead the Dalia chick into a back room and closed the door. When she turned and saw Gabrielle she stopped and smiled and laughed. “You must be a very curious person by nature or something…” Gabrielle reddened. “Sorry… I guess its an off day or something.” She apologized and turned and began walking away. “You wanna know what’s in there?” The girl called out. Gabrielle stopped and slowly turned around. Did she? |
| "Uh... Harry?" No answer. He didn't even hear me, Tim thought to himself. I'm standing less than ten feet away, and he still hasn't noticed me. He must really be freaking out about something. He tried again, louder this time. "HARRY!" That did it. Harry jumped, looked around, and immediately his expression changed from sheer panic to pure relief. "TIM! Oh, thank God, man, thank God!" He took a step forward, and Tim, uneasily, hid the sword behind his back. Best friends or not, he wasn't about to try and explain why he was walking around with a large medieval weapon under his coat. That was one headache he didn't need, thank you very much. "Harry, I thought you were working all night. And are you okay? You look... well, you look like something scared the crap out of you!" Harry shook his head. "No, I'm all right, Tim. It's just... well, I've been doing work for several hours, and, God, my brain hurts! If I spent one more minute cooped up in that room, it would've been... well..." Finding no words that were appropriate, he just sighed. "I just needed a break, and I felt like I had to talk to someone, and... I thought you might be in your room." "Yeah, sorry about that. I was over at the Rosh Hashanah party." "It's fine." Harry paused. There was a serious look on his face now. Not just serious, in fact, but almost scared. "Actually, Tim, I think I really need to talk to you. Do you have some time?" What Tim really wanted to do was get into his room and hide the sword somewhere first. But something about Harry's entreaty made him reconsider. "Sure. But first... can we get out of the hallway?" * * * "So... a rat, huh?" They were outside now, sitting at the gazebo. Nobody else was there; for a Friday night, it was amazing how empty the campus was. Harry nodded. "He only appears when I'm alone, and then he just refuses to go away." Tim thought for a moment. "There's an episode of The Twilight Zone like that, you know." "Really?" Harry knew a little bit about Tim's favorite show, but he was by no means the Twilight Zone expert that Tim was. "Yeah. It's called The Jungle. It's about this guy who's just come back from a business trip to Africa. See, his company is evicting a native tribe in order to build a dam there, so their witch doctor just put a curse on him. And he's back in the city, and he's walking home from work, right? And it's night, and he's alone on the street, and everywhere he goes he hears jungle sounds. Like, lions roaring and elephants and monkeys. He thinks he's going crazy. It's pretty freaky." "Well... is he?" Harry wanted to know. "Is he what?" "Is he going crazy?" Tim thought for a second. "Well, no... not really." "So there's a happy ending, then?" "Uh, no. When he gets home, there's a lion waiting on his bed. It's already eaten his wife, and as he opens the door it pounces on him, and that's the end." "Sounds like a great idea for a Disney movie," grinned Harry. "But seriously, that's it?” “That’s what?” “That’s your whole reaction? You’re not surprised, or weirded out, or anything? I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you’re not on the phone to the loony bin, or anything, but you seem to be taking this very calmly. Do you… do you believe me about the mouse?” Tim had to think for a moment. “Yeah,” he said at last. “I guess I do.” “And you don’t find it even a little… I dunno, strange?!" Tim thought about the two secret rooms in the library that he had discovered over the course of the week—the one with the sword and the one with the magic bookcase. He simply shrugged. "Stranger things have happened, my friend. Speaking of which, the library has an item on hold for you." "You're sure? Hell, it's about time! I ordered that textbook three weeks ago!" I don't think it's a book, Harry, thought Tim. And I'm sure it's nothing you ordered. "Yeah," he said, "you just need to show them your student ID and they'll give it to you." Harry's good mood faded quite suddenly and he smacked his forehead in dejection. "I KNEW I forgot something! My student ID! It was in my wallet on the night I was mugged! I completely forgot to get a new one!" "Oh," Tim went quiet. There weren't many words of support he could offer. The college charged fifteen dollars for a replacement ID, and it took at least a week and a half. "That reminds me... do you know a pink-haired girl? Noel, I think her name is?" "Noel? No. Why?" "Forget it." Tim stood up. "Hey, you want to go to the library anyway? We'll see if we can't talk them into giving you the book anyway." Harry stood up too. "Why not? As long as there aren't any crazy jungle animals following me, I'll go anywhere!" * * * It was almost 10:00 when Tim and Harry got there, and the library would be closing up for the night soon, so there weren’t many people left in the building. The girl behind the desk was still there; she was saying something to Gabrielle Saunders, a girl Tim recognized from Magic Realism and Writing class, but she looked up as Harry came in. “Oh, hey, Harry, we’ve got something for you in the back.” “Told ya,” said Tim. “Great,” said Harry. “The thing is, I was mugged last week, and I don’t have my student ID right now—is that going to be a problem?” The girl at the desk winced. “Ooooh… yes, Harry, I’m afraid that is going to be a problem. I need to see your student ID before I give it you. Sorry. School policy, and all that.” Harry sighed. “So, there’s no way… just this once, even? I REALLY need that textbook. Please?” Gabrielle had moved closer, apparently interested in the discussion. Tim was thinking of asking her why she had absent from class earlier that day, when suddenly a loud THUD! on the roof made everyone jump. “What was that?” asked someone in another part of the room. Tim couldn’t tell for sure. But it sounded like something was moving around up there. Something big… and then silence. “Tim,” Harry whispered hoarsely in his ear. “Tim, the rat’s back.” And it was. This time Tim could see it too. It came scampering towards them across the carpeted floor, almost playfully. Then it stopped and stood up on its hind legs. It cocked its head to the side and stared at them. Then it took a few more steps forward—still on its hind legs. Then, suddenly, with a pitiful squeak, it was gone. Something BIG had dropped onto the floor—something the size of a golden retriever. It had four paws, a long ropy tail, jet black fur, beady eyes and an awful, rotting smell. It was the scariest thing Tim had ever seen. Then it turned and ran out the door, and was gone, the rat still squirming helplessly in its jaws. “Oh my GOD!” yelled Tim. “What the hell was that thing?” “It looked kind of like a raccoon,” said Gabrielle. “That’s not a raccoon! It’s too big to be a raccoon. Plus, raccoons aren’t black.” “Do you think it’s still out there?” “I don’t know. Go check it out.” “I’m not going!” Nobody said anything for a moment. Then the girl at the desk spoke up: “I just can’t believe it. That poor rat… somebody should save it.” Tim suddenly realized that there was something cold and heavy in his hand. But just a minute ago his hands had both been empty. And he had put the sword away in his room before going back outside with Harry! He was sure of it! “Hey, Tim,” said Harry, “have you been holding that sword this whole time?” |
| Harry stared at the sword that had seemed to appear in his best friend's hands like something out of Star Trek, and blinked, but all he could really see was Lassie -- whose only real crime was that of driving him insane (assuming, of course, that he wasn't already insane and this was all some big, cosmic joke) -- dangling from the jaws of something Harry would only let himself think of as a really ugly, deformed dog. "Well, don't just stand there, man!" he blurted, already in motion. "That thing's got Lassie!" Harry darted after the disappearing creatures, hitting the library door with enough force that a small part of his mind wondered how it didn't break. The freak dog was heading away across campus at a steady lope and Harry yelled at it as his sneakers dug into the sidewalk in chase. "Give me back my rat, you stupid mutt!" Not being a particularly adept athlete and still sore and bruised from his mugging, Harry soon came to a huffing and puffing halt, one hand pressed to a stitch in his side. The dog and its captive were quickly lost to sigh amongst the buildings and gathering gloom. Pulling out his new phone, Harry meant to call Tim, but abruptly realized he didn't know his friend's number; Tim had always been on his speed-dial. He swore and kicked a rock. Tim couldn't call him, either, because in all the fuss about the mugging and then the rat, he hadn't actually gotten around to getting Tim's number input in his new phone. Glancing up again towards where the dog had disappeared, Harry resolutely plodded on. Whatever the dog really was, he didn't like the thought of the little rat being crushed in its jaws. He jogged a little when he gathered his breath, looking around intently. Why had Lassie suddenly appeared in the library? "'Least I know I'm not crazy, I suppose," he muttered to himself. |
| Tim followed after Harry, grabbing a mop that was leaned against the door. As the door shut behind him Gabrielle turned and looked at the girl. "What was that thing really?" she asked. When she'd blurted out something about it being a racoon she'd merely hoped she was seeing things but Harry and Tim had seen it too. The girl just grinned innocently up at Gabrielle and shrugged her shoulders. "Dunno." without another word she turned to go back to desk. "What are you doing? Those two are going to need help. They're not going to be able to take care of that thing on their own." she watched in disbelief as the girl looked back up at her. "What do you suggest I do?" "... I don't know..." Gabrielle felt her cheeks redden, she wasn't one for causing waves and she could feel herself itching to retreet back to her room and pretend like none of what she'd seen had happened. Instead she went against her nature. "Do we have anything that can be used as a weapon?" she asked. "This is a library... there's no way. We've just got a mop and broom in the backroom in case there's a spill... well we had a mop... now we just have a broom." she offered as she began organizing the books in front of her. Without another word Gabrielle turned and began running towards the door the 'Authorized Personel Only' door. "Hey where are you going?" the girl called out as she dropped the books and rounded the desk. "The handle of a broom is better than nothing at all." Gabrielle called back as she flung the door open and looked around. A dark hallway? This was no broom closet. Or maybe its just how they made it... she didn't have time to think about it. Harry and Time were about to face something that looked like a thing straight out of one of her nightmares. She looked around for a door and saw a light up ahead. She could hear the girl calling after her. "Hey wait! You can't! ... you're not on the list- I don't think I'm supposed to let you back here!" "I'm sorry but this is an emergency. I'll accept any punishment." she called back as she hoped the punishment wasn't permenent banning from the library. She entered a room seeing two things on a table and a note. Not bothering to read it she looked down at the bag of jewels and dust and a pitcher made of gold and glass. She felt a pull towards the pitcher but ignored it grabbing the bag and ran back out, nearly knocking over the girl as she ran past. "Stop!" the girl squealed helplessly even though she knew she was being ignored. Gabrielle ran in the same direction as Tim and Harry, racing as fast as she could after them. She stopped at an intersection. There were three ways they could have gone. Straight was towards science... right was further into the school... and left was outside. She turned left, hoping her hunch was right and used her arm to push open the heavy doors into the open air of the court yard. "Harry!" Tim called. He was holding the broken end of the mop like a sword while Harry was holding the real thing. Both men hesitated seeing the thing backing up towards a large tree. Gabrielle looked up. If it could jump far the thing would be able to make it up onto the rooftop. "I don't know how to use this damn thing!" he complained as he glanced down at the gleaming metal nervously. Gabrielle ran towards them. "Wait!" she called out just before Harry was going to make a blind swing at the beast. "Gabrielle-" Tim exclaimed. "Get back- you could get hurt." "I think this dogs got rabbies." Harry said through heavy breathing brought on by adrenaline and a sprint. "That's no dog." she said, bursting his bubble. Both men looked at her. "Hey that's the-" Harry began. "I've got an idea." Gabrielle said as she reached into the pouch and scooped up a large jewel. "Like what?" Tim asked in wonder. "I think I can hit it in its teeth and make it drop that rat. Then we can run like hell since its probably going to be angry." she glanced at Harry. "I think you're gonna have to use that thing." she said, looking down at the sword. "What? You serious? That's too dangerous- just wait here. We'll call animal contro or-" "Nope-" Gabrielle said as she took a deep breath and charged forward. If she waited she'd think and know how crazy an idea this was. "You better tell me later why I'm risking my life for a rat!" she called back as she chucked the stone at the beasts exposed fangs. She heard the impact and the roar and saw the rat scurry away. Gabrielle smiled. She did it. Then she froze, her jaw dropping as she saw the thing turn and look at her. "Oh sh-" she spun around running, nearly running past the snake. She stopped so fast her sneakers lost traction on the wet grass and she fell on her hip, scooping it up. "What are you doing here?" she yelled before glancing back. "Gabriell!" Tim and Harry began running towards her with raised weapons. Gabrielle felt her hand go back in the bag and clutch a handful of dust. She threw it into the beasts eyes watching as it fell back and began clawing at its eyes. Without thinking about it she dumped the bags contents and ran towards the creature putting the bag over its large mouth and tugging the strings tightly around it. The action caused her to be ontop the animals back. She held on for dear life as it sent her on a terrifying ride that she imagined felt much like a bull ride. Hurry!" she begged as she struggled to keep her grip. She hoped Harry would be able to use the sword. If not she may have just done a very stupid thing that could very well cost her her life. |
| “I think this dog’s got rabies,” whispered Harry. “That’s no dog,” Gabrielle noted. He glanced back at her. Damn right, Tim thought to himself, that’s definitely not a dog. He felt sure of that by now. Dogs didn’t scramble up brick walls or launch themselves effortlessly into treetops. Dogs didn’t have long black snake-like tails that slithered along behind them like a shadowy afterthought. Whatever this animal was, it was certainly not a dog. But the other thing Harry had said, about it having rabies… well, Tim could certainly see the logic in that. When that creature snatched up the rat in its jaws and ran off into the night, Harry had been the first to react: “Well, don’t just stand there, man! That thing’s got Lassie! He was gone in the next instant, out the door, across the campus lawn, in hot pursuit. Tim stood where he was for another minute, rooted to the spot, as the shock of the whole thing washed over him. Then something clicked, and he was jolted back into the present, now super-aware, replaying the entire scene in his mind, dividing and dissecting it into key elements. His gaze darted around the large room and finally fell upon a long wood-handled mop leaning against the wall. He scooped up the mop and took off, following Harry into the tree-lined darkness. Bad idea. As soon as he stepped out of the library, the blanket of moonless night had enveloped him, and within seconds he had no idea where he was going or what was in front of him. As a result, he ran straight into Harry, and the two of them were sent sprawling over on the ground. The sword slipped out of Tim’s hand and slid forward noiselessly along the ground, as if over a frozen pond. It came to rest a few feet away from them, its tip glinting in the light of a faraway dorm window, and they heard the animal skittering off in the dark ahead of them. It was Harry who got to his feet first, and he now picked up the sword before running off again. Tim got up, wincing at the fresh bruises, and followed, now armed with only the mop. From there, it had all gone downhill. Eventually they cornered the thing in front of the dumpster behind Konigsberg, but then their troubles had only begun. The thing fought like a hurricane, twisting and scratching and hissing and snarling, and soon Tim was left with only a single jagged half of the mop handle, Harry was left holding the sword in two shaking unsteady hands (insisting he had no idea how to use the “damn thing”) and the creature was backed up against a big tree, looking like it was getting ready to jump all the way up to the roof. That was the situation when Gabrielle appeared. Now, barely one minute later, Gabrielle had already managed to both free the rat and take its place as the creature’s prisoner. The now-empty sack she had been carrying was stretched tightly around the animal’s jaws, forming a sort of makeshift muzzle, and she held onto this for dear life as the infuriated thing bucked and wriggled wildly, trying to throw her off. Tim and Harry looked at each other, uneasily. Tim knew they were both thinking the same thing: We have to get Gabrielle away from that thing before it throws her into a tree or a wall and breaks her neck. Seemingly without any idea of what he was doing, and no longer caring, Harry took a step forward, and swung the sword towards the nearest one of the creature’s legs. At the last second, it saw the blade coming, and nimbly stepped out of the way, but perhaps that was what Harry had been meaning to do from the beginning. The creature had now forgotten about Gabrielle, riding on top of its back, and had stopped thrashing around madly in an attempt to shake her loose. Its eyes were now fixed on Harry, and the sword blade he was keeping trained on its large, shaggy head. His hands still shook as he held the sword, but it was, at least, clear now that he meant business—if called upon to do so, he would have no problem driving the blade straight into the center of the creature’s skull. Tim saw now that Harry’s plan had been to stop the creature from moving around so much. He had succeeded admirably; the thing was now (relatively) safe to approach—and, more importantly, it was now safe for Gabrielle to dismount. Gabrielle must have realized the same thing, because she quickly unlaced the strings—loosening the bag to the point that she could pull it free—and then rolled off the creature’s back, landing safely (albeit rather painfully) on the ground. The creature had hardly noticed this, but remained focused on Harry. In fact, it had begun to inch slowly towards him, and Tim suddenly realized that it was getting ready to pounce on him, sword or no sword. Without thinking, he stepped forward, and smacked the animal hard on its side with the half-stick he was still holding. The creature roared in a voice that sounded totally unlike any other animal’s, and then turned again and pounced—jaws open wide—on Tim. Panicking, Tim held the stick out in front of him, and the animal’s jaws clamped shut over it. For a moment, Tim and the creature fought over the stick, each trying to pull it away from the other, like a man playing with his grotesque, deformed dog. Both were oblivious to everything else, and in the case of the animal, that proved to be a mistake—Harry took advantage of its distraction to hit it with the sword once again, and this time he didn’t miss. The animal released the stick and cried out again as the tip of Harry’s blade sank into its backside. It looked for a minute like it was going to attack Harry again, then it glanced over at the little green snake that had suddenly appeared at Gabrielle’s side, perhaps wondering if that would be easier prey. Then, all at once, it changed its mind one last time and sprang over the wall—and was gone. * * * * * For a moment, there was no sound except for the three students, as they caught their breath and tried to wrap their minds around the sheer enormity of the last twenty minutes. Then Harry began to laugh. After a minute, Gabrielle joined in, and finally, Tim began to laugh as well. “Well, now, I don’t know who’s crazy!” Harry said at last. “But, man… if that thing wasn’t a dog, what the hell was it?” “I do not know,” said Tim. “And honestly, I don’t think anybody knows. Maybe it’s an undiscovered species.” “Maybe,” said Harry. “Actually, it looked kind of like something I once saw in one of my nightmares.” “That’s exactly what I thought,” said Gabrielle, and laughed once more because she didn’t know what else to do. There was a long silence after that. They were all exhausted now, and covered in scrapes and bruises, and slowly, quietly, they began to pick themselves up. Tim picked up the other half of the mop and sighed. “This thing is probably going to come out of my salary.” “Hey, I’ll put up half the cost,” Harry volunteered. “Why did you bring it, anyway?” The answer came out of Tim’s mouth automatically. “I guess I meant to give it you. I mean, that… thing… was pretty big, and with all those sharp teeth and claws, I figured it had to be dangerous. And I had the sword, but you didn’t have anything. So, I thought that if we ended up having to fight that thing to get your rat back, well…” “So you brought the mop for me to use as a weapon?” Tim shrugged. “It seemed like the smart thing to do.” “But it ended up being your weapon after I picked up the sword,” Harry observed, chuckling a little at the irony of the situation. “Well, either way, it’s a good thing I did bring it,” said Tim. “Gabrielle, by the way, I’ve got to hand it to you: that was pretty clever, what you did with that stuff in the bag.” “Yeah, thanks for saving Lassie,” said Harry. “Where the hell did you get that thing, by the way?” Gabrielle didn’t respond. She just held up the bag, mouth open wide with shock. It was filled to the brim with the gems and the golden dust again, as if nothing had ever happened. She had gotten down on her hands and knees, intending to scour the ground for every last gem and every grain of golden dust that had fallen out, and had instead ended up watching as the sack simply refilled itself. Tim and Harry stared at the full bag in her hands. Finally, Tim spoke. “I think we need to go back to the library and talk to that girl again.” * * * * * The library had closed down for the night by the time they got back, but the girl was waiting outside for them. Tim and Gabrielle walked up to her with guilty looks on their faces, but she greeted them as cheerily as ever. “Oh, you saved the rat!” She enthused. “I knew you could do it! You guys are wonderful! Thank you so much!” Tim was about to ask her how she knew already that the rat had been saved, but Gabrielle was quicker. She stepped forward, a little awkwardly, and handed over the bag of gold dust. “Here you go. I’m really sorry about this. I just thought it would come in handy against that thing. I’ll accept any punishment—” The girl just smiled even wider. “Oh, don’t worry about it. I should be the one to apologize, over-reacting like that! Listen, nobody’s going to be keeping any of those items permanently, anyway, and as long as they’re in the hands of people who can really use them, nothing else matters.” Gabrielle was puzzled. “So, do you want it back, now, or—?” The girl just shrugged mysteriously. “You can keep it if you want.” Then she turned to Tim. “Listen, you don’t have to worry about breaking that mop. Nobody will ever find out about it, okay? I’ll just say it got lost or something, and the school will pay for a new one.” “Thanks,” Tim managed to say, in his utter surprise. “Oh, you don’t need to thank me,” she said. “After all, I‘m here to help you.” “All right, then,” said Tim, and then something else came to him—a question he had wanted to ask for some time now. “That reminds me: I’ve seen you working in the library a lot, but I’ve never seen you anywhere else on campus, and you know my name, but I don’t know we’ve actually ever been introduced. What is your name?” She responded, simply and elegantly: “I’m Sophia.” Tim just nodded, as if that made the most sense out of anything he had heard all day. |
| Tim would have liked to stick around for a little longer—perhaps even ask Sophia what the heck was going on with that secret room and its four objects—but then he realized Harry was tapping him, gently but insistently, on the shoulder. “Hey, Tim, don’t you have a class right now?” Tim gasped. “Oh my God, that’s right! My music class!” He pulled out his watch. “Shoot, it’s about to start! I’ve gotta run!” “What?” Gabriella laughed incredulously. “Who’s got classes at ten o’clock at night?” “I do,” Tim replied, bitterly. “Listen, thanks for all your help with that… thing. Harry, can we talk tomorrow? Maybe at brunch?” Harry nodded. “Good, and as for you—” Here, he pointed directly to Sophia. “—You and I also need to talk, later. Seriously.” Sophia flashed that knowing smile again. “You know where to find me.” Tim nodded, then took off running at breakneck speed. Dammit, God, why did this class just have to meet on the other side of the campus? Was there a reason for it, really? To save a few precious seconds, he decided to cut across the big picnic lawn, which took him past the lake. The lakefront was predictably empty. A duck cried out over the water, followed by a distant, echoing splash. He burst through the classroom doors a minute later, gasping and aching. Everyone was staring at him, and he was relieved to see that they were all just sitting down. So at least he hadn’t missed anything. “Oh my goodness,” said Professor Desmontes. “Tim, what happened to you?” Suddenly Tim remembered that he’d just come from a chase and a fight with some kind of… nightmare creature. He was covered with bruises and bloody scrapes, his coat was ripped in several places and his hair was wildly messed up. No wonder everyone was staring at him. “Uh, I… fell down on the way over here.” He paused, examined himself, then added, “…More than once.” A hearty wave of titters rose up from the table. Only Elisha and Professor Desmontes didn’t laugh. The professor, particularly, looked concerned. Tim was just glad he hadn’t brought the sword in here with him; that would’ve just been— The sword! Tim had completely forgotten about it! He’d meant to ask Harry for it back! Damn! Damn, damn, damn! …Well, there was no going back for it now. He barely registered the voice of Professor Desmontes, advising him that, next time, he didn’t have to run; they’d all rather he came in a few minutes late than see him get hurt on the way over. He took his seat next to Elisha, still thinking about the sword. He hadn’t even gotten to keep it for an hour… (Saturday morning) Tim and Harry met up in Fitzgerald hall at around eleven. By that time, the Saturday brunch meal was already in full swing. Specials on the menu included donuts (of the frosted, chocolate and powdered varieties), ham, grits, blueberry pancakes and quiche. Harry had a big, full plate out in front of him. A near-week of hospital food had made him ravenous. And as he ate, he talked, almost non-stop. For whatever reason, Harry was feeling incredibly focused. In fact, after everybody had gone home last night, he’d sat down and finished all of his overdue work before turning in—everything but the creative writing assignment, that is. Still, he'd finished a five-page analytical paper, three one-page summaries, two worksheets and two readings all in one night. Not only that, he’d been thinking hard about the events of last night, and had come to some very sensible conclusions. He believed that the dog-thing might have actually been someone’s exotic pet, or an escaped laboratory animal. He was in favor of notifying Animal Control, the police and campus security—in that order. As for Lassie—well, now that he knew the little critter was real, he didn’t really feel so bothered by its hanging around. He’d seen it last night, hanging around his room, but it hadn’t bothered him all night; maybe it was grateful that he’d saved its life? Either way, it had finally given him some space, and besides, he was starting to become a little fond of the little guy. He was interested in keeping it around for awhile and seeing what happened; maybe Lassie had actually imprinted on him or something. Who knew? Maybe rats really were smarter than we gave them credit for, just like in Ratatouille. Maybe this could lead to a whole new scientific study in the field of animal cognition. The sky was the limit… Harry went on talking, deliberating, playing devil’s advocate, and all the while the tip of the sword was sticking up out of his open backpack. Tim couldn’t stop staring at it. He’d already told himself he wasn’t going to ask for it back—Harry certainly had a right to it; the four objects in the room had been reserved for him as well. Even so… “Tim?” Tim turned his eyes back to Harry, who was looking at him expectantly. “Sorry, what?” “You haven’t been listening to a single thing I’ve said, have you?” “What? No, of course. You were talking about animal intelligence and… Ratatouille.” “…That was ten minutes ago. Come on, Tim. I thought I was the one who’d taken a blow to the head. Are you all right?” “I’m fine,” Tim tried to reassure him. “I had to get up early this morning to go to work, remember? I’m just a little… out of it.” A major understatement. Tim hadn’t been thinking clearly since the fight to save Lassie. He hadn’t listened to a single word last night in music class, either, but this morning, it was worse—now, on top of everything else, he was tired and famished. Harry frowned. “You look like you’re going to faint, dude. Maybe you should eat something.” Tim shook his head emphatically. “I can’t. It’s still Yom Kippur, remember? I have to fast until sundown.” He managed a weak smile. “Believe me, I’m going to stuff myself tonight at the Temple of Solomon club meeting, when we officially break the fast. You should come, too—at least by then, I’ll be better able to listen.” “They won’t let me in, will they? I’m not Jewish…” “That doesn’t matter. Anyone can come. I’m sure there’ll be a bunch of non-Jewish people there—free food, after all.” Harry couldn’t argue with that. He’d brought Tim’s Tupperware back, so once he’d finished with his meal, they proceeded to fill the containers with leftover goodies to smuggle back to their rooms for later on. Once they’d gotten outside, Tim noticed a security guard hanging fliers on the wall. He went for a closer look at one of them—and froze. He almost dropped the Tupperware boxes. “Harry?” Harry stopped and looked back. “What’s up?” Tim showed him the flier. Mercy Jackson, Tim’s group-mate from the class Time: What Is It?, was dead. She’d been found early this morning, floating face-down in the big lake on campus. |
| Name: Jordan Vexler (goes by Vex) Date of birth: 7/9/1993 Lucky number: 18 Hair color: black with blue tips Eye color: silver Physical description: He is 6'4 240lbs (all muscle). He has shaggy hair, and he typically wears tank top and jeans. Religious beliefs: Agnostic Political views: typically, he votes conservative, but he feels at this present time, they're all the same... Occupation: Personal trainer Living currently: Mian Dorm, 3rd floor, Hall A Favorite place to be: any gym (currently it is the Waite gym) Personal philosophy: Life is short; get as many girls as possible Worst fears: Ugly girls, old people, clowns Brightest dreams: Became Mr. Universe... or own a gym Favorite and least favorite things: Sex, girls, working out, sports, picking on people... dislikes nerds, kids, old people Majoring: Physical Education. First class: Time: What Is It? A Study in Myth, Tradition and Logic Other class: Judo |
| Name: Midarine "Midnight" D.O.B: 5/20/1990 Lucky #: 13 Hair: Purple with dark blue streaks Eyes: Light blue Physical Description: Tallish, light skinned, athletic Religion: Greek/Egyptian Pagan (literal, not witches) Political views: none Occupation: Volunteer at the local vetinary clinic Living: Campbell Dorms Favorite place: Under the trees near the golf course Personal Philosophy: "All days end in darkness. But all days begin in light." Worst fears: Dieing alone Brightest Dreams: Finding his Prince charming Likes: Wolves, guys, writing, nature Dislikes: Haters, spiders, too much solitude, destruction Major: Cryptozoology First class: Music: Parallels and Significance in Nature Other courses: Archery, Crypto Studies Clubs: LGBT |
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
