Writing Exercise: Character Development

If you're struggling with one of you characters, try writing a letter as your current character to their older or younger self. Think of what they might want to tell their past or future self, this might help you pinpoint what's important to your character.

You (AHC 294)

Be advised: a Code 3 lockdown is in effect. Do not leave your post unless instructed to do so. Do not change your radio’s frequency. Please stay calm.

You hear the loud, piercing emergency signal punctuate the announcement. You know you shouldn’t, know it’s against protocol, but you find yourself turning the volume knob every so slightly so that the even-toned female voice quiets down a bit as she repeats her announcement.

Be advised: a Code 3 lockdown is in effect.

Pretty middle of the road code, you remember. One of the AHCs must have escaped. You recall that a Code 3 means only one AHC loose in the facility. You notice that the voice coming from your radio hasn’t yet told you which of the AHCs to look out for.

Do not leave your post unless instructed to do so.

You tap the toes of your boots on the ground, and it produces a gentle clinking sound. It’s hard to not feel frightened when you’re stationed in a basement tunnel with darkness surrounding you. The air is both stale and damp, like something left sitting in a puddle for far too long.

You fidget with the stun baton in your hand. You’re almost itching at the thought of giving the clever creature a little buzz and sending them on their way. Wouldn’t be the first time. It’s how you survived the Alternate History Facility.

“Who’s that?”

You hear a voice echo down the tunnel, sudden and unexpected. You turn your radio down even more, fail to hear the flat, calming voice say something new.

AHC 294 has breached containment. All personnel report to the nearest safe room in a calm and orderly manner.

“Hello?” you ask the darkness, voice tentative and unsure. Was it a supervisor coming down to check on you? You’d done exactly as the emergency channel told you -

“Show yourself!”

You are sure that voice sounded different from the first one.

“You first!” you exclaim.

All you hear now is the gentle cadence of slow footsteps. You clutch your stun baton and switch it on out of panic. You hear the piercing sound of the emergency signal and turn your radio’s volume back up.

AHC 294 has breached containment. Humanoid class. Shapeshifter. Mimics humanoid voice -

You’ve heard enough. It’s time to go. You start walking north down the hallway to the closest elevator, and your stun baton crackles and sparks with blue light with every step you take.

You reach the elevator and see that it’s locked down too.

It’s too late now.

Heavy steps from behind you cause the metal grate covering the ground to tremor. You turn around to face whatever is here with you.

“Oh,” you sigh. It’s only your supervisor. He must have come down here to look for you.

“I thought I was a goner.”

Your supervisor says nothing. He only stares at you with hollow eyes.

“I said,” you begin again, “I thought I was a goner.”

“Show yourself!”

Your heart stops and you feel your body freeze. It’s already too late.

It’s seen you. It’s heard you.

The creature, because that’s what this really is, slides in and out of focus as its true form emerges. It licks its jowls, and leaps.

Now, instead of two bodies, there is only one. It looks just like you, skin a little paler, eyes a little more vacant. It drops your baton and your radio to the ground and begins walking further down the hall.

AHC 294 has breached containment. Humanoid class. Shapeshifter. Mimics humanoid voice. Will attack on sight. Do not engage. Do not acknowledge other employees until you’ve reached a designated safe room.

Soon, it will find that nice boy you wanted to have a cup of coffee with. Your voice will ring light and sweet, but it is not you.

It is AHC 294.

“I thought I was a goner.”

Writing Exercise: Character Development

"You"

Second-person point of view is an intimate way of looking at a character's thoughts. As an exercise, take a scene from the book you're writing. Choose a character, and then re-write the scene entirely from a second-person POV, noticing what details shift because of this perspective change.

Shane Revisited.

A small neat house stood before me on a quite street where the cab driver had deposited me a few moments ago. There were a few bushes along the path that bordered a small lawn and lead to the front door.

The small set of keys felt oddly heavy as I walked the short distance to the front door. I took a deep breath and slid one of the small brass keys into the lock, though I hesitated to turn it. This was the address that was on the licence that they had given me, and looking into the mirror of the tiny hospital bathroom, I could at least tell that it was my own face that was smiling out of the ID card. They had kept me in the hospital a few more days after I had woken up; partly to make sure that I was alright and partly to see if I would regain my memories. Finally though they had released me.

A small click sounded as the key turned smoothly in the lock and I pushed the door open. The interior was dim in the late afternoon light, dust motes stirring in the air as I passed by a window.

The inside of the house was as neat as the outside had suggested, nothing seemed to be out of place. I laughed as this thought crossed my mind. How would I know if anything was out of place, I didn't recognize anything at all. I could have been in anyone's home.

A flashing red light on the phone caught my attention.

Beep... A man's voice came from the recorder, "hey Shane, it's me. You up for a pick-up game tonight? Give me a call."

Beep... An attractive woman's voice came next, "Shane, don't forget that you promised to go to that party with me."

Beep... "Shane. Man, where are you?"

Beep... "Shane, I'm getting worried, and so is Mom."

Beep... "Shane, did you forget to tell us you were going out of town or something?"

Beep... "Mr. Briarwood. This is a reminder..."

Beep... "Shane."
Beep... "Shane."
Beep... "Mr. Briarwood."

My hand hit the delete button, stilling the flood of voices. I could feel a headache coming on. I walked down the hall to the kitchen and opened the fridge, realizing that my stomach was growling. It felt awkward though, as if I was reaching into someone else's fridge without permission, without them even knowing that I was here.
I shook my head and pulled out a few things. It would take a while before it felt normal to be here.

I was just cleaning up when the phone rang, causing me to jump. I only hesitated a moment before picking it up. It could be someone that I knew, someone that could help me remember. Someone that could tell me who I was.

"Hello?" I said.

"Shane!" came the relieved voice over the phone, a woman's voice, "I've been so worried about you. Where have you been? Are you alright?"

I didn't recognize the voice. "I'm not sure if I'm alright," I said.

"What do you mean you don't know if you are alright?" she asked.

I sighed and quickly explained what had happened. "So you see," I concluded, "I don't even recognize your voice. I don't know who you are."

There was silence on the other end of the line. "Hello?" I asked.

"Shane," she breathed in shock, "I'm coming right over," she said, "don't go anywhere. I'll be there in half an hour."

"Alright," I said and hung up the phone.

"Hopefully in half an hour I'll start to have some questions answered," I said to myself.

Help in the Night

"The time is 11:47 p.m."

A click resounded over the line and I knew I was going to be in trouble. Mom was going to kill me. I slammed shut my text books and stuffed them into my bag. "Come Dianne," I said. I grasped the handle to her harness and commanded, "home."

Dianne immediately started to lead me and we left the Library. I hurried down the steps of the campus Law building as safely as was possible. I could feel the cool night air whisper across my cheek as I picked up the pace. "I can't believe that I let myself lose track of time like that," I muttered. It sounded much different outside now than it usually did; much quieter. I couldn't hear many people around me and the traffic was faint and far away.

I was passing the park when I heard a rock clatter against the pavement, causing me to jump. I pulled Dianne to a stop for a second, listening. I heard nothing.

"Let's go," I urged my companion. A few moments later I was certain that I heard faint footstep behind me and I quickened my pace again.

The vibrations from Dianne's growl reached my hand just after the sound reached my ears. "Who's there?" I asked. I knew it was stupid, but it somehow made me feel better to hear my own voice. As unsteady as it was.

Dianne let out a snarl and I could feel that tingle that let me know that someone was nearby.

"Hey sugar," an oily voice came to me from close by.

I flinched away from the voice.

"Now don't be like that honey." There was faint amusement in the voice now, "tell Fido to calm down and we can get to know each other."

I cleared my throat, "I don't think that I want to get to know you," I said in the strongest voice I could bring up; though even to my own ears it sounded pathetically weak and jittery.

He chuckled from to my right and I could tell that he was circling me. Dianne moved with him, keeping herself between me and Oily. I jumped again when she let out a particularly vicious snarl.

"Leave the woman alone why don't you," a new voice broke in.

"This doesn't concern you," Oily said, though I could tell that he had stepped back a little.

"Clearly she doesn't want to have anything to do with you and the best thing for you to do would be to go away and leave her alone," he said. His tone was deep and carried a strong and soothing quality; a tone of command. Whoever he was, his voice was enough to make me feel safe at the moment.

"And what if I don't?" Oily taunted. He was moving away from me towards the other man.

"Then I will just have to make you," he said.

Oily laughed, "Bring it on!"

I went to my knees and buried my face in Dianne's neck when I heard the first blows, seeking comfort and trying my best to not hear what happened. I covered my ears, but I could still hear the sickening sound of flesh on flesh and the grunts of pain.

A few moments later there was nothing but the sound of heavy breathing nearby. I didn't know who had won the fight.

Dianne growled and I hugged her tighter, fearing the worst. That Oily had won and the strong voiced man had lost the fight and he was coming for me.

"Are you alright?" the strong voiced man asked.

Relief flooded through me at the sound of his voice. I nodded my head mutely, to shaken to say anything.

"Can I help you?" he asked gently.

A relieved laugh burbled up in my throat, "I think you already did," I said. I slowly released Dianne and stood up shakily.

"Can I walk you home?" he asked, "just to make sure you get there safe. You shouldn't walk alone at this time of night."

"Yes," I said and ran a soothing hand over Dianne to calm her, "I would be grateful."

As we moved in the direction of my home he kept up a soothing line of commentary. I didn't really listen to what he said, I just focused on the sound of his voice.

It seemed so familiar...

Hear and Listen

"Are you sure you lead me right?" I asked Dianne when we stopped in front of a door. She let out a huff as if offended that I might doubt her.

"I really hope they have the books I need on audio. It would be so much quicker than trying to read them in braille," I said and laughed as I patted her on the head. Here I was talking to my dog as if she could talk back. I must be losing it.

I greeted Joyce as I stepped through the door and waited my turn to be helped. I shifted my heavy binder to my other arm as I listened to the conversations around me. It was interesting how much I could pick up about people without knowing them. Just from what they say and how they say it. The difference between hearing and listening.

"Sarah," Joyce exclaimed when it was my turn; I smiled at her lilting accent, "what can I do for you?"

"Do you have any of the pre-law textbooks on audio? It's just that it takes me so long to read anything in braille. I've only been blind for about ten months," I explained.

"Oh my dear, I had no idea that it was so recent!" Joyce sympathized, "let me see what I can find. I'm pretty sure we have some somewhere."

I stroked Dianne on the head, lost in my own thoughts. I felt the tingle that told me that someone was near just before Dianne barked loudly.

"Sorry," A voice said from behind me.

I turned toward him and gently tapped Dianne on the head, “Dianne, no barking at strangers,” I said. I smiled in the man's direction, “I apologize - sometimes she’s a little overprotective, thinks people are threats when they aren’t," I said. I wasn't quite certain that he wasn't a threat, but decided to give him the benefit of the doubt.

"I didn't mean to make her nervous," he said.

Something in his voice struck me as familiar. I tilted my head to one side, listening, hoping he would speak again so that I could place his voice.

Joyce chose then to return. “I have an old recording of some of the pre-law books to get you started, but we haven’t had anyone record the new editions yet. As soon as we get new recordings in, we’ll let you know," she said.

I nodded my head; accepted the recordings and turned back to the door, "thank you very much," I said," I knew it was a little much to hope that the recordings were current, but it was a hope all the same.

I clicked my tongue at Dianne and I felt her jump to her feet, "let's go girl," I said and let her lead me down the hall. I hoped that the recordings were current enough to get me through my tests until someone read the new versions.

I let my mind wander as Dianne lead me through the maze of halls towards my next class. I puzzled about the voice. It seemed like I should be able to place it, but I couldn't. It was like I had heard it in a dream, or it was a voice I met in passing.

I shrugged it off and clicked at Dianne, "come on," I said, "we have to get to class."

'Show' and 'See'

"Will you stop that?"

I can hear the exasperation in my mothers voice and automatically stopped drumming my fingers nervously on the car door. I clenched my hands in my lap to stop them from their twitching.

"What if Dianne forgets her commands?" I ask, "what if I get lost? It's a big campus and I don't know anyone." I try to keep the blatant worry out of my voice but I can hear it creeping in.

"She won't forget," Mom said firmly. "You have been working and training with her for two months now; been all over the campus with her. You will be just fine."

I knew it was useless to voice further concerns and so I said nothing. I remembered back on all the training I had had with Dianne, the months of hard work and building trust with her. She would be my eyes; I had to trust her. It had been difficult for me these past six months; I had always been so independent before the accident that took my sight. Now I was dependent on others.

I was so lost in my own thoughts that I hardly noticed the car slow down and stop. "I'll pick you up here when you're classes are over with for the day," mom said.

I opened the door and slid out, "No," I said, "Dianne and I will walk home. It's not that far and she knows the way."

I opened the back door and Dianne jumped to the ground; taking her place beside me, her warm body pressed against my leg reassuringly. "I'll see you at home," I said and walked away with Dianna.

**********************

"Is this the Student Services office?" I asked as I poked my head in what seemed like the hundredth door in my search for the seldom used office.

"No," a man said, "but I can show you where it is."

"Thank you!" I said and stepped out of the doorway.

"It's easy to get lost around here," he said. I could feel his presence near me, a peculiar sense that told me when someone was close. I patted Dianne on the head; more to reassure myself of her presence than anything.

"Ummm..."

I smiled at his uncertainty. It was clear that he didn't know how to 'show' me the way to the office. "It's okay," I said. "Just keep talking. Tell me where we are going and what you see so that Dianne can lead me to the office again."

"Okay," he said, though I could still hear hesitation and uncertainty in his voice. "Do you know how you got here?" he asked, and I nodded. "then from this door we go left," he said.

I listened to him describe what he saw as we walked along; landmarks that I could ask Dianna to find and she could do it. He had a pleasant voice.

"And here we are," he said. I felt a slight breeze as he opened a door.

"Thank you so much," I said and smiled in his direction.

"No problem," he said. "I was nice to meet you..."

"Sarah," I supplied, and held out my hand to him.

"I'm Chris," he said as he took my hand. His grip was solid. It matched his voice.

"Thank you again Chris. Maybe I'll 'see' you around," I said and smiled before stepping into the office of Student Support Services.

Jun Fei, Not a Han (or Rachel, Not a Han Either)

“Don’t stare,” Sonny said, tugged me toward the lockers.

“Why would I stare?” I trotted to keep up so he wouldn’t dislocate my arm. “Johnny’s just your cousin, right? From the Mainland?”

Something unreadable crossed Sonny’s face. “It’s hard to explain. Just - be cool.” Then he craned his neck and called, “Hey Johnny!”

I craned my neck too but didn’t spot any Chinese-looking boy in the lunchtime crowd. No one responded, either.

“Johnny!” Sonny called again.

Still no response. I’d heard loads about this unfortunate cousin, abandoned with Shao Lin monks in the mountains of northern China, half-civilized from living their ascetic ways. Sonny and I’d had long conversations about the antics his mother had gotten up to, trying to Americanize ‘Johnny’. I felt bad for the kid being thrown into a new culture, forced to conform against all he knew.

Sonny rolled his eyes and called out in sharp Mandarin. “Jun Fei! Get over here!”

The crowd shifted. I couldn’t help but stare. Jun Fei was...tall. Well over six feet, and lean, with golden skin and Persian-dark eyes, round eyes, caucasian eyes. His head was shaved, just like monks had their heads shaved, and he was dressed in shabby gray trousers and a matching gray tunic, like monks wore in kung fu movies, and he was even wearing little black slippers, but there was no way that boy was Chinese.

“Good day, Cousin,” Jun Fei said, inclined his head politely.

“Hey,” Sonny said in English. “Rachel, this is Johnny, my cousin. Johnny, this is Rachel.”

I offered my hand and forced myself to blink a few times so it wasn’t so obvious I was staring. “Pleased to meet you, Johnny.”

“My name is Jun Fei, despite what Song Fei insists on calling me,” Jun Fei said, and Sonny winced at use of his proper name. “But it is good to meet you.” And then he spoke in rapid-fire Mandarin, too fast for me to keep up.

“Whoa, hey,” Sonny broke in, “Rachel was raised by gweilos - she doesn’t speak the Mother Tongue.”

Jun Fei blinked solemnly at me. “You are not Han?” he asked.

“Er...biologically, sure. But biology doesn’t make a girl fluent in Chinese.” I couldn’t help but look him up and down and notice that he was lean, built along clean lines, like a runner, but I could see the smooth slide of muscles beneath his skin when he moved. And then I asked it. “Are you Han?”

Jun Fei blinked again, that puzzled blink that Chinese boys gave me when they knew the answer to a question but refused to give it.

“I’m guessing someone gave you a mirror eventually,” I said. “So, you want to sit with us for lunch?”

“That would be...nice,” Johnny said cautiously. He spoke careful, unaccented English, which was pretty good for a Shao Lin monk.

“C’mon.” Sonny headed for a table.

After a moment, Jun Fei and I fell into step behind him.

(500 words)

Sarah - (extra post - Edited)

"Hi Sarah!"

I smiled at the pleasant voice as the door swung shut behind me, "Hi Joyce, how are you today?"

"Well little Ben has the chicken pox, but other than that, life moves along," she said in a rolling Irish accent.

I could almost picture her as she had been described to me; a petite frame sitting behind the desk in the Student Services office, bright green eyes and a wide smile surrounded by short curly red hair and a smattering of freckles across her cheeks and nose.

"I've heard that oatmeal baths help with the itching," I offered as I leaned on the counter. Diana nudged my leg and I reached down to rub her behind the ears with one hand.

"Yes," Joyce agreed, "his Papa is home with him today, and I can just imagine the trouble those two are getting themselves into."

I laughed at the mental image that I got of little Ben and his father running amok through the house. "Well, at least you'll have it over with early," I said by way of consolation.

"Thank heaven," she mock whispered.

I laughed again. Joyce was fun to talk to. "Is Chapter One of the Corporations text ready to go?" I asked. I had to listen to it before the test on Monday.

"Let me check. I'm pretty sure that it is," she said. I listened to her shuffle papers around on the desk and a drawer open and close, pens sliding around inside. "Ah! Here it is," she said, and placed it on the counter so that it touched my elbow.

I dropped my hand and picked up the cassette tape, sliding it into my pocket with a smile. "Thank you Joyce," I said and turned toward the door.

*****

"I'm home!" I called as soon as I shut the front door. By the echoing I could tell that no one was home. I didn't mind; it meant I could be alone for a while.

"Come on Diane, let's get you comfortable and find something to eat," I said as I took off her harness and rubbed her down.

"Yuck! Diane!" I laughed and wiped the saliva from my cheek where she licked me.

We padded towards the kitchen where I filled her food dishes and set my pack on the table. As if on cue, my stomach rumbled as I opened the fridge door and grabbed an apple.

The apple gave way with a satisfying crunch as I moved back to the table. A small study area set up with a tape player waited for me and I slid the new recording into the machine. I felt a smile spread across my face as his voice filled the room.

Corporations: Chapter One...

I had to force myself to concentrate on the information he was reading and not on the smooth rhythm of his voice. It was a steady voice, strong and deep; the tone pure. I was sure that if he sang he would sing Bass.

I tried not to let my mind drift towards wondering about the man behind the voice; a voice I could listen to for hours even if I didn't need to. He made even a dry legal text worth listening to. It was one of the few voices that I would never be able to put a face to, a man I had never met.

A man I could never see.

Anne and Jane

Sparks jumped from the flint and stone that I held loosely to a small pile of tinder, catching and sputtering in the dark. I held the small flame to the wick of the lantern on the table. And the next, and the next. Soon the room was filled with the soft glow of lamplight, and warmth began radiating through the chilly room; shadows retreating to the far corners.

I worked at the laces of my bodice with numb fingers, pausing occasionally to hold them over an open flame, trying to restore some feeling. I let out a breath of relief when at last the constricting garment gave way and I could breathe easier.

"Mistress, Anne? Do you need any help?"

I thought for a moment before answering, "Alright Jane, come in."

Jane entered the room quietly, almost timidly. She was a small waif of a girl, not more than twelve I would have guessed. Given over to the great houses service by her parents for a pittance of money that I knew would not last a month.

I watched Jane move quietly around the chamber, her eyes downcast, almost fearful of being noticed, yet determined to do her work.

I slipped out of the bodice and the skirt and handed them to Jane who folded them precisely and placed them in the wardrobe. She removed my dressing gown and a soft robe and helped me into them before picking up a brush.

I sank into a low chair and hummed a little with pleasure as I felt the brush move rhythmically through my hair; Jane's soft, child hands, untangling my long black locks before loosely braiding it and tying it off with a ribbon.

Jane placed the warming pan filled with coals from the community fire between the sheets of my bed and turned down the covers. "Will you be needing anything else Mistress Anne?" she asked quietly.

"No Jane, thank you," I said gently and watched her move towards the door.

The little girl remained in my thoughts long after she silently slipped from the room to seek her own bed in a far, cold servants room.

Chris, Student

Chris squinted at the italicized font and sighed, raked a hand through his hair in frustration. He reached out and pressed the ‘pause’ button on the recorder and attempted to sound out the words.

“Day-zhoor? Day-zhoor-ay?”

“Talking to yourself again?” his roommate Evan asked.

Chris held up the thick law tome. “How do you pronounce this phrase?” He pointed to de jure.

Evan shrugged. “Not a lawyer, man.” And he went back to his chemistry and punk music.

“Thanks anyway.” Chris tugged his headphones back on and pressed the button to resume recording, continued reading. “ ‘A corporation formed according to legal formalities is a corporation de jure. If a corporation is not formed de jure, it may still be considered a corporation de facto...’”

After a while he got into the rhythm of reading, and he felt the words roll smoothly off his tongue even though he didn’t really understand any of what he was reading. He’d read so many textbooks on so many topics that they started to blur together. But as he read, he gazed at the photograph pinned above his desk, of Sarah and her guide dog, and thought, She doesn’t know I’m alive, but she depends on my voice.

He finished the chapter and stopped the tape, popped it out of the machine and scrawled Corporations, Chapter One on the label. He had to deliver it to the student support center and then get on with his own homework. Maybe, on his way across campus, he would see Sarah and Diane sitting on the grass, basking in the sun, picture-perfect and completely oblivious to it.

Chris scooped up his jacket and headed for the door, and the phone started to ring. Evan was closest, but he continued bobbing his head to his music and balancing chemical equations. Chris sighed and crossed the room, scooped up the phone.

“Hello?”

“Dear, it’s your mother.”

Chris winced. She sounded more frail than usual. “Hi, Mom. What’s going on? What can I do for you?”

“I got a call from the pharmacy again today...”

Of course. The creditors had come calling again. Chris let her words wash over him, making humming noises in all the right places. When she was done, he had to resist the urge to slam the receiver back into place. Then he stared down at his knuckles, red and swollen and scraped raw in several places, and he picked the receiver back up, dialed.

“Hey, Matt? Yeah, it’s Chris. Tell Tony it’s on tonight. I’ll meet him down at The Pit. Yeah, bare knuckles. Bring some sports tape. Put me down three-to-one on me, all right?” He glanced over at Evan, but he was lost in his music.

Good.

He probably wouldn’t notice when Chris came back after midnight with a new black eye. Chris shrugged on his jacket, grabbed the tape, and slipped out the door. He did stupid things for the people he loved.

(496 words)

Lillian, Cryptologist (or Nick, Bricklayer)

Lillian stared at herself in the mirror. She felt horribly self-conscious. Her nanny hadn’t had time to alter her uniform, so her trousers were rolled up around her ankles, and the sleeves came far past her wrists and she had to keep pushing them back up. Her frizzy black hair was fraying out of the braids her nanny had woven in that morning, and she looked like a pale scarecrow stuffed into someone else’s oversized clothing.

Apart from the bearded man who’d let her into the building, no one else was there. The man - Mr. Lewis - spoke briefly to her nanny, then told her to wait in the corner until the others arrived. It was nearly a quarter to six, and she was still the only one besides Mr. Lewis at the dojo, and didn’t class start at six?

As if on cue, the door swung open. A young man strolled into the building, backpack slung over one shoulder.

“Hey,” he said easily. “You new?”

“I am,” she said. “My name is Lillian Fairbanks.” She offered a hand. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

The man’s brow furrowed, but then he shook her hand. “Good to meet you too, kid. I’m Nick. When we’re in class, you’ll have to call me Sensei Vincent.”

“Of course. I understand hierarchical authority is important in martial arts.”

“Hier-what now?” Nick set down his backpack, toed off his sneakers and kicked them into one of the cubbies along the wall next to the mirror. “How old are you, kid?”

“I’m seven,” Lillian said. “Also, I am not a juvenile goat.”

“You talk like a dictionary.” Nick tugged a pile of clothes and a black belt from his backpack and started toward the men’s room.

“I’m sorry,” Lillian said. She ducked her head. “I’m around scholars all day, and their manner of speech is typically quite pedantic, and I find it’s best to conform lest - lest they disregard me because of my age.”

Nick leaned down and peered into her eyes. “No need to apologize. It’s just different, is all. What do you do all day, that you talk like that?”

“I’m a cryptologist,” Lillian said.

Nick raised his eyebrows. “Which means in real English...?”

“A code-breaker.” Lillian tugged one of her pigtails. She saw it, the flare of surprise in his eyes, followed by understanding. She was waiting for it, the revulsion, the disgusted curiosity, but instead she saw something she’d never seen before; she suspected it was that thing called empathy.

“Cool. I’m a bricklayer most days,” Nick said. He beckoned. “C’mere. Show me how you throw a punch.”

Lillian took a deep breath. She realized this was martial arts, but she’d been raised to avoid physical violence and instead attempt to end all arguments with logic. But Nick smiled and beckoned again, and she said,

“Yes, Sensei.”

(477 words)

Night in the Day

"Sarah."

I raised my head from off of my folded arms when I heard my mother call my name. I knew she couldn't see me unless I sat up, the grass was to long for that. I sighed at the tone in my mothers voice and let my head fall back onto my arms again, content to not be found; if only for a few moments longer. I closed my eyes and let the sun warm my skin to a tingle before turning my face away from the warmth. A light breeze rustled the grass and cooled my skin before passing on to the South.

"Sarah!"

I rolled over in the grass and covered my head with my arms. I knew I couldn't hide for much longer.

"Diane!"

From beside me Diane jumped to all fours and shook herself out. I knew that mom could see her, knew she knew where I was. I drew in a breath and sat up, running my fingers through my hair to dislodge any stray grass that had gotten tangled up in it and stood up.

I felt Diane brush against my leg and I reached out for the harness, gripping the soft foam handle loosely.

"Home. Diana," I said and let her lead me back to the house.

Nothing

My name is Shane.

At least that's what they tell me. Anything that came before waking up in the hospital is lost to me. All I can remember is opening my eyes and seeing bright fluorescent lights above my head and hearing a beeping to my left.

I remember taking a deep breath and trying to clear my dry throat; it was scratchy and sore, as if it hadn't been used in a long time.

"Hello?" I called out, and suddenly I was surrounded by many people; some checking machines, and others checking me and asking me questions that I couldn't answer. All I could say was, "I don't know."

It felt like that was all I could say for the longest time. "What's you're name?... I don't know...Where are you from...I don't know... Do you know what happened to you...I don't know..." I felt like a broken record.

After what seemed like forever they all went away; left me to my thoughts; though those were rather blank as well. It was like a soft black wall that I could push against, but I couldn't get through it. Whatever was beyond the wall stayed hidden from me.

I sat in silent thought for a long time, only interrupted when a young woman brought in a few things and placed them in my lap. A wallet, keys, and a few papers.

I flipped open the wallet to reveal the face of a smiling young man; dark brown hair and laughing bright blue eyes. The name read Shane Briarwood. Five foot ten, one hundred and sixty-two pounds. He lived in a city in California.

I set aside the wallet and picked up the keys. It was a simple set of keys. Two brass keys on a ring as well as some type of car key; but to what kind of car I couldn't tell. I set the keys next to the wallet

I next picked up the papers. They were covered in close neat writing, addresses and names. Snatches of poetry, random and unfinished. Nothing was familiar.

"Mr. Briarwood?" a voice said from the door.

I assumed I was being spoken to so I turned my head towards the voice.

"Mr. Briarwood, you had quite an accident. Can you remember what happened?" the doctor said.

I blinked. The name held no recognition for me.

"Mr. Briarwood?"

...Nothing...

Jeffrey, Baritone

“Your name?” Samuel asked.

The boy wore black skinny jeans that were somehow too big on him and a faded black t-shirt featuring some obscure 80’s band. Beneath his shaggy black hair (he was obviously due for a haircut) he had thick-rimmed glasses, and Samuel was quite sure the boy had not made proper eye-contact the entire ten seconds he’d been onstage. Wasn’t there some sort of pre-screening process by underlings? The mite looked terrified beneath the bright lights, standing before a crowd of thousands.

“Jeffrey,” the boy said. His voice was soft, almost inaudible even with a microphone.

Samuel twirled his pen, the gesture impatient. “All right, Jeffrey, and what are you going to do for us today?”

His response was a mumble.

“Pardon?” Samuel asked.

Jeffrey cleared his throat. “I’m going to sing,” he said.

The Celandine and Ben cast Samuel dubious looks, but he nodded. “All right. Take it away.”

Jeffrey lifted a hand in an awkward gesture, likely to signal someone to start his chosen music, and then something happened. He uncurled his shoulders and stood up straighter, lifted his head, and for the first time the judges could see that he had a pleasant face, a wide-lipped mouth curved in the faintest smile, a strong, solid jaw-line. When the music poured over the speakers, Samuel raised his eyebrows. He’d been expecting melancholy electric guitars, not orchestral strains.

And then Jeffrey began to sing. Samuel dropped his pen. He hadn’t expected a voice that deep and powerful to come out of such a skinny boy, but he had perfect pitch and enunciated as if he’d been born speaking Italian. He scaled the notes with breathtaking ease as if he were simply speaking, and he sailed through the tricky syllables without tripping once. Impossible. It took years of training to be able to sing like this, didn’t it?

Whenever Jeffrey hit a particularly impossible note, the audience roared, and Samuel felt something spark in his blood. Whoever had decided to let this skinny moppet onstage had discovered something special; Samuel suspected the lads in the wings were smirking then and there.

Samuel held his breath, nervous, waiting, because that last note was the hardest to hit, the easiest to ruin, and then behind him, the audience was on its feet as Jeffrey hit that final, magical note and took it to the rafters. Beside Samuel, Celandine was crying.

Then the music faded, and the audience kept roaring, and Jeffrey seemed to shrink back in on himself, hunching his shoulders, jamming his hands into his pockets. He stepped back from the mic, and Samuel realized he was getting ready to bolt offstage, so he spoke.

“Where did you learn to do that?”

Jeffrey shrugged, clearly uneasy. “My grandmother always listens to opera music. I like to sing along sometimes.”

Samuel suspected there were two sides to this boy, and he’d just seen the best and the worst in turn.

(498 words)

Lieutenants and Subordinates

Angel looked at Asia. Asia looked at Angel. On the other side of the room, Tobias cleared his throat, uncomfortable.

“Commander,” he began, “I have a question about –”

Asia held up one hand to forestall comment, and Tobias fell silent. Asia didn’t look away from Angel; veritable storm clouds were gathering in her eyes, and were they in a less public place, she’d likely have a storm cloud spinning on one open palm too.

“What you’re asking me to do –”

“Is no less repugnant than the time I ordered you to kill a pregnant woman,” Asia said.

The look on Angel’s face said he disagreed.

Asia threw her hands up. “How have you made it this far along in human existence and been so unrelentingly straight? How did you survive the Greeks and the Romans and the Seventies?”

“I’m not going in there and you cannot make me,” Angel said.

Asia’s eyes flashed silver, eerily, and Tobias felt power spark in the room. He knew that he and the rest of the boys hadn’t seen the full extent of her power; he’d always thought that was a shame, but now he suspected that was for the better.

“I can make you, but I shouldn’t have to, because orders are orders and you’ve been given a bloody command!”

DJ poked his head into the room; he wore a pleasant smile. Tobias attempted to ward him off, hand gestures and spikes across the web and all, but DJ was just coming off a kung fu high.

“Hey, what’s going on?”

“I have to go undercover in a gay bar,” Angel said flatly.

Tobias’s heart plummeted into his shoes. No way. Angel was a womanizer nonpareil, the original Casanova, Romeo, Don Juan, James Bond. DJ’s pleasant smile turned into an amused smirk.

“Oh really? How about that?”

“I won’t do it,” Angel said.

“Yes, you will,” Asia said.

DJ tipped his head to the side, blue eyes gleaming, and Tobias recognized Chadstone in the mannerism. “Should mom and dad really be fighting in front of the children like this?”

“You’re doing your job, and that’s final,” Asia said.

The tension in the room rocketed upward, and Tobias realized that Angel’s gift was circling the room, closer and closer to Asia, ready to strike.

DJ grinned, and oh, but he was both beautiful and terrifying. “Now now, Lieutenant Rastaban, surely you aren’t unwilling to do something one of your subordinates would have to do.”

Angel turned a fierce glare on him.

DJ peeled himself away from the doorframe and strutted across the room, and there was something distinctly sinuous and dirty about every line of his body. “I danced in a gay strip bar once. Surely you can just flirt with a man a little bit, ask him out on a date?”

Angel spluttered at the display. Even Asia looked alarmed. DJ draped himself across the nearest piece of furniture.

“Come on, Angel,” he said, “come osi.”


(500 words)
Angel blinked. Then he sighed, defeated. “Fine.”

Maybe Not

“It’s pretty simple,” Christian said.

Gabriel looked down at the mission dossier, then up at Christian. “Where are Angel and Asia? Why are you giving me this?”

“They’re helping Tobias with some undercover work. When they’re gone, I’m the commanding officer. I outrank you all by at least three decades.”

“If we’re going by age –”

“DJ doesn’t count. He has a big sleep between his first and his second life.”

Gabriel accepted the dossier reluctantly and scanned through it. His gaze darkened. “You want me to –”

“Infiltrate and destroy an organization, yes,” Christian said patiently.

“You mean I have to pretend to – I have to wear the white pointed –” Gabriel flung the piece of paper aside. “No way. I won’t do that. I won’t!”

“Just because you associate with them and pretend to be like them doesn’t mean you believe what they say,” Christian said. He kept his voice gentle, even. “You just have to pretend long enough to get us their outlying schedule, and then you get first crack at total annihilation.”

“Like hell they’re going to accept me.” Gabriel ran a hand through his dark, curly hair. “Seriously. Why would they?”

“Tobias and DJ have a way,” Christian said. “A little illusion, a little shapeshifting, and no one will even recognize you.”

“You mean you’re going to make me look whiter than I am,” Gabriel said flatly.

“If you don’t want to get shot on sight, yes.”

Gabriel closed his eyes. “Do you know what it was like, back then?”

“I was alive during the sixties, thanks,” Christian said.

Gabriel shook his head. “I mean before - during my first life. Do you know what it was like to be treated as nothing better than an especially useful animal? To know that your life was subject to the whims of one drunken, tyrannical man and was forfeit for his amusement?” His words came out broken, choked, and Christian could see his hands were curled into white-knuckled fists.

“Gabriel,” Christian began.

“Do you know?” Gabriel asked.

“Yes, dammit, I do know,” Christian snapped. “I was ripped from my home and sold to Roman slavers, and then I was sold to fight in the Colosseum where every day of my life I wondered if I would live or die, if the crowds would like me enough to save me from having to throw myself on my own sword. In my next life I was nobility, and I fought every day to never be a slave, never be subject to someone else’s will again, but guess what? We’re all slaves, every one of us, to whatever is going on above Sector Three. So do your job or forfeit your existence.” Christian shoved a bracelet at him, one woven with runes and Tobias’s blood to secure the illusion. He spun on his heel and walked away. As he left, he mused that Angel or Asia would likely have handled that a lot better.

Or, upon reflection with his own experiences, maybe not.

Mark of the English

“You’ve got to be joking,” Keith said. He looked Caomhin up and down, only he wasn’t really Caomhin, wasn’t the man who’d sneak Keith and his mates a pint of guinness after school.

“I’m not,” Caomhin - Angel - said. He had a smooth, upper-crust British accent, and all along, he’d been a bloody spy for MI6, hadn’t he? Keith knew he was breathing hard, that his gift was crackling dangerously under his skin, but he didn’t care. Maybe he should set this bloody impostor on fire - only he knew that the man before him had dangerous talents of his own.

“You lied to me all this time,” Keith said, voice low and dangerous.

“Yes and no,” Angel said. “I lied about who I am, yes, but I didn’t lie about why I’m here or what I believe –”

“You’re one of them!” Keith hissed. “You’re one of the English –”

“Look at me,” Angel said, patient. “Do I look like I’m English? Did Holly look English?”

“I can’t believe I didn’t see it before – you’ve got it written all over you – you’re one of those James Bond types, aren’t you, all public schooled.” Heat began to flare in the palms of Keith’s hands; his skin itched, begging him to let flames coalesce on his skin.

Angel sighed. “Keith, you don’t understand – I’m just like you. I understand how you feel. Your country wasn’t the only one that the British overrode, captured and subdued. Do you understand?”

A fireball burst alight on Keith’s palm. “Why should I trust you?”

“Look at me,” Angel said, and something in his voice made Keith go still, and for the first time he looked.

“Oh,” Keith said. “Oh. But you – your lot had Ghandi, and...”

“The mark of the English hasn’t gone away,” Angel said. “Surely you know that.” His voice was low, his expression solemn. He met Keith’s gaze and held it, waited, and after a few minutes, the flames in Keith’s hands dissipated.

“I do know that,” Keith said.

Angel smiled. “Good. Now, if you think you’re ready, I have a job for you.”

High School Horror

“Just go in there, speak to the lady at the office and...wait until you see the target.” Angel smiled encouragingly.

Tobias ran a hand over his new, shorter hair and sighed, shifting his weight from foot to foot like a nervous colt. “You know I hate high school. Why would you send me back to one?”

“I’m just the operational lieutenant,” Angel said. “Sector Three picked this mission.” He smirked and pinched Tobias’s cheek. “They probably picked you because you have such a cute little face.”

Tobias scowled and swatted Angel’s hand aside. “I’m not going in there. I can wait until the target is alone, shift into a poisonous snake or spider or something and just - finish the job.”

Christian sighed. “Look, the whole point of this is that we send a message with this kill - that we have eyes and ears and hands everywhere. A death that could be written off as naturally caused will hardly have the effect we need.”

“Who says we need such an effect?”

“The brass.” Angel planted a hand in the small of Tobias’s back and shoved him toward the front steps of the school. “Now go. I shouldn’t expect to hear from you for at least a month, and then you’ll have to finish out the semester to make it look good.”

Anxiety and fear, all too familiar and sickening, curled in Tobias’s gut. With his grip on his bag white-knuckled, he marched toward the stairs. Halfway up someone jostled his shoulder. Tobias glanced up and saw a thick-necked, square-jawed teenager in a letterman jacket bearing down on him. A football player.

“Watch where you’re going, freak,” the football player snarled.

Tobias ducked his head automatically and mumbled an apology. Then he darted up the stairs and into the relative anonymity of the hallway. Now he just had to talk to the lady in the office, get his schedule and locker assignment, and everything would be fine. If he kept his head down, no one would notice him, no one would --

And then he saw her, the target, standing amidst of a group of admirers - her fellow cheerleaders. She tossed her long blonde hair, and her smile lit up the entire room.

Remember - you need to get the target to trust you, Asia had said. You have to get her alone so you can take your time with her.

Tobias looked down at himself, at the clothes he was wearing, and realized there was no way in hell a girl like the target would look twice at him. He was Tobias, that freaky kid who lived in a trailer park with his drunken uncle because his own parents didn’t even want him --

He swallowed hard and lifted his head cautiously, caught the girl’s eye, smiled. She sniffed and turned away. His throat tightened. How was he going to get this job done?

Whatever

“What’s he doing?” Keith asked. “It looks...poncy and kinky at the same time.”

“It’s called Yoga,” Christian said absently. “A form of physical meditation. It’s been practiced in India for thousands of years. Yoga masters are called Yogi.”

DJ and Tobias watched with solemn eyes as Angel tied himself into knots on a blue workout mat.

“Like Yogi Bear?” Gabriel asked, after a long moment.

Christian set down the tray of tea and distributed the mugs with easy hands. “Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it. It’s very relaxing.”

“I don’t think I’m that flexible,” Keith said, expression dubious.

“You’d be surprised,” Christian said. “You’re immortal now. Your body’s better than it’s ever been or ever would have been, had you remained Dormant.”

“I still don’t think you should try that,” Tobias said. “You might hurt yourself.”

Gabriel closed his eyes, considered. “I suppose it is relaxing. His mind is...humming. Blank. Pleasant, actually, compared to the rabble that’s the rest of you combined.”

“As long as he’s all right with it, I guess,” Keith said. He sipped his tea and continued to watch his commander worship the sun or whatever.

“Whatever,” DJ agreed.

(195 words)