Stories we have written:

Yeah, I do. I usually just ignore him.

Yeah, I do. I usually just ignore him.

A real christian thing to do, in fact.

Ignore.

Well, I haven't been writing much lately. I am working on a plot for a new book though. For now…

Chapter 10
The road was empty ahead of me and behind. With a sigh I limped over to a small clump of trees off to one side to wait for a large group to come along. Seating myself on a rock I tugged off my boots, shaking out the twigs and pebbles. The gates of Grukblognackd had been looming closer for the past hour, and the shade of the trees coupled with the waning heat of late afternoon made me feel cold and apprehensive. When fighting the Ishchangagnk, contact with them and their appearance had made me feel uneasy, although I tried to remind myself that the Ulfrae looked even stranger. Somehow they were different though. I’d gotten to know them, and could even forget that we belonged to different worlds. I thought of the story Mezimor told. Perhaps these people could be just as nice as the Ulfrae, when they were not under the rule of a greedy unscrupulous dictator.

Just then my ears picked up the soft padding of many feet in the distance. My boots were on in an instant, soreness forgotten, and I stood at the edge of the grove, straining my eyes toward a cloud of dust on the horizon. Steadily approaching me was a good sized band of Ishl: Triffligh if Mezimor’s description could be trusted. I pulled my hood lower over my face. This was the tricky part. As they came closer, I studied their shambling gait. After allowing them to pass me for the most part, I slipped out of the trees and joined the rear of the party, guessing that their numbers were close to thirty. I was careful to keep a yard or so between me and the others, and every fiber was alert for suspicious movements. The farmers did not notice me. They seemed very tired, and their heads sagged on their shoulders, eyes bent on the ground. It was apparently an effort to put one foot in front of the other. I matched my pace to theirs, thankful for the excuse to keep my head bowed. A glance showed that we were now within a hundred feet of the gate. The sounding of a single clear note which seemed to come from the front of the procession startled me, as it was the first distinct noise I had heard since leaving the Ulfrae camp.

For the first time it struck me that these Ishl were a silent bunch. Somehow, I had started thinking of them as Ishl, the older name by which Mezimor had called them that afternoon. The signal was answered by a whining grating sound. The gates began to swing outward. With one hand I adjusted the strap of my bundle - which had nothing in it but grass - and the other groped for my sword. The feel of cool metal between my fingers helped me breath again, but I could still feel the knot in my stomach as the shadow of the walls engulfed my own. Now we were all shuffling through the gate in single file. There were only three in front of me to go through. Head down, I walked between the guards, fervently hoping they could not hear the unevenness of my breathing or the pounding of my heart which sounded so loud in my own ears.

To my sharpened senses, it seemed that the gloomy silence was instantly shattered by a cacophony. Clangs and shouts assaulted my ears, unlike any sounds I had heard since I landed on Huppiym. I also noticed that objects which had begun to blur in the fading light were once more sharply defined and I looked up to see that the city was illumined by artificial lights. The group I had been following made a direct line for the busiest part of the city - the market or its equivalent, I assumed. I followed them for a ways, since I didn’t want to be left standing conspicuously alone, but when I saw a side street with a few people meandering through it, I turned into it. I had barely noted that these houses were much nicer, when I heard shouting. Looking up, I had just time to see a Grembl barreling towards me before he reached me, slapping me across the face so hard that I was knocked back out into the main street. He stood at the entrance of the side street, pouring out a tirade of which I could only discern two words. Triffligh and Orglac. Guessing that my only chance was to act like a bumbling peasant, I cringed away, edging towards the market again. I was not followed, and supposed that the Grembl was on guard duty. I must not be supposed to go into the Orglac sections of town. I surmised. Bother. It was going to be rather more difficult to capture an Ishl without being seen if I was liable to be cuffed like that at any moment. With a ginger finger I rubbed my cheek where a bruise was already forming.

There seemed nothing else to do but wander towards the center of town with the rest of the traffic flow. When I reached a large open square, I saw that it was indeed a market of sorts, but not a happy one. All the produce was turned in to several scowling and official-looking Ishl, who recorded it on something - I could not tell if it was paper, or a flat piece of wood or something - and motioned for the next “customer”. Sometimes these aliens, whom I judged to be revenue collectors, would shout in anger at the unfortunate farmer while snatching his goods from him. One Triffligh, by his gesticulations, appeared to be protesting his treatment, which earned him a blow on the chest from a glowering Grembl who stood near. I had been mingling with a group of Triffligh who were standing waiting their turn to pay the revenue officer, but as they were now moving forward to the closest booth, I stepped aside and searched for somewhere to wait. Spying a dark corner, I slipped into it causally, leaning carelessly against the wall.

Mentally, I calculated the past hours. Walking…waiting…walking…and now more waiting. The Ulfrae would attack soon: my cue to knock any Ishl who was handy over the head and drag him out of the city. Assuming several crucial factors all fell into place, of course. I grinned inside of my closely drawn hood. What was the good of an adventure that didn’t have a few risks? The stab of pain my grin produced reminded me that I had already taken some chances on this task, and in the same moment my ears alerted me to a change in the square I had been observing. By this time it was almost deserted, and the officers had been packing up their stalls when there seemed to be some disturbance. The guards were now marching off in a body, and the carts of produce were being hurried away. Then I caught the confused tumult in the distance. The Ulfrae. I saw a shadow approaching, and prepared for action. Whoever was walking towards me was not taking precautions, and the sounds of scuffing feet against the rough stones of the street gave me an accurate indication of his nearness. Three steps. Two steps. One step. My arm was coming down on his head with the smoothness of a machine, and I felt the dull thud into skin jolt through me.

The alien fell without a cry, and I caught him, pulling the limp body into my hiding place. My hand went to my sword, verifying that nothing would interfere with its ability to be brought into action quickly. Everything was going according to plan. Near me, there was an alley which appeared to head back toward the main gate, and I eased myself and the inert form of the Ishl into it, happy to avoid the ostentation of carrying a body through the main street of Grukblognackd. Now, to reach the main gate.

---

I set down my load and stretched my back, groaning slightly. With my sleeve I wiped the sweat from my brow, wincing under the roughness of the cloth. Maybe this creeping through alleys wasn’t such a good plan: I was no closer to my objective now than an hour ago. I wasn’t exactly lost, I reminded myself. I could still hear the shouts and clashing where the battle was going on, so I knew the direction of the front gate. It was just that the passages twisted so much, and the noise was muffled when the houses were close on each side. Sighing, I picked up my burden once again, trudging back into the maze of empty streets which told me how far I had to go to reach the battle. Finally I had a bit of luck, stumbling by chance onto the main thoroughfare I had left deliberately an hour earlier. I stepped into it with a resigned shrug and began to head once again towards the distant uproar of battle.

In the distance I saw a small group of Ishl carrying spears, so I kept them in sight, ducking into side streets when I saw other aliens coming towards me. I was desperately tired, and my leg wound was starting to ache. This was taking a lot longer than I had planned for. Though I had laughed at him at the time, I was now thankful that Mezimor had insisted that the attack last a full two hours no matter how little time I took in the city. His explanation was that it would be too suspicious to attack for a short time, and that we needed to be thinking ahead to my second attempt, getting the prisoners out. Now I started to wonder if he had guessed that I’d get lost. I might as well have brought Jake with me! I thought in exasperation.

I stopped so abruptly that I almost fell over, and whipped into a dark corridor, holding my breath. The soft padding of feet and clicking of metal rubbing against metal passed within a foot of me and continued down the street. This habit of allowing my mind to wander was going to get me killed one of these days, I thought grimly, peering around the corner at the group of aliens already disappearing around the next curve. They had come out of a side street, and I had been so abstracted that I had not heard them. When I trotted around the next bend in the road myself, I forgot all my self-reproaches. The gate at last! Aliens were swarming everywhere, shooting over the walls and gesturing vehemently. Some shouted orders, but most were silent. I squinted through the sweat which lined my face, analyzing the best path to the gate. There were several Ishl lying on the ground wounded or killed, so I hoped my burden would not be too conspicuous. Cautiously, I edged into the open strip along the wall, staying in the shadow as much as I could, and pulling my hood around my face.

Half the distance to the gate was covered and no one had noticed me. The Ulfrae were doing a good job of keeping their attention. My eye measured the distance carefully. It should be just about…here. I stepped to the side, hoping that Mezimor was right. I’d never get out of here otherwise. One hand ran over the rough sandy rocks of the wall, searching for the lever, while my eyes roved the immediate vicinity for threats. My heart was pounding, and every nerve was on edge, expecting to be attacked at any moment. It was my thumb that felt the irregularity. I grasped the lever and pulled with all my strength, feeling a small current of air as the wall gave way. The contrast between the lights in the city and the twilight of late evening was so great that for a while I couldn’t see anything, and I just leaned against the outside of the wall, breathing in the minty scent of Huppiym. How Mezimor knew a secret door of which the Ishl were unaware, I had no idea, and at the moment I did not care. I sank to the ground, wrapping my arms around my knees and shaking the hood off my head.

After a delicious long moment of absolute stillness, I moved my head with a sigh, glancing at the still form of the Ishl next to me. Reluctantly I rose to my feet and dragged myself and the unconscious alien into a dip in the ground a few yards away. Slipping my hand into the pouch at my side, I pulled out a cool slim rod of metal and struck it against a rock as Joksha had instructed me. The sound was thin and high, but so faint that I wondered if the Ulfrae who were fighting in front of the gate would really be able to hear it. Rocking back on my heels I waited, counting the slow breathing of the still unconscious Ishl. Good gracious. I didn’t realize I hit him that hard. He hasn’t moved or made a sound for over an hour.

A touch on my shoulder caused me to jump violently, and somersault to the side groping for my sword. The sound of a familiar chortle, however, made me relax and give an irritated sigh. Why do they always do that? I wonder if Joksha got it from Mezimor or Mezimor from Joksha?

“So you heard my signal?”

Joksha was still shaking with laughter. “You should have seen yourself! Yes, I heard you although you did not hear me.”

Stooping, I looped my arms underneath the Ishl’s shoulders. “Alright then, why don’t you stop giggling and give me a hand with this dead weight here.”

He came to my side and leaned over, reaching for the feet of the prostrate alien, only to recoil in surprise, murmuring a strong Ulfrae exclamation. “Tehum-Shur regu tacorum!”1

I raised one eyebrow. “What?”

His mouth started to quiver again and he began to choke and cough in his violent efforts not to laugh. Between gasps he finally managed to croak, “You did not know?”

“Obviously not. What on earth is it you idiot?” My voice was raised in frustration beyond what was safe at such a short distance from the fight that was still raging.

Joksha collapsed onto his knees, weak from laughter. “The Ishl…she is a girl!”

raises eyebrows Did not see that coming. :)

*raises eyebrows* Did not see that coming. :)

Good! Actually, I didn't either, really until I got to the end.

Lol! Awesome addition :P

Love it! Excellent job; keep it up! :)

Chapter 11

My brain was frozen. It was so completely unexpected. “I…you…she…what?” I gulped.

Joksha had now regained his composure and was working over the Ishl, trying to help her regain consciousness. Slowly my mind started working again and I sighed. Duh, stupid. Why shouldn’t it be a girl?

These bemused thought fragments were broken by a grunt from Joksha. “You must have really hit her hard.” He was rubbing her hands vigorously, grimacing at her continued insensibility.

An idea struck me, and I reached for my belt, fumbling around for my flask of water. My fingers found it at last, and I undid the strap, holding it out to Joksha. He took it with a nod and poured a little into his hands, flicking her face with the cool liquid. This had a better effect, and the Ishl opened her eyes, although they were clouded and unfocused. Joksha said something in a low voice, and she turned her head toward him. When she caught sight of his face, her eyes widened, and her hand shot out so fast that he had no time to duck. The blow didn’t hurt him much, but it startled him so that he grabbed her shoulders, holding her down to the ground. Such treatment was not appreciated by our captive, and she instantly began twisting and thrashing.

Joksha looked at me imploringly. Unable to suppress a grin at his discomfiture, I stepped forward to help, only to be met with a blow from the girl’s determined fists.

With a slight wince, I grabbed her feet, motioning Joksha to take her shoulders. As we hoisted her up, my stomach informed me that she could kick as well as punch. “Maybe we should have left her unconscious till we got to camp!” I muttered.

---

We lowered her to the ground near the campfire carefully, and I kept a wary eye on her feet, while rubbing my sore ribs.

“Mezimor, bring us a rope, quick!” Joksha yelled as he tried to fend off her small hands, slapping and pummeling at him with undiminished vigor. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Mezimor approaching, and stretched out one arm to catch the cord he tossed to me. I wrapped it around her legs, trying not to draw it too tight, and tied it firmly, then threw the other end to Joksha who repeated the process with her arms. Stepping back, I wiped the sweat from my eyes and looked at Mezimor, who was standing at a safe distance, amusement plain on his broad face.

“There you go.” I panted. “Question her all you want. Just don’t get to close.”

My eyes felt heavy, and I realized that my long day, followed by the unexpected exertion of overcoming our captive, had tired me out. Aside from the bruises my recent rough treatment had caused, my leg was starting to ache, and I decided to turn in, though it was not yet night. Knowing that the Ulfrae would do all that was necessary towards securing the camp, I lay down on the ground, wriggling into the most comfortable position I could manage without putting undue pressure on my injuries. I closed my eyes and listened to the rustle of Mezimor and Joksha moving around the clearing, getting everything set up for the night. My mind drifted back to my days on earth, and the last connected thought that went through my head was I never realized how exhausting adventures are. I’ve spent so much time sleeping…

I woke up a few hours later and rolled over, squinting my eyes to lessen the glare of red light that was thrown up into the air by the fire. From a few yards away the gentle murmur of Ulfrae reached my ears, with the occasional addition of a harsher note, which I guessed was the Ishchangank. Standing up, I blinked and stretched, clearing my head of grogginess. Mezimor had been crouching on his heels by the girl’s head, one hand resting on his knee and the other making intricate motions in the air, but as soon as I moved, he straightened himself and walked over to me. “Well?” My eyebrows were raised in query, and I took a step forward, waiting for him to speak.

The Ulfra’s face was hard to read in the flickering uncertain light, but the deep chuckle that caused his shoulders to shake was unmistakable. Always calm himself, my obvious excitement entertained him. “I believe she’s told us all she can. You and Joksha shouldn’t be so rough. The poor thing had no chance to explain anything.”

“Hey!” I turned in amazement. “I like that! No time to…I’m the one that had no time to explain. ‘poor thing’ indeed!” I pointed to our captive. “That ‘poor dear’ is responsible for several large bruises. I can’t even bend over!”

An unconcerned shrug was the only answer to my indignant appeal. “Well, I didn’t have any trouble with her.” The voice was just a shade too casual, though, and I shoved at his chest with a groan, a little annoyed that I had fallen for his teasing again.

“Good grief, you big humbug, just tell me what you learned from the prisoner.” I took the strip of meat he held out, and chewed on it as he sat down to fill me in.

“Most important, I can show you from her description in which prison the humans are held.” Kneeling, he drew a diagram in the dirt, explaining the prison’s fortifications as he did so. “It will be your job to find a way in, bring the captives out, and get them out of the city. She also gave me a good idea of the political situation in Grukblognackd and among the rest of the Ishl, but I don’t think it will help you much at this point.”

“Oh, by all means leave me out of the diplomatic situation and politics.” I assured him. “Lead me to the prison and I’ll take care of the rest.” The words were confident, but I was a bit worried, wondering how I would get into the city again without even the distraction of a battle outside. “Listen, Mezimor. I need to know what the best time would be to enter the city unobserved. I’m afraid there’s no hope of getting all the prisoners to the gate without being seen, but I’d like to delay the sprint followed by howling enemies as long as possible.”

With a nod Mezimor got up, brushed the dirt off his fingers, and walked back over to the Ishl girl. My curiosity finally got the better of me, and I followed him, rather stiffly because of my bruises. Now that I was closer I could follow part of the conversation, since it was a mixture of Ulfra, Ishl, and gestures. As the conversation became more animated, Mezimor’s hands began to describe wide arcs in the air and I stepped back to avoid a whack on the nose. Frowning, I went back to the rough map on the ground began to consider seriously how I would enter the city a second time and reach the prisoners.

There’s always over the wall, I suppose. It’s awfully tall though. Or back through the side door…I wonder if it opens from outside? Could I sneak in with a group of Triffligh again? That seems a little boring. Leaving the issue in my subconscious for a moment, I set my mind to the problem of the prison. Here, I decided, was the place to exercise my wall climbing and jumping abilities. If the girl was correct that the guards walked all the way around the perimeter, I should have time to run up the gate itself–lots of bars to hold on to–and drop on the other side between their rounds. Getting into the actual prison might present more trouble, especially since our captive had no idea in which part of it the humans were held. At this point an idea for entering the city started to form, and I called over to Mezimor. “Ask if wagons go into the city, and if they are searched.”

+1

Awesome! Can't wait for the next part. :)

For those of you who like to write stories you may like to check out kingdompen.org! If you make an account tell me so I can look for you there! ;)

Lakeview isn't a large town. In fact, just about everyone knows everyone else. The kids are in the same activities, the adults go to the same meetings, and everyone goes to one of the two churches. Lakeview is a pretty quiet town; nothing unusual ever takes place there. Until one day…

---

It was a normal Wednesday afternoon. At least, that's what Bradon Grant thought. He and his younger siblings, Kaitlin, Sawyer, and Eden, sat at the kitchen table finishing their homework.

Bradon dropped his math book with a sigh of relief. "Well, that's that for today! Not every day I get through algebra, English, and science in - what?" he suddenly exclaimed, looking up at the clock on the wall. "Half an hour? That can't be."

"What do you mean?" Sawyer asked. "It's got to have been at least an hour and a half that we've been working here."

"I know. But look at the clock! I looked at it when we started, and it said 1:30. Now it says 2:05."

"You're right, Bradon," Kaitlin said. "That can't be possible. Sawyer or Eden, did you change the clock? No one else has been in here."

"No," they both answered.

Bradon stood up and took the clock off the wall. "They're right," he stated. "They couldn't have changed the clock without us noticing. See, you would have to push this button to change the time." He demonstrated, and a loud beep sounded. "We would have noticed if they had tried to change the time."

"But, then who changed it?" Kaitlin asked.

Ding, dong. The sound of the doorbell rang through the house. Bradon ran to open the door.

"Oh, hi, Dylan." Bradon smiled at his friend. "What's up?"

"I just wanted to find out if anything strange has been going on here at your house," Dylan said.

"Yes, there is, but how did you know?"

"Does it have anything to do with clocks?"

Bradon was confused. "Yes again, but how did you know that, Dylan?"

Dylan ran his fingers through his red hair. "Our clocks are all messed up. They all say the same thing, but that time can't actually be correct. It's way later that the time it shows, that's for certain. And then our neighbor came over and told us his clocks weren't working, either. We called all the people on our street. Of the ones that were home, all of them were having problems too. That's why I came over. I wondered if it was just our street or others, too."

Bradon led Dylan into the kitchen. "See? Our clock says 2:07, but it must have been a couple hours ago when it still said 1:30. We were just trying to figure out how it could have been changed."

Dylan and the Grants checked the other clocks in the house, too. Sure enough, each one read 2:07.

They slumped back into their chairs around the kitchen table, confused and frustrated. Silently they each thought about how the clock switch could have happened.

Eden sat straight up and snapped her fingers. "Does any of you have a cell phone?"

Bradon frowned. "Yeah, Dylan and I both do. But what does that have to do with anything?"

"The clocks on cell phones are set by satellite," Eden pointed out. "If you check what time it is on your phones, we'll know the correct time."

Everyone was quiet for a moment. "You're right, Eden," Bradon said. "I didn't even think of that!"

He and Dylan both reached into their pockets and pulled out their phones. Frowning, they fumbled with them for a few minutes. Then Dylan looked up. "I don't know about you, Bradon, but my phone seems to be dead."

"Can I see?" Sawyer asked. Taking the phone, he pushed a few buttons and waited. "Uh, Dylan, your phone's not dead."

"It's not?"

"Nope. But something is wrong with it." He handed it back to Dylan. "A screen comes up that says 'Searching,' but nothing else happens."

"Mine's doing the same thing," Bradon commented as he shut his phone.

Dylan sighed. "Well, I'd better be going. I'll let you know if anything else happens."

---

Over the next two days, Dylan and the Grants visited with several people from around town. For each person, it was the same story. Their phones wouldn't work and their clocks were wrong. Kaitlin had the ingenious idea to check the town sundial, next to the town hall, and find out what the time was from that. Unfortunately, the pole that cast the shadow on the correct time was broken off. Undaunted, Bradon was still determined to get to the bottom of the problem.

---

It was late Thursday afternoon. The Grants, as well as Dylan and his sister, Geneva, were sitting at an ice cream parlor after a long day of fruitless research and searching for clues.

Licking her sticky fingers, Eden asked, "Is there any other place we could look to get an idea of what's been happening with the clocks? Stores and restaurants that usually close at five, before dark, now close at least an hour after dark. Everyone knows we're living by the wrong time, but yet we all have to go by the same clock - a clock that's wrong. Something has to be done."

Bradon sighed. "I don't know, Eden. I can't think of anything else we could try that we haven't already tried."

"I wasn't with you yesterday," Geneva spoke up, "so I don't know what you did then. Did you ever think about checking the clock house?"

Everyone stared at her blankly.

"You know," she continued, "the clock house. That funny little building that sits next to the town hall."

Still no response.

"Lakeview isn't a normal town."

"That's true," Dylan replied. "We have just one school, two churches that believe practically the same, everyone knows everyone else, children and adults alike can vote on city issues. No, this isn't a normal town. But what does that have to do with the clock house, or whatever you called it?"

"Maybe you don't know this, but I just read the other day that even our clock system isn't normal. The clocks on our cell phones work the same as anyone else's, but have you noticed that all the clocks sold in this town are electric?"

The others nodded.

"That's because all of those clocks are run by one giant clock in a building I call the clock house. The clocks that are sold in town all have a chip in them. That chip is what connects them to that giant clock. If that clock stopped working, all the other clocks would stop working as well. That's why we have the sun dial - just in case that big clock stops. Then they can fix it and make sure they still have the right time." Finished with her speech, Geneva took a bite of her ice cream.

The others looked at each other. "So…" Kaitlin began slowly, "If we go to the clock house, we could get someone to change the clocks back? If that's true, how come the mayor or someone didn't fix it right away?"

Geneva shrugged. "It's possible that he doesn't know about it. I know he's the mayor, but not many people at all know about it. It was in a very old book I found that had the history of this town in it. The big old clock has never been wrong, so no one needed to know about the system."

Sawyer groaned. "So you're telling us that all we had to do was go change that big clock, and our problems would be solved?"

"Well, what are we waiting for?" Eden asked. "Let's go change that big clock!"

"Hold it," Geneva broke in. "That's not the only problem. In fact, if we go change it now, we might have more problems."

"She's right," Kaitlin commented. "For one thing, we can't find out what the correct time is because the sun dial is broken and the cell phones aren't working. For another thing, though we may know how the clocks were changed, we still don't know why the clocks were changed. We need to find out who did it and why, before we do anything else."

"Good point, Kaitlin," Bradon said. "And thanks to Geneva, we know where to look next!"

---

They made their way to the small building Geneva called the clock house. Dylan was the first to mount the steps to the wooden door.

"Think we should just walk in?" he asked.

Bradon hesitated. "It can't hurt," he replied. "If Geneva's right, it's likely nobody's been in here for decades. And we'll be careful so we don't break anything."

Cautiously, Dylan turned the rusting doorknob and pushed open the door. "It turns pretty easy," he muttered. "Not like it's been left shut for thirty, forty, fifty years. Strange."

They entered, looking around themselves with interest as they did so. On one wall hung nearly a dozen old pictures, yellowed with age, each depicting a different type of clock. All along the opposite wall were gears and parts that they assumed ran the big clock. But where was the big clock?

"Look!" Geneva exclaimed, pointing to a large wooden table. "All those gears and parts are connected to one long wire that connects to this clock, here on the table."

The clock wasn't quite as large as they had expected, but it was still a fairly good sized object. Down one side were several buttons: one read "Set Time," and the other buttons were arrows.

"That must be how the time was changed," Sawyer said.

"Now the question is - who changed it?" Bradon said. "There's no dust on the buttons or the clock, like it had been disturbed recently. So now we know for sure how it was done."

"And look here." Kaitlin pointed to an object on the floor. "What is that black thing? It looks like an electronic device, or something."

"I've seen one of those before!" Dylan gasped. "It's a jamming transmitter. No wonder our cell phones weren't working."

Sawyer adjusted pretend glasses on his nose and cleared his throat. "Now that that's cleared up, we must now uncover the culprit. It's elementary, my dear Watson."

A chorus of groans met his speech. "Enough with the fancy talk, Sherlock," Bradon teased. "But you're right. We need to find out the who and the why. We've already found out the how. Okay, guys, look around this place and see if you can find anything. A footprint, gum wrapper, anything that our criminal may have dropped."

They searched for the next half hour but couldn't find anything. Dylan asked, "Did it ever occur to you that it may have just been some kid from town playing a practical joke?"

"It's not very funny, if it was," Kaitlin muttered.

"Kaitlin's right. Even if it was just a prank, it's caused a lot of problems - and not just for us. I'll have to ask some of the other kids tomorrow," Bradon said. "I think we'd better get going, though. It's getting late and we probably won't find anything else today."

As they began filing out the old wooden door, Geneva's sharp eyes caught a piece of folded paper on the floor. She snatched it up and showed it to the others. "The prankster, whoever he or she was, must have dropped this. This paper's pretty new."

"Open it up, Geneva!" Sawyer exclaimed. "What's inside?"

She unfolded the paper and held it up for them to see in the fading light. "It… looks like a string of letters," she said, obviously disappointed. "It's just jibberish."

"It could be a code of some sort," Eden pointed out.

"A code?" A smile flashed across Kaitlin's face. "Then I know who we need to call."

"Who's that?"

"Donovan Ryland."

---

At nine o' clock sharp on Friday morning, Donovan Ryland arrived at the Grants' house, where they, Dylan, and Geneva were waiting eagerly. Donovan was a friend of Bradon, though a year older. He was known for his love of cracking mysteries, as well as his love of languages and codes. If there was ever a mystery or a code someone couldn't solve, they knew who to call.

"We're so glad you're here, Donovan!" Bradon welcomed him. "We've been trying to figure out this code all morning, but we're completely stumped."

"Well, that's what I'm here for," the young man replied. He and Bradon entered the kitchen, where everyone else was poring over the coded message. He took a seat next to them and began studying the paper. Pulling out a notebook, he began writing.

"What are you doing?" Eden asked.

"Copying the message. I don't want to work on the original message yet, just in case I need to write on it or something."

"Do you have any idea of what type of code it could be?" Dylan asked.

"Let me finish copying this… okay, there. What kind of code is this? Well, take a look at it and see if you can figure it out."

They read the vertical string of words silently.

"Me
Etin
Ga
T
Theh
Al
Lstar
Tsa
Ttenyo
Un
Eed
Twoe
Xtr
Ah
Ours."

"Is it in a different language?" Bradon asked.

"No. From what I see, I am pretty sure this is just an encoded English message. Okay, do you know what a substitution code is?"

"I think so," Kaitlin said. "You choose one letter, say 'a,' and use that for the letter 'c.' So 'b' is 'd,' 'c' is 'e,' and so on."

"Ah, I see I've taught you well!" Donovan joked. "Yes, that's right. So this could be a substitution code. Why don't we take some different letters and try it out?"

They worked on this for nearly half an hour before finally deciding that wasn't the answer.

"It could be an acrostic, couldn't it?" asked Sawyer.

"That's possible," Donovan replied. "But it wouldn't make much sense."

"MEGTTALTTUETXAO," Geneva read. "No, even backwards that doesn't make much sense."

"You're right. Now, here's what I think is the best possibility. I was thinking of this earlier, but I wanted to check the substitution code first. It's possible that it could be a space code."

"Like rockets and aliens?" Eden asked.

"Not quite. The space code basically means that you take all the spaces out from between the words you've written, and insert the spaces somewhere else. Sometimes, each individual word is written backwards. That makes it trickier. But it looks to me like this one is pretty normal. Can you see what it is?"

"Meetingatthehallstartsattenyouneedtwoextrahours," Dylan read slowly. "Oh! It's, 'Meeting at the hall starts at ten. You need two extra hours.'"

"What in the world does that mean?" Geneva asked.

"I'm not sure," Bradon said. "I guess I just figured it would all make sense when we decoded the message. That seems pretty ordinary to me, though. Nothing suspicious in telling someone when a meeting starts."

"What meeting?" Dylan asked. "The one at the town hall?"

"Probably."

"Wait just a minute!" Donovan broke in. "Think about it for a minute. Why would someone need two extra hours just to get to the meeting at the town hall?"

"That's a good question," Kaitlin said slowly. "But… what's the answer?"

"Just listen to this theory for a minute," Donovan requested. "A thief knows that there is a meeting starting at the town hall Saturday morning. He decides that he's going to sneak into the building that morning, since, unlike most days, nobody would be at the hall until just before the meeting starts. He doesn't live in town, and he wouldn't be able to make it there before the meeting starts. Maybe he works late in his town, or something. I'm not sure. But anyway, he decides to change Lakeview's clocks forward two hours so they start the meeting later, giving him plenty of time to get to the hall, rob the safe (if that's what he was after, which is what I suspect), and get out of there before everyone shows up. And by jamming the cell phones and breaking the sun dial, he can be sure that no one will find out the correct time."

"That's an interesting theory," Kaitlin said. "Let's say it's true, and he plans on arriving there at ten tomorrow - which would be eight by our incorrect clocks. How do we stop him?"

Sawyer grinned. "I have an idea…"

---

Saturday morning was bright and clear, with hardly a cloud in the blue sky. All the clocks read 7:30, but just the same, nearly fifty people were filing into the town hall. The sheriff was there as well, ready to arrest the criminal. Donovan had alerted the town authorities about the potential robbery, and had mentioned Sawyer's plan.

Sawyer's plan was that everyone arrive at seven thirty instead of ten. That way, they would have the meeting already under way when the robber made his entry. However, they would be silent and wait until he was beginning to open the safe. Then they would surprise him, and he would be caught red handed.

Donovan nodded to Bradon as they entered the hall at the rear of the crowd. "Well, do you think it'll work?" he asked.

"Time will tell."

Donovan, the Grants, Dylan and Geneva kept their eyes glued to the clock. Suddenly, the sheriff, who had been standing guard at the window during the meeting, called, "Everyone quiet, please! There's someone coming."

Everyone ducked down so that they wouldn't be seen. No one made a noise; all were straining their ears for even the slightest sound.

Eden pressed her ear to the door. She could hear a stealthy footstep in the hall. She whispered, "He's walking down the hall."

The people slowly began tiptoeing to the door. The mayor carefully pushed open the door and stepped into the hall. There, on the polished white floor, were tennis shoe tracks. He nodded, signaling the people to follow him, and slipped down the hallway in the direction the tracks led.

Sawyer crept up to the mayor and whispered in his ear. A grin crossed the mayor's face and he, in turn, whispered to the sheriff. The sheriff took the lead and continued following the tracks. The tracks rounded a corner. Around that corner was the safe and, probably, a robber.

The mayor motioned for everyone but the sheriff to stay back. The sheriff turned the corner and -

"Boo!"

Jumping nearly a foot in the air, the would-be-robber let out a yelp of surprise, slamming the safe door shut. The sheriff took advantage of the man's shock and clapped handcuffs on him.

"But sir, what is going on?" the man protested angrily. "Why would you arrest me for just wanting to do my job and fix the safe?"

The sheriff didn't answer but looked at Donovan. "The note, please?"

Donovan handed him the message they had decoded.

"Do you recognize this?" he asked. The man shook his head, but his fidgeting and shifting eyes gave away the truth.

"And how do you explain the fact that you snuck in here before the hall was supposed to be open, instead of coming in and doing your job during the meeting? You shouldn't have needed to sneak if you were being honest."

The man hung his head. He had been caught - and all because he had changed the clocks.

"The iniquities of the wicked ensnare him, and he is held fast in the cords of his sin." (Proverbs 5:22)

THE END

So, this is not a continuation of my story, it is something else. I'm co-authoring a book with two other writers for a competition right now, so I probably won't get back to the scifi one until April in the meantime, here's an excerpt from what I'm working on right now. :)

WALTER saw David long before he reached the security guard’s station. Excitement exuded from his friend’s face and gait. If he’s not careful, he’s going to… he did avoid knocking over the garbage can, but it was at the expense of an exquisite business man, who stared after the enthusiastic janitor in astonished outrage. David rushed on, oblivious to the consternation and wreckage he was spreading in his wake.

“You might leave some of the airport standing for the rest of us.” Walter raised his eyes calmly from his book as David collapsed into a chair, breathing hard from his recent exertions.

“Never in a million years! You’ll never guess what I heard, Walter.” Ignoring his friend’s indifference David leaned forward, his face flushed and his eyes sparkling with animation.

“Certainly not. I never try to guess the delusions of madmen. Such an effort would be doomed to disappointment.” Crossing his arms over his chest, Walter watched David with amusement.

“Oh, do stop talking like that and pay attention! This is something really exciting. Even you will have to admit it when I’m done.”

“I doubt it.”

But David hurried on with his news. “There’s a dangerous man in the airport! He’s wearing a long dark coat and wide brimmed hat. And he’s carrying a gun! It’s disguised as an umbrella, but still I’m surprised it got past security.”

“Are you serious, David? This is worse than your last stunt, though I said at the time nothing could top it. Obviously I spoke too soon. Does he stride about moodily, gnawing on an unlit cigar?”

“But Walter! I heard him talking with one of his henchmen. It was the most suspicious conversation I’ve ever listened to.”

“And you’ve listened to a lot. For heaven’s sake, this talk we’re having right NOW is suspicious! I ought to arrest you for an attempt to disturb the peace.”

“Be serious, please. This is no time for jokes, Walter.”

“Me be serious? You’re the one basing accusations of criminality off of a trench coat!”

“He’s got a gun!”

“David Moore. This is Washington. Look out the window–it’s pouring down rain. The entire population carries an umbrella. You have absolutely no proof that this poor man’s umbrella is a gun.”

“I guess I don’t have proof of that, yet.” David admitted with a sigh. “If you come with me, I can distract him while you grab his gun to examine it.”

“Just make sure you wear sunglasses and pull your hat brim well over your eyes while you’re distracting him, so he isn’t suspicious.” Walter sighed in exasperation. “Listen. Normally I’d have you go to the authorities, and they would investigate and dismiss your theories like they always do. But we can’t have any trouble right now. After the big scare last month in New York, we can’t afford any more publicity. Another innocent citizen arrested right now, or even detained, could ruin our business for months.”

“Not always!” David protested. “Who caught that pickpocket last year?”

“I did. And your cameras did nothing but cause trouble, because you didn’t bother to test the glue beforehand and make sure it would come off the wall easily.”

“Well,” David’s voice was sounding more uncertain, “but what if he is really a criminal? Are you just going to stand around while he shoots up the airport?”
“I assure you, when he starts shooting I will be the first one to move. Now please, I have to work for my job, not just dream up conspiracy theories. So if you’re quite finished…”

David got up reluctantly. “I guess so. One of these days you’re going to be sorry that you didn’t listen to me while you had the chance.”

“In that case, I’ll apologize profoundly, unless I’m dead.” Walter waved him away, and pulled forward a long and very dry report, grabbing a pen from the drawer of his desk. He does keep things interesting, that’s for sure. An umbrella gun! Walter chuckled aloud. His best invention yet.

Great! It's only the beginning, and it's already suspenseful! :)

Ahem, Missuses Reasoning, does the umbrella gun man happen to be Penguin.

Ahem, Missuses Reasoning, does the umbrella gun man happen to be Penguin.

Not that I know of…

:D I like it!

“Here Abby, you can put in the chocolate chips.” I smiled at my 6 year old sister as I handed her a large measuring cup.
“Yummy! May I eat some too?” she dug her little fingers into the chocolate filled bag and dumped some on the counter top. I readily gave the permission and popped a few into my mouth as well.
Several minutes later, the aroma of cookies filled the kitchen. I pulled the pan out of the oven and transferred the hot cookies to the cooling rack.
Abby ran into the kitchen asking excitedly: “Are they ready?”
“Yes!” I handed Abigail a warm cookie. As she ate it, little crumbs and smears of chocolate around her mouth showed she was greatly enjoying it.
________________
I always like including a short story in the beginning of articles I write, something to do with my topic. I'm working on an article about sibling relationships, and this is one of the stories in the beginning =)

Love it! I'd like to read the article, too. :)

@VoR - I'm loving your story so far. :)

Sure! :) I'll try to post it on the article topic when it's finished :)

Hey! Why waiteth thou for my leavething to post?!

Whoops, guess I didn't see your post until now! No, I'm NOT ignoring you on purpose, Noah! I just am not on the forums much these days. In fact, I get on about twice a month. :P Sorry.

Anyway, if any of you would mind reading through another of my boring stories, I'd appreciate some feedback! Here's the link: www.bethanymeckle.weebly.com/1/post/2014/03/shipwreck.html

I'll check it out.

When are you coming back? Memverse needs your presence!

Glad you miss me so much! ;) Like I've said, I'm not sure when/if I'll be back for good. Right now, expect to see me once a week or so. And maybe… just maybe… we'll finally meet in Orlando! :D

Glad you miss me so much! ;) Like I've said, I'm not sure when/if I'll be back for good. Right now, expect to see me once a week or so. And maybe... just maybe... we'll finally meet in Orlando! :D

If I make it….why did you get off? Me and Sam weren't taking showers often enough?!

Uh… yeah, sure, whatever you say. :P

And I just saw your comment on my other story The Spy - very funny! That is NOT a horror story. Although the first couple of paragraphs scared me when I was re-reading them. XP
(FYI - my newest story opening is MUCH scarier.)

I've started writing in a new "genre," I guess you could call it. Historical ficion based on Bible stories. The first one is based on Acts 27:13 - 44, and the second one is based on Matthew 26:26 - 75.

Shipwreck
The tempest raged fiercely. The waves, which only two weeks ago had rocked the ship so gently, now battered the worn sides, threatening to dash it against the rocks. I shuddered as a white streak lit up the heavens, followed soon after by a thunderous roar.

The crew of the ship, myself included, battled the storm furiously, determined to save the ship. It didn’t look like our efforts were helping. We had already thrown any cargo we could spare overboard and cut any ropes that could possibly become a hindrance, but yet the storm raged and we fought on.

Some of the other sailors cursed the prisoners. I could understand their resentment to some degree. These worthless prisoners had brought nothing but bad luck upon us and our voyage. A few of the same sailors had suggested throwing the prisoners overboard so we would be rid of them at last. But the captain wouldn’t hear of it. I wonder if it is possible for a sea captain to get too much sun?

One of the prisoners, a convict on his way to trial in Rome, had managed to convince the captain through his wild tales that his God wouldn’t let anyone on the ship be killed. For some crazy reason, the captain was taken in by the prisoner’s words. Not a few of us wondered about the captain’s sanity.

To us sailors, fighting hopelessly to keep our beloved ship intact, it seemed ridiculous to believe that anyone’s god could protect us in this perilous situation.

I was kept busy throughout the seemingly endless storm. I tied down any cargo that might roll, and assisted the older sailors in throwing the useless cargo overboard. Now, when it seemed that the storm was at its worst, I was sent to tell the captain that one of the main masts had broken. I was met by the captain, who looked much older than I had ever seen him. I quickly reported the damage. He just shook his head and told me to find someone to fix it, if that were possible. At that moment, the centurion who had been sent to escort the prisoners to their trial rounded the corner. He apparently needed to speak to the captain, so I left them alone.

Returning to my fellow crew members, we did our job the best we could. Suddenly, one of the older sailors pointed at what looked to me like a gray haze in the distance. He started yelling, and soon it seemed like every being on board that ship had gathered around and was gazing at that gray haze. It wasn’t long before I realized it was not a haze – it was land!

The captain gave the order to run the ship ashore. We cast off the anchors, leaving them to the sea, and quickly had the rudder back in working order. I was ordered to raise the foresail so we could sail with the wind. Though I was delighted to be heading for land, I felt a strange wariness that I could not explain at the time.

Then it hit me. Reefs. One of the sailors had told me something of the dangers of running aground on a reef. I swung down from the sail and ran to find the captain. But it was too late. With a shudder that was felt throughout the entire vessel, we struck the reef.

Too soon, it was evident that there was no hope for the ship. The bow had stuck and we could not move it, and the stern was being battered and destroyed by the waves. My thought, and the similar thought of every sailor on board, was instantly for my own safety. How could I get to shore? The island we had seen was not all that far off. Surely we would be able to make it there. Surely there was yet hope.

I began making my way again toward the captain. As I did so, I heard an argument between several men. I recognized all of the men speaking, for I had lived in close quarters with them all for several months, but two I noticed in particular. One was the same sailor who had advised to throw the prisoners overboard. The other was the captain, who I had been looking for. I knew better than to interrupt their conversation, so I hung back and listened.

It seemed that some of the sailors wanted to kill the prisoners to keep them from escaping, but the captain wouldn’t let them. The disagreement looked like it might have turned ugly, but at that moment another familiar figure stepped in. He was the Roman centurion sent to guard the prisoners and escort them to their trial. Our captain, exhausted from the storm and frustrated by his men, seemed more than willing just then to hand over command to the centurion.

The tall Roman ordered those who could swim to make for the shore, and those who could not swim to find planks or pieces of wood from the ship to float on. Though he clearly desired to save the prisoners, the sailors couldn’t help but see the sense in his words, and immediately fell to carrying them out.

I found myself standing next to the centurion as we got ready to jump over the side of the ship. We could both swim, so we would leave the planks to those who did not have our abilities. As I braced myself to dive into the icy waters, I heard the centurion muttering to himself. I couldn’t stop myself from listening to his words.

“Paul told me that everyone would be alright. His God had promised to protect us all. I don’t know why, but I trust him. I trust him.”

So startled was I by his words that my fingers loosened from the board I had been gripping, and I plunged head first into the sea. I am a strong swimmer, but I was afraid – truly afraid – that I was drowning. Then I felt a hand, a strong hand, close around the neck of my tunic and drag me upward out of the depths. Spluttering and choking, I broke the surface of the water. I believe I would have made a comical sight if anyone watching had been in the mood for a joke.

Regaining my breath, I looked up to see the face of my benefactor. I was so surprised when I did so that I almost needed his rescue a second time. The kind face was that of the prisoner, the prisoner that the sailors – and I confess, myself at times – had wished to throw into the sea. I had no words to thank the man, but even if I had, he gave me no time to voice them. Giving me a good natured wink, the man turned and began swimming for the shore.

I was so dazed by everything that had just occurred, I stayed in the same place for several minutes, treading water and staring after the man who had saved my life, though I had wished him dead.

A splash of water in my face from one of the sailors brought me back to my senses, and I began making for the shore. Shaking off water droplets and seaweed, I stood for the first time in months on the solid ground. Sailors, passengers, and prisoners alike gathered around.

The captain, looking around anxiously, began making a head count. The look of anxiety on his face slowly transformed to one of awe. He shouted something, but being at the edge of the crowd, I couldn’t make it out.

“What did he say?” I asked a man near me.

The man grinned widely at me. “He said that all are accounted for. Not one man was lost!”

My knees began to shake. The dreadful storm, the bone-rattling impact on the reefs, the swim through the icy waters to the shore; all of that, and no one was missing.

What was it the centurion had said? “Paul told me that everyone would be alright. His God had promised to protect us all.”

This God – maybe he’s more than I thought he was. Maybe, just maybe, he really is as powerful as Paul, the prisoner and my rescuer, had claimed. I have some thinking to do.

Betrayal

His head was lowered, his face nearly concealed by his dark hooded cloak. He shuffled through the dimly lit courtyard, avoiding the eyes of curious person who looked his way. He would not risk being recognized and subjected to the same brutal treatment as had already befallen his former leader. No! He would erase all traces of his former loyalties and begin his life anew. No one would know.

He hunkered next to a small charcoal fire, soaking in its warmth and brooding over his problems. The flickering light danced across his rough features, casting skewed shadows over his furrowed brow. The flames were reflected in his dark eyes.

He soon became aware of the girl sitting across from him. She studied his face intently as though searching for something. Suddenly she pointed at him and cried out. "This man - he's one of them! He's a follower of the man who was arrested tonight."

All eyes were turned on him. Her words slowly sunk in. Surely he had not been recognized! Surely he had not betrayed his secret. But this girl knew who he was.

He feigned confusion. "I don't know what you mean, girl." Pulling his hood closer around his face, he crouched nearer to the fire. Absorbed in his own morbid musings, he was unaware that a group of servants had approached the fire. The young girl's voice broke into his dark thoughts. He realized, to his dismay, that she was motioning toward him and saying something about being a follower of the Nazarene.

He leapt to his feet and glared at her across the flames. "No! I already told you, I don't know the man you are speaking of. I don't know what kind of nonsense you're talking."

Fuming, he stalked across the courtyard toward a group of men. They ignored his approach. This was fine with him. No one else would recognize him if he had anything to do with it. He adjusted his hood.

It wasn't long before he felt himself being drawn into their conversation. They were speaking of the recently accused man and of his possible fate. As he edged closer to the group and listened intently, he didn't notice that his hood had fallen from his face.

The man who had been speaking turned to address him, to ask his opinion, then stopped short, eyeing him carefully. "Certainly, you are one of them, too! You cannot deny that you were with the Nazarene. I'm sure I've seen you with him."

Stunned, he was silent for a moment, then exploded. "No! I swear on my life, I've never seen the man. I do not know him. I have no idea what you're talking about!" He turned angrily away. Then he saw Him. His leader. His master. His Lord. And the man's kind eyes were filled with sorrow. He was ashamed. He had been weak when he had promised to be strong. He had done the very thing he had promised not to do. He wished the ground could swallow him.

Nearby, a rooster crowed.

I like those!

@ EVERYONE: I had this sudden inspiration for a story where ALL the Memversers are in one HUGE family. Would y'all mind if I used your first names?

BTW, Carissa and Sam would be mom and dad, if they agree. :P

I LOVES IT!

Very well written! Good job!

…Carissa and Sam would be mom and dad, if they agree. :P…

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

No, I don't mind if you use my first name.

if they agree. :P

Since when do Sam and Carissa agree on anything!!! It really wouldn’t be very authentic. jk

if they agree. :P

Since when do Sam and Carissa agree on anything!!! It really wouldn’t be very authentic. jk

facedesk xP

You can use my first name. :)

You can use my first name. :)

You can use all my names, including the ones that my mortal enemy's ex-girlfriend's grandmother calls me from time to time.

You can use all my names, including the ones that my mortal enemy's ex-girlfriend's grandmother calls me from time to time.

And what would that be, Mr. Wilson? not sure I wants ta know…

(Thanks, by the way!)

You can use all my names, including the ones that my mortal enemy's ex-girlfriend's grandmother calls me from time to time.

And what would that be, Mr. Wilson? *not sure I wants ta know...* (Thanks, by the way!)

I am, in fact, the chief benefactor here.

I like those! @ EVERYONE: I had this sudden inspiration for a story where ALL the Memversers are in one HUGE family. Would y'all mind if I used your first names? BTW, Carissa and Sam would be mom and dad, if they agree. :P

I dunno.
turns to Carissa
What do you think, dear?

I like those! @ EVERYONE: I had this sudden inspiration for a story where ALL the Memversers are in one HUGE family. Would y'all mind if I used your first names? BTW, Carissa and Sam would be mom and dad, if they agree. :P

I dunno. *turns to Carissa* What do you think, dear?

DEAR?!?!?!?!?!?! facedesk If you are okay with it then I'm fine with it…I guess…

I like those! @ EVERYONE: I had this sudden inspiration for a story where ALL the Memversers are in one HUGE family. Would y'all mind if I used your first names? BTW, Carissa and Sam would be mom and dad, if they agree. :P

I dunno. *turns to Carissa* What do you think, dear?

DEAR?!?!?!?!?!?! *facedesk* If you are okay with it then I'm fine with it...I guess...

Sounds good. :)

You're always so understanding! ;)

I like those! @ EVERYONE: I had this sudden inspiration for a story where ALL the Memversers are in one HUGE family. Would y'all mind if I used your first names? BTW, Carissa and Sam would be mom and dad, if they agree. :P

I dunno. *turns to Carissa* What do you think, dear?

DEAR?!?!?!?!?!?! *facedesk* If you are okay with it then I'm fine with it...I guess...

Sounds good. :) You're always so understanding! ;)

facedesk

I like those! @ EVERYONE: I had this sudden inspiration for a story where ALL the Memversers are in one HUGE family. Would y'all mind if I used your first names? BTW, Carissa and Sam would be mom and dad, if they agree. :P

I dunno. *turns to Carissa* What do you think, dear?

DEAR?!?!?!?!?!?! *facedesk* If you are okay with it then I'm fine with it...I guess...

Sounds good. :) You're always so understanding! ;)

*facedesk*

C'mon, don't hurt yourself! Especially not in front of the kids!

I like those! @ EVERYONE: I had this sudden inspiration for a story where ALL the Memversers are in one HUGE family. Would y'all mind if I used your first names? BTW, Carissa and Sam would be mom and dad, if they agree. :P

I dunno. *turns to Carissa* What do you think, dear?

DEAR?!?!?!?!?!?! *facedesk* If you are okay with it then I'm fine with it...I guess...

Sounds good. :) You're always so understanding! ;)

*facedesk*

C'mon, don't hurt yourself! Especially not in front of the kids!

Refrains from doing a facedesk Umm…yeah…wouldn't want to set a bad example for them!

It will be very interesting to see what Hannah comes up with in this story…………………….. :P

It will be very interesting to see what Hannah comes up with in this story.......................... :P

Is Noah our first son, is what I want to know.

It will be very interesting to see what Hannah comes up with in this story.......................... :P

Is Noah our first son, is what I want to know.

refrains from doing a facedesk Uhhhhhhh…………….ask Hannah……………….