Rabbit Season

The noise of glass hitting the ground sounded throughout the house like a gunshot. Maura’s eyes were ripped open in shock as she let out a horrifying

scream. The remains of the dead animal lay in a mangled heap on her porch. The animal’s throat had been ripped open, and its eyes clawed out. Red bloodstains soaked into the welcome mat, and although the creature had been ripped apart and mutilated beyond repair, the white cotton-ball tail lying off to the side gave it away as a rabbit. A dead rabbit. A dead rabbit that someone had left on her porch for her to discover. What kind of a sick, disgusting person would do such a horrible thing, She thought, and then leave it on my front porch almost like some cruel, sadistic message? She pondered over this last thought for a moment, until it became the first thing to sit right with her since the sight of the tortured rabbit; someone was trying to send her a message… or a warning. She turned to walk inside and call the police when she saw a flutter of paper stuck between two planks of wood, which helped make up the front porch. She reached down and snatched it up between two fingers. As she lifted it up to her face to read it, she realized just how clear the message was. Written messily with what looked like the rabbit’s blood, the slip of paper said: I Know What You Are. And You Know What Happens Next. Leave, You Piece Of Filth.  The paper slipped from her hand and caught the wind, flying away. She dropped the cracked handle of her broken teacup onto the ground just before she threw up all over it.

Out of Time

11:00:00 A.M. Friday, November 12, 201l, location unknown:

            A man sits at an enormous computer, pushing seemingly random buttons on an endless keyboard. He toggles a switch; the loud echo of the click it makes echoes eerily throughout the dimly lit room. Numbers flash on the screen—a countdown. Only two hours and fifty minutes, the man thinks, a demented smile growing on his face.

11:00:5 A.M, James A. Garfield High School, Tennessee, USA:

            Brrrrrring! The lunch bell rings at exactly 5 seconds after eleven, like usual. Harvey G. Harris jumps out of his chair and lands in the doorway in what seems like a single, fluid movement. He sprints through the halls, quick as a bullet, and nearly running into a freshman that risks walking out in front of him. The daily race to the cafeteria has begun.

11:01:15 A.M:

Within a minute, Harvey has situated himself two spots from the very front of the lunch line. Ughhh, spinach again, he thinks to himself, but duly spoons the sickly vegetable onto his Styrofoam, lunchroom-brand tray.

11:22:38 A.M.

            Harvey sits with his best friends at their usual lunch table, located on the side of the cafeteria nearest the restrooms. The sound of flushing toilets can be heard in the background. On his left sits a singing Jerome Taylor, former Frisbee star, to-be opera  star, current best friend. Harvey does not like opera.

11:31:04 A.M:

            It takes Harvey nearly ten minutes to convince Jerome that music is not his calling. Mark, their half-Irish/half-Chinese, redhead friend, moves so that he is sitting three seats away from them. Clearly Mark doesn’t enjoy opera either.

11:37:18 A.M:

            Harvey’s stomach grumbles, and he starts to feel nauseated. He probably shouldn’t have had the spinach. He makes a trip quick trip to the restroom.

11:50:06 A.M:

            The cafeteria goes silent as the bell rings, signifying the end of lunch. Harvey drags himself from the lunch table and off toward his English class.

12:12:12 P.M:

            Harvey looks down at his watch to realize that it is twelve seconds after twelve- twelve. A voice in the back of his mind tells him to make a wish. He wishes that his half-deaf, senile teacher, Ms. Mawkins, would spontaneously combust.

12:13:00 P.M:

            Ms. Mawkins is still alive. In fact, she’s positively beaming as she rambles on about Sophocles and Ancient Greece.  Harvey yawns extremely conspicuously.

12:38:19 P.M:

            Ms. Mawkins has passed out a worksheet. There is a list of fifteen words, and the instructions say to find, for each, a word with which it rhymes.

12:43:28 P.M:

Harvey finds himself stuck on consult. He decided to take his worksheet’s advice and consult his neighbor’s worksheet.  He silently laughs at his stupid joke, and finds that the blonde-haired, nutcase sitting next to him has written occult. She may be crazy, but this is all he’s got, so he writes it on his paper

12:48:01 P.M.

            Harvey hands his paper in to the teacher. Ms. Mawkins shoots a delightful smile at her “star pupil”.

13:00:05 P.M:

            The bell rings for third period. Harvey is up in an instant and out of the classroom in another.

13:02:15 P.M:

            Harvey turns into his Spanish class to find Mark standing by his desk. Mark reminds him that they have a group project due next week that they need to work on. They decide to meet each other on Saturday.

13:05:09 P.M:

            Señora Hammond walks into the classroom exactly fifteen seconds after the bell rings. She glares angrily around the classroom, zoning in with her hawk eyes on talking students.  She gives detention to two guys in the back who hadn’t noticed she’d come in. The class becomes totally silent.

13:26:58 P.M:

            Harvey starts to zone out.

13:27:42 P.M:

            He is woken by the swift and loud rap of a ruler on his desk. He looks up to see Señora Hammond standing over him with the measuring instrument in hand. “Detención” she declares. For the first time in Spanish class, Harvey doesn’t have to ask what something means.

13:48:02 P.M.

            Señora Hammond doesn’t have a clock in her classroom, so Harvey stealthily pulls out his phone and checks the time. He ducks as the teacher routinely moves her eyes around the room. She doesn’t even notice.

13:48:30 P.M

            The sound of someone knocking on the door echoes through the room. Señora Hammond opens the door to a student from the class next door, requesting a set of rulers. Harvey smirks as the box of rulers are set in the student’s hands and removed from the classroom.

13:49:00 P.M:

            Harvey starts to zone again, but random act of kindness by his neighbor saves him from drifting off again.

13:49:15 P.M:

            Harvey doesn’t bother to stifle his yawn—it’s not as if he can get into trouble for being tired.

13:49:45 P.M:

            He can’t wait until three o’clock, when school gets out for the weekend. He starts a mental countdown: only an hour and eleven minutes.

13:50:01 P.M.

            Harvey hears a loud click.

13:50:06 P.M.

            It was just a pen being dropped.

13:50:07 P.M.

            The last thing Harvey remembers is the roaring train in his ears and blinding white of his vision, before the world shifts to black.

Unfortunate

Her coarse, snowy-gray tangles tumbled in an avalanche down her back, the eerie contrast accentuating her striking midnight-black eyes. The fortuneteller held a starry gaze on the floor as she sat down to tell the nobleman his future. She looked up into his cerulean blue eyes and was violently thrown back in her chair. Spread out on the floor, she lifter her jagged index finger and pointed it tremulously at the man.

“Get out, out of my shop! I know who you are! GET OUT!”

The bells above the door fell to the ground in a furious clatter, as the shop door was slammed shut.

            Stupid old hag, he thought, eyes fixed on the oak door he’d just come through, how unfortunate that she'll have to die. He pulled a black stone from his pocket, eyes ablaze, and threw it through the shop window. The shop lit up like a campfire, as the inferno consumed it. A malicious grin spread across his face as he sauntered away. He could hear the fortuneteller's screams echoing across the deserted street. 

The Great Jasteirra

For a recap, view posts with label "Kajul/Anora"


Jasteirra froze with shock, as if she’d been caught in a sorcerer’s spell. For an entire minute, she couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. Her father was dead; the king was dead; her own brother killed him; the prince killed him. Thoughts formed tangled knots in her head. Is he here to kill me? She desperately racked her mind for a solution. But the answer was clear; she’d seen the look on her brother’s, Shaelan’s, face. Shaelan intended to kill her, probably right where she lay.

            “Shay,” she expressed dumbly, her mouth hanging open. He looked at her funny, like she was stupid.

            “Jez, are you entirely obtuse?” the prince laughed, “I come here, to kill you; I have just slain our father, the king; and now I have practically slit your throat. But you, you don’t put up a fight, don’t scream, don’t even try to preserve your own precious life. You just stare at me with those doe eyes, as if it will sway me to spare you, just like old times.” Jasteirra inconspicuously inched a few steps away, totally avoiding Shaelan’s notice.  “I am going to kill you, you know. And once you’re dead, yes, once you’re gone, there will be no one to question me, no one standing in my way. I will be king, king of all Anora. What will everyone think, sister, when they hear that the great Jasteirra, the uncatchable Jasteirra, fell without a word—that you didn’t care that you would die, when you took your final breath.” Throughout his whole speech, the prince had remained oblivious to the fact that Jasteirra had composed herself, shifted positions so that she balanced on only one knee, and had pulled a dagger from her  pocket. As soon as Shaelan had ended his monologue, she pounced, throwing her knife at him. It struck him precisely in the center of his chest, slicing open his heart. Shaelan’s wide eyes stared down at the blade poking through his ribs. That will teach him not to underestimate me again, Jasteirra thought. The prince collapsed to the ground, facing the consequences of his grave mistake.

            “I thought I told you, Shay,” she mocked, “ you’re much too talkative.” She smiled, seeing the hate in his eyes. That was the last emotion he would ever feel, the fury burning within him. 

Broken

Mara let out a horrifying shriek as the Hunter’s dagger was driven into Vin’s soft pale skin. Death seeped cruelly into the room. All the things that the child would never have the chance to see– ripped away sharply and painfully, like peeling tape off your skin. It left a gruesome gash in Vin’s chest, blood cascading down his side. Mara let out a waterfall of tears when she heard Vin’s ghastly screeching. Shudders engulfed his body as he struggled to take his last breaths. After what seemed like ages of agonizing interval, it all stopped.
The chamber’s hunger was satiated with Vin’s death. Lachrymose anguish hung smugly in the air, feeling full of itself. Death, merciless death, had won. Not only was Vin lost forever, but Mara was defeated. Her spirit snuffed out as effortlessly as a candle. Mara had lost Vin; she’d lost the boy that she’d loved like a son; she’d lost herself. And now, with Vin’s lifeless corpse staring back at her, she felt bested. Bested by death; defeated by death; conquered by death; slaughtered by her own suffering and torment. Vin was gone. Death would not give him back. I am broken, broken beyond repair, she whispered to herself, broken. She murmured it softly, like a chant. Broken, broken, broken. I am broken, broken, broken.

Chase

Rachel sped down the highway recklessly at seventy miles per hour, trying to evade her pursuers. Then, a squirrel jumped out in front of her car. She didn’t even blink—the squirrel’s life was not as important as her own. She shed a tear, not for the squirrel, not for her dead ex-husband. It was for her son, Danny. Danny was gone, dead; they had taken him away and killed him. She didn’t care that the entire world was chasing her, just that Danny could be saved. The old lady at the gas station had said so, but it wouldn’t be easy. Someone would have to die. But she had to save Danny.
His curious face with hazel eyes like hers and nose like his father’s seared a heart-breaking image in her head. She could save him, she could bring him back, she could see that beautiful adventurous face again—the face of her only son.
Then the car crashed; she went flying. The world flashed in shades of gray and green underneath her as she soared across the deserted street. She landed with a crack on the hard ground of Craybourne Court. It felt a thousand times worse than the belly flop she had accidentally performed last week at the pool. Her heart sighed sluggishly. This was it, she couldn’t save Danny. Danny was lost to her forever. The world disappeared with a flash.

The Wolves of Kajul

Jasteirra ran as fast as she could, trying to escape the menacing creatures that were at her heels. One of the Wolves caught the edge of her skirt, pulling her down to the hard, cold ground. Her face slammed into the dirt, and she felt currents of blood streaming down her leg. She could not do it; she could not escape now; she was dead. Jasteirra put her hands to her ears weakly, attempting to block out the overwhelmingly cacophonous howls of the Wolves of Kajul.
She felt one of the beasts sniffing her side; it was nauseating. Jasteirra then heard an ominous sound from behind her, not a Wolf. They were footsteps that loomed closer every moment that passed. She sucked in a sharp breath of air, holding it. She could feel her heartbeat quickening to the increasingly closer sounds of the strange steps. But she didn’t have to wait for the mysterious being to reach her.
A loud battle cry erupted from behind her. She heard the sounds of swords clashing, a brawl being launched. Who was it that was attacking? Was he here to help her or hurt her? In a world like this, Jasteirra didn’t know who she could trust. Even her own best friends had betrayed her to the Sorcerer of Kajul. Suddenly, the sound of someone falling to the ground flooded her ears.
She feebily  pulled herself up from the ground, to see what had taken place. Laying on the ground was her own father, dead, and standing above him, a victorious expression on his face, was the Prince to the throne of Anora.
“Hello, sister.” he declared maliciously.

Prisoner

The light spiraled into the room like a spider spinning its web. How long had she been asleep? Was it the moon or the sun that voyaged through the small hole in the ceiling? Victoria sat in utter silence. Her ankle was stained with dark purple splotches, devoured by the pain they brought. She wished she had a knife; then she could slice it off and rid herself of the ache it caused her. She felt blood streaming from the cuts that lined her forearms and wrists, even though she could not see them, tied up with splintered rope behind her back. Her belly ached with unbearable hunger.

A loud creak resounded through the room, the wooden floor carrying the cacophony. The stone door flew open with a noisy thwack. She recognized the man that walked in as if he’d only existed in a dream. She knew his eyes, oh, those eyes. They glowed a fierce shade of yellow, like a cat’s. He had a syringe in his right hand, filled with a pale, sea-foam fluid. He was here to kill her; they couldn’t get any answers from her, so they were giving up. She started to laugh; she couldn’t help it; the shifters were always so lazy. They lacked the diligence that her kind had. They didn’t know that she wanted nothing more than to die, to make the pain of her life leave, to abandon the burning of her stomach, the stinging of her wrists, the aching of her ankle.

The witch’s cackles filled the room, absorbing every nook and cranny. The insane chuckle stole his attention. He took a step back. The malevolent face of the witch caused a cold sweat to break out. It drenched his body with sticky fear. She didn’t stop. He took a reluctant step forward, worried to carry out the job. They would kill him if he didn’t do it. Her burning laugh was all he could hear. Still cautious, he strode up to Victoria. The cackles were deafeningly loud, almost shrieking. He quickly stabbed the needle into her neck. Victoria’s vision began to fade, but her psychotic smile stayed. her last laugh stopped in her throat as the poison reached her heart. She would go where nothing, not even the pain, could follow.

Gone

Patricia waltzed, staring into the bottomless eyes of Emilio. This was not him, it was not Phillip. She would forfeit her soul for Phillip and die a thousand times just to be in his arms again, and not once ever for the demon that was her dance partner tonight. She closed her eyes as she danced, refusing to lose herself in the depths and curvatures of his face. She stared into nothing, seeing Phillip’s face dance before her. She imagined him in Emilio’s place, laughing and twirling her. His eyes were ripe with the endless love he felt for her. They were large, circular spheres, like cherries. She blinked her eyes open and was almost brought to tears by the world around her. Emilio smiled a sick, fiendish grin, bearing his teeth as if they were fangs.
“Lady Channing, I assume you are enjoying my company?” His snake tooth smile lashed out at her like an invisible rifle firing a bullet to her heart, piercing her soul. A single tear escaped her before she could compose herself. There was no need to act so foolishly. Phillip was not coming back. She’d seen the dagger in his heart and felt it in her own. She’d felt his cold, ivory skin, lost the capacity to carry his rampant life. She’d shaken him like the fate of the universe depended on it, her universe needed him, and he’d still not woken. If the spilt blood on the cobble-stoned ground was not evidence enough, then the tears she’d bled onto his fine brow may silence any doubts. The imaginary world around her suddenly started spinning at a hundred times the music’s tempo. The last thing she heard was the sound of Emilio’s devious laughter before the Earth died, quickly disappearing into the thin ether that composed it.