Stories we have written:

Here's the next part! Sorry it took so long. :)

“Snap! Snap!”
Zane didn't realize it at first, but when he looked down he found out that Andele had snapped an odd looking pair of handcuffs onto his wrists. The parts that were attached to his wrists looked normal, but they were connected by a foot long pole that didn't bend in the slightest.
Then he felt a hand shove him forward, almost knocking him over.
“Get to the front of the line now!” Andele demanded.
When Zane got to the front of the line, he realized they were lined up from tallest to shortest. First him, then Jude, then Peggy, then Welby, and finally Merona. Zane made eye contact with Merona and tried to give her a “don't worry, I'm thinking of a plan” kinda smile, but he wasn't sure she got the message.
When the ramp finally lowered all the way, Zane let out a gasp. They were on the high school football field. What he saw next gave him a real fright. Directly across the field there was a large stage, and an aisle leading up to it. The aisle was made of hundreds of chairs lined up as if it were a church, and every single chair was filled.
“Move!” Andele yelled, bringing Zane out of his daze. They were shoved forward, and walked down the aisle single file. Zane kept his head down and assumed his friends were doing the same.
After what seemed like an eternity, they made it to the stage.
“Face forward!” Andele commanded. As Zane did, he looked up and saw an entire section that seemed to be dedicated to him. It was made up of all his family and close friends. He was almost relieved, until he saw the hateful looks he was getting from them. They had come near and far for only one purpose. To see him executed. The realization was so great, he almost fainted. He searched the crowd, looking for a friendly face. He saw his mother and looked at her for ten seconds while she stared hatefully back. He was heartbroken, but then he saw something flicker across her face.
"Recognition?" he thought. That look soon turned to a look of confusion however, and then to a look of worry. Zane saw his mother start to glance at the others to see if they saw the resemblance between this blue boy and Zane. She found no such luck though and just stared straight ahead at Zane. Not with hate or anger, but of curiosity and maybe yearning.
Zane made a sigh of relief and looked at his friends to see how they were doing. Jude seemed to be having the same reaction Zane had been having, but he suddenly sighed like Zane had.
"He must have seen someone who reacted the same way my mom did," Zane thought.
He looked down the line to see Peggy, and Merona almost crying, but they seemed to be smiling a little bit as well. Welby seemed satisfied for some reason. Zane could only assume that what had happened to him and Jude had happened to them.
Zane saw their faces darken though as they looked up. He looked up and his jaw dropped open. Almost every single world leader appeared to be there. He recognized leaders from different countries that he had seen on the news, and he saw the President of the United States up there as well. He also noticed that each politician was accompanied by a Mr. or Ms. perfect alien. Each alien seemed to resemble a person from the nation that each leader was from.
A perfect match, Zane thought ruefully. At that moment, Andele started speaking into a microphone.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we are gathered hear today to execute the killers of Zane Rollings, Welby Cortes, Merona Giffen, Peggy McIntrey, and Jude Thomas, who were murdered two weeks ago on Sunday, June 3rd.
"No! That's not true! We're those kids! They're lying!" Zane wanted to yell, but he held back knowing that it wouldn't do any good. He was also surprised at something Andele had said. "Two weeks? We've been gone that long?"
Andele continued speaking, “A week ago we came looking for these criminals, for they had stolen a ship from a merchant on Denir. When we found out they were also murderers, we quickly joined the local police forces in tracking down these bandits.”
Zane could feel the anger building up inside of him. He wasn't sure if he was going to be able to keep silent very long. Andele had gone on to talk about the kind of weapons they were murdered with. Zane started to look around, and his eyes fell on the bleachers. Something clicked in his mind. "If we can just make it under the bleachers, we can get out of here no problem. But how are we gonna make it if we're so heavily guarded?"
That's when chaos broke loose.

Copyright Ian R.

Good job!!! Can't wait for the next part!!!

Good job!!! Can't wait for the next part!!!

Hope you enjoy this first chapter of my story!

http://heirsoftheinklings.weebly.com/chapter-1-tisrockrsquos-daughter

Thanks for helping me find names for the main characters! Hopefully you will be able to meet the rest of the characters you named in Chapter 2. :)

I soooooooooo like it!!! Can't wait for more!!!!

http://heirsoftheinklings.weebly.com/chapter-2-the-brothers

^There might still be some spelling/grammar errors in it because I'm not completely done editing it.^

Hey guys, here's the next part. :)

Peggy was the first to notice it. A small ripping noise. She looked at Welby to her left, and let out a scream. She fell backward knocking Zane and Jude over. Merona also saw what was happening and jumped away from Welby. The crowd was now standing, and some of them even sarted to run away. Zane, lying on the stage, looked up at Welby and realized what all the confusion was about. Welby was huge!
Welby had grown over a foot taller, and his shirt was ripped to pieces and fell to the stage. Welby's hands were more like paws now, and had short but sharp claws on the ends. The handcuffs had also broken off. His entire body was covered in a thick coat of fur. His muscles had grown and were well defined. His pants although ripped in a few places were thankfully still on, and Zane could see his muscles bulging underneath. Zane looked up at Welby's face and saw a more wolflike than elflike face. His jaw was more square now, and his canine teeth were sharper. His eyes were also more wild, but Zane saw something else in his eyes. Confusion. Zane realized that Welby had no idea what was going on. A plan started to form in his head, and he had to get Welby's attention before order was restored.
“Welby!” he yelled, “Get these handcuffs off of us!”
Welby seemed to snap out of his confusion and started breaking their handcuffs with almost unnatural speed. After the last one was done, Zane pointed to the bleachers.
“Come on! We have to get under there now!” Unfortunately that's when Andele and the other four aliens stepped in front of them.
“And where do you think you're going?” he asked in annoyance.
Zane glared at him, “Outta here!” he yelled as he rushed Andele and kicked him in the chest, hurling him backwards. Zane got ready for the other four to attack him, but was surprised to find that they were already down and knocked out.
Merona gaped at Zane, “Zane! How did…?”
“I don't know, but come on! We have to go now!” Zane shouted as he started running toward the bleachers. The others followed close behind, with Jude a little farther back.
Zane finally reached the bleachers and ducked under them.
Where is it? Where is it? he thought. His eyes finally landed on a round piece of rusty metal. “There!” he said in triumph, “Welby, come over here! I found it!”
Welby just barely fit under the bleachers, but he knew exactly what to do. He lifted up the manhole cover Zane had found and placed it gently next to the manhole.
“Merona! Peggy! Into the manhole, now!” Zane yelled. Merona jumped in without hesitation, while Peggy gave it a sour look before going in. “Welby, you're next.” Zane said right when Jude joined them. “What took you so long?” he exclaimed in annoyance.
Jude shook his head, “No time to explain. Look!” he said as he pointed at Welby who was having trouble getting through the manhole.
“We'll have to push him in,” Zane said as he started to press on Welby's shoulders, while Welby grunted in protest. Zane and Jude started pushing with all their might, and they could feel Peggy and Merona pulling on the other side. They finally got him in, but Welby let out a howl of pain as he fell, and Zane saw some blood on the edge of the manhole. Zane couldn't dwell on that for long though, because he heard something else that terrified him. Footsteps. Right outside the bleachers, someone was searching for them.
“Jude, go!” Zane whispered frantically, but when he turned to look at Jude, all he saw was Jude's head disappearing down the manhole. Without even thinking, he immediately put his legs into the manhole, and got into position to put the manhole cover back on. He started to bring it down gently, and right before it closed, he saw an irritated Sandera putting her head under the bleachers to look for them. I hope she didn't see any of that, Zane thought.

Copyright Ian R.

This is a "Christianized" and expanded adaption of Aesop's tale "Mercury and the Woodman." It's a good story, but with a pagan god. So I removed Mercury and - well, this is the story I came up with this after noon.

---

The Three Axes

In a log home deep within a dense forest, there lived an old woodman and his wife. They were poor by most standards, but they didn’t need much and their neighbors on either side were very generous, so they managed well with what they had.

Now, through this forest ran a deep, icy river. One evening, the old woodman was felling a tree on the bank of this river when his hand slipped. His axe flew out of his hand and splashed into the river, sinking to the bottom. This was a tragedy for the old man. That axe, with which he procured his meager livelihood, was the only such tool that he owned. To replace it would be a hopeless strain on his income.

Not yet despairing, the old man knelt by the bank of the river and prayed that God would show him a way to recover his lost axe. As he rose again to his feet, his eyes landed on a tall man standing a few feet from him. He wondered who this man could be; he had never seen him in the area.

“What is wrong, my good woodman?” asked the tall man.

“Ah, sir,” the old man replied, “my axe, the tool of my trade, has fallen into the river and I see no way to retrieve it.”

The tall man flashed a smile. “This river has claimed many a precious tool over the years. However, I am well acquainted with its depths. If you wish, I shall search for your axe.”

“Oh, but the waters are freezing – too cold to dive into,” the old man protested. Not heeding his cautions, the taller man leapt into the water, the icy liquid quickly covering his head. Before the old man had a chance to worry, however, the taller man’s head broke the surface. He was apparently unaffected by the subzero temperature.

He held out in his hand an axe made of solid gold. “Is this your axe?” he asked.

The old woodman shook his head. “No, no, that is not mine – although I wish it were.”

The man dove back down into the depths of the river, reappearing with an axe made of solid silver. “Could this be your axe?”

The woodman again denied ownership.

Once more the man dove into the river. Once more he reappeared holding an axe; this one had an iron head and an old wooden handle. Once more he asked, “Is this your axe?”

“Yes, yes!” The old woodman rejoiced to see his beloved tool. “I thank you so much, sir! What can I ever do to repay you?”

The man stepped onto the river bank, and the woodman saw that he held the gold and silver axes in his right hand. “I do not ask you to repay me, sir. I do whatever tasks Providence sees fit to send me. Rather, for your honesty, I give you this golden axe and this silver one as a reward for telling the truth.”

With shaking hand the woodman accepted the axes, gazing at them with awe. He looked up to address his benefactor, but, to his shock, no one was there. Confusion mingled with awe and joy. The old woodman rushed home and told his story to his wife and neighbors, who rejoiced with him.

The next day, one of the neighbors devised a plan. Taking his own wooden axe, he rushed to the river and threw it into the water. He began loudly bemoaning his loss. Hearing a step behind him, the neighbor turned and saw a tall man standing there. The man’s eyes were piercing. “What troubles you?” he asked.

“Oh, sir,” the neighbor cried piteously, “I have lost my axe in the river and cannot retrieve it. Can you help me, good sir?”

The man consented and dove into the river. Resurfacing quickly, he held out an axe made of solid gold. “Is this your lost axe, my friend?” he asked.

“Yes, that’s it,” the man lied.

“Are you sure?”

“Oh, yes, of course! It was a gift from my father. It is very special to me.” He greedily reached for the golden axe. But just before he grasped the handle, the other man pulled it back.

“Not so fast, sir.” The tall man’s eyes were stern. “You are lying. Because you attempted to deceive me in order to gain riches you did not deserve, I will not only deny you this golden axe, but also I leave your own axe at the bottom of this river.”

“Whoever speaks the truth gives honest evidence, but a false witness utters deceit.” (Proverbs 12:17)

I really like your "Christianized" version! xD

I have never read the original story, but this one is really good. :)

Thanks, Emily and Hannah!

I have started a story…don't know if I want to put it up. Is anyone interested in it??

I have started a story...don't know if I want to put it up. Is anyone interested in it??

It's about two young 14 year old girls on adventure. It is a lot more interesting than it sounds!!! My brothers say that it is interesting!! ^so at least it has that going for it^ :)

Post it! :D

Post it! :D

You want to read it? :)

Yes!! :D

Yes!! :D

Okay, I think I will!! ^just not sure when….^

Okay!!! ^I'll try to read it soon after you get it up, but even if I don't, it's not because I don't want to read it xD^

Okay!!! ^I'll try to read it soon after you get it up, but even if I don't, it's not because I don't want to read it xD^

Okay!!! :)

I don't know who'll care about this, but here goes. x) Last night I got a burst of inspiration out of nowhere to start writing a futuristic science fiction story. I've been working on it over the past twenty-four hours, and I thought I might as well post here what I've gotten done so far. :) It's one of the strangest things I've written, but… hope you enjoy. x)

“RED ALERT! RED ALERT!” the automated voice blared over the shuttle speakers as the familiar screaming siren blasted the eardrums of everyone on the ship.
“This is not a drill!” the colonel boomed from the control center. “Every soldier, man your battle station! We are under attack!”
The moment the siren had commenced its earsplitting warning, I had awoken, catapulted out of bed, and thrown on my uniform in less than a minute. There was no room for a single moment of hesitation or sluggishness on my part in such a situation, for I was the ace pilot of the entire first division fleet of the Federated Territories of Northern America, and every other pilot in the shuttle was counting on me to be the first to action. I flew out of my room, jumped on a transport and was promptly whisked down to the enormous fighter jet launching bay.
I skipped down the long stairs leading to the ground level, taking three steps at a time until I had reached the command center for the bay. I quickly approached a young man behind the desk, who immediately saluted me.
“Number One all ready, Stayes?”
“Absolutely, Lieutenant Jennis. Everything is fully functional and ready to fly.”
“Shields up?”
“Completely operational.”
“Missiles stocked?”
“To their fullest capacity.”
“Fueled up?”
“Will be by the time you get there, lieutenant.”
“We’ll see about that. Well done, Stayes.” I grabbed the nearest scooter and zipped through the multitudes of fighter jets to the one on the far left side of the frontmost row—my very own Pride of the Heavens, FTNA Fleet #1 Squadron #1 Fighter Jet #1. Her well-worn sides told of her survival through many a fearsome battle, and she had become as close to me as a dear friend. Only I knew her ins and outs and how to use her quirks to my advantage. I encountered a young repairman holding a hose to her fuel port, filling her up with the proton fluid necessary for her ability to zip effortlessly through the heavens and zoom around the globe in a matter of minutes. He saluted and said rapidly, “Fill-up will conclude in ten seconds, sir.” “Very good. I’ll need a little longer than that to get her in the air.” I hopped up the few steps into the side hatch, and the door automatically closed behind me with a dull clang. The ships lights flickered on, and the computer greeted me. “Welcome back, Lieutenant Jennis. Prepared to take another flight?” “You bet, Poth. Looks like we’re in for an ugly battle today—we might not come out of it alive.” “You jest.” “Of course I do. Boot up the systems, and prepare for takeoff.” “I have already done so. I am only waiting for you.” “As you always are. My joints aren’t quite as fast as your circuits, Poth.” “They are, in fact, about two million times slower.” “Shut up, Poth.” “Of course, sir.” I took my seat in the pilot chair, strapped myself in, and flipped all the switches to commence the flight. “Anterior shield on, check. Posterior shield on, check. Boosters ready, check. Thrusters ready, check. Engines ready, check. Missiles loaded, check. Laser cannons functional, check. Tracking system ready, check. Positioning system ready, check. Communications system ready, check. You got the rest, Poth?” “Naturally, sir.” “Then let’s ride!” I grabbed the familiar controls and prepared for the rapid takeoff. After a few seconds the ship, with a ferocious rumble, rose slowly up from the ground in a brilliant blue blaze. Then in a moment, it jerked forward, and I found myself instantly outside of FTNA-S1 and facing the gaping blackness of space and a huge fleet of enemy shuttles. Instantly I recognized the broad green stripe at the base of each shuttle as the globally-known symbol of the East Asian Pirates—but I had already known since the alarm sounded that this was the enemy which we would be facing today. We had been expecting an assault from them for days, due to prior intelligence, and we had merely been awaiting their arrival. We were fully prepared for the attack—but none more so than I. “Look at ‘em, Poth—all lined up bold like they think they can oppose the Federation. Who do they think they are? They’ve only won a single battle against us in their entire history. It’s utterly laughable that they think this battle could possibly end in their victory.” “Outright amusing, sir. The odds are almost completely against them.” “You got that right. Ah, there are my buddies.” At that moment hundreds of FTNA jets began to pop out of the launching bay, one by one. They all looked similar to mine, but most were brand new—for only mine had survived twelve straight years of battle. I’d consider myself lucky if I didn’t know that this fact was based almost entirely on my own skill, in addition to Poth’s uncanny intelligence and foresight, for a computer. Together we were the best team the Federation had ever had, and we were about to prove it once again today by whipping these insolent pirates. The dozen or so other huge shuttles lined up nearby—some of the best the Federation had to offer, of course—also began to produce multitudes of jets from their launching bays, signaling that the entire compilation of fleets was ready to commence the battle. We didn’t have to wait long for our enemy to respond to our move, for in a few minutes the EAP shuttles began to spit out hundreds of their own fighter jets, each as ready as our own to win the oncoming battle. But we were a step ahead of the pirates, as we always were. FTNA Shuttles 1, 4, and 6 all began visibly to raise up enormous laser cannons from their depths, lifting them high above the surface of the ship and pointing them directly at the pirate vessels. These cannons had been very recently installed in the ships, unbeknownst to our enemies, in order to bring into our battles a new element of surprise and attack. With little warning, the cannons began immediately to fire powerful long-range rays at the opposing shuttles, pummeling them with high-energy beams of massive atom-tearing capacity. As I watched the show, I realized that I had not yet turned on the communication device in my helmet to converse with and give orders to the men in my squadron of the fleet. I flipped it on, and was quickly met with deafening cheers, whoops and hollers of victory. “Quiet down, men!” I barked. “This isn’t a lights display, this is a battle.” The noise quickly died down, and one of the men said, “We’re sorry, lieutenant—we thought you’d forgotten to turn on your communication device again.” Snickers rippled in the background. “That’s obviously no excuse for being lax in your duties,” I said, ignoring his insubordinate remark. “This line is to remain clear at all times unless I am giving orders or you are receiving them, or if you are in trouble and need our help. Is that understood?” Murmurs of “Yes sir” resounded in my ears. “Good then. But now, what on earth is this?”
This last sentence I spoke after having turned off the speaker portion of my communication device. I spoke it in response to something I had been observing since the giant laser cannons had begun firing on the enemy frigates—the rays seemed to be having absolutely no affect on the ships! I had been privileged to be present at the testing of these cannons and had seen with my own eyes their capabilities for massive destruction. However, although they had been pounding upon the EAP’s shuttles for over a minute, they seemed to be causing no damage whatsoever to them. At first I had guessed that the strength of the EAP’s shields was the cause of preventing the instant destruction of the ships, but I had been certain that the shields would be broken and the ships would begin falling apart very soon afterwards. But this was not the case. The immensely powerful beams seemed to have no more destructive power on the frigates than did plain light rays! At last my men began to notice it too, and one asked me over the device, “Uh, lieutenant? Do you have any idea what’s going on here?” “Negative, sergeant. I do not know why those cannons aren’t tearing the EAP shuttles to pieces, but I know that we are not permitted to do anything until directly commanded by Colonel Nicks.” “Yes sir. Awaiting orders.” In spite of this disconcerting turn of events, I still did not waver over whether we would win the battle. I was absolutely certain of that much, for our ships—both shuttles and jets—far outnumbered theirs, and our firepower was generally more high-quality and our pilots more skilled. Thus I calmly sat back in my chair, allowing my craft to continue hovering motionless in the zero-gravity, and awaited orders from the high command—orders which would be heard only by myself and the other squadron leaders, to be relayed to the others through us. (If on some occasion a squadron leader was shot down, the high command could appoint another pilot in the squadron to take his place, establish contact with this pilot, and give him the orders for his squadron.) At last, about two minutes later, as the EAP jets were near completion of their intentionally slow journey towards our own jets, I heard the familiar loud, rumbling sound of Colonel Nicks’s bellowing voice in my helmet. “Forward all units! Commence attack on all opposing vessels!” With a grin, I whispered, “So it begins.” I then turned on the speaker to my communicator and boomed the commander’s orders to my men. While doing this, I prepared my engines and waited a few seconds for their full power to kick in. “Three… two… one… go, Poth!” The obedient computer instantly complied, and my engines exploded with all their energy, instantly catapulting me into supersonic speed. My men followed suit, and in a few moments we all had gone from a mile or so away from the enemy to directly upon them. I instantly employed all my training and experience and began firing on the opposing jets. I let forth both heat-seeking missiles from powerful missile launchers on both sides of my ship and laser blasts from small laser cannons on the top (the former were very expensive equipment, reserved only for the best pilots; the latter were quite ancient technology, aimed and fired primarily by myself, for I could never bring myself to modernize them to be controlled entirely by Poth.) The experience I had built up over the years displayed itself yet again as I began taking down enemy jets one by one in rapid succession. Usually a takedown required either two hits from a missile or three hits from a laser cannon, and neither of these accomplishments was difficult for me. Poth did a good bit of the tracking, getting my guns pointed in the general vicinity of any jet I was trying to take down—but I always reserved the final aiming and the firing for myself. I wasn’t letting myself be labeled the top ace of Fleet #1 for nothing. Much enemy fire came back at me as I swerved through the battle, but my excellent eyesight and skills with the controls—coupled, of course, with Poth’s frequent intervention—almost always kept me from getting hit. And if my ship ever did happen to suffer a blow, my shields (built primarily by myself) were the strongest jet shields in the fleet, possibly even in the entire FTNA, and so I could usually afford to take a few shots, even direct ones. Any heat-seeking missiles fired by an enemy were easily repulsed by the Pride’s unique backwards-firing missile launchers, which Poth instantly utilized whenever my ship was threatened by an unavoidable tracking projectile. I rapidly veered and darted through the endless barrage, very narrowly avoiding many collisions, lasers, and missiles, as usual. I felt the typical adrenaline rush surge through my body as I artfully performed rapid turns, swerves, and dodges in a continuous procession. Nothing could stop me when I was behind the controls of the Pride—in here, I was master of my destiny. Dozens of jets were getting blown into oblivion all around me, but I knew that I would survive to tell the tale, as I always did. Swerve up, dodge left, aim, fire straight, dodge right, veer up, aim, fire again—jet down—incoming missile, fire back, dodge right, twirl up, aim, fire straight, aim, fire straight, dodge left, veer right, aim, fire straight—jet down. I was king of the skies, and no one could stand in my way. For five hours this ceaseless procession continued. The EAP’s numbers were now dwindling fast, and their reinforcements were running out. We were vastly in the majority, even more so than when we had started. Yet the stubborn frigates showed no signs of retreat, and they appeared ready to fight to the last man. Well, that was very good—we could finally capture this portion of their army, making the arrival of their ultimate surrender that much quicker and easier. But something nagged me. It was not typically the EAP’s strategy to fight to the last; on the contrary, they often fled from battle as soon as the odds began to turn against their favor. I pondered what could be the reason for their persistence in the face of such odds. A new tactic, perhaps? Had they decided to grow bolder in their assaults and stand their ground until they could stand no longer? Surely that could not be the answer, not with such cowardly pirates. There was only one other reason I could fathom… and, when I thought about it, I realized how devastating it would be if we were not prepared for it. “Poth,” I said, “could you do me a favor?” “As far as I am able, sir.” “Could you quickly get into Shuttle #1’s database and find me a rear-facing camera—one pointing away from the battle?” “And you presumably desire that I transfer that camera’s view to your monitor?” “If you can do that.” “I can do many things, sir.” Within a minute Poth had retrieved what I’d asked for, and he flashed a live security video of the empty space behind FTNA-S1 on the screen. Or… was it empty after all? “Poth, do you see—” “I noticed it as soon as I retrieved it, sir, and now I understand your reason for requesting it. Let me zoom in on the far right corner.” The camera focused in on a fuzzy gray dot in the corner of its lens, revealing what I had dreaded I might see. “More EAP shuttles… dozens of them, right under our noses!” “And I might add that I can see that they are approaching rapidly.” “It’s been a planned ambush all along! Poth, get me Colonel Nicks, now!” “At once, sir.” Five seconds later, the bellowing voice once again came on the line. “What’s the problem, lieutenant? This had better be important!” “Sir, I have just spotted a code red. Dozens of EAP frigates are approaching fast on Shuttle #1’s two o’clock!” Nicks let forth an exclamation of disbelief and dismay. He left the line for a moment, and I picked up on a few loudly spoken unintelligible orders from the colonel. A few seconds later he returned to the line. “You’re right, Jennis. I can’t believe we missed it until now. I need you to get your squadron—no, what am I saying, get this whole shuttle’s fleet to the other side of our blockade before—” Suddenly the colonel’s words were cut off by a huge booming sound and an array of frantic screams. A moment later he was back, shouting his head off. “Jennis, get over here now! We’re under heavy attack! Our shields are going down—I don’t know what on earth they’re using—we’re in deep trouble—” The line began to crackle with static, and was eventually cut off completely. Without wasting a second I turned on my speaker again and roared to my remaining men, “Back to the ship! Shuttle #1 is under heavy attack! All pilots, prepare for intense combat!”

Finally had time to read this! Wow!!! It's really interesting!! Great job! :D:D

@Amara: Do!!! =D

Finally had time to read this! Wow!!! It's really interesting!! Great job! :D:D @Amara: Do!!! =D

Quite interesting. But it's a cliff-hanger! :) How long will we have to wait for the next part?

So I had to write a story about someone who was at the right place at the right time for my school recently. I know it isn't great, but, hey, we're all friends here, right?
sorry it is just one big paragraph. It was formatted differently, but I can't figure out how to change it.

       “Is it possible”, asked professor hemp, “to be at the right place at the wrong time, or at the wrong place at the right time?” He paced in front of the whiteboard, hanging on the whitewashed wall. No answer. That wall was like a lot of people, thought Sam, looking perfect on the outside, but on the inside, full of scum and mold. “Sam, what do you think?” He was jerked back to reality. “Uh, well sir, no of course not.” “And why would you say that?” Asked the professor. Sam had always been able to think  well on his feet, and this was one of the times it was helpful. “Well sir, you can't be at the right place at the wrong time, because if it was the wrong time, it would no longer be the right place. And you could not be the wrong place at the right time, because if you where at the wrong place, then you are at the wrong place for the time to be right.” Not the best, but the hoped the professor would let it slide. “Is it possible then”, The professor asked, addressing Sam again, “to be at the wrong place at the wrong time?” Sam had expected him to ask that, and he was ready for it. “There is no wrong place if it is the wrong time,” replied Sam. “because if it is the wrong time, then there is no right place, therefore there can't be a wrong place. Because for there to be wrong, there has to be right.” Opposites he thought. Everything has an opposite. Day and night, good and evil, tall and short, beautiful and ugly. “Then everyone is at the right place at the right time?” Asked professor hemp? Sam thought for a moment, then spoke. “On the contrary, unless you believe in God, in which case you may believe that everything is at the right place at the right time, because God ordained it that way, we are never at necessarily at the right place or the right time. In fact there is no definite right or wrong. We make our own right and wrong. What is right and wrong anyway, accept our decisions on what to do, or not to do?” As if on cue, the bell rang. Professor hemp paused for a moment, and then nodded. “Dismissed.”
             Sam grabbed his backpack, stuffed his books inside, and walked out. He half expected to be called back, but the call never came. He felt like the professor was staring a hole in his back, but he didn't want to look back. He hurried to his locker, and unlocked it. “Sam” someone called. He turned around. Oh no, it was Frank. Frank was that one guy in every college, that was always trying to convert you. Constantly telling you about Jesus, and how god loves you so much. Yeah, he was a good guy, but his constant lecturing about Christianity could get annoying. “Hi frank”, Sam responded. “Where are you headed?” “I don't have a class for another hour, so I am going to have lunch a little early.” Frank replied. “You're not going to eat the cafeteria food are you?” asked Sam, making a face. “No way,” Frank laughed, “I'm not that hungry.” Sam grinned. “well, I've got to go now, I have a class that starts in a few minutes.” “okay see ya” Frank replied. Sam opened his locker and reached for his college algebra book. It wasn't there. Of course, he already had it in his backpack. Right? Then he remembered. Oh no! I left it in my dorm. 
         How much time did he have? He looked at his watch. Ten minutes. His dorm was on the total opposite side of the campus as his class. I have to have it, he thought. He knew he'd be able to run faster without his backpack, so he stuffed it into his locker, slammed the door, and set off down the hall. Through the swinging doors, and onto the sidewalk. Thud, thud, thud, thud. Already he was calculating. Three and A half minutes to get to the dorm, thirty seconds to grab the book and get out, and six minutes to get from the dorm to his class. Impossible. He was already half way there, and it had been... he looked at his watch. Two minutes. There was no way he was going to make it. Even if he went to the class right now, he wouldn't make it. Thud, thud, thud, thud. Hurry, hurry, hurry, hurry. Here it was, right around this next bend. Thud, thud, thud, thud. There it was, right in front of him. Through the doors he ran, down the hall, and to his room. He already had the key out. He slipped it in, and twisted. Click. He burst through the door. There it was, laying open on the bed, where he had left it. He snatched it up, and looked at this watch. Class started in five minutes. It would take him ten minutes to get there if he hadn't just run as hard as he could for five minutes. Ten minutes later he pulled up in front of the math and science building, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His legs felt like jelly, and he was dripping with sweat. He took a few deep breaths to calm his breathing. Okay, that was better. He stepped through the doors into the hall. Empty, as he expected. Everyone else was in their class, where he should be. He could hear the dull droning of math teachers, and see the smoke leaking out from under the door of the science lab. All this, he took in as he hurried to his classroom. Suddenly he stopped. Something wasn't right. Was it the sounds? no. the smells? He sniffed. Smoke. Some science experiment gone wrong no doubt. He looked toward the science lab. More smoke. Should he go check it out? He was already almost ten minutes late for class. But, on the other hand, he could zip over there and make sure everything was alright. It would only take thirty seconds. He paused, undecided. OK. thirty seconds extra wouldn't hurt anything. 
            He ran to the door and yanked the door open. Smoke billowed out. Coughing, he jumped out of the way. Peering in, as best he could with all of the smoke, he scanned the room. Flames licked the wall, in the far corner of the room. Near the wall, a cabinet lay on the floor, it's contents scattered on the floor. Broken jars, shattered vials, and spilled chemicals lay mixed together on the floor. Presumably what had started the fire. But how had the cabinet gotten tipped over in the first place? Sam looked around for a fire alarm. There, on the other  side of the room. Should he go to the classrooms and get help, or go to the fire alarm? Surely with all of the chemicals in the air, it could not be good to breath. On the other hand, the fire alarm was much closer. Maybe if he called for help someone would hear him. “Help!” he yelled, “Fire!”. Then he took a deep breath, and stepped into the room. The smoke burned his eyes, as he tore across the room. Five feet from the fire alarm he stopped. There was a girl laying on the floor unconscious. She must have somehow knocked the cabinet down, started the fire, tried to get to the fire alarm, and fallen unconscious because of the fumes. He hesitated for only a moment, before he took one more step, smashed the glass on the fire alarm, and pulled the handle. A high pitched screech announced the presence of a fire. Still holding his breath, he spun around, and grabbed the girl laying on the floor. It wasn't as easy as it looks in movies. his lungs where burning, as he half carried, half dragged her, through the room, and out the door to safety. Down the hall, doors where opening, and people where filling the hallway. Sam sprinted toward the main throng, yelling “someone call an ambulance, call the fire department. We have a fire in the science lab.” He ran back to where he had left the girl. He guessed she was eighteen or nineteen. She was probably a freshmen, like him. He knelt beside her. She was still breathing, that was good. He hated to just stand around and do nothing, yet he didn't know what to do to help. A middle aged man, who's name tag identified him as professor Hall, rushed up beside him. “An ambulance is coming” The man said “tell me what happened” Sam told him quickly all he knew, as the man examined her. Meanwhile no one knew what to do. Some people tried to put out the fire, while others ran to get a fire extinguishers.“How is she?” Sam asked, after a while. I don't know, the man replied, “and I don't know what else to do for her. The medics should be here soon”.  At that moment, the firemen and medics arrived. What happened next, he hardly remembered. He could vaguely remember the medics putting Ellen (He later found out that that was her name) on a stretcher, and bringing her into the ambulance, and then roaring away, sirens blaring. He couldn't stop thinking about her. Every time he closed his eyes, he could see her face, lying on the floor unmoving, eyes closed, as if in death. He couldn't help wonder, why he had found her. Had he just happened to be late, that one time when she would need his help? He knew that Frank would say it was because of God. But he didn't believe in God, did he? Of course not, it was all an accident of fate. He didn't sleep well that night. He couldn't get the thoughts out of his mind. What if God had put him at the right place at the right time. What if God was real, just like Frank kept telling him. He finally eventually into a fitful sleep.
               Rrrring, rrrring, rrring! Sam rolled over and hit the snooze button on his alarm. His clock read 7:30. half an hour till his first class. Suddenly yesterdays events came back to him. Ellen! He jumped up from bed. How is she. He got dressed quicker than ever before, and grabbed a cold bagel from the fridge, before hurrying out the door. Slow down, he thought, how are you even planning to find out about her. Are you just going to ask everyone you meet? He could go to the science and math building, but then what would he do? Try to find someone who might know, and ask them? His heart sank. Suddenly he was afraid it would be a while before he heard about her. Why did he care about it so much anyway. Was it because she was pretty? That thought made him pause. Of course not, he thought, She had almost died, he was simply concerned about her. yet he knew that wasn't true.
          Four hours later, and he still hadn't hear anything. Was she still in the hospital? Is she getting worse, or better? He had asked around, but nobody knew anything, and yet he couldn't get her out of his mind. After his last class, which was at 2:30, he decided to go back to the science and math building, and try to find professor Hall. He had no idea where to look, but he hoped he might just happened to see him. He came in the doors, and started walking down the hall. No one. The only sound, was the sound of his footsteps. Then he heard footsteps coming from around the corner. Maybe it was professor Rush, but that was crazy. The chance of happening to meet the one person that he was looking for was extremely unlikely, and even if he did meet him, he would probably not know anything new about Ellen. Yet he couldn't help but hope. If anyone was at the right place at the right time, let it be professor rush. 
     He turned the corner, and there walking toward him, was not professor rush, but Ellen. He stopped, and for a moment he couldn't move. Of all the people he had thought it might be, Ellen was the last person on earth he would have expected. She of course, wouldn't recognize him, but he couldn't mistake her. Her Dark brown shoulder length hair, flowing loose around her shoulders, and her eyes. He hadn't seen her eyes before, but they where a startling emerald green. She was beautiful. “Ellen” he called. She turned toward him, “hi” she said, smiling. He didn't know what to say. “How are you doing?” He asked. “I'm doing fine” she replied. He suddenly realized that he hadn't introduced himself. “I'm Sam Fisher.” “I...” how do you say that you saved someones life without sounding arrogant? he wondered. “I got you out of the burning room yesterday”. Her eyes widened in recognition. “you're the one who saved my life” she said. “they told me all about how you ran through the burning room to save me. Thank you so much” “yeah, your welcome” he replied. That wasn't exactly the way it had happened. He hadn't come in there to save her. In fact he hadn't even seen her until he almost ran over her. But the details where not important right? “Anyway, I wanted to make sure you are doing better” he said. “yeah, I woke up in the ambulance, and they gave me some drugs last night, and this morning they said I would be okay, thanks to you. I am not going to any classes today, but I decided to come here to try to find out what happened last night and thank whoever saved me, so, thank you.” “You're welcome. I guess I was just at the right place at the right time. Right?”

Hey! That's a pretty good story! :) Good job!

Nice story! Will there be a second part to it?

probably not, I just wrote this for a school essay, so I don't have any plans to write any more of it. but who knows, right :D

Okay. Well good job again! :)

Great story! I really enjoyed it! :D

That was great!

I'm usually not one for (writing, anyway) SciFi… my mom doesn't care too much for that genre. Anyway, surprising even myself, I'm writing a science fiction/futuristic story. ;) I don't know if I'd be allowed to post it here, though, cause Mom wants me to keep working on it and maybe get it published. But if anyone wants, I could post a synopsis here.

But if anyone wants, I could post a synopsis here.

Oooh! Please do. :)

Ha ha! That response came a lot faster than I anticipated. Okay, it'll take me a few minutes to type out, so…. hold on.

Okay, so a man named Slade O'Hande and his henchman Colter Foxe have created a group called Interplanetary Protection (IP). Basically, their goal is to gain rights for planets. They announce that they have discovered alien life on a distant planet. Life on another planet might help them push these laws protecting planets through.

A Christian Creationist group, called Aster, is trying to disprove IP's claim, since its implications are obviously anti-biblical. The group sends out four men to the planet, where they are going to try to find evidence that IP is faking the whole thing.

So far, I've just made half-way through the second chapter, where the team is on the spaceship, the Seeker. It's actually pretty funny so far - one of the crew members, Landin Clark, is kind of a goof-ball. He was created after my brother, Landon. :D

That sounds really cool! It has a very intriguing premise (and it sounds like it will be funny as well). I hope it goes well for you. :)

Thanks. :)

Here's a story I wrote for a short, short story contest at my school. It had to be less than 750 words and have something to do with winter or Christmas. I hope you enjoy! :)

“Every December, they come. Although we are guilty of no offense, they continue to cut down and dishonor our brothers and sisters. Now is the time to rise up against these savage invaders! Now is the time to end this senseless slaughter!”

A chorus of assent arose from those who heard the tall, hoary pine who spoke. The pines, the firs, and the spruces had listened with rapt eagerness at his words, which touched them all to the sap. They had all suffered greatly, and they had each lived in constant dread of the destruction that inevitably occurred each winter. Indeed, the trees had, every December, experienced the gluttonous cruelty of the race known as humans. It was they who, with their shining blades, ruthlessly cut them down and hauled them off in triumph. The speaker continued.

“As you well know, our nemesis comes in three forms. The first is called the father, and it is he who is the chief executioner. The second is what we believe to be called the honey. These eagerly and despicably record our destruction with a horrible black, flashing cube. The third form, the most terrible of all, is the child. Those of this form sing, laugh, and dance as we are brought to our ends. It is they who sway the former forms as to who shall live and who shall die. Must we allow our nemesis to persist in these terrible designs? No, say I!”

Spectacular cheers arose from the listeners. “Let us unite for our common defense!” they cried. “Tell us, Harnedles, how to stop the humans!”

The ancient raised one of his many fingers, motioning for silence.

“We must defend ourselves in any way we are able. Pines, prepare your cones and make ready to hurl them toward the invaders. Firs, sharpen your needles and prepare to unleash a whirlwind of tiny blades. Spruces, release your sap and gather it into adhesive projectiles. I know that such action is, for our kinds, unprecedented, but our very survival depends upon success!” With exclamations of hope, the three clans set to work.

That night, the first snow fell.

The next morning, old Mr. Barnard, whom the trees called “the Keeper,” hung up a piece of carved wood that served to summon the coming destruction. For the next thirty days, only the coming of night could give respite to the trees within the compound.

The first humans entered as the sun reached its zenith. Through the little gate they came, eager for the acquisition of a Christmas tree. The trees saw that this group was a family of humans. All three forms—father, honey, and child—had come, the last cheerfully riding on a crimson sled.

“Steady, friends,” said Harnedles, his voice not betraying the slightest quiver. “Remember to wait for my command. Today shall and must be the day of salvation!”

The trees whispered their approval.

Avoiding several promising specimens at the urging of the child, the humans made their way to a beautiful fir tree. The trees themselves gasped, for the one the family admired was Emasapia, a young fir only a few years old. The little one shuddered at the touch of the cheering and dancing child and looked toward her powerless Mother in terror.

The father brought forth the saw. The trees knew that they must act quickly, for it was a self-cutting blade that whirred and buzzed. It was, in fact, a chainsaw.

“Now!” roared Harnedles. Instantly the air was alive with flying needles, pinecones, and balls of oozing sap. The trees concentrated their aim upon the electric saw, and their well-placed throws quickly knocked it out of the hands of the startled father. Countless needles whizzed through the air, stinging the humans and causing them to cry out in alarm. The honey shrieked as oozing sap stuck to her long fur dress, dropping the flashing black cube as she did so. After looking in vain for the perpetrator of this unexpected attack, the family fled from the compound, warning all they met that the place was despicable and should be avoided.

The trees themselves were satisfied with their work. The day had been carried, Emasapia had been saved, and the first of many invaders had been vanquished. They knew that they might still falter in the struggle, but determination, the wise leadership of Harnedles, and a newly-sprung courage had laid the foundation for a brighter future. The war for independence had begun.

Wow. That is awesome! (Not that I agree with the trees, or anything…)

Well, I figured I might as well post a little bit of that story I'm working on… just enough to get you guys interested. :) This is the middle part of Chapter 2 - as far as I've written so far. So, the crew is on board the Seeker, heading for that distant planet. There are four guys on the spaceship: Ranger is the commander, Jarek is the technology engineer, Landin is the "go-fer" and clown, and Ian doesn't come up much in this section.

---

“Hey, Ranger, take a look at this.” He motioned to his notebook. Ranger looked over Landin’s shoulder at the drawing of a man with a cylinder strapped to his back. “It’s my new invention,” Landin explained. “It’s an oxygen tank that is lighter, smaller, and holds more air than a typical tank - all at the same time!”

“How does that work?”

“Well, the tank is filled with an air compressor. The compressed air takes up less room than regular air. That’s how it fits more air in a smaller space. The tank straps to the astronaut’s back, and this tube fits through a hole in his helmet. Then when he needs to breathe, he just bites down here on the tube, and the oxygen is released!” Landin studied his drawing critically. “There’s only one problem.”

“What’s that?”

“Since the air in the tank is compressed, the air would shoot through the tube once it’s released and - kapow! The astronaut’s lungs are blown into smithereens.”

Ranger laughed and thumped Landin’s shoulder. “Keep working, Landin. Maybe you’ll be able to modify it so that it works someday.”

Landin flipped to a clean page. “Let’s see… I could add a stopper here at the mouth of the tube - no, then there would be no air flow at all. Maybe I could fill the tank with carbon dioxide instead of oxygen…” His voice trailed off as he began drawing once again.

Ranger went to pick up the guitar again, making a mental note not to allow Landin to test any of his inventions on him. As he passed, Ranger scanned the bookcase and found what he was looking for: How to Tune Your Guitar. Maybe this would help.

As Ranger tuned the guitar, Jarek got up from his beanbag to look at Landin’s drawing.

“Landin, I think I know how to fix your problem of high air pressure,” he said, studying the image.

“Really? How?”

“Most air compressors have a regulator - something to regulate the pressure. You could add one right about here… and then you wouldn’t have to worry about the astronaut’s lungs exploding.”

Landin scratched his head. “Now how come I didn’t think of that?” he asked no one in particular. He added a few lines to his original drawing, then turned again to Jarek. “Hey, Jarek, did you know that if you say the word ‘banana’ really slowly, it actually sounds like you’re saying the word ‘gullible’?”

“Really?” Jarek was impressed. “I didn’t know that.”

“Just try it.”

“Okay. Banana. Ba…na…na. I don’t know, Landin. I don’t think it sounds anything like ‘gullible.’”

Landin rubbed his chin. “Try it again. You just might have to listen very closely.”

Jarek tried again, oblivious of the smirk crossing Landin’s face. “B…a…n…a…n…a…. I think I might have heard it this time.”

Ranger had been listening to the whole conversation and now stepped in. “Landin, since you apparently have nothing better to do, why don’t you play me at a game of ping pong? Jarek, you could go get Ian and we could play doubles.”

They both agreed. As Jarek, who still hadn't caught the joke, went to drag Ian away from his book, Landin said, “You have to admit, Ranger, it was pretty funny.”

This is another story that was inspired by one of Aesop's fables. :)

The heat was sweltering. The sun beat down on my back. I imagined that anyone looking close enough would see steam rising from the sweat on my shirt. I needed to find some place to cool off so I could continue my journey.

I am the governor of one of the largest provinces in the kingdom; needless to say, I am an important man. And with power and fame come danger. On many days such as this day, I make my travels under the disguise of a lowly farmer. Traveling as such, I remove much risk of being robbed along my way.

I leaned heavily on my walking stick and peered at the road ahead of me. Was that a building, or was I seeing things in my weariness? Yes, it was a building! Perhaps a town lay ahead of me, where I could find refreshment in the form of food and drink.

Brushing the dust from my feet, I entered the town. I saw many shops and booths of homemade wares, but what I was looking for lay halfway into the town. The Inn of the Lion – the resting place of travelers and the meeting place of townspeople. It appeared much more reputable than the Inn of the Boar down the street. I walked through the door and felt instant relief. It was much cooler there than in the scorching sun.

I found an empty table and seated myself while the innkeeper prepared a meal. As I waited, I took time to look around the large room. Tables were sparsely occupied, but this was not unusual; after all, the time for the noon meal was gone, and several hours must pass before the evening meal.

The conversation of two men at a nearby table confirmed my assumption that the Inn of the Lion was a much more prestigious establishment than the Inn of the Boar. I was glad I had made the right choice. Now to wait for my meal.

I had not long to wait before the food arrived, steaming hot straight from the kitchen. I was more than pleased; the bread was flakey, the meat was tender, and the soup was savory – just the way I like it.

When I had satisfied my hunger, I took the time to look around the room. Against one of the walls was a display of paintings for sale: mostly images of kings and nobles, some from times past, and others from the present day. The innkeeper came to take away my emptied dishes and I drew his attention to the paintings.

“How much would you take for this portrait?” I asked, motioning to the painting of our king.

He contemplated. “I would accept seven silver pieces as an acceptable price.”

I was surprised and slightly chagrined that he would sell the painting for such a low price! After all, the king was an important man. Then my eyes landed on two other paintings side by side on the display. One was of myself, and the other was of a governor of a nearby province. I suppose this made him my peer, though I would not lower myself to declaring him my equal. A question crossed my mind – would these paintings be as highly valued as the painting of the king? I decided to find out.

Motioning now to the portrait of my, ahem, fellow governor, I asked, “How much would you take for this crudely painted image?”

“I supposed I could let that go for, say, three silver pieces.”

I smirked as I imagined the governor’s reaction to his own portrait selling for such a low price. I pointed to the image of myself.

“And how much for this exquisite masterpiece?” I asked, eagerly anticipating the answer.

His answer came a little too quickly for my taste. “Oh, that? If you take the other two for the prices I told you, I will throw that one in for free.”

“Therefore let anyone who thinks that he stands take heed lest he fall.” (1 Corinthians 10:12)

That's pretty good, Bethany! Oh, and I noticed we're going to be sitting pretty close to each other at Nats! It'll be fun to meet you in person! (I haven't ever before, have I? xP)

Thanks Courtney! I know, that'll be SO GREAT!!!!!!!!!!! And no, we haven't met. Yet. :D

Haha! :D

This story was written by Sarah Kingess of Memverse and Abigail Beloved of Memverse. Edited by Emmy Theatrics Expert of Memverse. With constructive criticism from Martin D., Sauroc, Nathan Wright, Hannah Waters, and Ben Walley.
Feel free to give me your opinion as well, even though I might not edit this story (or in prove it an more) your opinion will make my future stories better (we pray). Please enjoy!

The Assassin girl
Amanda reached down and unfastened her uncomfortable high heels. It was quite a trick to unbuckle them in the darkness while lying flat on her back underneath a king size bed, but she at last managed to free her sore feet from their confinement.  "I'll get them before I leave" she thought with a wince. High heels and a suit were definitely not Amanda Darek's style, but necessary in her line of business.  As an assassin she was quite good at acting her part and sneaking around.  Her tool of assassination tonight was a syringe loaded with deadly power, Tetrodotoxin. Taken from an ocean octopus, this poison killed in a matter of minutes.

Her mission was to strike at a master detective who had been shadowing the band for a while now. Finally the Boss had decided to get him out of the way, and sent two of his most capable killers. Amanda would have preferred to use a gun any day— it would be so much more thrilling. But if she questioned the Boss, she might as well question her life too.

It wouldn't be long now before the victim walked through the door. It never once crossed Amanda's mind that she knew nothing about the person she was murdering. No, she had long since drowned out such thoughts of her inner voice. As the Boss said,  "What is another person to saving yourself."

Approaching footsteps in the hall brought the victim closer. The door opened. By turning her head to the side she could watch the every step of the man from her situation under the bed. The shiny black of his shoes told of the man's position as a well-to-do detective. "His honesty in court is annoying. There is no bribery with that dude… If you are caught by him you're done for," the Boss had warned with a rough laugh.  Amanda's heart beat faster and she closed her eyes to better focus on waiting. And two hours later made it ten o'clock, and the victim was asleep in the bed, completely oblivious to the death beneath him.  

Using her hands alon, Amanda slowly slid from under the bed and rose from the floor, carful not to use the bed to brace herself.  The little light that came from the parking lot lights outside was enough to prepare the deathly instrument. With one stride she was looming over the prostate figure on the bed. "What is one more life lost to save your own?" the Boss's voice whispered in her ear. The needle was two inches from the mans arm when a car pulling out of the parking lot caused light to stream in through the shades and alight on the man's features. Amanda nearly caught her breath, and if she had not been a well-trained assassin she may have. For a moment she stood frozen in astonishment. She knew this person!

How very long ago it had been… He had sat alone on the church steps crying when she had found him. She had known he loved her best friend but she had comforted him when he was rejected, because in her girlish heart she loved him.  His eyes were closed now, but she knew the color was blue, which turned yellowish when he was angry.  She had only seen him angry once, and that was when she first told him her first dreadful secret…  since then she had made many horrible secrets that would have made his face grimace. Well, he had made it well in the world as a detective, it was plain to see. 

A Bible on the nightstand had his name in the cover, "Martin Fold." He had stuck with the childhood faith, and she… She stood with death in her heart and blood on her hands ready to kill him. What was she doing here? She could never hurt him, but if she didn't the Boss would, and kill her too. What did Martin care about her now? If he caught her he wouldn't he have her in an electric chair without a second thought? If only Carmon had been given this part of the job… but killing someone had never bothered her before now. Or had it?

Once again she moved the syringe closer to the man's arm. Her hand trembled uncontrollable, but she tried hard to steady it by thinking again about how much he would hate her if he knew her now.

 

Suddenly the syringe fell from her hand and dropping onto the man's arm, bouncing onto the bed beside him. She sucked in her breath sharply, and her heart beat loudly in her ears.

Martin open opened his eyes and sat up quickly with a feeling of alarm. His hand was gabbed off the bed and a hoarse voice whispered, as if through clenched teeth, "D-don't touch it!"

Amanda's first quick move when Martin sat up was to snatch his hand away from the death syringe; her next move was to grab it up herself. Realization came upon her like a flood. She was trapped unless she could kill him now.

"Who are you?" he asked.

He sensed a quick movement in the dark as his only answer and reached out, taking a firm grasp of the lurker's wrist. Amanda struggled hard, and tried to twist her arm around and stab him with the death syringe. Finally she remembered that she had two hands and punched him in the face. For a moment Martin was stunned and that was moment enough, for she released herself and fled for the door.

 

Martin leapt after her, but when the door opened and the light fell on her face he stopped. The door clicked shut behind her and his fist hit the door with a thud in his astonishment. Could it be her? The girl from his youth who was so instrumental in his becoming the detective he was… He had been searching for her for so long! Every time he walked past a dark ally he thought of her and wondered if she was hiding somewhere in one of those dark places waiting for someone to take her back to the light.

Well, why didn't he go after her now? His hand fell on the doorknob but he shook his head and turned back to the room. If she was scared and running away there was a better way of catching up with her. He didn't have to ask himself how and why she had been here; it was clear she was going to kill— he had been asking for it by stalking her gang. He thanked God for protection and began to search the room up and down for anything that could be helpful.  He found her high-heeled shoes under the bed and laughed to himself,  it had always been like Amanda to kick off shoes whenever she could. Now there was no time to lose….

 

After flying down the fight of stairs to ground level, Amanda was just reaching the front lobby where Carmon was waiting. Still dressed as a gentleman, in a suit that was too small for him, he looked ridiculous to her. Without a word she passed him and ran toward the door.

 

"Is there something wrong, miss?" a lady's voice called from the counter. "Do you need something?"

Amanda pretended not to hear at first. She had to get out of the building as soon as possible.

"Wait— you don't have anything on your feet, madam!" the lady persevered in her attempt to stop the getaway. But she was right; Amanda couldn't go far in the snow barefoot. "Here! Take my shoes -they seem like they would fit you. I have another pair." 

Amanda turned to the lady and was surprised to see a much younger woman then she expected smiling back at her. Then she looked at the shoes and almost groaned— not high-heels again! Oh, but it couldn't be helped, so she took then and forced a smile. "T-Thank you."

"No problem!"  the hotel assistant replied.  "Just let me know if there's anything else I can do for you."

She heard Carmon behind her say a jolly "goodnight" as he followed her out the door. Oh, if only it had been him sent to assassinate the detective.

 

The night seemed much colder than it really was. Carmon was now right behind her as she quickly crossed the street.  "What happened?  Didn't you kill the dude?" he hissed in her ear.

"No. I couldn't. Something went wrong and I dropped the syringe."

"You did what? What are you going to say to the Boss? Why didn't you pick it back up?" he demanded in a concerned tone.

"I did. But I didn't get a chance to stick him. The guy grabbed my wrist!!!" 

She was really angry now and cursed under her breath. Angry with Martin, angry at the Boss, but most of all angry with herself. There was no telling what the punishment for this would be, but whatever it was, it would be terrible.

Suddenly Amanda stopped in her tracks, making Carmon to walk into her. She turned and gave him a shove.  "I'm NOT going back!" she shouted.

"What? You're not going back where?" Carmon started to ask.

Suddenly from out of the darkness two figures leapt on Amanda from behind, yanking her hands behind her back and shoving a gag in her mouth.

"Yeah! Not going back where, Missy?" a mocking voice called out. "The boss saw what you did. You know what else he saw? A traitor! You!"

Amanda didn't even bother to try to scream; she knew all too well these boys didn't care a thing about her life now that she was a marked traitor. But how did the boss know so soon that the detective still lived?

 

Most people, after such a close encounter with death, would have moved out at once. But Martin was a different sort of person who trusted that God was in charge of his every breath, and he believed that it was his mission to find a straying girl and bring her back to the light. He was heading out to find her. Till then, nothing would stop him.

In another place a man much more wicked and crafty then any Martin had encountered before was devising a plan to trap him.

 

Harold Jay, known to the band as "Boss," knew that he had failed in defeating the detective he loathed. But he was not going to give up till he was dead. If he couldn't get the man by sending his best assassin, he would use her for his bait. He had seen the whole event through a small spy camera.

Amanda was dragged into the den, which served as a meeting place for the band, and propped up in a chair facing the table where Boss stood with his back to her.

"So, you are done being assassin, Slighter?"

Amanda cringed at the sound of that "pet name" that had once fit her like a glove.

"Just so you know," the Boss continued. "We're not done with YOU!" He turned to face her with a gun in his hand.

"I'm not going to kill anyone else for you!" Amanda choked, "so kill me."

"Actually, I was thinking of a better fate for you. You want to be a good guy? Hmm? Then we'll let the good guys judge you." A wicked smile spread across the Boss's face. "Till then you can be our bait for our good friend Martin."

 

It was true Martin wanted her to come back to join him in the old life of freedom.  Oh, but even if she could get out of here alive, she could never go back. They would imprison her, or give her the death sentence. She could never live a normal life without a guilty heart and conscience nagging at her everywhere she went.

 

Amanda lost all her senses and fell to the floor in a dead faint.

 

The Boss didn't bother to wake her. Ten to one she was just faking it— but what did that matter? She was a prisoner now, by her own choice; had she obeyed the rules she would be as free as any of them. Now she was something to be feared, and he had to get rid of her as soon as he could.

Quickly he summoned in two of his assistants— Carmon and another fellow with long hair and a dirty face. "Take her into the other room, and keep her under close guard." Then, as they where dragging her out, he called. "Bog! Don't let her out of your sight ever! Carmon, report to me in twenty-five minutes!"

The man with long hair gave an awkward nod and ducked out of the room. Carmon dragged Amanda around the corner and into a dark room, where he dropped her in the middle of the floor and turned to leave. He was stopped by Bog, who had shut and locked the door and now stood in front of it, blocking the way.

"Carmon!" That was not Bog's crackly voice. "I need you to do something for me… And if you don't I will have to make you."

"Who are you? What do you want me to do?" Carmon asked suspiciously as he fingered the knife hidden in his belt. He never trusted anyone.

"I need someone I can really trust. Can I trust you? Hurry! Answer me! We don't have all day!"

If the situation had been different and if Bog had been acting normal, he would have made a joke. But something told him this guy was not Bog, and he wanted a straight answer no joking around. A lie would work. "Yeah, sure."

"Bog" eyed him for a moment, then put out his hand and took hold of the other man's arm in a friendly way… Then he explained his plan in detail. "We need to hurry. We only have a little over twenty minutes— hopefully it's sufficient time to get us out of here."

"What am I supposed to do?" Carmon grunted, "I’ll go to jail if I get out of here."

"Really? You fear the prison sentence?" Martin raised one eyebrow– "would never have guessed from the way you live in this hole." He walked over to Amanda and crouched down to touch her face. Her eyes flew open at once. "How long have you been conscious?" Martin asked gently.

"Since I was dropped here and heard you talking." She replied.

He lifted her up to a sitting position, and she threw her arms around his neck. "I'm so sorry, Martin." she cried into his shoulder. "I can't go back to living normally now."

"Things will never be the same," he agreed, "but with God nothing is impossible. Things will work out. You aren't afraid of dying because you know where you are going, right?" He took her face in his hands and searched her face.

Tears streamed down both cheeks and she whispered, "I need to think about it. Everything is happening so fast…"

"Think quickly. You may not have much longer." he said still gently, but this time with a stern urgency in his voice. He stood and helped her to her feet, then turned to Carmon, who had been observing and thinking. "Alright, we're going to break out of here, guys." they both watched as he walked over to the window and looked down. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "It's not far to the ground. We could make a sure escape, but I came here on a mission to bring down the Assassin Master Harold Jay. And, unless we do something, he'll just be stalking all three of us till we're dead."

 "There’s no way out of here." Carmon grunted, "Look. I admire your genius getting in here under disguise and all— nobody has ever tricked the Boss before— but really we're going to die no matter what. Your best bet is to let me out of here and climb out that window yourself and get your face out of here."

Martin was just opening his mouth to reply when there was a loud banging on the door. Martin looked first at Amanda, then at Carmon, and started for the door muttering something about it being better than getting caught in the aisle for a face off.

He flung the door open, at the same time tearing off the wig. There stood the Boss, Harold Jay, with a nasty snarl on his face. His fist flew out, aiming for Martin's face. But it was just what Martin had been expecting, and he took a quick step to the side and grabbed the Boss's arm. With lightning speed Martin fought, but Jay was bigger and knew much more of killing. Carmon was just about to jump in when suddenly Martin took a terrible blow to the stomach before Amanda could scream a warning, and he slumped to the floor.

 

"I knew there was something wrong with Bog when he didn't show up this morning for the grouping." He smirked. "I'll take care of you as soon as I get a bit of information. But first—" Jay turned to Carmon and drew his gun out of his coat. Carmon was backing towards the door even though he knew there was no escape.  The gun clicked as the Boss took aim.

Suddenly Martin was on his feet between the gun and Carmon,  "That man isn't ready for death!" He shouted as the gun went off and the bolt of light flashed into his own body.

 

Amanda had been watching the whole thing, only half comprehensive that she was there. She kept hearing what Martin had last told her, "Think quickly. You may not have much longer" over and over, turning the words in her mind as if trying to pull out some secret message in them. Now her knife was ready in her hand. If Martin died he would not fail in his mission to bring down the Assassins. Jay's back was to her; in fact he seemed to have forgotten she existed… but Martin had shown her that this god she had let master her life was only a man. She charged him, leaping for his neck and slit his throat. The struggle ended with the Boss dead. Carmon stood by her side.

 

Amanda sat on the edge of the prison bed. She had just received the death sentence. Tomorrow she would die. She bowed her head. The shame of standing in court in front of her family and old friends, with people she had never met before making their charges against her. That had been the worst death. She had just seen her mother, for the first time in ages. The sound of her mother’s sobs still rang in her ears and broke her heart. But in her heart she knew, and her mother now knew, as soon as she was dead she would see the real Savior.

Carmon had visited her before the trial. He had already been condemned to life in prison, but it was clear he had been planning a brake out… but she had shared the gossip that she was coming to understand so much more day by day, and now she prayed he had been listening.

It was hard to comprehend, but soon she would see Martin again too. The thought filled her with joy. Despite all the things she had done wrong— she had been forgiven.

Wow, Sarah! That was incredible! You story was captivating (with a good message) and brilliantly written. :)

Wow. Sarah, that was excellent! I loved it! Very well written… ^the ending was sad and yet beautiful. :)^

That kept me glued right to the end! That was soooo good!!!! Very well written! : )

Ya know, I should have mentioned, when I sent my edited version back to you, that I really enjoyed reading it :) Good job Big Sis and Abby Buddy!

Thanks! I'm sorry I wasn't able to make any changes to the story like you suggested… but I did consider them and I think I might rewrite it sometime! ;)

Good job, guys!

Wow! That was - amazing. Those last few sections at the end were the worst and yet the best at the same time. Great job, guys! :)