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."

Law and History

“Did you see that last night? That was pretty rockin’ awesome,” Evan said.

“What was awesome?” Chris asked distractedly. He had his head down and his hood up, his black eye concealed behind a pair of too-large sunglasses.

“The big boxing match for Campus Fight Night on YouTube.” Evan paused, waved at one of his friends.

Chris followed Evan’s gaze, and his heart caught in his throat. Sarah was lingering near the doorway of the Student Services Office, Dianne sitting obediently at her feet.

“Yeah,” Chris said. “Awesome.”

“Whoever that blond dude is, he’s pretty good,” Evan went on. “When I first saw him, he looked kinda like a chump. I mean, obviously I didn’t get a good look at his face, but he seemed like every idiot pretty boy. Bet he’s the quarterback or something clichéd like that.”

Chris hummed and nodded. “Yeah.” He slunk toward the Student Services Office, lingered a short distance away from Sarah. He had to figure out what classes she was taking so he knew which textbooks to volunteer for, but when he peered at her binder, he saw that it was covered in braille. He wouldn’t be able to read her schedule, then. Crap. Sarah was talking to someone in the office - maybe about her schedule? Chris edged closer, shoulders hunched, head down - which was stupid, because she couldn’t see him - and then Dianne barked loudly, sharply.

Chris jumped.

“Sorry!” he said.

Sarah turned toward him. “Dianne,” she said, “no barking at strangers.” Then she smiled at Chris. “I apologize - sometimes she’s a little overprotective, thinks people are threats when they aren’t.” But there was a note of hesitation in her voice, as if she were assuming he was non-threatening out of politeness.

“I didn’t mean to make her nervous,” Chris said, and Sarah cocked her head to one side, brow furrowed. Did she recognize his voice?

And then someone from within the office said, “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.”

Sarah turned back to the door. “Thank you very much,” she said, and she sounded dejected. She clicked her tongue softly, and Dianne was on her feet, alert. “Let’s go, girl.”

Chris watched her go, wanted to call out to her. Instead, he headed into the office.

“Hey.”

The redheaded woman at the desk looked up at him. “How may I help you?”

Chris slid a crumpled application across the desk. “I was looking to be a reader.”

The woman beamed. “Well, that’s lucky, isn’t it?” She had a rolling Irish accent. Joyce, her nametag read. “As it so happens, we need a slew of textbooks read, and soon. What do you feel like, lad, law or history?”

“Law,” Chris said.

(483 words)

Girls and Jobs

Chris stared at the job postings on the cluttered corkboard and wondered how he could possibly make enough money to support his mother while he was in school.

Movement caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. A girl was walking down the hall, poking her head into every doorway. A dog trotted alongside her. Chris was surprised a dog was allowed indoors, but then he noticed the girl’s cane. Chris watched her wander down the hall toward him, intrigued by how graceful and sure her movements were. She walked delicately, like a dancer; she had glossy dark hair, flawless pale skin...and Chris’s mental track was starting to sound like a trashy teen romance novel.

She stopped at the empty Career Office and poked her head in.

"Is this the Student Services office?" Her voice was low for a girl’s, husky, made Chris’s pulse trip erratically.

His voice lodged in his throat. He panicked. "No, but I can show you where it is."

"Thank you!" She stepped out of the doorway and turned to face him, and she smiled.

Chris felt himself begin to fall; his head was swimming; he couldn’t think straight. "It's easy to get lost around here.”

The girl patted her dog on the head; it gazed up at him with big, he suspected distrustful, dark eyes.

Chris started toward the Student Services offices, then paused. "Ummm..." How would she know to follow him?

The girl smiled again, the expression sympathetic, which made Chris feel like an idiot.

"It's okay," she said. "Just keep talking. Tell me where we’re going and what you see so Dianne can lead me to the office again."

"Okay.” Chris looked down at Dianne and wondered how smart she was. He’d heard pigs were smarter than dogs. "Do you know how you got here?"

She nodded.

“Then from this door, we go left.”

As they walked, Chris described the path, noting some of the landmarks and telling stories about this statue or that hallway. He was rambling, but when he got nervous he couldn’t stop. Dianne trotted along beside them, alert, sniffing here and there.

At last, they reached the office. "And here we are."

"Thank you so much." The girl smiled, and Chris’s heart lurched again.

"No problem. It was nice to meet you..."

"Sarah," she said, and inwardly he crowed. He knew her name!

"I'm Chris," he said. A thrill shivered down his spine when their hands touched.

"Thank you again Chris. Maybe I'll 'see' you around," she said, and stepped into the office. Chris wanted to call out, ask for her phone number, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t get involved with a girl - he needed a job.

He turned away, and then he saw it, a flyer advertising a job for the Student Services Center. They needed someone who would read textbooks on tape for a vision-impaired student. Chris snatched the flyer off the wall and dashed back to his dorm room. It was perfect.

(500)

'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.

Project Assignment # 72 - Group effort

So I know we batted this idea around a little this week of writing Sarah's and Chris's story, so here we go.

I'm not quite sure how we should work it out. If it should be a writers tennis style or otherwise. Let me know what you think my fellow writers!

Regardless of format, let's stick to 700 words or less.

Overview #71: New Characters

I totally had fun writing in first person POV this week. IT was interesting the difference in the immediacy of the scene when writing from that POV rather than another.

I started the week not really knowing what to write about, and then a situation popped into my head. A man in the hospital with no memory of who he was or how he got there.

And since I enjoyed writing the first person POV so much, I created Sarah. I wanted to challenge myself to write a scene in which a sense was missing, but have it not be so noticeable.

I was a little stuck with what to write next, but I looked around and spotted my renaissance dress and that gave me the idea for Anne and Jane. it was interesting that I had originally thought to have the scene more about Anne, but it shifted to focus on little Jane. It was also interesting to write two new characters in a scene and try to make each of them distinct from the first person POV. I like how Anne focused on Jane.

I also liked the help I got in the re-write of the additional post for Sarah and Chris.

Overview #71: New Characters

So this ended up being harder for me than I'd originally anticipated, partially because I went out of town for the weekend and had to double up on homework earlier in the week as consequence. Working hard also fried my brain, because I came down with a genuine sense of writer's block near the end there.

I learned something I probably really knew all along this week: characters cannot be properly developed in isolation. Well, a writer can try it, but what results is a horrifying Sweet Valley-like disaster of boring, unbelievable exposition. Because I am me and I am long-winded, it was harder than I thought it would be creating a character in isolation, and I found myself hyperaware of how I was spending too much time developing the background characters who were just supposed to be props so the character I wanted to create could shine.

I have been dreaming up Jun Fei or a boy like him for a long time, so I was surprised when Chris came out as the most real, well-rounded, original character. Little Lillian was a struggle for me, because the overwhelming number of my protagonists are male and the last time I wrote a child prodigy he was male, but I went for it anyway. This week was a great experience, though, and drove home the reason that conflict creates a story, because an amazing character won't carry a story if he or she is alone; the characters in his world had better be interesting too.

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)

Project #71: New Characters!

We have beloved 'verses we keep writing in, some with over a hundred tagged entries to them, some with less than twenty, all created with tender loving care. This week the challenge is to come up with brand new characters, one a day, 100-500 words. You can go for a Sweet Valley-style exposition, you can go for the Hollywood introduction, or just drop right into the new person's storyline. Give it a whirl and see how it goes, and see if any of the new faces will make it in the crowd that runs the halls of Master & Madness academy. Good luck!

Overview #70: Color

Okay, so I will freely admit, I had a heck of a lot of fun with this one. I challenged myself to pick colors for the boys not usually considered in conjunction with said boys (DJ tends to be blue, Keith tends to be red or green, Gabriel tends to be gray, Tobias tends to be brown or black, James tends to be green), and I came up with some pretty startling but altogether fun results. My favorite scene of the week was probably DJ's, because as much as Nick's death is pretty much ipso facto part of DJ's story, I never did much with it, and it turned out better than I thought it would be, and it taught me some things about DJ too. I didn't finish out this week, but I'm in the middle of bar prep, so I'm going to forgive myself, and chances are I will fail next week, but hey - here's to writing as often as possible and improving as I go.

They say as long as you write every day you will improve, and I am writing every day - mostly to the tune of bar essays, but writing nonetheless. So I am writing. Just not always here, and not anything anyone but a bar examiner would want to read.

Ultimate fail...

Okay I must sincerely apologize to my fellow writers. I epically failed this week to get my posts done... guilt...

My only excuse is that I have been so busy. I work eight hours a day at my normal job and then come home and put in another 4-7 hours worth of training and contacting. I am so busy that I often don't get to bed until after midnight... and I'll be honest... It slipped my mind... I vow to mend my ways and I will do better this next week!

Please forgive me fellow writers...

White Fright

Most people were afraid of the dark, the black, the shadows. Gabriel had been afraid of many colors in his life - the blue, the gray, either meaning a gunshot on sight depending on his own colors. Gabriel wasn't afraid of the dark, though, not the way most people were. No, he was afraid of the white.

The whites of eyes and teeth bared in frozen, lifeless grinned, lips skinned back in eternally silent laughter, dozens of faces circling his windows so that when Gabriel rose in the night to draw a drink of water from the pail and sought the midnight sky, all he saw was the white, white, white.

For one moment he was still, terrified, sure they were the faces of the dancing skeletons foretold by the vodun priests. Too much blood had been spilt along these rows of soft-white cotton; souls would not rest easily here.

When Gabriel took a deep breath and looked closer, saw the faces had flesh, he realized he knew those white eyes and white smiles set in black faces. The Drummer Boys and Fast-Hand Jim, Smilin' Sam and Charlie Haystack. All slaves from Old Man Harris's plantation.

All dead and strung up along the slave barracks for every slave to see in the dawn. Only it was the black of night, and Gabriel had discovered them all.

For the first time in his life, he wished he could scream.

And then he smelled it, smoke, burning. He wheeled around, tore through the house, searching for the danger, and some of the others muttered sleepily, but he didn't find it. He turned, searched, but at every window and door he was hemmed in bodies, faces,white smiles, and he thought, They're going to burn us alive in here.

One of the women screamed, and as one the barracks woke; people poured into the safety of the darkness, of fresh night air, and there, in the middle of the fields, was a burning cross, and around it stood demons with pointed skulls, all arrayed in glorious white.

(345 words)

Green and Lost

Green, yellow-green, faded green mottled with red, green brown around the edges, green sticky and velvet like moss, green ugly like a fading bruise. Tobias tore through the undergrowth, breathing hard but silent, desperate to outrun the other boys. He knew his way through the forest blind, but the fear pounding in his heart and his lungs and his ears had blinded him, and now everything was one morass of the same color: green.

And lost.

Tobias dove behind a tree, winced at the scrape of rough bark against his skull, and waited. They’d come by, any moment, charge past like a herd of elephants, and then he could double back, climb a tree and search the surface of the forest, orient himself.

It almost worked. One by one they streamed past him, hell-bent on capturing him. And then one of them glanced sideways, and his green eyes gleamed with predatory triumph. He lunged. Tobias cried out, fell backward, went head-over-heels and face-first into a bed of ferns.

A boot connected with his ribs.

He couldn’t even cry out.

And then the green began to change, shift so it was almost neon, infrared, as if he were looking at light in the middle of the night through night-vision goggles, and then he realized he was seeing plants.

Outlined in heat.

He was seeing heat, the plants in shades of greens and blue.

And there they were, the humans, in reds and yellows.

Tobias threw his head back and howled.

(255 words)