Family Dynamic (WIP)
03.26.08 (11:49 am) [edit]She sat, wrapped in blankets, on a rickety wooden rocking chair by the fire. Her hands were calm, one holding the book, one on the head of the child sitting on her lap. She ran her hands through the girl’s hair, touching every chocolate curl as if it were as delicate as a rose petal. Her legs remained perfectly still, gently pushing her feet against the wood floor to sway the chair. The girl’s head rested peacefully and quietly upon her mother’s shoulder, putting one of her small hands around her mother’s other side. Her eyelids fell closed and her mouth hung slightly open. The soft cotton of the girl’s pajamas rubbed against the weary shins of her mother. The fire had died down, and there were only tiny golden embers left to keep alive the flame.
& nbsp; &n bsp; &nb sp; Emily heard the sounds of tires against the concrete walk. She gently lifted Taylor off her lap, wrapped her in the remaining blankets, and set her in the chair. Once Emily was sure that Taylor was still sleeping, she tiptoed over to the kitchen where she popped a mug into the instant coffee maker, let it brew, hid the coffee maker, and set the coffee on the kitchen table, all before she heard her husband’s key in the lock at the front door. She grabbed herself a bottle of Tropicana orange juice from the fridge and went to go sit at the table in her robe, just as her husband entered the room.
~~~~
& nbsp; &n bsp; & nbsp; &n bsp; Jackson was exponentially pissed off. He had spilled his coffee on Head of Programming in the morning, managed to lose the scripts for two new promising sitcom pilots, and make his boss spit the leftover onion bagel from his lunch into his face, after Jackson told him his afternoon meeting had been canceled due to his inability to confirm. He slammed the car door with so much force, that the window began to vibrate with the blow of the hit. He gripped his briefcase tightly, a little heavier than usual. His boss had given him extra paperwork for the network for “slacking off”. He pulled his small keychain from his pocket and fumbled with the lock. He heard it click open and sighed. He had waited all day for his fresh brewed coffee that waited for him on the kitchen table each night.
& nbsp; &n bsp; & nbsp; &n bsp; He pushed open the oak door leading to a marble entryway. He dropped his briefcase at the foot of the door, took off his coat and laid it over the banister to the upstairs. Each night was the same. He would go through this routine, and then call, “Emily?” loudly so that it echoed though the front room. And he would always hear, “In the kitchen!” back. He smiled as the same came now and he made his way down the hall to the kitchen. On his way, he passed through the living room and saw his little Taylor Rose sleeping amongst a cluster of soft blankets. He smiled, watching his daughter snore. He found his way to the kitchen and set his key down next to the cup of coffee, sat down, and saw Emily walk into the room holding a prepackaged bottle of orange juice.
& nbsp; &n bsp; & nbsp; &n bsp; “Emily,” he said, trying not to relinquish the anger from the day on his wife,
“You know how we feel about processed foods?”
& nbsp; &n bsp; & nbsp; &n bsp; “It’s juice honey,” she said, suppressing her annoyance at his usual remark. She pursed her lips as she sat down in a chair opposite him. “How was work,” she said, not looking at him and fumbling with the cap on the juice.
& nbsp; &n bsp; & nbsp; &n bsp; “Fine,” Jackson lied for the fourth time this week.
& nbsp; &n bsp; & nbsp; &n bsp; “How was the doctor’s office?”
& nbsp; &n bsp; & nbsp; &n bsp; Jackson went completely blank. He searched his mind. Doctor....doctor..... Then his body went completely frozen. Oh shit. He was supposed to pick Emily’s mother up from her rehabilitation center and take her to the oncologist for her weekly screening. He did this every other week while Emily took Taylor to preschool. He tried to not let it show and lied again. “It was fine,” he said as he took a long swig of his coffee.
& nbsp; &n bsp; & nbsp; &n bsp; Emily could tell his tone was tense, but if her mother had cared enough to call, she would have. She ignored his false tones and began drinking her “processed” juice. She sighed as they sat in silence, attempting to remain as normal as possible.
~~~
& nbsp; &n bsp; & nbsp; &n bsp; She swung her body back and forth, rocking herself in her mommy’s favorite rocking chair by the fire. Her head was propped up on the armrest, as her head only came to that height. Her tiny feet dangled a foot from the ground as she swung them back and forth. She heard her daddy come through the door and quickly pretended to be asleep. Mommy always said to be on your best behavior for daddy. She heard his big lack shoes clunk across the wooden floor. She heard them stop, her father’s sigh, and him passing into the kitchen to converse with her mother.
& nbsp; &n bsp; & nbsp; &n bsp; Taylor got up quietly and pressed her ear to the dining room door. She heard her parents talking in hushed tones. However, they sounded angry. But their words weren’t angry. Taylor didn’t understand. Her mind didn’t know why her parents were angry. They had each other, right?
~~~
& nbsp; &n bsp; Emily waited silently in the master bathroom, once hand clenched in front of her. She had placed his Prilosec on the bedside table, taken the phone and went into the bathroom. It was ringing. Emily waited and waited. The ring kept on going. She gave up. She would learn fates later. She opened the door into the bedroom and saw Jackson under the covers with morning paper he never got to read in the mornings. He smiled as she came out of the bathroom in her old flannel pants and nightshirt. He put down the paper, next to his glass of water and patted his hand on the empty spot on the bed beside him. Emily shook her head as she got into bed and laid her head on his shoulder. She sighed.
& nbsp; &n bsp; & nbsp; &n bsp; “Jackson,” she said, “Do you trust me?”
& nbsp; &n bsp; & nbsp; &n bsp; Jackson was utterly taken aback. At this point, if she wasn’t completely stupid, he would be the one asking for trust. He tried to remain calm as he wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “Of course I do,” he said softly. There was nothing in that question about her trusting him.
~~~~~
& nbsp; &n bsp; & nbsp; &n bsp; “Hello, Emily James? This is Elena from North Line Vista, calling about Madeline James? Maybe her screening with the oncologist was cancelled this week, cause no one came to pick her up? So, one of us took her to the appointment, but they doctor said he wouldn’t see her and he was busy with other patients, so if you’d come sign some release papers, we can move her to the hospital wing of our building where we can monitor her daily? Thank you?”
& nbsp; &n bsp; & nbsp; &n bsp; The girl was young. Maybe 23. Everything she said sounded like a question. Her voice always went really high at the end of a sentence. Emily replayed the message over and over again on the answering machine. “Sent at 3:47 AM, ‘Hello, Emily James? This is Elena from North Line, calling about your Madeline James? Maybe her screening was cancelled this week, cause no one came to pick her-‘”
& nbsp; &n bsp; & nbsp; &n bsp; “Emily?” Emily heard Jackson’s voice as he came down the stairs. Emily had listened to the message five times. As she heard his footsteps, she quickly tried to erase it but she heard behind her “wait!” It was if an invisible barrier had stopped her hands from touching the phone. She stood frozen as Jackson pressed the button again. “-up? So, one of us took her to the appointment, but they doctor said he wouldn’t see her and he was busy with other patients, so if you’d come sign some release papers, we can move her to the hospital wing of our building where we can monitor her daily? Thank you?”
& nbsp; &n bsp; & nbsp; &n bsp; Emily saw Jackson’s face fall into his hands. He didn’t look at Emily. She didn’t look at him. After a moment of awkward silence, Emily walked forcefully into the kitchen, yelled upstairs, grabbed a paper bag and said emotionless to Jackson, “I have to get Taylor to school”. She brushed past him, not letting herself cry. Grown-ups didn’t cry. She couldn’t let her daughter see her cry.
~~~~~
Madeline James was not having the best of weeks. She was at the ripe age of 79, but her biting wit and conscience remained intact. Despite her chemo, from long years of heavy smoking, Madeline seemed to be living out her years. That week, the idiot had forgotten to pick Madeline up for her cancer screening, but she hadn’t bothered to call her daughter. Maybe that would make them divorce faster. Madeline would love that.
~~~~~~~~thanks and please comment~~~~~~~~
Mute- a short story
03.26.08 (11:44 am) [edit] The night was cold and damp. The puddles in the alleyway behind the gray duplex shimmered as if reflecting the moonlight. All the noise that could be heard was soft crickets and the low whisper of the wind. The bare trees seemed to almost shiver and quake in the dark night air. They cast sinister shadows across the newly laid concrete pavement. The only street lamp on the corner was broken, making the darkness seem even more ominous. This was usually a quiet, inconspicuous neighborhood. The narrow streets were home to playing young boys and girls. Home to scuffling skateboards and dangerous dogs. The porches were home to mothers and their knitting. But inside number 2 of the gray duplex was home to someone else.
& nbsp; &n bsp; Jake Trenton had never been a normal child. He had always been the first to wonder why and the first figure it out. He was not the first to have friends or to join a clique. He ran solo. No one really noticed him. Jake always knew he as different. That he was special. He knew when the wind was coming, and when it would stop. Jake could tell you if an earthquake was near, and where to hide. Jake could tell you, but he won’t because he can’t. His vocal chords and neck were completely burned after a fatal fire that killed his father and sister. He was only 3. Jake has always wanted to share his passion and his gift. But he never could. Until he found the one person who could understand him.
~~~~~~~
& nbsp; &n bsp;
& nbsp; &n bsp; It was the first day of high school for Jake and he was dreading this day more than ever. He carried around a very small dry erase board that he had clipped to the side of his backpack. With the bag slung over one shoulder, he made his way through the bustling crowd of students. His neck was shriveled and burned as always, but Jake tried to forget about it. The other students, however, weren’t so lucky. When he found his way to the other side of the crowd he saw his locker. It was the same as last year, only this year some kids had spray painted the word ’freak’ onto it. Jake sighed. He got that a lot.
He threw his bag into the locker and sat down on a nearby bench, waiting for the bell to ring. Kids were walking by him. He didn’t notice. He heard one girl say, “Hey Jake”. She was new. Jake had never seen her before. She was pretty. She looked like she belonged with the popular girls. She had long blonde, stick straight hair and steel blue eyes. They stared right into his dark brown ones. He thought to himself, ‘why is someone like you talking to someone like me? And how do you know my name?’ To his utter confusion and disbelief, he heard a woman’s voice in his head, “I know your name because I know everything and so do you”. The girl winked, and just like that she disappeared into the crowd. Jake stared in shock at the place where she had been.
~~~~~~~
Gallard Wallace had spent the last three years of his life in an office with a steel door and concrete walls. His companions day to day were a doughnut, a mug of coffee, and a stack of paperwork. Everyone else in his company got exciting field jobs and assignments. However, being Head Of Detection, Gallard sat in his office all day, filing papers and taking phone calls. The walls of his office were glass so he spent more of his day staring at the bustle around the station. He watched as people were sacked, assignments were given, power was found, and families were notified of their losses. That was his department. He gazed through the glass one day until he heard the door open. The only ones who could open his door were the ones who had his security code. He knew it could only be one person, and he was hopeful she had good news. She sat down without being asked and took a candy from his desk. She looked no older than 17.
& nbsp; &n bsp; “I got a visual and response from Sparrow today,” she said curtly, professionally.
& nbsp; &n bsp; “Good girl,” Wallace said without flinching a bit. He took out a large manila folder from the depths of his desk. The front of the crisp file read, “Trenton, J.” He opened it to see a picture of a young teenage boy with a deformity on his neck that looked like a severely untreated burn. He had bark brown eyes and an emptiness about him. He stared back at Wallace, the picture almost animated. In a strange way, Wallace could swear the picture was talking to him, though his mouth was not moving. He sensed, another presence in his mind. He knew people got that from the mind reading workers of interrogation. He shook his head and blinked. The weirdness was gone, for now. He set down the folder and placed it back in its file.
& nbsp; &n bsp; “What was his reaction?” Wallace said, placing his elbows on his desk and looking at her.
& nbsp; &n bsp; “I didn’t stay for the aftermath,” she said quietly. “He responded first. He’s smart. Talented.” She said fearfully, “I’m afraid he’s beginning to learn his powers. Once he does that, he can realize his full potential. But he’s so...gifted.”
& nbsp; &n bsp; “Well,” Wallace replied, “We’re all aware that he’s quite gifted beyond his years.”
& nbsp; &n bsp; “I believe gifted beyond his race would be the proper term,” she said with a twinge of unknown. “He’s not dangerous, so we have no right to remove him from his community, but this mind! Gallard please!”
& nbsp; &n bsp; “You know I don’t like it when you call me Gallard,” he said, with confidence. He sighed. “I know. We could benefit from his mind so much. But we can’t bring him in for questioning. We have to find a way to prove he is dangerous in his community. He’s only 17 for Christ’s sake!”
& nbsp; &n bsp; Alyson looked back at him understanding, “I’ll do whatever it takes.”
~~~~~~~~~~
Jake had blinked over and over and rubbed his eyes countless times. He had his hands rested on the counter of the science lab and was thinking hard about what he just saw. He didn’t even know her name.
& nbsp; &n bsp; “Mr. Trenton? Mr. Trenton?” Mr. O’Donnell called from the front of the class. “I’m sure your inability to speak has not affected your hearing?”
& nbsp; &n bsp; Jake wrote ‘yes Mr. O’Donnell’ impatiently on his white board. He hated being called on in class. His teachers were more tolerant of him when he was in primary school. Now he was just annoying. He sat at the back of the class each day writing down his answers and sighing under, what’s left of, his breath.
& nbsp; &n bsp; Mr. O’Donnell spoke again. “Do you realize Mr. Trenton that your dozing off could have cost your classmates another report on the ligament functions of a frog?”
& nbsp; &n bsp; The entire class, excluding Jake, moaned treacherously. They all stared at Jake with a look of no remorse in their eyes. Jake wanted that girl back. The one who could read his mind. But he didn’t even know if it was a figment of his imagination. If she was only visible to him, how did he see her? And how did she just disappear? Do people just disappear like that?
& nbsp; &n bsp; “If Mr. Trenton is unable to answer the question required, Ms. Kenter?”
& nbsp; &n bsp; A pretty girl in Jake’s class had risen her hand in the middle of Mr. O’Donnell’s speech, “Sir, the bullfrog is a cold blooded amphibian.”
& nbsp; &n bsp; “Correct Ms. Kenter,” Mr. O’Donnell said impatiently glaring at Jake. Lauren Kenter shot Jake a menacing look as well. Jake put his face in his hands and sighed. He picked his head up, looked at Lauren and thought, ‘Everything’s not about you.’
To his immense surprise, Lauren jerked her head as if some sort of wave had just come over her. She looked around curiously and sighed too. Jake was immensely puzzled. What was that? Maybe Lauren was just having a bad day. But Jake was suspicious.
He followed her out of the classroom until she was surrounded by a group of friends. Jake shrugged it off and walked away. Lauren was one of the “popular girls”. She’d never pay attention to someone like him.
~~~~~
Eve was chopping profusely at a bundle of carrots. She had peeled them, steamed them, and roasted them until they were a golden brown and smelled of flowing honey. She cut them into fine, dicey squares and laid them out over some linguini with her famous Alfredo sauce. She sighed as she stared at the two lonely portions she had set out for her and her son. She looked across the hall at the dining room table, set for four. It would always be set for four.
& nbsp; &n bsp; She heard a click at the front door and scurrying feet along the ceramic tiles in the front entryway. She called out, hoping to get his attention, “Jake honey! Dinner!” ; But she heard the feet race up the carpeted stairs and knew it was no use. She sat down at the head of the table, looking around at the empty chairs. She put her face in her hands. It had been almost 13 years, but it seemed as only yesterday the family was sitting around the table, eating this exact same meal. She began to sniffle into her palms and thought to herself, “Why does it have to be so hard?”
& nbsp; &n bsp; She heard a knock on the doorframe to the kitchen. Jake was standing in the doorway looking at her. She immediately wiped her eyes and greeted him with a stiff hug, which was not returned on both sides. She hesitantly drew away as Jake went to the dinner table and began eating. He always had to eat slowly and carefully. To make sure it didn’t go down the burned way. Their family was really poor. The didn’t have the luxury of experimental surgeries or devices to help him breathe. ‘No,’ thought Eve.
& nbsp; &n bsp; Jake reached into his pocket. He pulled out a bottle. Eve stared at it, harmless, until he opened it up and began counting out pills in his hand. She walked briskly over to him and snatched the pills and the little white bottle out of his hand. He made an exasperated face as she took them from his hands. Jake shrugged and walked out, up to his room. Eve was puzzled. She read on the bottle, “Chronic Pain. September 7th. Dr. Gregory Transik.” Eve’s face fell.
~~~~~~~
Lauren Kenter was lying on her stomach on her pink, plush bed. There was a bottle of XXX vitamin water lying beside her, and the latest issue of Seventeen open to the true scary stories page. Lauren was just a regular teenager. But the vitamin water laid untouched and the magazine close and unread. Lauren was staring at her open window, to the gray duplex across the street from her. She had always wondered what was going through Jake Trenton’s head, ever since she was in grade school. As a six year old, she tossed sand at Jake’s face with her friends, and he never complained. In fourth grade she teased him for the wire around his mouth, and he just smiled and walked away. In sixth grade, the biggest earthquake ever hit Oakwood and five minutes before it happened, Jake began waving his arm furiously and pointing outside. No one believed him. Five minutes later, the roof collapsed in and Jake was the only one who was safe. And yet he still remained a nobody. Concealed under the high radar that flew through Oakwood High.
& nbsp; &n bsp; Lauren’s eyes were now staring at the stucco ceiling. She had never had a stranger experience in her life. He had talked to her and didn’t even realize it. But he couldn’t talk. Her head was spinning. He had heard his voice. No one had ever heard Jake’s voice. Never. She got up, and walked over the window bench. She stared out at the perfectly coiffed street with its flowerboxes and pastel paint pallets and sighed. Her eyes then drifted to the only house on the block without a flowerbox, gray and dull. It was the house without a porch, running children, or knitting mothers. Lauren had no idea what was going on inside that house. That Jake and his mother were now embracing, or that a small, blonde, invisible woman was now creeping up Jake’s stairs, waiting for him to come meet her.
~~~~~~
Alyson had worn only socks that day. She didn’t want to be heard. The question of being seen wasn’t really an issue. As she saw Jake and his mother embracing in the dining room, she picked the lock, quietly, and darted up the stairs. She opened a blue door at the end of the hallway she believed was his, and crept inside.
& nbsp; &n bsp; The room looked normal, like the room of any other troubled teenage boy. The desk was littered with science and math worksheets and textbooks the size of her head. She put her hand on all the work and began moving it around. From the bottom emerged a small diary. “Bingo,” Alyson said, a glint in her eyes. She opened the leather binder and her eyes widened. Inside were a series of journal entries, dates, weather patterns and drawings. Alyson’s eyes darted to the latest entry dated from two days ago.
It read, “In three days there’s going to be an earthquake. A big one. But no one’s going to listen to me...again. And their stuff is going to break, again. At least I’ll protect my family. But I still don’t know how to tell my mom.” After that there was a drawing. It looked like a replica of a TV weather pattern. It was dated for tomorrow.
Alyson stepped back from the journal placing it on the desk. She gave a shuddering breath before she heard the door creak behind her. Alyson whipped around to see Jake standing in the doorway, a lot more sure of himself than he was at school yesterday. Alyson smiled before he could see the fear in her eyes from gazing at his diary. “I’ve come for you,” she said in an angelic tone, fake enough to be funny, but real enough for him to believe.
Jake stepped back, the smirk wiped immediately from his face. He shook his head, pleading no to her through his mind.
“Too late,” Alyson said, taking his arm. “I already left a note for your mom.” She wrapped her hand around his wrist and the next moment they were gone, like the trails of a ghost, longing to be real.
~~~~~~
As Gallard sat in the quiet confines of his office, all of a sudden he heard a large bang in the holding room next to him. He got up out of his desk chair for the first time in seven hours and yanked open the door. The angry expression left his face when he saw a trembling Jake Trenton being held by Alyson, their hair windswept and tossed. Alyson looked out of breath and Jake just looked stunned. Alyson spoke.
& nbsp; &n bsp; “He’s never flashed out before,” she said, glaring a little at Jake. Jake looked puzzled by the meaning.
& nbsp; &n bsp; “It means you’ve never traveled by light before,” Gallard said before giving the boy a welcoming smile. “Not to worry, not to worry at all. Our job is to make Jake feel welcome here.” He shot a look at Alyson, who gave him a smirk and let go of her grip on his arm. “Now Jake,” Gallard said, locking the door and coming closer to the boy. “Can you tell me what you can do?” Jake looked confused. He shrugged as if he had no idea what Gallard meant. He stepped back. His eyes darted at Alyson. “You, my office, now.”
~~~~~~~
As Lauren finally woke up after a fever in the morning, it was about five o’clock. She sat up and rubbed her eyes. She saw a blue minivan in the driveway across the street. She thought that a little odd. This was Jake’s mom’s car. She was usually at work until six or seven. The light in Jake’s room was turned on. Lauren was very observant, even when she didn’t want to be. It was kind of a habit. She went over to the window and saw Eve Trenton running frantically around the street, knocking on people’s doors. Lauren stepped back from the window. Did this have anything to do with him talking to me?” she thought to herself. She sat down on her bed, forgetting about the pajama shirt that was lying on the usually spotless floor. At that moment, the doorbell rang. Lauren pretended to act like her indignant self, and skipped down the stairs. She opened the door to find Eve Trenton on her doorstep with a picture of Jake, wearing a large grey sweater. There were tears streaming down her face.
“Have you seen him,” she said, not asking why Lauren wasn’t at school or where her parents were. “Do you know where he is?”
Lauren felt awkward. “No Ms. Trenton. Last time I saw Jake was in Biology yesterday. That reminded Lauren of Biology. And what she though had been Jake’s voice in her head. Suddenly she felt a wave of compassion and sympathy for Eve. “Ms. Trenton,” she spoke again, “Would you like to come in?”
~~~~~~~~
Tracy had had a long day at work that day. She had split apart three couples and watched their combined six children crying in the background. She had hoped to come home to a peaceful, tranquil environment. With dinner waiting for her on the table and a cheery daughter at the door. She parked her Mercedes in the driveway and began fumbling with the keys to the door. She heard talking inside. She stopped with the keys and carefully attempted to open the door. She her surprise, the door was unlocked.
She walked inside, setting her purse down on the counter. The front hallway was long and you had to get to the end before you could see any other room. She hung her coat on the rack with the mirror and fixed her hair before shouting, “Lauren! Honey I’m home!” She heard a muffled call back. It didn’t really sound like Lauren. Tracy began to panic. Was there someone else in the house? Was she hallucinating? Her feet began to move faster and faster along the carpet until the turned the corner to the kitchen and saw Lauren sipping a soda, along with a woman from Tracy’s old mom group. There were phonebooks all around and Lauren’s laptop was sitting on the island that sat in the middle of the kitchen. Tracy gave a sigh of relief.
She was hesitant, however, when the mom turned around. This was Jake’s mother. That kid’s mother. As she drew nearer she could see her eyes were red and puffy, as if she had been crying. She was wearing a large sweater and looking disheveled. Tracy looked at her hesitantly. Lauren looked a little uncomfortable.
“Excuse me?” Tracy said, looking at Eve in a matter of disbelief.
“I’m sorry Tracy,” Eve said looking up still tearing. “Sorry to intrude. It’s my son. He’s missing.
~~~~~~
Alyson looked like a deer in headlights when she stepped into Gallards office. She thought of Jake in the other room. Alone, afraid, confused.
“You said he had gotten control of his ability,” Gallard said in a tone of fury.
“I thought so,” Alyson said, as confused as Jake was. “All the signs pointed to discovery. I had no idea he wasn’t in control.”
“But you know he can do these things?” Gallard said, the fury not gone, “Do you have any proof?”
Alyson smiled for the first time. She pulled from her pocket a small brown leather notebook, taped together. “Actually, I do.”
~~~~~~
Jake sat, alone, shivering in the cold, sour stone walled room that looked like an interrogation room. Like the ones he saw on TV. There was a mirror along one wall. Jake knew this had to be one of those trick mirrors. If it was, then where was he? A police station? He hadn’t done anything wrong. A movie set? No, there were ceilings and no way to light. Jake wanted his journal to write in. He needed to document what he was thinking. He was thinking about tomorrow’s earthquake, and it’s effect. Jake closed his eyes. He envisioned it, wiping out the entire school, their neighborhood, and his house. That led him to thinking about his mother. He suddenly panicked. She was so paranoid. He got up, pacing around the room, looking for a clock. If the time were past 5, his mother would probably be freaking out. He sat himself back down in the metal chair, trying not to worry. It didn’t go over too well. He heard a clap and voices from the room next to him. Funny, he thought, these rooms are all soundproof in the movies.
& nbsp; &n bsp; One voice, low, sounded a lot like the man who had been in the room with him. “Take him to holding room four. That way he can wash up, and make his calls before we put him on the program.”
& nbsp; &n bsp; Jake froze. Program? he thought staring at the mirror. Did this have something to do with how he looked? He ran a finger along the length of his burn and shuddered as the pain resurfaced. Jake knew at once that this place wasn’t safe. He didn’t know how, but somehow, he knew.
~~~~~~
Alyson stared in shock at Gallard. “The program?” she said, her mouth almost gaping. “You want to put him in the program. Seriously?” She looked around frantic. She pressed a dark green button on the side of the trick to make it seal, preventing the boy from hearing. “He’s only 16. You cannot put him through things like that.”
& nbsp; &n bsp; Gallard sighed. He thought she would react like this. “Come on Alys,” he said, putting a hand on her shoulder, “It’s for his own good.”
& nbsp; &n bsp; “So you can take his ability, put it in a jar, and inject it into everyone’s sodas?” she yelled as she looked at him. She looked over her shoulder through the window. Jake was drumming his fingers on the steel table, in a pattern almost like a drum. Alyson looked back at Gallard. “Do you really want to cost the boy his life?”
& nbsp; &n bsp; “Alyson, it’s for the good of science. Anyone would sacrifice their life for the good of their people. That’s common knowledge.”
~~~
But Alyson hadn’t pressed the right button. She had only drawn the shades. Jake sat frozen in his seat. They were going to kill him?
~~~~~~~~~~~thank you and please comment~~~~~~~~~~~
Love. One Paragraph
03.26.08 (11:40 am) [edit]
Is there any more powerful experience than love? Can there be any more connection between too people, beyond the love emulating from their hearts? Mind you, love can be many things. Love can be a first sight romance. Love could be a long lost relative or the pet you never had. Love could be someone you see every day, a mother, a brother a sister, a father. Love can make you dizzy and faint, or love can make you crumble like you have so much to lose. I marvel at how all that complexity comes down to only one simple word. Some people may say, children know nothing of love. But what I believe, is that children know the most about love. They’re brought into this world to be nurtured, their purpose to be pampered. They bring joy to everyone around them. A child knows love, better than most, and most refuse to admit it.