Exercise 4

My body trembles and I wonder when the doctor will come.  I need to remain calm and not panic.  Do not panic. Pain can be fought. Fight it!  I turn my head just enough to see the tv monitor.   In the blackness I see her, knees drawn up towards her chest and arms hugging her stomach.  She looks so pitiful. Good.  Maybe the doctor will believe that she’s in pain. Where is her mother? Her father? Could work possibly be more important than the health of their daughter?  No, they’ll come.  They are on their way.  Her father is probably honking his horn at slow drivers.  Her mother tapping her nails on the steering wheel while staring at the red light.  They are coming.  She needs to remain calm.  My eyes clench and hot tears stream over the bridge of my nose and fall onto the pillow.

A nurse enters and instructs me to undress.  She tells me to put on a hospital gown.  She asks me if I need assistance.  I don’t move.  The nurse lifts me into a sitting position and moves to grab the bottom of my shirt.

“I got it,” I snap at her and push her hand away.  The nurse exits abruptly, pulling the curtain behind her. 

What nerve.  A girl may be in pain but the nurse doesn’t need to see her naked. She deserves some privacy.  The curtains sure seem thin. I look around to see if the curtains have gaps.  She cannot stand the thought of some stranger seeing her undress.  She decides she hates hospitals.  I begin to pull my shirt up over my head and pause when pain seers through my insides.  She’ll need to move quickly, through the pain.   I yank the cotton up.  The collar catches on my nose for a second before the t-shirt goes flying.  It lands on the floor next to the bed.  One of her favorite shirts is forever ruined by whatever germs and filth is on the floor. No amount of washing will satisfy her.  Too many diseased people must have been here in the last week, month, year . . . Oh!

I reach for the hospital gown and pull it up in front of my chest.  I reach behind my back and feel for the clasp.  I pause.  They can’t expect her to take off her underwear.  I unfold the gown and look for the arm holes.  She remembers that hospital gowns are open in the back.  She’s disgusted.  I put my arms through the holes and follow the edge with my fingers finding the string.  I attempt to bring the strings together and pain stops me. Where did that nurse go?  Would the nurse even be willing to assist her after she had been so cold and abrupt? 

I hear feet shuffling and voices growing, “vitals seems okay. She’s in here.”  She hopes it is her mother, come to help her undress.  The curtain opens.  The nurse steps aside as my father comes into view.  She is mortified. Can it get any worse?

Righteous

I climbed out of the Ford Taurus Jenny’s mom loaned us for the night and looked around. Jenny came around and took my hand to lead me. We hiked up the slanted lawn in our skirts and high heels. The yard of the two story house had sculpted hedges and rows of tulips and lilies. This seemed the type of house for the rich people Jenny associated with. I trusted that she knew what we were getting into.

We wandered through several rooms looking for someone Jenny knew. We were a spectacle on parade. We pushed through the crowds. Floating heads above red plastic cups stared at us wherever we went, some smiled, most brooded. A strong smell of yeast and sweat filled the air. Music blared throughout the house and bodies swayed to it. Colored and dim light bulbs lit the many rooms. I was lost in a sea of strange sights and sounds. Jenny led me into the backyard and over to a couple of boys seated on two lounge chairs in front of a large pool that changed color.

“Jenny! Great to see you baby,” a boy with a blue polo and dark denim jeans said when he saw us. Jenny let go of my hand and went to him. He drew her up on his lap and kissed her. She giggled and then turned to look at me.

“This is Samantha.” Pairs of eyes looked at me. I wrung my hands in front of my stomach.

“Hi,” I mustered.

“This is Jeff and I’m Derek. We were just about to head into the pool house and watch a movie. Can I get you two a drink?” Everybody stood up.

“That would be great, do you have any soda,” Jenny looked over at me.

“Yes. We have coke, sprite, and we might have some ginger ale left.”

“I’ll take a coke,” Jenny said.

“A sprite, please,” I said.

“Coming right up. Why don’t you guys head to the pool house and get the movie started,” Derek said.

We followed Jeff to the pool house. Jenny and I sat on a large leather couch and in front of a large screen. Jeff turned on the projector and then came and sat by me on the couch. I shifted closer to Jenny.

“So Samantha, can I call you Sammy,” Jeff said.
I nodded.

“Do you go to Brighton High, too?”

Jenny jumped in, “Yeah, she goes to school with me.” I didn’t go to Brighton, I went to Hillside. I looked at Jenny and she winked at me.

“I go to Lakeside out in Park City. I’m just visiting my uncle, Derek,” he said.

“Wait. What,” Jenny said, “Derek’s your uncle?”

“Yes,” Derek came into the room. “Believe it or not, Jeff is my nephew.”

“How is that?” I asked.

“Well, my sister is 17 years older than me and Jeff was born just a month after me.”

“Wow, your mom was young when she had you,” I said.

“Yep. That’s what they tell me,” Jeff said.

Derek handed me a cold red cup. I smelled it to make sure it didn’t smell like alcohol. Jenny took her coke and started drinking it. I took a sip. It tasted normal. Derek sat with Jenny and put his arm around her. I looked at Jeff. He watched the previews. His nose was very straight and his chin prominent. I started breathing faster. When he looked over at me I darted to miss his eyes. I looked at the previews and took a sip of sprite. I looked back at him and he smiled at me. I licked my top lip.

“What classes are you taking?” he asked.

“I’m taking Physics, Calculus, English, and P.E.”

“Wow, you must be pretty smart. Do you like all that science and math?”

“Yes. I do.”

“I never did well in math. I prefer art and acting classes to math.”

“What kind of art?”

“I like sketching and video photography.”

“Yeah, Jeff helped on the film we’re watching,” Derek said.

“Really?” Jenny asked.

“Are you any good?” I asked, “at sketching, I mean.”

“Well, I have sold some of my art at a gallery by my house. So I suppose I have some talent.”

I smiled. “That’s neat. What do you draw?”

He shifted towards me. “Oh, anything - trees, buildings, people - I like drawing people. I look for anything beautiful.” He held his hands up and framed my face. “You would make a good subject.”

His eyes looked over my face and then over my body. I gulped and felt blood rush into my face. The movie started. I didn’t recognize the title or the actors in the credits. Five minutes into the movie, a nude body streaked across the screen. I crossed my legs, held my drink with both hands on my thigh. I figured the nudity would be brief.  My thigh muscles burned from squeezing them together and my head started to hurt.

I looked at Jenny. She didn’t seem bothered. She drank her coke and let Derek stroke her hand. The nudity continued but the plot started taking shape. I told myself the plot would probably be good. I closed my eyes when another shot of a nude body came on the screen. I opened my eyes and watched until another nude body came into view. I closed my eyes. I kept them closed longer and longer each time, listening for clues that I could open my eyes again. I closed my eyes for a long time. Sexual sounds came from the movie. I felt woozy. I kept my eyes closed hoping the feeling would pass. I felt someone pull the cup out of my hands and I opened my eyes.

Everything was blurry. Jeff took my cup and set it on a side table. My eyebrows seemed heavy and the room was dark. I turned and looked at Jenny. She kissed Derek and moved closer toward him. He opened his eyes to watch the movie and kissed her. He closed his eyes and kissed her.

Someone took my hand and I pulled back. Jeff stared at me. He shifted on the couch to face me. I blinked a few times and the blurred room came into focus. He reached for my hand again. It thrilled me. He stroked my hand. He reached over with his other hand and touched my hair. Something inside my head whispered no, but I didn’t move. I wanted the feelings to build. His hand moved onto my cheek and down my neck. Flames ran through my blood, my back ached in response. He stroked my hair and the voice in my head stopped.

I looked at the movie and watched a bullet stream across the black. It was silver and gleamed. It closed in on a naked person whose heart layout in front of their chest. The heart resisted the bullet, then broke with the force and vacuumed the bullet in. The heart stopped. The heart stopped and the camera panned up and revealed a neck, a mouth, a nose, and eyes. Instead of the actor’s face I saw mine. She gasped for air. I watched her hands reach up and hold the heart. I saw blood trickle down the fingers. They slipped on the tissue. I saw her reach out with pleading eyes. Despair crept over her face.

I jumped up off the couch.

“Sammy. Are you okay? Sit back down. Have another sip of this,” Jeff said concerned and held out my sprite.

I felt revived on my feet. Energy flowed down my arms. Echoes of my creed choose the right! pounded in my head. I looked over and saw Jenny, motionless. Derek kissed her. My chest burned.

“Jenny,” I pulled on her arm. Everything told me to get out. “Jenny, let’s go. I don’t feel well and we need to go.”

“Don’t go. Here, sit back down,” Jeff said.

Jenny hung on Derek’s lips and pulled away each time I tugged on her arm. Derek drew her back. The voice in my head told me to get myself and Jenny out of there.

“Get off of her,” I yelled at Derek. Derek stopped. His blood shot eyes looked at me in surprise. I yanked Jenny’s arm and pulled her to her feet. She shook and she stumbled. I put her arm over my shoulder. She tripped over my feet. I guided her out.

“Wait. Where are you going,” Derek called to us from the couch. I quickened our pace across the pool deck. Music came from the house. I glanced back to see Derek stumble out of the pool house with a beer bottle in his hand. I headed towards a gate at the edge of the yard. We made our way down the side yard and to the car. My shoulder hurt under the weight of lifting Jenny. I leaned her against the car and tore through her purse for the keys. I pulled them up just in time to catch Jennifer before she fell. She laughed.

“We need to get out of here.”

“Shut up,” she said, “we’re having fun.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying. Those guys drugged you and they tried to drug me, too.” I pushed her back against the car and opened the passenger door. She slapped my hands.

“Don’t touch me. You’re boring. What do you know? You’ve never had any fun.”

“Stop talking and get in.” I tightened my grip when she tried to pull away. I grabbed her hands, then her arms, and then I hugged her. She stopped struggling. She cried. I’d never seen her cry. I had seen her close to tears but she always fought them back. She trembled. I held her a minute and then I heard the front door of the house open and I heard the music. I looked and saw Derek in the entryway. I slid Jenny into the car. Derek threw a beer bottle at me. I ducked and it went over the car and broke in the street.

I ran around and got in the car. I locked the doors and started the engine. Derek stared at us as if he dared us to leave. I looked at Jenny. She put her head down and whimpered. I pulled away from the house and headed for home. I drove home and echoes of the credo came back to me. Choose the right.

Luxuries

Port-a-potties would have been a luxury. A hole in the ground and bucket of water did not seem sanitary to Mike, even for a private restroom. This is what was going through his mind. The uncomfortable feeling he’d felt when faced with squatting over a hole earlier that day returned in the pit of his stomach. He was stuck between a sweaty, sticky stranger and his sweaty, sticky cousin, Bohng, on a hard metal bench in a small motorized tricycle. Light breezes came through the open cab and hinted of pleasant foods and spices in the bustling world around the cab. Mike looked out of the cab at faded blue, green, and red tarps shading the carts and a card tables on either side of the street. Mike heard familiar American pop music and followed the sound to see that it came from a large silver boom-box on a table near the front of the market.

“This is it,” Bohng said and pointed to the sidewalk with his lips. The tricycle stopped and Bohng climbed out of the tricycle. He took Mike’s arm to help him out. Mike followed Bohng down the sidewalk for a few minutes. Brown faces and brown bodies lined the border of the popular market. Mike stiffened and tried not to get in the way. Not one white man was in sight and Mike felt out of place even though he should have felt at home. Each table showcased different items. Red and green fruits and vegetables, pirated DVDs and cds, hand painted dolls carved out of wood, fish laid out on buckets and coolers full of ice. It reminded Mike of a big yard sale. Bohng would look back at Mike and smile, anxiously hoping Mike was enjoying the trip into this part of town. Mike would lift his eyebrows and give a half smile back and then Bohng would continue on. They reached the edge where the market backed up against white plastered buildings.

Bohng led Mike along the buildings until they reach a small alley way. They turned and walked down the dirt path past a handful of doors until they reached an opening in the white wall. They entered a long room lit by several open windows. The air smelt of propane gas and fish sauce. Mike’s stomach churned and he held it with one hand. They approached a long white counter. Behind the counter a small brown man with gray hair put his reading book under the counter. He wore a sweat band around his head at the temples. His lightly colored and loose cotton pants stood out against the brown skin and a sweat soaked maroon tank top.

Bohng spoke to the man in a smooth and simple language that Mike loved to hear but didn’t understand. It reminded him of his mother and father back home in Florida. They very rarely spoke Tagalog because they were trying so hard to be American now. He loved it when he’d catch them conversing in their native Filipino tongue. Bohng turned to Mike and smiled brightly.

“Would you like to try coconut water?”

“Sure,” Mike said and shrugged his shoulders. He wondered what coconut water looked like. Bohng finished ordering and then pointed with his lips to one of two small folding tables next to the counter. Mike went and sat down. Bohng went over to a refrigerator, pulled out two drinks and came and sat across from Mike. He smiled at Mike and placed a soda can before him. It was tan and had a picture of a cut coconut on it. Bohng hesitated and stared at Mike. Mike awkwardly took the can in one hand and Bohng did the same. They opened their cans at the same time. Bohng snickered and quickly took a drink. Mike held the cold drink and then lifted it up under his nose. It had the faint smell of crisp and fruity coconut. Bohng watched him as he took a small taste. The cold liquid met his parched tongue and he swished it around a little before swallowing. It tasted like water with just a hint of sweetness but was followed by a musky aftertaste. He set the drink down with wide eyes. Bohng raised his eyebrows. Mike stuck out his tongue and Bohng’s smile drooped almost disappearing.

Both cans sat on the table for a few minutes and the boys didn’t look at each other. They examined each other’s shoes. Both wore sneakers. Mike’s were new and still very white while Bohng’s were muddy and fraying along the seams. They heard the whipping of a fan that sat on top of the counter and felt the air each time the fan moved passed. Mike looked at the clean cement floors and thought about how cold and empty the place seemed for a restaurant. They heard the chopping of vegetables and looked to see the crown of the little old man behind the counter as he bent over the chopping block.

A crisp white blouse and pink skirt walked into the shop. The boys’ eyes followed the brown, pink, and white curves that ran from the gold flip flops up to a dark brown bob that framed a young round face. Mike and Bohng looked at each other and smiled and then looked back at the girl. She approached the counter and the little man spoke politely to her. Bohng tried not to stare while Mike looked directly at her, waiting for her to look their direction. When she did, he smiled and lifted his chin. She looked puzzled and turned her attention back to the old man. Bohng stared at her feet and noted her gold bracelet and necklace. Mike watched her face until she left the shop. She never looked back at them. He looked back at Bohng confused.

“I hope you like the food. I think you will like it,” Bohng said nervously.

They heard popping and sizzling noises come from behind the counter and steam began rising from the hidden cook-top. Soon the air began to change. The smell was amazing. It filled the room with fresh spices and nose tingling heat. They could sense the quick bite of chili pepper in the air. The sweetness rounded the smell out. Mike and Bohng’s stomach’s growled loudly. They laughed at each other. After a minute, the old man appeared with a towel hung over one shoulder and a tray in his hands. He placed the tray on the table and his skinny arms moved the plates quickly and gently to the table.

Mike noted the beautiful brown morsels dropped among the cut green beans. They look perfect mounded upon a plate of white steamed rice. A light sauce tinted the rice just under the meat and beans. The stark white color against the crisp green and brown tempted Mike to grab a green bean and sneak a taste. The natural sourness of green bean vanished and a salty and sweet fullness overcame his mouth. It was moist and clean. He mirrored Bohng, who use the fork to pile the food onto the spoon. He lifted the spoon and took a large bite. The rice stuck nicely to the food and bounced along the tongue before and after being chomped by the teeth. The soft meat held a tiny bit of heat that released upon each bite. Mike and Bohng loaded up their spoons over and over with heaps and stuffed them in their mouths as quickly as they could make room for in their mouth for more. Their stomach called out in rumbles as it took it all in. When the plates were cleaned the boys sat back and enjoyed the feeling of warm scents filling the cavities of the nose and mouth.

“That was so good,” Mike said and tilted his head back. “I love this stuff.”
Bohng smiled widely at Mike. The little old man came out and Bohng thanked him. The old man smiled and nodded as Bohng complemented him. The sounds of the Tagalog language comforted Mike and he closed his eyes. He felt at ease. He heard clinking of dishes and opened his eyes to watch the little old man quickly clearing away the dishes on a tray.

“What do you call this dish,” Mike asked Bohng.

Bohng smiled and said, “adobong sitaw.”

“What?”

“Adobong sitaw. It means bean adobo.”

Mike smiled and relaxed. Bohng seemed pleased that Mike was so impressed. They stood up to leave and then a familiar feeling came over him. His stomach pressed upon his back and pressure was building in his bottom. He knew that he needed to visit a restroom rather quickly. Mike thought about what that meant and what the public restrooms might look like. Once again, he felt out of place and his stomach churned.

Writing Exercise: Presenting Character

Small Hearts

I put my ear to the door and listened. The teacher was speaking, but I could not make out what she was saying. I opened the door slightly and poked my head in just enough to meet the new teacher’s eyes. She noted the distraction and turned to look at me.

“How’s it going?” I asked.

Her mouth said, “fine,” but her eyes said, help!

I stepped into the classroom and looked towards the children. Immediately, my eyes struck the back of a little boy. His light blue shirt and the rear end of his tan pants were clearly visible because he was kneeling at his chair. His head was resting on his arms on top of the chair. After two years as the lead teacher, this was not a new sight for me.

“Alex,” I said authoritatively. Alex kept his head down but turned it in order to meet my gaze. Using my index finger, I motioned him to me. Slowly, he pushed his short body into a standing position. Then he dragged himself towards the door with his shoulders drooping and his eyes on the floor. When he got to me I ushered him out into the hallway. He folded his arms and leaned against the wall as I crouched down until our heights’ matched.

“What’s going on, Alex?”

No answer.

“Why aren’t you participating?”

“I don’t want to,” he shot back at me.

“Why don’t you want to? Talk to me.”

No answer. Instead he tried to hide from me in the wall. I took his skinny arms and turned him gently so that he once again faced me. His eyes were full of disdain. I had seen Alex behave like this before; he deliberately misbehaved and shut down quite frequently. I chalked it all up to him being the third of four children and not getting enough positive attention at home.

He’d lay on the ground or across chairs and if you asked him anything he’d tell you he wanted to go home or that he didn’t like Sunday school. For two years I had been fighting with him – attempting to get him excited about whatever the lesson was about – but he never seemed to care. He’d often come with a small toy in his pocket and it would appear at these times. He’d finger it over and over. If it was a car he’d pretend to drive it on the floor, the chair, or even on his body. When we told him to put it away, he’d set it down for a moment and then pick it right back up. There were several small toys that had ended up in my pocket before the end of the day.

“Alex, you need to participate in class and be good.”

I was about to go get his parents and have them deal with him when I thought there must be something more to this.

“I can tell that you’re upset. Can you tell me why you are upset?”

I knew this was the right question, for he began pouring out the events of class to me.

“. . . then teacher had us write my name and birthdays on a heart, but I didn’t do it right. I wrote 6. I want to start over but teacher didn’t let me.”

Aha! How had I missed this? I remembered how particular he was about reading and writing correctly. He never wanted help sounding words out when he read the good book and he wouldn’t stand for someone to write his name for him. At that moment, I loved him. He was an angel of a child, striving to do his best, and not settling for less. The look in his eyes was disappointment, I could not see any disrespect.

Quickly, I set it straight. His teacher was curious when I asked for another heart and gave it to him. She was even more surprised to see him so excited to write his birth date. He smiled as he traded hearts with her. She went back to where she had been in the lesson and he shocked us all when he wanted to read the next passage. I stayed long enough to see him happily playing the little game the teacher had prepared for the class.

Exercise 3

Jim Spacey reached into his briefcase and pulled out the immaculate document. As he flipped the fresh pages, he thought about the many hundreds of hours and sleepless nights he must have given to its creation. His emergent memory paused in the playback on one fond night when he had rerouted the main character’s actions; an epiphany Jim had had after meeting an attractive business woman that had entered the hotel bar halfway through his rum and coke. Two drinks and an hour’s conversation was all he could spare but it was enough to entice her, and boy was he glad because there was something about the way she had tossed herself about in the bed that reminded him of a dying fish after being thrown onto a deck. This led him to an idea about toothpaste and Jim ended the night rather quickly so that he could hurry and edit the plot. Jim could say, despite the sex being a bit dull and unnecessary, if he ever saw that woman again, he’d kiss her.

He placed the manuscript in front of himself on the polished table and folded his hands over it proudly. His breaths were short and he couldn’t wait to hear what the publisher had to say. Jim picked up the document, again flipped through it a bit, and then stopped near a particularly grabbing chapter. He pictured how he couldn’t get his hand to pen out the words as quickly as the visions were coming to him. Jim felt the cramp in his hand, the sweat on his temple, and the beat of his excited heart – just as if he were doing the night over.

He took a deep breath and then pushed the clean pages to the side. He didn’t want to seem too eager, but he knew he had something good, no great here – even if Larson’s Publishing Co. didn’t see it. This doesn’t need to be the only stop on the road to the Time’s Best Seller’s List. Jim thought of a few other publishing companies and a couple of old college buddies that could put in a good word for his work.

Finally, the glass door opened and Jim stood up to greet the editor. Jim held out his sweaty palm and mumbled a how-do-you-do. The two sat across from each other and Jim rubbed the edge of the polished table up and down a couple of times before any words were spoken.

“Mr. Spacey,” said the four-eyed editor, “I have to ask you a few questions regarding the manuscript you submitted to our company a week ago.”

“Sure. Ask away.”

“Where did you get the inspiration for this story?”

“Well, um, it was a story I’d carried around in my head for a few years; playing with it until I really thought I had enough to get down on paper,” Jim said excitedly.
The editor had been jotting notes but stopped, rolled the pen between the index and thumb of both hands and exhaled a long stream of air.

“I’m sorry, I was supposed to ask you a few more questions before doing this but,” the editor tilted his head and shifted in his seat uncomfortably. “We take plagiarism very seriously here and I can’t sit here and take down a record of you taking credit for my intern’s work.”

The editor froze. Jim blinked and then his eyes grew wide. The atmosphere darkened and Jim pulled the manuscript into the center again and held it on each side.

“My intern, Tracy Atkins, told me all about how he had accidentally turned in his manuscript, this manuscript,” the editor nodded towards the table,” instead of his term project to you, Professor Spacey; and then when he came to exchange it, you pretended to have received nothing from him. He showed an early draft of his manuscript to me only days before this one arrived in the mail.”

Jim let go of the manuscript and grabbed the edge of the table. How did he not know that his student was an intern at Larson’s? He would never have thought Tracy Atkins . . .

And to think, of all the editors to receive the manuscript it had to be the boss of the poor bastard whom I’d had stolen it from.

Jim stood suddenly and turned to leave, but stopped when he saw through the glass door to Tracy Atkins and the Dean of English in the hallway who were shaking their heads with their arms folded and glaring at him.

Jim knew now that the only fame he would have would come from a cheap journalist’s point of view in the paper after Jim lost his job and lost any court cases that Larson’s would file. As he slowly sat back down, he placed his hands on top of the table on either side of the document and thought, how did I think I could pull this off?

Exercise 2

Look on the table for a piece with two prongs. Pick one up and carefully place it right next to the others to see if it will easily join with them. It doesn’t, so look over at the picture on the box to see if you can tell what color the piece you are looking for should be. Start over; look for a piece with two prongs that is dark blue.

While scanning the pieces pause a moment, take a deep breath, stretch your neck, and remind yourself this isn’t work, it’s a hobby. Glance over to see your spouse surfing on the internet, watching television, answering text messages, and listening to music through ear buds.

Find yourself begin to wonder how, while you are having enough trouble with one 500-piece puzzle, your spouse can handle all those forms of stimuli. Struggle to find the next piece. Convince yourself that you’ve tried every piece in the box and the piece you are looking for must have been lost at the factory where they cut and boxed your puzzle. Sit back and wipe the sweat from your head.

Watch your spouse as they take out their ear buds, set aside their laptop and get up. Notice their intent is to use the restroom but they pause to see your pitiful progress. Feel your back muscles contract when your spouse dares to pick up a piece of your puzzle. Note the heat in your cheeks when your spouse places that piece into the very spot you were convinced was a lost cause. See your spouse grin and look at you so cheerfully as they move on and into the hallway. Scowl and loathe your spouse for being so cheeky.

Glare at them when they return to their multi-tasking without ever acknowledging their impertinence.

Exercise 1

Reaching in the bag, I grasped the gun and lifted. Bang. Cold, thrilling, and startling was the sound of the discharge. Then, mind-numbing was the sight of a falling body. Shaking and heart pounding came next. More of these creatures – monsters – were coming. There were shadows in the smoke, shifting and darting. Every noise was distressing.
Kari stepped out in front.
"Follow me," Kari said and led the way. She was barely visible in the swirling smoke. Visions and images flowed into the mind; terror entering slowly as eyes met the carcasses. The ugliest fingernails were shooting forth from severed hands lying on the ground. They were yellow and speckled with mud, grime, and dried, black blood. These nails had met with terrified victims whose screams fell on dying or torn off ears. No one could save them. Lucky these hands had been kept from harming another victim.
A loud crash brought my thoughts back to the shadows. A figure could be made out, but it wasn't moving. Silently, Kari pointed to the left and nodded. The only noise now was shoes hitting the pavement as silently as they could be kept while moving in the direction Kari had indicated.
How can Kari be so brave as to step out and lead. Where most have thrown their lives away by allowing panic to overtake their senses, Kari shows no fear. Even in such an hour of terror, Kari seems to exhibit patience and wisdom. Who could be so calm and level headed at a time like this?
More smoke filled the alleyway and seeing Kari became much more difficult. Harder still was taking steps forward. It was unclear which way to go. Kari slowed slightly and was visible again.
Suddenly, a thunderous rumble began ahead. Stopping, Kari looked back. Her eyes were steady but they spelled out what was coming our way.

Isn't it odd . . .

. . . how something strikes you, and you know you'll never be the same. It was so with me on the night the moon smiled at me. I thought how strange, and yet, exciting it was. A tickle started in my belly and came out in staggered breaths. It was almost a laugh, except the breath came from my nostrils; but it wasn't a snort because there was no voice to it. I wanted to keep my eyes on the moon no matter what, even while the car was moving. I tried to put my head down so I could see through the windshield and through the trees to the smiling moon above. Who knew that the Cheshire moon would visit me. It was hard to leave the night and return to indoor living.

. . . how even though I had already witnessed it, the smile on the second night was as moving as the first. I longed to capture the feelings: a warmth in my chest and a chill in my back. Still scanning the sky as the car once again took it's winding route home, I drank in the sight.

. . . that when a month has past and feelings have faded, they can rush back to you with one glance. The only thing different now was I wished to tell the world all about it so they could know my joy. A silly thing, my joy—joy at seeing an oddity.