The Killer Thumb.

The killer thumb.
(424 words)
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On the island of Ridiculum Locus, was born the legend of King Octo Digitorum and his thumb. He was a very famous king for one reason and one reason only, he only had eight fingers. Now, legend says that the reason for this strange phenomenon is that the king was simply mad, and after seeing that there were things on his hands that did not look like the other four, he ordered his executioner to chop them off. It was a very strange time on the island of Ridiculum Locus, for when the king when went to see his subjects and saw that they also had those strange looking things on their hands, and being the kind and caring king that he was, albeit slightly mad, he ordered that the royal guards bring forth anyone with these strange things growing from their hands and have them removed at once. Terror filled the island as hundreds of people lost their thumbs to the knifes of the executioners. That is until the day the king realized that the very people who were cutting the thumbs off of his subjects also had thumbs. It was a very confusing time.
When the king was on his death bed, he ordered that he be buried with his fathers ten rings that were designed to cover one's entire finger.  But alas his lack of thumbs made it impossible for him to wear them all. This was not good.
A couple of days after the kings death, a plague swept the land. It was called Interfectorem Thumb. In the darkness of night, it was said that the village people could hear someone knocking on their door,but when they went to open it, there would be no one but a bloodied thumb on their door step. The next morning they would be found dead, an engraving of the kings crest craved into their torso. The villagers have come to the conclusion that the only plausible explanation for all this is the group Pollex Osores, whom wholeheartedly agreed with the king and his abhorrence for thumbs, who randomly picked a victim, warned him of his approaching death, and then carved the mark of their deceased king upon their cooling corpses.
We fear the thumb, but in some ways, we respect the thumb, and if you look at your hand right now....you will see the thumb waiting patiently for its chance to strike.
You have been warned, you do not know the back of your hand as well as it knows you....
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-Jessica Baker-

Oops! (again..)

Hey! I didn't write anything, today and yesterday. (surprise surprise surprise..) BUT I do have a really really really short stop motion film to make it up to you guys! So yeah..

HERE YA GO!

Stop Motion Ponies. 

-Jessica Baker-

Time to run.

Short but to the point.

Time to run.
(245 words)
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I am in a race. I'm at the starting line, all ready and in position to start the second they yell go. The sun is beating down on my back as my muscles tense in preparation of movement.
And then BANG, the starting gun goes off and my feet are already moving, the wind in my face, my feet slapping against the hot asphalt as my lungs beg for the fresh air. I am on fire.

After running, and running, and running, passing every competitor I see, leaving them to eat my dust, I see the finish line. Like a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, I never thought I would see it. I  am a mere few feet away. I propel my feet forwards, a new spring in my step, I am a few steps away from achieving one of my biggest goals of running a marathon. I am just thinking of how I will bask in my glory when I realize I'm not moving.

I stare aghast at my feet, who seem to refuse to move another centimeter. I scream as I try to move my legs, grabbing and pulling with my sweat covered arms as I see other runners approaching, ready to steal my thunder. One, then two, then six, then I watched as all thirty six runners ran to steal my pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.And then..

I woke up.

Time to run.
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-Jessica Baker-

Blank Page.

Okay so it's not a short story or anywhere close to five hundred words, but I am pretty proud of this one. It's my first published Haiku.

Blank Page, (14 words) 
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A page before me

Lies without my written word

Where have you gone, Muse?
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-Jessica Baker-

Ice Skater

Ice skater
(646 words)
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I can't believe Kathy made me come here. She knows I can't skate, she knows I won't skate and she knows this and yet here I am freezing my ass off in Rockefeller center. "Come on, Derrik! You need the exercise." Kathy skated up to me and grabbed my gloved hand with her bright pink mittens. I wobbled un-surely as she pulled me away from the safety of the wall surrounding the rink, wondering why she thought I needed to do this. I'm a kickboxing instructor for god sakes, how much exercise should I have?
Kathy eventually got bored of my stumbling and tripping and grabbing her arm every time I fell, so she abandoned me and went off to skate with all the people who actually know how to skate. I watched her skate away with her bright green jacket and blue sweatpants, her bright red hair flowing down her back under her earmuffs. I remembered why I liked her, but then I remembered why we were here in the first place. Her new trainer, Paul, was going to train her to compete in an ice dancing competition. She thinks I still have no idea they're sleeping together. I rolled my eyes at the soap operaess of it all as I stumbled around the edge of the rink some more.
It was after I had lapped the rink a couple times without holding on to the side that I started to notice the other people around me. There were usually pairs. Couples, mothers and daughters, elderly, young, that sort of thing. Some individuals would break free from one group and skate solo to another group. They looked very weird. I scanned around to look for Kathy, but wasn't surprised when I just saw the flip of her red hair as she spun on the ice with...Paul....I grunted and started skating towards them, attempting to look as sturdy and as sure of myself as Paul, when out of no where there was a woman.
She yelled and I shouted as we tumbled onto the ice, as we fell I felt a burning sensation across my chest. "I am so so sorry, are you alright?" I asked as I tried to help her up off the ice while keeping myself upright. I gaped at the dark liquid spilled all over the ice. I thought for sure I had cut her, but she was smiling. "I'm fine, that's probably why I never go away from the side lines." She glanced down at the liquid and then to me. "I'm sorry about your shirt. But I hear hot chocolate is a pretty easy stain to remove, so I guess you're lucky I didn't bring my red wine tonight, hu?" I laughed when she said that, relived that she wasn't bleeding and that it was only hot chocolate and not red wine.
We started talking, and talking, and talking and eventually we had walked slowly around the rink. "Can I buy you another coffee? Or hot chocolate since I sorta destroyed your other one."  I watched her as she thought, and thought about how different she was compared to Kathy. While Kathy was of course really attractive, tall and slender, this woman standing before him (whose name was Beth, by the way,) was beautiful in her own sense. She had jet black hair cut into a bob, green eyes that went perfectly with her red turtleneck and black yoga pants. She finally replied
"I think hot chocolate with a perfect stranger sounds like perfection right about now."
The next day Kathy dumped me, totally out of the blue, but I wasn't even phases. In a way I think we were both glad. Because now she had her hunky trainer, and I had Beth. So in a way, Beth is sort of my Paul.
Geez that's a scary thought... 
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-Jessica Baker-

Yellow flowers

I have no Idea why I wrote this.
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Yellow flowers.
(1223 words)
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Neil Waters awoke to a woman lying next to him,her hair falling from her too tight bun,  still wearing her coat from their walk last night. His eyes grew wider as he tried to remember what happened last night. He sighed in relief when he remembered she had had car trouble and he, being the gentleman his mother raised him to be, had offered for her to stay at his flat until tomorrow when the cab could come, he had of course offered her the bed, but she said she didn't want to intrude, then she said she would but only if he would sleep where he usually did. The thought of that conversation brought shivers down Neil's back as he remembered how he insisted she wear her coat, partly because he didn't want to seem like he was trying something, partly  because the sheets were abnormally thin due to his being very warm blooded. Then he shivered for a different reason, watching her beautiful sleeping face so calm and peaceful, remembering  all the moments leading to this perfect one.
They had been walking on the pavement, under the orange glow of the street lights, she would laugh at something that wasn't even supposed to be funny and touch his shoulder gently, as though it was the simplest thing in the world. He had supposed to her it would be, she wasn't socially awkward like he was. Her name was a mystery, and she was his soul mate. He had seen her on the bus, the subway, and he was sure he was just seeing her face everywhere. First he had seen her on the subway reading Little Women and she was trying to hide the fact she was crying. He thought about her the entire ride home, and especially the extra forty minuets he was on the train because he was so deep in thought he missed his stop. The next day before he got on the train he bought a small bunch a flowers from the bearded man with hardly any teeth, Neil tried to make conversation but all he could get out was a 'Good morning.Windy today.' Which it was.
 When he got to the platform he hoped to the heavens that she was on the train and also that he could get more than a muttering whisper out when he finally got to talk to her.
 He remembered that moment when she got on the train as she shifted in her sleep next to him, drawing him out of his daydream. Her eyes fluttered open, looking straight at him. Neil said surprisingly clearly "good morning" Her face remained emotionless as she nodded, turned over, and fell back asleep. Neil chuckled to himself,which he never did. Then he remembered her face when she came on the train that afternoon, it sported the same blank stare...
Her windblown chestnut hair fell loose around her face. Her eyes were as though she was seeing everything but didn't even care enough to react to anything.Her cheeks were bright red from the freezing wind. She was wearing a night blue scarf wrapped around her neck, spilling over the collar of her snow white trench coat. He had stood straight up from his seat as soon as he laid eyes on her, strode over to her before he lost his nerve, and thrust the flowers at her. The blank look fell from her eyes and surprise took over. "I'm sorry, about Beth." Her eyes brimmed with tears and she nodded, taking the bright yellow daffodils from his clenched hand and held them in her lap as the train started to move. "Thank you. You are very kind." Neil blushed and clutched to the pole he held to keep himself from falling. He nodded like a bobble head to himself as she gazed out the window. When all at once he had a horrible thought, "What if she thinks I'm too unattractive to look at?"  He stared nervously at his reflection in the dark window of the train as they sped through the tunnel. He had worn his tweed coat and simple black scarf, so as not to have such a bulky appearance. His curly brown hair seemed to have been cooperating that particular morning, falling in short waves instead of sticking straight up, and his blue eyes stared nervously back at him as he decided he looked acceptable from behind his perfectly round glasses. He cleared his throat as the train pulled up to a station and more people piled on and off the train cars. She looked up and stunned him with her brown eyes. "Yes?" Neil opened his mouth and out came the sound of a dying mouse. The woman giggled and asked again. This time Neil managed to get out sounds that sounded a bit like "Coffee?" and "Name?"
Neil liked to run through that conversation over and over again in his head, he had asked her name and whether she would like to get some coffee, literally, when ever she wanted. She had smiled lightly, looked him over, and nodded as if to herself.
That evening they had gone to her favorite cafe where she had convinced him to try his usually black and plain tea with milk and two sugars. Neil drank the whole thing in two gulps. She had laughed when he told her his mother never drank her tea with milk or sugar. So naturally he never drank his with milk and sugar either. It was said in his house that people who drink their tea with sugar were weak and not tough enough to drink real tea.
Then they went for a walk. A long quite, cold walk. The sun set behind them as the clouds above turned pink, she talked about how much she loved poetry, Annabell lee was her favorite next to dream within a dream. Neil felt as though he didn't have enough information to keep up with this woman on her intellectual ranting, so he just nodded politely and listened as she talked of wishing to be in a Shakespearean play at the Globe Theater, she wanted to write poetry and great novels that would make people laugh and then make them cry for days on end. The funny part about this whole conversation was that he didn't mind in the least that she was the one doing all the talking. Neil was raised to let everyone else say their bit first, then when they got tired or ran out of things to say, then he could start talking.  He was thinking about that when the snow started out of no where, as if by magic.  They stopped under a street light, her mouth finally stopped moving as they stared at the scene unfolding behind them.
She held Neils hand as they walked to his flat. She fell asleep on his bed and he didn't have the heart to move her. Instead he lay his coat over her back, and slipped the sheets over her. He fell asleep stiff as a board trying not to touch her.
That afternoon the cab company came and whisked her away.
And he didn't even care that he hadn't learned her name. Because she had changed the way he looked at snow, forever.
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-Jessica Baker-

Woops! (Eileen.)

Seems like I didn't post anything yesterday hu? Hmm..that's annoying. Could say I just didn't have the time or something came up but really I just didn't want to post something that I wasn't inspired about.
So I found one of my un-published works and I hope you'll like it :)
Also again please no one steal this... thanks.
I'll be posting another story later today.

Eileen
(2037)

Her name was Eileen, a maid for the Hickleberrys. She was brought over from Germany when her Master's family moved to England, for reasons that were only discussed in  hushed voices by the Master and his wife.They moved into a much smaller house than before, but still quite large to Eileen, whom had grown up in a one floor, three  room cottage in Germany. That morning she had risen just a few moments late and was hurrying to get everything ready. Suddenly she heard a noise. A creak of the  wooden  door at the servants entrance creeping open. The sound of boots and dainty  shoes echoed off of the plain whitewashed walls and hushed whispers caught the ears of  Eileen as she slowly poured the milk for the cats as quietly as she could so as not to miss a word.It was her employers coming back from that fancy party, and by the sound of it the Mrs was sloshed. "Where do you suppose the children are? Eileen?! Where are my  children?" Came the more than slightly slurred voice of Mrs Hickleberry. "They are asleep... Clarice...Do you smell something burning?" Mr Huckleberry commented. Eileen  frantically glanced around the kitchen to see smoke billowing from the large stone oven. "oh oh no no no!" she scolded the oven in a hushed whisper as she grabbed the  oven mitts and pulled them forcefully onto her large hands, her face blushing deep red from the heat as she pulled the loaves from the oven and carefully placed them  into the basket that she was to set on the table for breakfast. The top was burned a horrible deep black and the sides were singed a golden brown. "Eileen? What is  going" hiccup "on here?" Eileen swept into a deep bow, steadying herself on the table. But she grasped not the steady wooden table, but the silken blue table cloth,  pulling the entire breakfast onto onto the clay and stone floor with a terrific crash, china shattering and clay smashing along the floor, covered in milk and soggy  bread.
 "OH GOOD LORD!" Mrs said as she covered her mouth in shock at seeing Eileen's dress hiked up above her knees, stockings and garters for the world to see as she lay  sprawled on her back. From her head-dress to her boots she was covered in milk, bread, and flour. Eileen sighed said as calmly as possible, "Breakfast...has..been delayed."

To discipline  her for her wit  and for the horrible mess made in the kitchen the Hickleberrys made Eileen stay in the kitchen and clean until called. "May I at least go  change?" She had asked timidly after stating for the fifth time that it was an accident and that that was her breakfast as well. "No, go sit by the oven." Mr  Huckleberry said, looking down on Eileen as she sat on the milking stool and stared up at him, he had dark blue eyes, a long pointed nose and a dark black curly  mustache to top off the villein look "I could send Marylin to fetch some buns, oh but she is ill, so we will just have to make due, I suppose." and with that he strutted out of the kitchen  and slammed the big wooden door behind him. Eileen waited until she was sure he was upstairs before she shouted at the closed door "YOU'LL have to make due?! I smell  like a fromagère!" She stood and shook her fist at the door, angered at it's lack or response. "Just once, just ONCE I'd like to see him come off his high horse  and..gah!" Struggling to find the words she sat back on the milking stool and held her head in her hands, watching dust settle in the sun rays coming from the window  in the east part of the kitchen. Besides the dust covered window there hung a basket on the wall, containing wash clothes and a pair of oven mitts, should hers burn.  An unlit lamp hung beside it, the morning sun reflecting off of the tinted gold casing. Eileen shivered as a draft came through one of the newest cracks in the walls  and cast a chilled feeling throughout the kitchen. "Blast." She muttered as she reached for her sewing box, filled with scraps of fabric and pins from patching and  taking in the Mrs and the twin girl's dresses. Eileen plucked a sort of off white patch of coarse fabric ,sharp pin and stood up, the milk stool creaking in relief.  Running her hands along the cool wall, finding  the hairline crack and lined up the fabric above the fracture and shoved the pin in and up, trotted back to the sewing  basket plucked another pin, and pushed it in and down. "There." She said, brushing her hands to rid her hands of whitewash. "let's see lady's maid Marylin try THAT.  Hmp." She scoffed as she stoked the fire and soon the kitchen was filled with warmth and light. "I still need to do something with my clothes." Cautiously she looked  around the kitchen, the peaked out the door into the hall. "No one there." She muttered as she stripped off her boots and stockings and placed them in front of the  fire. Hands on her hips she felt her soggy apron, the lovely nightshade blue had been ruined with some sort of milk and flour paste. Eileen sighed. She loved that  apron, well it was actually just a long piece of dark blue velvet.made her feel like royalty, she thought as she untied it and placed it alongside the stockings and  boots, then she unbuttoned her dress and hung it on a nail . She moved the milk stool to the wall and set her sewing kit close to the fireplace. She set up the table  and picking up pottery as her bare feet padded along the cold floor. Finally the kitchen seemed more or less in order. And eventually she rested on the stool and  propped her feet up on the fire place. Leaning her back against the wall she soaked her feet in the warmth of the fire as she watched her reflection in the brass and  silver pots that hung above fire. She could see her dark brown hair pulled tightly from her face into a bun, reveling a very round face with a prominent chin and a  slightly pointed nose, nice brown eyes, and small pink lips. Her pale but strong arms and rough hands. Her legs were  just as if not more pale than her arms and reddened in the fires warmth. She smiled at the reflection and it grinned back at her. she felt so peaceful that she just  lent back and closed her eyes...

tap tap tap! came the sound at the door as Eileen awoke with a start as the knocking continued. "Coming! Coming." She said as she pulled her now very crispy apron from  it's place by the fire. Hurriedly tying it around her hips and wrenching the door open she came face to face with the milk man's son. "Um..'Ello," He said rather  awkwardly. He was a very tall and lean. His ginger hair fell around his ears and his nose came to a point in the front of his face and was littered with freckles. He  wore a light green fading shirt that came just short of his wrists and fraying grey pants that were also a couple inches too short. Eileen  watched as he fought to keep eye  contact  as he passed her the jug of milk. "Um, how are y-you?" He stuttered as his face went from pale to beet red in almost no time. I wondered why he was so flustered  until she looked down to see she was only in her corset and apron! Eileen's  gaze jumped from her  chest to his astonished face and back again as she backed into the kitchen and  finally slammed the door in his face, shouting at it. "THANK YOU FOR THE MILK!" as she backed slowly to the fireplace and scrambled to pull her stockings and dress back  on as fast as she could.

That afternoon Olivia, one of the Huckleberry's daughters , payed Eileen a visit down in the kitchen. "Mother said that you may make a trip to the dairy. It seems we  haven't received our delivery of cheese," She squinted at Eileen's  crusty apron and dress. "What happened to you? Why is your face all red?"Olivia wasn't the daintiest of flowers but she had a sharp eye when it came to humiliation, for  Eileen had been recounting that mornings events all day and her face returned to a bright crimson every time she did. "I sat too close to the fire. Why must I get the cheese? why wont they send Lady's Maid Marylin?" Eileen wined.  Olivia stood up just a bit taller, she loved punishing the workers, and in that way and all others, she was the spitting image of her father.Standing only a short four foot twelve inches in a emerald green dress with a hoop skirt that barely fit through the door, black hair that flowed over her shoulders and down her back, accompanied with high cheek bones and a pale complexion. Add a pointed rat's nose and steely grey eyes and there standing before you would be the meanest eleven year old you ever set eyes on.
"Marylin can't go. She caught a chill doing your dirty work, and has been sentenced to bed rest by the doctor!" Olivia whinged. She glanced around the small kitchen and scoffed, "It's not like you are so insanely busy, anyway." Eileen  glared at her, which was a sort of grey area in their  complex worker/employer relationship. "Why don't you go instead? You always complain about how everyone else gets to leave on a whim. You go." Olivia gasped and placed her hand over her heart, falling against the door frame. "Are you honestly telling the daughter of your master to go to do your work FOR you?!" Eileen jumped from her place on the milk stool and resisted the urge to charge the small child, for although Eileen was only five years her senior, she was not a a very light woman, strong but not lean.  "He is my employer! Not my MASTER!" She shouted at the little dictator before her. All at once Olivia's bottom lip curled over and her eyes filled with tears. She began to sob, "MOTHER! Eileen is shouting at me!!" Eileen realized her fatal mistake all too late, for at the beckoning cry of her eldest Mrs Huckleberry appeared in the doorway. "Oh honey, precious girl! What is the matter!?" She shrieked as she fell to her knees and embraced the screaming  child. "What have you done to her?"  Mrs H shouted accusingly at Eileen. "You apologize for yourself right now young lady." She scolded as she herded Olivia out of the kitchen. "I'm very sorry." Eileen called after them, assuring they were out of earshot before adding "..very sorry that  you got stuck with such horrible children."
Deciding that she could use the exercise, that had nothing to do with the fact that the Hickleberrys ordered her to, Eileen dawned her cloak and boots, careful to be dressed as fully as possible. As she opened the door she was met with a strong frigid wind. Drawing her cloak close as possible she  marched out of the courtyard and onto the cobbled roads.
As Eileen came to the outskirts of town she took in all sorts of sights and sounds. The sound of the bells on the shop doors as people made their way in and out, the smells of freshly baked bread that wafted out of the bakery. She could even hear the tap tap tap of the busy peoples heels treading up and down the crowded roads. She found herself outside the servants entrance, and raised her hand, preparing to knock.
When suddenly, there in the doorway, was the boy from this morning. Both of their faces turned bright red, while Eileen managed to force a greeting out.
"Um....'Ello..We need, um, cheese....?"
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-Jessica Baker-

Sticker Problem.

Sticker Problem.
(530 words)
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I sat in the parking lot, the rain escalating from a light drizzle, watching the Crafty Crow store as raindrops raced down the windshield. "Okay Rachel, you can do this. You just need glue. All you need is glue. You do not need stickers. Okay. Here you go." I said to myself. I grabbed my bright pink umbrella and pushed open my door, and knocked  it right into the giant white SUV that had just pulled into that parking spot. "OH! Oh God, Sorry!" I called to the angry looking woman in the drivers seat. There was no mark but I still walked a little faster into the store, calmed by the familiar smell of paints and clay that hung over the aisles. I walked calmly past the the little 99 cent books of stickers they put out just to get me to crack! Okay, I'm calm.  I focused on  I the sound of 'Sugar Sugar' playing over the radio, trying to distinguish if it was the Beatles or The Archies singing on this particular record. I found the aisle with the glue,and right there were these beautiful stickers with cats on them and, oh there are doggies too! I bit back a squeal as I looked at the price. "TWO FOR A DOLLAR!?" I practically yelled with joy"You know what? Just a couple wont hurt....."
As I was standing in line to pay for my six pages of stickers for the price of three. I was so elated that I even bought a box of glow in the dark stars to put on my bedroom ceiling. I mean whats the point of having them on the ceiling of the living room and dining room and the bathroom when you have none in your room? I giggled to myself as I walked out of the store and skipped through the rain to my yellow Volkswagen bug. It started raining harder as I pulled out of the lot.
I pulled into the parking spot outside my building and looked over at the shopping bags on my passenger seat and felt a short pang of guilt. It was short and painful but then I thought about how lovely those stickers would look on my wall. I smiled and scooped up the bags and brought them inside.
When I unlocked the door and stepped over the threshold, there was already some one there..
I screamed. My bags fell to the floor as my eyes tried to comprehend the broken glass on the floor and the shattered window and the man standing in the middle of my room frozen, looking around the room with a glassy eyed stare. His eyes shifted to mine, and he said in a dry shocked voice. "Lady, you have a problem."
So we ended up talking, i realized that my walls and my ceiling and every one of my household appliances  being covered in stickers was not healthy. I told the man, whose name I found to be Joe, that I didn't know why I was so obsessed with them. He was a really good listener, I mean he tried to jump out the window  every once and a while...
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-Jessica Baker-

Ice Cream and Pistachios

Ice Cream and Pistachios 
(630 words)
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It was a brisk fall afternoon when I decided I needed to drive down to the corner store to pick up some more chips and ice cream. I listened to the first two minuets of a Carrie Underwood song before pulling into the parking lot. I dragged myself out of the minivan, of which I had inherited from my dear old mother, that was one bad fender-bender from falling apart. A delightful puke green with a license plate reading "I LV DCK" in bold lettering. "I thought it meant I love duck!" My mother had explained when I showed my distaste for the vehicle. 
I mosied into the store, because you know, that's an accurate description of how I dragged my cold self into the glare of the harsh white florescent lights. I was hunting around in the freezing cold refrigerated aisle, searching for more ice cream. Maybe even some orange juice, just to shake things up. I finally found my ice cream, saw some orange juice, looked at at the price and decided to buy another tub of ice cream for the same price. While I was waiting in line at the check out, a woman with a long black ponytail, dark blue yoga pants and a red jacket. She looked almost too familiar, and it took me a second to comprehend why. Then it hit me.
She was my ex, as of three weeks ago.  Shit.
Oh crap she was making eye contact! Quick! What do I do!?
"Hey Greg! How are you?" She was peppy, oh god, how do I respond?
"Hey-Hey...Karen! Look at you!" I gestured to her running shoes and flushed face, my arms full of ice cream. "You look great. Really...So how are you?" In case you didn't notice there were a LOT of awkward pauses in that one sentence. She chuckled, readjusting her jacket on her slim shoulders. "I'm, out of breath." She laughed lightly, clearly not uncomfortable at all. That bitch, can't she see I'm shaking like a leaf? "I'm training for a marathon, since I've been on a juice fast for the past two weeks and I thought, hey why can't I run a marathon? You know?"
 I was astounded at how the rate of speed this woman talked. "So what have you been up too?" She asked, tilting her head to one side. I laughed and hugged the two tubs of ice cream in my arms closer to me as my brain fought to find something more interesting than sitting on the couch eating pistachios and ice cream while watching New Girl on repeat. "That's crazy because I'm training for the same marathon!" Why WHY WHY DID YOU TELL HER THAT!?!? My brain was screaming, trying to recover from my probably fatal mistake. "Really?" She said, placing her hand on her hip and raising a skeptical eyebrow. "Is that why you're buying two tubs of Rocky Road ice cream?"  I looked down in mock surprise at the now sort of melting tubs of dairy and sugary awesomeness. "Sir, are you going to pay?" A stooped over old man behind me grumbled. "I-I-I guess not!" I laughed as I marched back to the aisle and put the ice cream back, instead picking up a large carton of orange juice, full pulp. That had to be healthy...right!? "Oh, I didn't realize you liked pulp orange juice Greg! That kind has tons of sugar in it!"I chuckled dryly, starting to sweat as well as shake. I shouted "I was just kidding!" Marched back, grabbed the ice cream  that I originally had and scooped it up in my arms, plucked a chip bag from the shelves, and swaggered, yes swaggered, out the door.
And that my friends was the first and last time I robbed that store.
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-Jessica Baker- 

The white room

the white room
(772 words)

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Margret Winster was a remarkable person, in her humble opinion. . She was friends with many, and enemy to none. She was always had someone to talk to. That's what she really liked. Just sitting down and talking, about what she liked, what she didn't like. What she liked and what she didn't. That was how most of the conversations went. Round and around, over and over until she got so sick of hearing about herself and what she liked and  disliked that she got so tired she just fell asleep. The funny thing was, that when she slept, she never dreamed. Not in her entire life had she had a dream, not when she was little, not a dream like on the motivational posters she had seen, not even a day dream. She had convinced herself she had no dreams and no imagination.
That thought scared her. The thought of having no original thoughts, or worse, not having any thoughts at all. So she decided to do something about it. Ever day she would slip on her snuggest coat, as she only owned snug clothing, and went for a walk, to clear her head, and hopefully draw out her imagination. It was never too cold, and never too warm. It was always a still and quiet road that she walked on. It seemed not to go through any town, any field. Not even a forest. It was a cobblestone road, walking through a wide open space, filled with white. Margret would sometimes scuff her shoes along the road just to see a color other than white and brown. The scuffs would seem to vanish amongst the cracks in the road.
The funny thing about these walks is that no matter how long they she walked, they always seemed to stop in the same place. Margret called it the 'walkers wall' because the road just stopped. All it was, was white.  She would come to eye level with this 'wall'. She had never dared touch it, because she had never had reason to. Until today.
Margret was walking. Her arms crossed over her chest as though giving herself a hug, stretching the sleeves of her sweater, that, until today, she had never realized was white as well. But not the same clean shiny white as the 'wall' and the space that surrounded the road on which she walked. No, this was more of a dull, broken white, with shiny buckles all around it. As though it was the only real thing there.
Finally she found it. The wall. She tried to reach out and touch it, but her hands were trapped in her sweater. Confused, Margret pulled harder and harder, thrashing about where she stood. Scared, frustrated and confined, she kicked at the wall in desperation, not knowing how that would help her. Her foot bounced back without a sound. Panting, Margret sunk to her knees. And a strange thought occurred to her. The cobblestones didn't hurt. They were almost, well they were, soft. And fluffy. Margret was amazed and elated, because first of all, she had had her first independent thought, and second, she had another idea that was all her own. She unsteadily brought herself back to her feet, wobbling on the now cloud soft stones. She then lightly knocked her head on the wall. Yes, it was the same softness as the road! She giggled in excitement. Then had another thought, they were coming easier now. Cautiously, she pushed her back up against the wall, and edged to the edge of the road, peering over the edge into more nothingness. And then, she jumped.
She fell for a short time. When she landed, she landed on her back. She was looking straight up. At a florescent light. That seemed odd to her, seeing as there was never a bright light like that on the road she used to walk. She turned her head to the right, seeing a large steel door. Walls covered in bright white padding. And along the edge of the wall..were scuff marks.
Margret screamed, and screamed. Because for the first time in her life, she remembered where she was and why she was there. It was a blur, a blur of a knife, a little girl. Someone was screaming, Margret was only half aware that it was her.
As she screamed the large steel door opened,two men in white coats seemed to charge into the room, one held a long needle. A sharp pain in her neck, her eyes were closing. She was falling asleep.
Maybe this time she would have a wonderful dream. 
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-Jessica Baker-

Boot Camp Grandma

Boot Camp Grandma.
(850 words)
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 "Would it kill you to go outside once in a while?" My mother barged into my room without knocking, throwing on the light as she did so, for the second time that week. I groaned and rolled away from my desk. "Mom. It's not that big a deal! I went outside on Wednesday." She crossed her arms, still framed in the doorway. "You mean when you 'walked the dog?' First of all, a walk down the drive and back is not a walk. Second, that was two weeks ago and you haven't been in the sunshine for ever. This is a real problem hon."  I ignored her, per usual.
So a couple of days later this happened again. But this time my dad and my mom came into my room. My dad pulled the plug on my laptop and my chargers, dimming my room to a dark pit. My mom threw on the light, revealing the piles of too small clothes and chip packets everywhere. "Okay, Drake, that's it. We're tired of this." My dads gruff voice was full of military like command. My mother just looked at me with disgust. "Tired of what? Me being a teenager?" "No. You being a lazy slob who only goes outside to go to the school bus. I mean you don't even go to  PE anymore Drake! What happened to that hu?" I stood up angrily, and suddenly had to sit back down, I was so out of breath. "Juniors, don't have to take gym."
A long argument. A bit of shouting, and finally this.
"There is no argument! You are going to California. No question."
"No! I do not want to live with some old bitty! And-and what about school?!"
My mother crossed her arms and said "You're going to take a year off school and go live with your grandmother, no discussion."
"Do I have NO say in this!?
Apparently not, as the next day my mother was calling my dad's mom and making arrangements. I would leave when school was out.
So finals came and went, and still I didn't tell anyone about California. I had to have my teachers sign me out of class, and when they asked why I said I wasn't going to be here. I was mortified that I was being sent off to be watched my my grandmother. I didn't have that many friends, and my weight was probably the reason. But I ignored that, I was big I didn't care.
So then the day came, the day that my mom was sad, my dad was demanding, and I was trying my hardest to talk them out of it at the last minuet. Finally I just caved, I mean California couldn't be that bad, right? I started looking through my bags to see what my mother had packed, because I couldn't be trusted to pack 'the correct gear' what ever that meant.
What I found was definitely the wrong gear.
"Mom? What the heck is this? These aren't even mine!" I pulled out a tight looking pair of shorts and a way too skinny pair of sweatpants. "They are yours!" My mother called back, walking down the hall to my room. "You grandmother said to send extra clothes a size smaller so you don't look so baggy when you get back." I thought to myself two things when I shoved the two way too small pieces of clothing into the suitcase; one, I am never, NEVER, going to fit in that. And two, my grandma is like eighty. There is no way in hell she is going to help me.
That was about two months ago. When I boarded the plan to Northern California, I had the same deniel as I did in my room. But now? Now I have a 70 year old woman who doesn't look a day over 50 running with me up and down the beach, screaming at me "ONE MORE! COME ON ARE YOU MY GRANDSON OR A COUCH POTATO?!" I sweated out at least a gallon of sweat  a day, she has me living off nothing but smoothies, fruits and vegetables. She made me do a hundred sit ups and fifty push ups before breakfast. Then a run in the afternoon, and get this she was making me SCHOOL while I was stuck in this torture fest. She made me read this book 'Salt,Sugar,Fat.' About how the big shot food companies trick us into becoming addicted to sugary foods. She also made me read Sherlock Holmes and Dracula.
I stayed there for a year. I started out at 200 pounds. Now? Now I'm a healthier, smarter, 119 pounds. How's that for an intense work-out?
They didn't  recognize me at school, no one did. Not even my teachers. That felt like an accomplishment, to be so healthy and fit that no one even recognized you. My parents cried when they picked me up from the airport. My dad made me drop and give him twenty right there on the airport floor.
And you know what? It was amazing.
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-Jessica Baker-

Yeah I know.

Yeah  I know. (614 words)
"I'm sooo cute!" Stacy said as she twirled in front of the changing room mirror. I sighed and rolled my eyes, totally done with today's 'give Stacy complements' section, ready to move on to the 'let's go home and watch Jurassic park and snarf popcorn.' section. "you look exactly like you did in all those other dresses, and the outfits and the shoes." She whipped her head around to look at me, her long red hair flying over her shoulder, "I looked good in those too."  I shrugged and snuck out of the changing room, careful not to knock over the teetering pile of reject clothes piled by the door. I slumped down on a bright red plastic bench across from the fitting room. I pulled my book out of my bag and held it up to my face because I simply  didn't want to make eye contact with any other human beings. After a good few minuets I realized that I was in fact holding said book upside down. I subtly turned it over as a couple came into the dressing rooms area and started looking for an open room. "That one's taken," I said as they started to make their way over to Stacy's room. The girl turned to me and flashed an almost too sappy smile. "Thanks, but I wasn't asking." I shrugged and went back to reading. She walked towards the changing room that Stacy was in and shook the door handle. When it resisted and Stacy shouted from inside "Someone is IN HERE!" The girl stalked past the door and took the stall next to that one. I chuckled and hoped that she would try on every outfit only to buy the first one she tried.
It was only a few mere moments later before the boy accompanying the girl sidled up next to me on the bench and said "She is such a bitch." I glanced at him with a look of pure terror. "Be careful! She might hear you and kill me!" He chuckled, brushing a bit of lint off of my longhorns sweatshirt. I eyed him, wondering if I knew where he was going with this . "My name's Nate." He still hadn't made eye contact with me staring instead at the book in my lap. "Flowers for Algernon, good book." I raised an eyebrow. "I've read it ten times, it's my back up book." He nodded knowingly.  "You're beautiful you know. I just thought you should know that." If I hadn't seen his mouth move I could have sworn I was hearing things. "oh, thank you?" I scooted down the bench until I was out of touching distance, as his arm was now sneakily draped over my shoulder. It was interesting to hear, but hard to accept. I knew that I wasn't an unattractive person, but even on my best days I had never been called that. In my jeans, sweatshirt, no makeup and half braided half loose blonde hair. I was, shaggy, at best.
I ignored his attempts at conversation by burying my nose in my book and waiting for Stacy to come out. She finally tapped me on the shoulder and shot me a pure white smile. "Ready to go watch dinosaurs scare the shit out of  people?" I grinned. "Of course!"
As we were standing in line the boy and the bitch came up behind us as we were paying. I handed the cashier my five dollars to pay for my gum, listening to the conversation between creeper boy and Stacy.
"You are really beautiful. I hope you know that."
Stacy giggled and then said in the most stern voice, "Yeah, I know."
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-Jessica Baker-

Flight or..Flight.

Fear and Flights.
(1564 words.)

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_____________________________________________________________________________________I looked out the large airport window, watching the snow all but stop falling steadily onto the runway. I sighed and tried to focus on why I was there in the first place. I had finally gotten everything together for my life plan. Write a book, make some money, move to Paris, Write another book and continue to see England  and France. Well phases one and two were completed and continuing. But then I realized one fatal flaw in my plan, and it was only the night before I was planning to fly that it came to mind.
I'm terrified of flying in planes.
This was not a relatively new fear, I had been on planes before and only felt slightly nauseous , but that was only from Chicago to Texas, or from New York to Montana. Never over the open ocean, never for so long. I had lay awake all last night remembering on the news about how three planes have gone missing in the past two years. I was terrified, speechlessly so. I even think I hyperventilated a bit there. Images of 9/11 flashed through my mind, of a plane rushing to the ground at a hundred miles an hour as my fellow passengers and I floated around  helplessly in the metal death trap. At three in the morning I had finally had enough, flipping open my Windows two in one Tablet, I researched plane crashes, how to survive them and how to distress before a flight. And, if worse came to worse, I had also looked up the most effective sleep pills to take before the plane took off and made a mental note to pick some up at the local drug store. I had learned a lot of interesting facts that seemed to clear the fog of panic that had taken over my brain, such as the fact that the chances of my dying in a plane crash was one in eleven million. Which sounded like a nice big number to me, so I let that seep into my brain as I drifted of to sleep with survival plans and breathing techniques dancing through my head. Five hours later I was sitting in the airport, surrounded by flying death traps, and people crazy enough to actually pay to get on one, myself included. I sat in the seat farthest away from anyone and facing the window clutching at my Starbucks , watching as planes landed safely and took off smoothly. I actually felt my shoulders relax as I worked my brain into thinking this would all be fine. And then it started snowing. I remembered about how turbulence can be when the clouds effect the flow of the air over the wings, how the ice would effect how the planes landed on the runway. Or worse, they would cancel the flight and I was more likely to board a plane that was about to be bombed. I chugged the too cold coffee to muffle the panicked scream that was about to escape my mouth. I pulled my knees up to my chest and wrapped my arms around my legs. I wondered if it was too early to take those pills yet. I stayed there staring out the window, not really seeing anything, tuning the entire world out, when out the corner of my eye I saw a man sit next to me. He wore a grey pair of sweat pants, a black hoodie and a pair of shiny white running shoes. He placed a heavy-looking dufflebag under the red plastic seat and sat with one leg crossed over the other as he stared straight ahead. He looked so calm and put together. I felt humiliated and small. He wasn't panicking about flying, because he was an adult damn it and I am just a silly woman who... Before I could figure out who I was, the man turned to me and looked me straight in the eye as he said with a mild Australian accent, "Mints help with nervousness, would you like one?" His eyes were the clearest blue I had ever seen, and he smiled with just the slightest look of pity in his eyes, his dark brown hair falling in his face. I found myself nodding unsurely as he pulled a small plastic bag of asorted mints out of his pockets. "T-thank, thank you." I stuttered as he took a few of the individually wrapped ones and placed them in my handbag. He resumed his staring out the window, but now every so often he shot me a side glance. Finally after a couple minuetes he asked "What flight are you?" He asked with the attitude of someone asking the time. "Umm.." That's me, the queen of comebacks. What flight am I? How was I supposed to know? I had just forgoten my own name! I glanced down at the bording pass in my lap. "Um, flight 238, gate B. And you?" He smiled, teeth and all, with not slightest amount of pity in his face.
It turned out his name was Alex, he was 27  and he was in New York on a research trip for a travel book he was writing. And he was the seat right next to mine on the flight.
I managed to not even think about the flight as we gave the way to perky blonde woman our boarding passes and walked onto the plane. I popped a mint in my mouth as we waited for the crowd of people to clear so we could find our seats. Alex tossed his duffel into the overhead compartment with ease, while I had to eventually jump to shove my carry on up there along with it. He offered to help but I mean come on, I'm a grown woman I should be able to at least put my own stuff away.  I let Alex take the window seat as I was sure that one look outside would make me vomit. He obliged, but he suggested that I sit next to him instead of the aisle seat. I agreed, but decided not to let him get too clingy.
Turned out that I was the one who was clinging. After the safety demonstrations and the waiting for the taxiing, it was taxiing. And then we were going down the runway. Then I closed my eyes and concentrated on the slightly smaller now mint in my mouth. "This isn't so bad." I mumbled. I heard a chuckle next to me. "That's because we are still on the ground, sweetheart."
Finally as  I felt the last wheel leave the ground I grabbed for something to hold onto, finding instead of the armrest a strong hand. I withdrew my hand slowly and reluctantly. Instead folding my hands in my lap, closing my eyes and remembering exactly where those sleeping pills were in my bag. I stared straight up at the ceiling, silently praying to a god, any god, to help me get through this. I yelped as we went through a bit of turbulence and grabbed Alex's hand. He smiled wryly and put both his hands around mine. "I promise that you will be okay. I promise. And I would not be offended at all if you wanted to take those sleeping pills you've been obsessing about since we took off." I gaped at him as he chuckled. "Go ahead. I've got my James Taylor, I'm okay." He took his right hand away from mine and pulled out a small Walkman and a pair of head phones out of his sweatshirt pocket. "Oh, okay. Well if you don't mind...I didn't get much sleep last night."  He nodded knowingly as he put his headphones in his ears. "Anything you need, just tap my shoulder, m'kay darling?" I wasn't so sure about the nicknames that seemed to flow so easily for him, but I nodded and fished out the pills.
"Can I have some water over here?" I called to  the flight attendant.
I woke up with a dry mouth and my head on Alex's shoulder. I stayed as still as possible, trying to remember what I was dreaming about. Something to do with tea. I sat up slowly and looked over at Alex, who looked as though he hadn't moved since I fell asleep. "You woke up at the best part darling" I glanced at him with wide eyes as he said with a grin.
"we're landing."
I never thought I'd be so relieved to see a plane so close to the ground. And when the plane landed I actually laughed like a madman. The plane touched down and had a relatively smooth landing, bumping a bit more than I'd have liked but hey, at least I didn't die.
When I finally got off the plane, when I was a hundred percent certain that I wasn't dreaming I threw my arms around Alex's neck and whispered "Thank you." I then left, not looking back. But when I clambered into the waiting cab outside, I went to pop one of the remaining mints in my mouth and what I found made me much happier. There, among the pills, ticket stubs and mint wrappers, was a card. On the card was a phone number that would later be a number that was forever on redial on my land line. And under there, in a perfectly messy scrawl, was written "I miss you already, phone me darling?" ___________________________________________________________________________________

-Jessica Baker-

Journal from Martha.

Journal from Martha
(715 words)

January 10th, 2014.
Those were the words and numbers I had hastily scrawled across the top of my journal. I then stared at the black page beneath them. How do I describe  today?

It was cold. And it was windy. And I felt like I wanted to cry, and I don't know why I didn't just stop running. Maybe it was just that Kristina wasn't letting me stop running.

"COME ON. If I wanted to run at zero miles an hour I would have run with Mark!"  She had shouted at me, and I felt bad for Mark. It wasn't his fault that his wife was an insane work-out- aholic.

 "I-Can't-breathe!"

 I managed to force the words out, my tired lungs frozen with ever breath I took. My eyes watered as I looked a couple feet in front of me, to the retreating back of Kristina. I stood straight up and jogged in place to get the feeling back in my feet, pumping my arms and breathing through my nose. "I can do this." I had thought. My feet hurt as they slammed into the pavement and my legs felt like they were on fire, but a couple of long strides later I found myself neck in neck with that long black pony-tail and that bright red windbreaker. I laughed in relief as I saw the place where we had decided was a lap. I picked up the pace, matching my stride with Kristina's. I raced past the marker and threw myself down on the ground. I watched as Kristina streaked past, shouting out behind her "One more lap sweetie!" I groaned, picked myself up and muttered in short breaths, "I hate when she calls me that."
Remembering that afternoon I shuddered at the memory, of how Kristina had basically pushed me till I broke and then stomped on the pieces. But I also remembered how it felt when I collapsed at home, how my legs felt lighter than air as I propped them on the ottoman. I also remembered something that I would have preferred not to. It was at the Starbucks  about a block from the park where we had been racing, and I wanted to stop for a little pick-me up.
"Do you know how much sugar and crap there is in that??"  She practically shouted as I thanked the man behind the counter for my Mint Mocha with whipped cream. I shrugged and took a minty sip, feeling the warmth slide down my throat and warm me from the inside out. Kristina threw her arms in the air in exasperation. "Why do I bother trying to get you to exercise when you eat that junk?" She hissed, so that the other customers wouldn't hear. "And for your information, it has 66 grams of sugar. You're only allowed 25 grams. That's six table spoons." She placed one hand on her hip and took a sip from her homemade kale smoothie.
 I was reminded of how she was in school. Constantly counting calories not for figure, but simply for health. Spurting out random facts about literally everything anyone ate in our school, always racing the fastest  and working the hardest in PE. It makes me wonder why I was surprised when she joined the local gym and started training to become a personal trainer. I watch her now and wonder how fast she would catch me if I sprinted out to avoid another lecture about the dangers of gluten.
Remembering the afternoon made me realize she was probably jealous that I could eat whatever I wanted and still be skinny. She actually had to work for her strong legs and arms, and almost  perfectly toned stomach, I was just plain skinny with not much muscle
Now I sit on my couch, with my TV on in the background, my Great Dane Phil curled up next to me as my pen hovered over my journal.

January 10th, 2014.
Ran with Kristina today, legs are recovering. I might join the gym tomorrow. Maybe I'll even give those kale smoothies a try, or give up sugar, something extreme.That's for sure.
Stay Strong!

I closed my eyes and smiled, imagining the look on Kristina's face when I walked into the gym tomorrow.
It was a hilarious.
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-Jessica Baker-

Edward.

This story is dedicated to the painted man on my wall whose name tonight I found out was Edward.


Edward.
(513 words)
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There is a man in my room. He is not dangerous, nor is he very social. He is almost a shadow. He is dressed in very dark blue, and he sits at my desk when I am asleep. He write poetry for me. I call him Edward, and he wears an orange fedora, a green bow tie and smokes an orange pipe. He has a long nose and he doesn't talk to my friends. He says it's because he's not real, but I say he's just shy. He has his own friends, the ones up in his funny brain. He never talks out loud but sometimes I see him chuckle to himself when he thinks I'm not looking.
Edward has taught me how to stay very still, and how to keep very quiet. Some times I fall asleep trying to stay as still as he does. He taught me how to meditate and to smile when I'm sad.
I talk to him with my mind but he never answers, he just writes them down at his little blue desk, like he's learning something at school. That makes me laugh! The idea of big man Edward in a little child's desk.
My mom talks to Edward too. In the mornings when she comes to wake me up she says "Good morning Abbey. Good morning Edward." In my mind he tips his hat and says "Morning, Ma'am." Like the men in the market do. One day I realized maybe Edward doesn't speak because, he has no mouth. I offered to draw him one on, but he said no. He said he'd rather have a thought bubble over his head because then he could talk but not make any noise. So I drew him a bright orange thought bubble, to match his hat and pipe.
Now when I go to sleep, he always thinks "Good night."
My friends sometimes notice that he's there, but other times they look at the art around him. I painted pictures and quotes and hung paintings there too. His favorites are the ones of the birds. The are flowers on the wall too, but flowers make him sneeze. Across from him and above my bed there is a portal to Paris, France. I made it with my magic powers. I can fly through the portal if I wanted. Edward can't though, because he is scared of heights. I bring him back pastries and chocolates and we share them over tea. It's nice to be able to fly to Paris and to have a friend, even if he can't come with me.
In a week we will paint my bedroom, and Edward will disappear. I'm turning twelve next year, and dad says Edward is old and tired and I am too old as well. I said let's paint around him and just let him sleep here. But dad said no.
So now there is no more Edward. There is only a blank blue wall. But there's a crack in the ceiling that looks just like a narwhal.
And his name is Francis. 
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-Jessica Baker-

Cold Blooded

Cold Blooded.
(816 words.)

We three stood on the tall bank of the now frozen over river, peering over the ledge. There was me, Jasmine and Alice. My name is June. We stood there with the freezing wind whipping around us as the temperature stayed at a solid 34 degrees. Above freezing, but not much.
We stood in silence for a while longer, until finally I couldn't take it anymore. "I'm going down." Without waiting to see how they reacted I crouched down and pushed my legs out in front of me, sliding down a small hill of dirt until my boots made contact with a large rock jutting from the bank. I glanced to my right and found another stone producing from the frozen river bank, and dozens more below it. Encouraged, I swung from my perch on the stone to the one at my side. After several hops and swings, I reached the edge of the river. Before going any further I looked up to the tops of the bank to see my fellow 'adventurers'.  Jasmine looked as though she wanted to look away but couldn't, and Alice had a huge grin on her face. She called down "Find it then come back up, you crazy idiot!" I saluted and started searching around for the thing that I was actually here for, my dad's hunting knife, which he had lent me on the condition that I wouldn't lose it or get it dirty. Guess who accidentally dropped it down the steepest river bank in town? Yeah.. I continued looking around, coming up with things like broken wine bottles, because you know, classy. Also some lighters and too many tires to count. I tried to hug the shoreline but quickly ran out of room to walk. I heard my friends clamber down the stones. "You know the knife is over there, right?" Alice said in a tone that could only be described as commanding. I looked to where she pointed and saw the knife, all the way across the ten foot river. On the ice. I straightened my back and took a cautious step onto the ice, one foot on the bank. I heard a shutter click, Alice's Polaroid, documenting one small step for me, one small step for our little trio. I waited for the ice to crack beneath me, more worried about ruining  my boots than being dragged under the ice and drowning. But as long as I rested my foot there on the ice, I didn't hear any cracking. I gingerly placed my right foot along side my left. Nothing. "Go already!" I whispered to myself and quickly walked across the river, and leaned over plucked the knife off the ice and slid it back in it's holster. I was about to walk back across to the bank, when I watched in laughter as Jasmine came skidding across the ice, her arms flailing madly to keep her balance. "Wha- What are you doing? I got the knife. We can go."  I explained, having to raise my voice against the howling winds. "We're going on an adventure." Jasmine said, huffing between words. Alice walked across the ice with much less effort and slapped me on the shoulder "Why wouldn't we? I mean this isn't exactly climbing Mount Everest, but it isn't exactly up there on the good idea list. And besides" she held up the camera "Nature is a natural model."

We walked up stream, listening for sounds that sounded either like ice breaking or gun shots. "Why are you worried about gun shots?" Alice  asked when I told them to listen out. "Because the man who owns this town lives just over there and I don't think he'll be too pleased with three teenagers wandering around in his river." I stepped around a large log, frozen and sticking straight up in the air. Jasmine, who by nature was usually very quiet, said "Where are we? Are we still in the park even?" I shrugged. "The river goes in a circle, so just make sure we don't go off on a fork in the road  and we'll end up where we started." For dramatic effect I added in a hushed whisper "If we make it that far." We all laughed, just a little uncertain.
So we kept walking, and walking, and walking. Suddenly I heard a crack in the ice, the same time Alice did. "SHIT." We both muttered,scrambling to the bank. I reached and pulled Jasmine up on the back while clinging to a root. We watched as the ice fractured until it looked like a spiderweb, the pieces of ice float on the surface of the water, confined by the larger pieces. "What, is, that?" Alice asked, pointing a shaking finger. All I remember was a gasp from Alice, a strangled cry from Jasmine. And me, stating the obvious. "That, Alice, is a skull."
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Hope you liked!

-Jessica Baker-

The Perfect Library.

I wrote this because the nanowrimo Dare Genorator gave me a dare to make my character read my favorite book, but since I love so many, I just made it so she met most of the character, sadly not all of them were mentioned. :D Enjoy!

The Perfect Library
(929 words)


I was wandering around my local library, looking for something that I hadn't read yet. Something that was adventures, interesting, and and true. I picked up and put down dozens of novels. Take Me There, Speak, and The Absolutely True Diary Of A Part Time Indian were just a few of the choices that I saw, and had already read at least twice. I looked around, trying to make it obvious that I had read these before, because there was a really cute guy sitting in one of the reading chairs, wearing an Indiana 45 jersey, even though it was twenty five degrees outside and we lived in Colorado . Out of sheer nosiness I peered over to see what he was reading. Some book called The Fault In Our Stars. "Must be a space book." I accidentally said out loud. I cringed as he looked up and made eye contact wih me. His eyes were bloodshot and teary, he'd been crying. "It's not a space book, it's a life ruining book that you'll want to read over and over. I've read this six times this week. I already know the ending, and guess what? I still get sad, they were meant to be together!."  He half shouted, half sobbed. He pushed back his brown hair and breathed out slowly. "I'm sorry, I just get pretty defensive about this book." I shrugged and walked away, thinking to myself
"How can someone get that upset over a book?"
After browsing the library for a while longer I got bored and just randomly grabbed a book, a Harry Potter book. "The Prisoner of Azkaban..hu." I flipped through it, taking in random words like "Grim." and "Lupin" and "chocolate" When suddenly a girl  appeared out of nowhere and said "Do the words 'Sorcerers Stone' or 'Chamber of Secrets' mean anything to you?" I jumped at the sudden sound and looked at her. She had wild, curly hair and a bit of an overbite, a was wearing black flowing robes with a crest. She was clutching at a large leather-bound book that instead of a title had runes across the top and was wearing a very stern expression on her face. "Excuse me?" I asked
"Do the words read them in order mean NOTHING TO YOU? " 
I was a bit put off by the sudden realization that she was speaking with a British accent, and even more put off by her bossy  tone. I crossed my arms "Why no it doesn't. And it's just a stupid kids book, what would not reading them in order possibly harm?" Her eyes narrowed, and she clung to the large book just a bit tighter, and for a second I had the horrible fear she was going to smack me with it. "Well, I'm going home, before you get another clever idea." and with that she stomped away.
"Okay now this is getting weird. Just pick a book and leave." I commanded myself. I grabbed a small paperback and didn't even look at it. I didn't need anymore crazy people today. I was waiting in the longest  line I'd ever seen at the library checkout when I heard the boy at the front of the line talking to the librarian. "I swear I didn't burn it on purpose! See I was climbing up the climbing wall at camp, and you know how the lava burns you if you don't reach the top in time?  Well I forgot I had it in my pocket, as it is a very small book, and I reached the top but.." He chuckled nervously, "It..didn't.." The librarian laughed dryly , took the book from the boy and stamped something in red ink on the inside of what remained of the cover. The boy groaned and took the book from the counter. "I'll send the fine in a couple days." He called over his shoulder, as another boy trotted after him, saying in a bleating voice "I told you she wouldn't care.". I watched them walk by and noticed that they both wore bright yellow t-shirts that read 'Camp Half Blood.'  I rolled my eyes. "Nerds" I thought to myself as  the line moved forward. I glanced at the book in my hand, reading the title. "Into The Wild." An old broken down bus covered in snow graced the cover.  Even though I wasn't a big reader it looked interesting.
As I checked out the book, I tried to strike up conversation with the librarian, who wore a name tag that read 'Mrs Who.' I just decided not to find that weird. I said hello and handed her my book, and as she ran it under the scanner she replied in a whispering voice "The story of life is quicker than the blink of an eye, the story of love is hello, goodbye. Jimmy Hendrix"  I still decided to ignore it and I walked out, passing a girl with bright red hair, with ties and bracelets wrapped around her wrists and a too big mans shirt dwarfing her body. She was sitting with a skinny goth looking Asian kid on the steps of the library even though it was freezing out, and they were slowly reading a Batman comic, the girl every so often looking at the boy when she thought he wasn't looking. I smiled in spite of myself, maybe books did hold  a certain magic about them. I found a corner outside the library on a park bench and started reading Into the Wild..
And you know what?  I loved it. 

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-Jessica Baker- 

Moving out and Moving on,

I might be posting more of this one but here it is for now!

Man child.
(809 words)



"I set the alarm I swear!" I protested in a shocked and tired voice as my mom threw the lights on and blinded me. "I know! I woke up to the sound of that horrid beeping At least two hours ago! GET UP" I clung to the comforter for dear life as she yanked it from my bed, my nails digging into my plans with the force of ten steel nails. "You have ten minuets to get up or I'm turning off the heat! And then.." her voice got deadly quiet "The WiFi."
So after I heard her stomping down the stairs in a huff, I rolled over and looked at the digital clock, glowingly announcing that it was ten in the morning and I had overslept at least two hours. I groaned and used all of my willpower to throw the sheets away from my already freezing body. I glance at the clock again, muttering "Ten minuets? I can be ready in ten minutes."
I raced down the hall and slid the rest of the way in my socks, down to the bathroom. I brushed my teeth and ran my fingers through my hair, spiking it up into sort of a Mohawk, and considered shaving. "Nah, you look tough dude." I know, that sounded weird but whatever I'm 28, I can do whatever  I want.
I mosied down the stairs and smelled coffee. Weird, I usually have to make my own coffee. Mom must have finally realized what being a mother means.  I slicked into the dining room and pulled out a chair at the end of the table, tilting it back until my feet were rested on the table. I sighed and enjoyed the warm smell of coffee as it washed over me, savoring the silence of the dining room as my mother bustled in the kitchen just as it was supposed to be.
My illusion of perfection was shattered by the sudden "GET,your feet off the table." from my father, who seemed to hate happiness and relaxation, things that go together quiet well in my book. I sighed in annoyance and dropped my feet to the cold tiled floor and squeaked the chair towards the table, while my father took the chair opposite of me. A stern look was frozen on his face, but that's how it always looked because dad was a big business man of some sort. I stared at the wall behind him until my mother came and practically slammed my coffee down in front of me. I jumped back as a couple of drops of  hot coffee sloshed into my lap and soaked into my pants. "Mooom." I groaned as I grabbed a paper towel from the middle of the table.  "Sorry, sweetie." She muttered under her breath as she passed dad his cup. As I took a sip from my scalding coffee, my mother pulled up a chair next to dad. "Charles, we need to talk." Dad stated.
"About?
"Well, about you."
My  mother just sat silently, wringing her hands together. I looked at my dad with confusion.
"what about me?"
My mind was racing with possible things that they had found, what they had heard.
"About how you don't seem to have any direction, or motivation. I mean look at yourself!" My father pointed at my 3 Doors Down t-shirt and the slight bulge of a stomach beneath it.
"So? It's been..cold." Totally true, since we lived in slightly cold place known as Canada. "That didn't stop your uncle from running EVERYDAY UNTIL HE DIED!" My mother finally started on a ballistic rant, pushing her chair away from the table like she was going to make a speech. "You are a GROWN MAN! You should be AT THE VERY LEAST looking for a job!! I should NOT have to come and wake you up at TEN when your alarm is very clearly set for EIGHT! And why do I even bother? All you do is sit around and tapity tap on your compute!" she imitated me on a computer and then  I had had enough, also getting to my feet. "But you're  supposed to do that! You're my mother for god sakes! We had an agreement that you would take care of me until I moved out! and guess what! I'm still here!" My dad, who had been sitting silently watching this whole thing, suddenly spoke. "You aren't here anymore." I stared at him. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me. You have until Monday to find a job, and then until next Saturday to find a place to live. Now I've already set up some interviews..."
"THIS IS BULLSHIT." I shouted, pounding my fist on the table.
"You will NOT TALK THAT WAY IN MY HOUSE." Dad was on his feet now too, staring me down.
"You have until Monday."

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So yes that was weird but I swear there is a plot.

-Jessica Baker-

I'm BAAAACK!

It's 2015 already? WHAT? And I haven't posted on here since when?? June 2nd, 2013....holy craperoni.

Well I'm here now and you are going to be seeing a lot more of me! :D I  have made a new years resolution to write 500 words a day for the next year, including nanowrimo :P Which brings me to my second piece of news! I doubled my page count for nanowrimo and finished my second novel ! yay! So I'm going to post a few of the pieces that I've already written and then I'll bring things up to speed! LOL and I know I don't have to say this but these are infact MINE so if I see them anywhere than this blog, then I'm gonna go all Hulk. Capise? Great. Alright, so here is the last three pieces I've written so far.


January Fifth.
The Gang. (690 words)
My house was  very quiet. Almost too quiet. But that was before we joined "The Gang." The Gang is a intricate gathering of three or more families gather in one household, and you guesses it, that house is usually alwas mine. My house isn't a mansion on a hundred acres or anything, but it seems to get even bigger and more homey the more people we bring in. All of us, exept my little brother, are all home-schooled. We are mostly fueled by tea and sleeping in till eight when we stayed up till midnight. We are a very interesting group of characters. Though there are a few drawbacks. The first is that first night, when we have no idea where anyone is going to sleep. This is kind of what the conversation sounds like
"Okay, so I can-!"
"Maybe you can stay with, no wait-!"
"Why doesn't she just take my spot? I can sleep on the floor!"
"Okay I guess we have room on the couch.."
And so on and so forth until finally a couple people are on the couch, people are sharing beds,someones in a sleeping bag. And it's one o'clock in the morning.
Next thing is Breakfast. The morning ritual of ending the eight hour fast, right? Wrong. It is a wild bedlam of noise and confusion and scrambling to get tea (that's mostly me.. tea fixes everything.) there are dietary restrictions such as what follows.
"Okay eggs..EGGS WITH NO MILK OR MEAT!"
"TEA! no sugar!"
"WE'RE OUT OF BOWLS!"
"WHERE'S THE TEA?!oh..NEVER MIND!"
"H
And so on and so forth. I find it quite funny actually, because when all the food has been given out and the kettle has been boiled and poured then everything goes quiet. And then people start turning on their electronics and finishing their meals. Then it starts again. Slowly and quietly, gaining more strength with every plate that's emptied.
"Can I have more...?"
"Is there anymore tea?"
"I'm fine..I had a rice cake for breakfast..."
so that's the morning, and the evening. But what do we do in between? Well, The boys (there are three of them) mostly retreat to their hidden lairs and play on their electronics, the adults (Three moms, BTW.) chat and drink tea and watch over the smaller ones, there are two of them, watch TV and stir up as much trouble as possible at the worst times. Trying to get ready to go on a group activity? Oh look at that, toddler number one just stripped her diaper and is streaking through the halls of the house. Trying to play a game of Jenga? Oh look at that, toddler number two is climbing on the table and doing her best Godzilla impression with the carefully constructed tower. And the girls? The teenagers? Well there are four of us. We are pretty easy to locate, we are either out on a walk, hanging out in my room, or sitting in the dining room watching other people. There is teen number one, she's sixteen and therefor the first to be listed. She is often in the same room as the adults, with a laptop, a phone or a book a couple inches from her face. Then there is me, teen number two, I'm fifteen. I  can be found either trying to get the other three moving with some workout music or working on my writing skills, listening to my favorite music, which changes constantly. Then there are teens three and four. Teen three is fourteen, a tumblr fanatic, who swears that I am killing her by making her exercise, and a very good player of the favorite game around here, Bullshit. Teen four is twelve and has good taste in music, TV (Whovian!)  and also is a good player of Bullshit.
The boys are easier than easy to locate, as there are only three places you can find them. My bro's room, the dining room, and the basement.
We like walks, we dance like no one is watching and you might think I'm crazy...
But that's okay, we're all mad here.

January Fourth.
The Therapist. (1008 words)
"Dear Mom.
I hate you. I hate that you think that I am worthless because I'm not interested in the things that you are, just because I don't care doesn't mean you  have to convert me. I don't mind that you  need someone to listen to you and your problematic life. But it might be nice for someone else to listen to me for a change. I don't feel comfortable telling you things about my life, because you're half the problem, like the way that you yelled at Julie when she almost ruined your new designer shoes, that was not okay, but instead of siding with her and telling you you were a bitch, I listened to you bitch about how long it took for you to save up for them. You tell me that you don't know why your friends are all leaving, then you go ahead and bitch and moan about how they had their own opinions about something that you don't approve of. You forced them out of your life and then they walked out willingly. You can't seem to understand that you are the reason that people leave you. I mean, the drinking,  the rants that don't have any meaning. The only time you say I'm sorry is when you desperately need help, or a shoulder to cry on, but I am too nice or maybe just too stupid to tell you to fuck off and stop treating your friends, and me, like shit. Instead I just listen sympathetically and agree politely when you stop to take a breath. I just want you to understand that I have my own music, book, outfit taste. I am not you.
I would say that I'm sorry, but then I'd be lying.
Signed- Laura. "
I looked up from the printed email I held in my sweaty palm and met the eyes of my therapist,Dr. Wendel,  who seemed completely calm, and asked
"Should I send it?" She shook her head slowly, looking down at her notes. "Laura, you never send the emails. We talked about this, and how picking a fight would only make things worse." I exasperatingly tore the paper in my hands and shoved it in my pocket. "Laura you are twenty, what, twenty seven?" "Twenty six." I said through my teeth. "Sorry, twenty six. Isn't it time to just stop this emotional manipulation from your mother?" I shook my head. "She has to know what I think about her before she..she...you know.." "Passes?" "I was going to say goes to hell but your version.." I waved my hand "She's got to understand..This isn't healthy." Dr W. nodded in agreement and said "You're right it's not healthy but it is also making you slightly more passive aggressive than you should ever be. Tell me, what provoked the email in the first place?"  I sighed and said "I don't want to talk about it. " "You obviously do otherwise you wouldn't be here, Laura." I made a rumbling sound in my throat. "She called me up, two days ago, and she was crying because people were talking about how gays don't star in books like heterosexuals do and how they should have the same rights and apparently that offended her so she called me and said that she wished that I would just drop the charade of being gay and go join the church that she goes to that is holding a 'pray the gay away' fundraiser. And I just lost it. I told her that 'I didn't care about gay rights or that gay characters weren't peoples first choice to write about.' She lost it. She said that she was the one with a gay daughter and that she was the one getting all the shit and the stares from all the prissy bitches at the country club and I didn't realize until it was too late that I was screaming that I really didn't give a flying shit because I just wanted to work on my music and write my book and not get involved with all the whole getting riled up about politics and rights and stuff and then she gave me, well started to give me,this whole lecture about how I shouldn't just ' brush this stuff off and I should care more because lots of people shouldn't have to hide' and then I hung up and went to the gym." Dr Wendal gave me a stern look "Before you yelled at her, did you try the.." She flicked her pointer finger a couple times and breathed deeply. I rolled my eyes and sighed, blowing a stray lock from my shoulder length hair from my eyes. "No...I was caught up in the anger. I couldn't see straight and I didn't think about how to stop the, Hulk..." Dr W scrawled on the back of my report for our session and as she did said "this is the time and location of that anger management group that we talked about. Now I know that you don't want this. But just one session. That's all I want to see you do. I'll see you next week okay laura?"  I reached out and took the light piece of paper and glanced at the address and the time. I nodded and rose from my seat, making my way to the door, when I heard Dr W say "And Laura?" I turned and found myself nose to nose with her. "Don't forget to call me when you need to. Anytime. Alright?" I couldn't help looking down on her dark red, almost black, lipstick as she spoke. "Of course. Thank you, Rose." I held out my hand for a handshake. she pulled me in for a hug, pressing her year old body against my slightly shorter one. I wrapped my arms around her skinny neck and almost sobbed into her shoulder. I pulled away with the scent of her perfume still lingering on my turtleneck sweater. I avoided her eyes and stalked out the door.

January Third
Adopted (687 words)
I always figured that I was different. Which I know is a cliche for adopted children to say but I always had a hunch that something was just slightly off.  Like that there was some sort of genetic that I missed out on. The beautiful blue eyes and tall posture, the way that the rest of my family holds themselves. The way that they sometimes treated me as though I would break if they mentioned the fact that my skin was paler than theirs and covered in bright red freckles, my green eyes a bit too dark for their shiny blue sapphire like ones. My mother had told me from the start that I was not from their family, and that my mother, my real mother, loved me too much to keep me all for herself. Which was total bullshit. My biological mother, Darleen, was a drugged up alcoholic and I was taken away by child protection services when I was four.  I readjusted to life with my new family, the VanBurns after a year in the orphanage. They were nice and never slapped or scolded me. In fact, they were nicer to me than they were to their own children, Martha and Lucy. I could tell that the girls were weary of me at first, them being used to only each other at the ages of six and four. I was the large blundering five year old who decided that she wanted nothing to do with them and spent her time fighting with the tabbies that they brought in from the rain. The VanBurns took quite a liking to strays, and the quality of their floors, covered in dog hair and cat piss, and their house, filled to bursting with people and animals, showed that.
I was sitting in my room, staring out the window and my refection stared back at me. My shoulders stooped forward and my chin resting on my hands and I balanced my arms on my knees. On the edge of my bed I perched with my legs crossed, as if daring gravity to pull me over the ledge and let me crash on the vibrant orange rug beneath me. I watched the world outside live as though I didn't even need to be alive for it to carry on. My room was slowly filling with silence and darkness as the sun set behind a cloud and robbed me of the orange and purple light that crossed the sky like paint from Bob Ross's paint brush. I watched as the darkness crept in and engulfed the trees and the lawn, leaving what lay there to the imagination. I watched my own refection stare back at me. I barred my teeth to try and catch myself off guard, but all that happened was that I freaked myself out and had to turn all my lights back on. And also brush my teeth.
"Jules? would you come down here a second?" My mother called up the stairs and suddenly every bad thing I had ever looked up on the internet, every cuss word and dirty minded thing I had ever written on a school desk and quickly erased it. "Yes Mrs VanBurn?" I shouted a bit louder than I intended back down the stairs as I bounced from wall to wall down the spiraling staircase until I reached the main floor and landed directly in front of 'mother'. She crossed her arms and stared me down "Are you trying to kill yourself? " I shrugged. "I'd rather die doing something much more interesting. So what did you want to talk to me about?" She sighed and took my hand. "Jules..It's about Darleen. She showed up in the paper today. She was taken in for suspected murder, now I don't want you to get upset but I have to ask you..have you been in contact with her since she called last month?" I set my shoulders back and stuck out my chin. "No. " I was lying through my teeth to the woman who took me in when no one else wanted to. And it felt amazing.

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Okay so there you go! :D A post! WOW! okay so I'll see you all tomorrow!

-Jessica. A. Baker.