The Writer by Isaac Wilde

The Writer

by Isaac Wilde

Screams filled Aedon Palace that night, the pained screams of the dying and the anguished screams of the assorted Family, and the shouts of befuddled servants running around in the dark. The screams emanated from an extravagantly furnished bedroom at the very top of the massive, white marble castle keep.

      Lying on his bed was decrepit form of King Markom, his wrinkled and sunken eyes closed. He was close to dying, and his voice was horse from crying out as pain passed through him. But his nerves were spent, and his body couldn’t even feel itself failing.

      Suddenly, the King’s eyes flashed open, revealing electric blue irises, and with a raspy whisper he said:

      The writer paused, reflecting for a minute on what the King would say. The next sentence would establish his story, and he wanted to make it spectacular. He looked out the window of the small secluded cabin he lived in, and watched the silt-filled waters of Lake Rust lap against the shores of his island.

      He looked up, an idea bouncing around his head. He turned and placed his fingers on the keyboard of his laptop, one of two modern appliances in the cabin. The other was a dilapidated phone, which lay lopsided in its cradle.

      He began to tap out the first letters of the Kings last words. - And with a raspy whisper he said, “The power, oh, the power burns. It’s made me older, older than I am. Make sure… Make sure that They don’t get it, and warn my son. Warn him that it hurts.”

      Suddenly, the area around the King’s heart began to glow warmly. His eyes began to lose their fervor, his face began to calm. The light shot up from his chest, refracting and bending to create a small, diamond-shaped object. A small hum echoed throughout the bedchamber. Then, the strange illumination dulled, and a small crystal appeared on the King’s chest. The King let out a horrible, shuddery sigh, and lay still.

      The noblemen and women surrounding King Markom’s bed gasped as they realized that their beloved King was dead. A tall man with brown hair and an expansive beard stepped forward. His name was Askel Danilo, the leader of the Northern Tribes. He snatched up the mysterious diamond that had formed over the King’s heart.

      “The King is dead. His claim over the Northern Tribes has died with him. My people need my presence,”  Askel said, a little louder than necessary. The small crowd parted around him as he made to step out of the door.

       Erik Anton, the King’s son, no more than seventeen or eighteen, placed himself in front of the hulking Northman. “The King is not dead. I am now King, and the Northern Tribes and the diamond in your hand are mine.”

      “Step aside, boy.” Askel said, walking past Erik. Erik stopped him with a hand, which was, although less so than Askel, very muscular.

      “Obey your King, Danilo. I am the rightful ruler.” Erik said, defiantly.

      “I will not kneel to a child.” Askel said, and shoved Erik aside. Askel walked out of the oaken door, slamming it with a resounding crash behind him.

      Erik angrily whipped a tear of frustration, guilt and sadness from his eye. His beloved father was dead, the nobles refused to obey him, and the diamond, obviously meant for him, had been stolen by Askel.

      Quissa Autria, the old King’s wrinkled advisor, rested an ancient hand on Erik’s shoulder. “My lord, I still have many years left to my name. I can help you reclaim your birthright, your throne. We will take back the Northern Tribes again.”

      The writer stopped, satisfied with the start of his story. He saved it, and decided to stop writing for the day. He would let the story continue in his head, and spend tomorrow writing vigorously. He snapped down the lid of his laptop, a new model that he had ordered a week ago, and had only just finished transferring the files to yesterday. The ad for the laptop had said it would help make your writing come real, and the writer had bought it instantly. The writer stepped over to the coat rack, and began to prepare for a hike.

      But, before he could even zipper his down jacket, the phone rang. He checked the caller I.D. Emergency Number. He picked it up, worriedly. A machine began playing, and he almost put it down. But then the words the machine was saying registered.

      “Attention all American citizens. The President of the United States has died.  The vice president, Tonan Riek,  has taken control. As our government was in momentary confusion, the northern states of the U.S. have formed their own country, called the United Northern States. The revolt was led by Kelsa Linoad, who is now the president of the United Northern States.” The computer voice whirred and clicked, and the message repeated itself again.

      It was an impossible happening, the writer thought. Half of the U.S. doesn’t just get up and leave! And why on earth would they have any cause to? The writer hadn’t heard anything about discontent in the northern states. But then, something in his brain clicked together, and with a jolt he unscrambled the letters in Kelsa Linoad. Askel Danilo. And then, he unscrambled the letters in the vice president’s name. Erik Anton.

     The incredulity of it all was dazzling. He turned towards his computer, where the opening words of his story were sitting, innocent. How could his words have done so much damage to the country he loved so much? It was impossible. It had to be a coincidence.

      But he still flipped up the screen of the computer. Before he rashly deleted his story, hopefully undoing the disaster, he wanted to experiment. The writer typed up a quick paragraph about rain, wondering if it would start to rain outside.

      The rain pelted the small cabin, the bloated shores of the Lake lapped at the wooden planks. Lightning strikes shone far in the distance, the roar of the thunder deafened the man inside the cabin.

      The water seeped inside.

      The writer stopped as water began to lap at his feet, and onslaughts of water rushed through the door. The door crashed inwards, and the writer became smothered in water. Caught without air in his lungs, he soon found himself short of breath. Desperately, he flailed at the keyboard of his computer. He pressed a button, and watched as all of his writing; stories of creation, destruction, governments, history, the future, all get deleted.

      As each story goes, so goes what it was about. First the water left, without a trace of it ever having been there. The writer sucked in a grateful breath, but then his cabin disappeared, and he saw that the lake has dried up as well. Then the trees disappeared, and then the sun and the crescent moon, and then the now-visible stars begin to wink out. The ground beneath his feet disappeared, and the writer floated in nothing, with only his laptop. But the computer deleted the last file, and then the writer vanished.

The Advanced Society by Ian Bernardin

The Advanced Society

by Ian Bernardin

The sun was just beginning to set as Ellen approached Gerald's cottage. On his front porch, the young woman hit the knocker against the wooden door and waited for a response.

      “Ellen, you're here!” Gerald exclaimed. “I'm happy to tell you that I thought of the perfect plan for getting you on that quest.”

“What is it?”

      “I'll tell you upstairs. There's a surprise waiting for you in my bedroom.”

      “Okay,” she said, following her friend cautiously up his dilapidated steps.

     “Upstairs, Ellen,” he said, “is where magic is going to happen.”

     After making their way into Gerald's bedroom, the pair stopped in front of an enormous closet.

     “Now,” he said, “I'm going to need you to take off your clothes.”

     “Gerald, I know you love me, but I don't think it's a good idea for us to do it so soon...”

     “By Quillpith's name, I'm so sorry for the misunderstanding!” he said with a laugh. “That's not what I have in store for you at all! Here, we're going to start by fixing up your hair. I'll find something for you in the closet.”

     “Alright,” she said with a smile of uncertainty, putting her hair up into a bun. 

     “Here it is,” said Gerald, grabbing a wig of manly blonde hair. “Why don't you try it on?”    After placing it over her head, Ellen observed herself in Gerald's closet-door mirror. “Wow,” she said, “I look so...different.”      

     “That's the point,” said Gerald. “Now I have to find you the rest of your costume.”     “Before that,” said Ellen, “when you just asked me to take off my clothes...”

     “You can change in my closet,” he said, “and I'll wait out here for you.”

     “That's a relief,” she said, as Gerald plunged once more into his commodious storage area of props and costumes.

     “Here it is!” he cried out, grunting as he dragged a suit of armor from his closet.

     “Uh, Gerald, don't you think that's a little extreme? Are you sure I could even walk in that?”

     “Ellen, this is the only way I can cover up your body so that your gender is unrecognizable. Please trust me here.”

            “Oh, I think I see what you're trying to do,” Ellen said with a snap of her fingers. “You're going to make me look like a...”

      “That's right,” he said, “but first, you have to make sure that the armor fits you properly.” Gerald stood outside his closet and listened to the clatter as Ellen struggled with the attire.

      “Are you all set?” he said. “It sounds like you're going to war against France in there!”

      “I'm fine,” she insisted, but seconds later, she tripped over the pointy shoes of her costume. Thankfully, Gerald caught her in his arms as she tumbled forward.

      “Careful!” he said. “Now you know why I'm always doing face plants on stage.”

      Both laughed, knowing this comment could not have been closer to the truth.

      “I'm sure the armor would have kept me safe if I had fallen, anyway,” Ellen pointed out. “I just would have had trouble righting myself. Anyway, thanks for catching me!”

     “No problem,” he said. “I'm sure that you'll catch onto walking in it if you practice enough.”

      “I hope so. Oh, and by the way, does the armor come with a face?”

      “Of course! Let's see if I can find that.”

      Ellen leaned against a wall with one of her mail-covered arms as Gerald fished through his closet.

      “Wait! I see it!” he cried, “but I don't know if I can reach it.” The room shook as Ellen's friend hopped up to grab the head piece. This was followed by a bong and an “ouch!”

      “That was a struggle,” said Gerald, clutching the item and rubbing a bruise on his forehead. “Unfortunately, I can't find the top part with the red horse-hair on it, but I don't think that's a problem.”

      “What do you mean?”

      “Well, if your blonde wig is showing, then it might lower suspicion that you're potentially a female.”

      “Good point,” said Ellen, “but now that I'm disguised, what should I pack for the journey?”

      I'm thinking that you should have...first of all, you need another pair of shoes. I made them myself. The trails you're walking will be muddy, but these things should be able to stop people in the tribe from tracking your footprints and apprehending you.” Gerald dug around in his closet once more and quickly removed a queer-looking pair of scrap-metal blobs covered in protruding, tangled wires.

      “The footprints these leave closely resemble rabbit tracks,” he said. “Just be sure that you hop like a bunny while you're wearing them. Otherwise, you might not fool pursuers.”

      “Should I put them on now?”

      “Yeah. While you're doing that, I'm going to collect some supplies that I think you'll find useful.”

      As Gerald searched his house for the scattered items, Ellen put on her rabbit shoes and stared out the window, getting lost in her thoughts as she admired the stars. Never before had she felt such a touching sense of calmness.

      “I think this will be enough,” he said breathlessly: “a blanket, a small bag of nuts, spare contact lenses, some glue.”

      “Why glue, Gerald?”

      “Just in case your life begins to fall apart, you'll be able to glue it back together.”

      “And where am I going to store all of this stuff?”

      “There are pockets inside your armor.”

      “Thanks for helping me pack,” said Ellen. “Now, what am I doing once I leave your porch?”

      “This is the plan,” he said. “With your true identity hidden, you must hurry through the town square and down the path marked with bright green flags. That trail leads to a guard post on the perimeter of the tribe. Since the watchmen are generally more concerned about who's coming in than who's escaping, you should be able to find a way past them. From there, set up camp a little after you reach the outskirts of the tribe and wait until the quest party passes by to team up with them. You'll have to pretend that you're a rogue who was thrown into the woods for some crime against the Advanced Society. Just be careful; you want to be friendly with our tribe members, so that they won't attack you. Does all of this make sense?”

      “Yeah,” Ellen answered, still observing the night sky. “I'm just trying to visualize all of it. I hope nobody outside the Wooded Prison will attack me.”

      “Oh, I have one last thing to give you before you leave,” said Gerald, putting an arm around her. Locking Ellen in a bear hug, he planted a kiss on her cheek.

      “That was pitiful,” she said. “You might want to try that later, when I'm not wearing armor.”

      “I hope you make it back,” he said, blowing a final kiss to his crush as she left his bedroom.

A few seconds later, as Gerald was about to host a pity party, he stopped short as a terrible crash shook his cottage.

      “I'm okay,” came the voice of his true love. “I'm not used to hopping down stairs.”

      Before he could reply, Gerald heard his front door creak shut.   

"Concert Kill", "Protected by the Predator", and "The Abomination" by Hunter Spadafora

Concert Kill

by Hunter Spadafora

I was sucked into the concert crowd which was weird because the crowd wasn’t that big. I saw the stage, turned around, and start ed off. After a minute of walking I looked around, the crowd was as far as the eye could see and I was somehow closer to the stage. I could feel my heart-beat in my ears, my chest felt like something was trying to come out. I tapped someone on the shoulder and asked if I could leave. The person said I was crazy and went back to dancing. I walked on, and on, and on, and on. I must have walked 200 feet and still I seemed closer to the stage. My ears started to burn with fear and hurt from the noise. My legs started to feel numb. I felt a liquid on my ears and when I touched them I had blood on my fingers. The world then felt dark.

               Sitting in a chair a girl noticed a boy collapsing in the small crowd in front of the stage. She noticed his face was red and his ears full of blood. When she tried to get out of the chair she couldn’t move, she was stuck while the crowd started to    ahead her way.

Protected by the Predator

by Hunter Spadafora

Boston. Once a thriving city with a population of over 2 million people. Now reduced to ruins. One human remains, isolated from the rest of the world in the maze called a city. The rest of the population fell to the predators. The vampires already took everyone else and added them to their collection. But they can’t get her. Because there’s something else in the city. An Abomination, a creature that hunts the vampires. The girl constantly hears almost human-like screams near and far as the Abomination destroys one vampire at a time. But what will happen when it’s just her and the Abomination? That’s what keeps the girl going, trying to escape the maze known as the city of Boston.

The Abomination

by Hunter Spadafora

A predator. The Predator. The Abomination is a creature with limitless/unlimited hunting ability. Its size is said to vary from human sized to [larger than] an adult elephant. Accounts with the human sized version are the same. They state that the Abomination is humanoid, covered in Pitch Black Armor like its skin. Its hands have claws that can tear any material and enough strength to crush anything in its hand. It’s fast, able to climb vertical surfaces and make no sound. It will jump out of nowhere and rip people to shreds. The elephant sized version is said to be more aggressive, with fore-arms that are 3 feet long. Its strength is unlimited, its speed unmatched, and it hunts, not for food, but because it can.

When Arrows Fly by Emma Kraus

When Arrows Fly

by Emma Kraus

“Riley, wake up!” Logan screamed in my ear.

I jolted upright. It took a couple seconds for my eyes to adjust to the sunlight. Waking up in panic seemed to be a theme over the last two mornings. It was not something I wanted to get used to.

      “What’s going on?” I said breathlessly.

We were entering a small town with houses that looked like any amount of wind would blow the shingles right off of them. Logan’s hair was wet with sweat, and his eyes darted from window to window.

      “The Thalls are back,” he said tossing me my gun.

Thalls.  That’s what we called them, the pre-historic creatures my uncle was sending after us. It was easier than saying “Neanderthals”: that’s for sure. They kind of reminded me of Ninjas because of the all black attire they wore. We guessed my uncle dressed them like this so they would look like a SWAT team chasing after someone and not bald monkeys running around with bows and arrows. It was just a disguise so they wouldn’t look so foreign and scary to outsiders, outsiders meaning everyone except us. We were lucky their hands weren’t evolved enough to pull a trigger yet. It was already dangerous enough with stone head arrows flying around you. What a sight we were. An orange bus being chased by mad monkeys. This small town probably never even saw a police chase, never mind this. At first, people just stood and stared, but it wasn’t long before they started to have panicked looks on their faces. They had it easy. The Thalls weren’t after them. They were programmed to go after us, and only us. We didn’t know if the government officials had fled, or the Thalls had gotten them already. My family was the final item on my uncle’s “capture list.”

      Logan and I unbuckled ourselves from the bus we were traveling in to get a better view of our attackers. There were about eight of them running after us.

      Man, they are fast, I thought.

      “Duck!” My mom yelled from the front seat.

An arrow came whizzing through the back window and imbedded itself in the headrest in front of us. The Thalls were getting stronger. My dad pulled into the first parking lot he could. The bus squeaked to a halt beside a gas pump.

      “Why are we stopping?” Logan and I yelled in unison.

People all around the streets were now screaming and scurrying into stores and houses.

      “We need to get out of sight. Get out of the car and run. Find somewhere to hide!” my dad demanded.

      “Go!” my mom cried.

I grabbed my gun and booked it out of the car, running as fast as I could. After I ran a couple yards, I slowed up to look back to make sure my family was following. Before I had a chance to look behind me, something tackled me from behind. It was a Thall. I could tell by its hands. They were hairier than any man’s. I squirmed and wriggled trying to break free. It had a grip on my leg, the same leg that had been grazed with the arrowhead yesterday. The Thall stood over me as I lay on the ground flailing my arms. I couldn’t reach my gun, so I gave it a couple blows with my fist, not hard, but they did the job. It loosened his grip. I kicked and scratched my way out of its grasp as pain shot through my ankle. I spotted a door to one of the old houses as I struggled to my feet. Crashing noises were coming from behind me. I limped to the porch and climbed the stairs to the house.

      “Riley!” I heard a voice yell behind me as I busted into the front room. It was one of them, my mom, Dad or Logan. I couldn’t tell.

I turned. The Thall was coming up the stairs after me. I went to get my gun from my pocket. Nothing.

      It must have fallen out when I fell, I thought.

I heard grunting behind me. Before I could think, the Thall was lunging after me again. I dove in between the open door and the wall. I waited for a moment. This is where Logan would hide in our house when he wanted to scare me walking into my room. Suddenly, there was a thud and my mind snapped back to the present. I held my breath. I didn’t hear anything. I looked down. Only traces of the bandage were still attached to my leg from yesterday. My ankle was throbbing. I leaned over sidewise to see what had happened to the Thall. I saw a shadow. It was looking for me. Something large slammed me between the wall and the open door as it made its way into the house. I looked down and saw a foot. I would know that shoe anywhere. I jumped out of my hiding spot and threw myself toward him. My dad grabbed onto me and held me close.

      “Are you okay?” he asked in a concerned tone.

      “I twisted my ankle trying to get away from him,” I said as a tear started rolling down my face.

      “They’re gone now. Let’s get you back to the bus,” he said. That’s when I noticed a large scrape on his forehead. He saw me looking at it.

      “They sure got some sharp nails. Don’t they, Kiddo,” he said pointing to the wound. He almost laughed while he said it. I knew he was trying to distract me from my pain. No matter how bad things got, he could always put a smile on my face.

      “Where are Mom and Logan? Are they okay?” I asked. I didn’t see them as I looked around.

We made our way to the porch.

      “They’re fine, just a couple bumps and bruises,” he assured me, helping me down the stairs.

      “They’re back at the bus already.”

I wiped my eyes and nose with my sleeve. We walked along the sidewalk. He supported my left side as I hobbled back to the bus.

      “Dad, there’s no one here,” I said looking at the deserted town.

      “That’s what happens when arrows fly,” he said holding me tighter.

Holaweeno by Cole Kraus

HOLAWEENO

By Cole Kraus

Chapter Two

The Theft

The next few minutes after I came out with the truth to my parents were extremely silent and awkward. I finally broke the deafening quiet, actually unintentionally, when I walked over and sat on a bench near them. I had just been sitting on a plane for hours, so my reaction time was quite slow. Before I could even react, I had already crashed through the rotted wood of the bench I had attempted to be comforted by.

I was slow to get up, so my mom scurried over and helped me to my feet. Even though I had disappointed her, she was still my mom. Dad, on the other hand, was not about to forgive me just yet.

               “You all right?” my mom asked.

               “Yah,” I said, coughing after I spoke from the lack of talking for a while.

               After the first awkward silence, another one fell on us before we knew it. Well, we can’t stay speechless forever I thought.

               “Are we going to go through with my plan?” I asked.

               I was hoping my parents would see the good side of me because I didn’t want the lie I had told them about why we had come to this island to prevent me from doing something in the name of my grandfather. I could imagine the brains in my parents’ heads working feverishly to come up with a decision, especially my dad’s, because from the start he had seemed the most hesitant about this whole idea. I could somehow sense my mom had come up with her verdict. However, she seemed as though she was waiting for my father to speak first. I had my fingers crossed mentally, hoping to get their approval, because this whole expedition thing was actually seeming more and more exciting. Then, I could see my dad’s lips starting to move ever so slightly, almost in slow motion.

               Just as he was about to speak, a stranger burst in between us and shoved my dad to the side while grabbing my mom’s purse. Everything suddenly turned into fast forward. By pure instinct, I immediately sprinted after the thief, brushing passed a few hefty pedestrians.     

               The purse snatcher made sure not to run through the hordes of people on the main roads, since that would bring us too much attention. It was difficult to see his body features, because he was covered up with dark clothing, which was odd, considering the strong heat and humidity of the day. The thief wove through back roads and alleyways, until he escaped my field of vision. My mind knew it was no use running, but my legs said otherwise. I briefly thought about calling the police, but it was too late now. Plus, everything was so foreign to me. I’m not sure if I would have even been able to accomplish that task.

               I had slowed my pace at a four-way intersection to decide which way to go when I heard someone running up from behind me. It was my dad, and he motioned for me to stop. Even though I had built strong stamina over the years by running track, once I had stopped moving, I keeled over like a sailboat in a storm.

               My dad tried to say something, but it came out more like a heavy groan.

               I brushed my hair off my face.

               “Why—didn’t—you—let—me—chase—him?” I asked, gasping for air like a dying seal in between my words.

               “Wow!” my dad exclaimed after he had caught his breath. “If you ran like that in your track meets you would have taken home the gold.”

                But I replied as if he had asked a question.

               “Because in competition, there isn’t a thief running in front of you with your plane tickets and passports!” I said loudly still panting.

               The shock my dad must have felt would have been enough to make an electric eel shiver. After I said that, he gave me a look as if he was a caveman, and I just showed him how a cellphone worked. The reality of life finally set into his head, as he stood there dumbfounded. Just then, he started sprinting randomly in one of the four directions in front of us. I halted him in his tracks before he went too far, just like he had stopped me.

               “It’s too late now,” I said disappointedly.

               After we had settled down from the whole excursion, we both thought we should probably find Mom. When we finally spotted her, she was wearily running up and down streets with our big bag of luggage dragging behind her. Luckily, that hadn’t been stolen. Because if it had been, we would have looked like a pretty sad bunch. She explained she wasn’t looking for the thief, but for us.

               It was then that she said, “It could have been worse. The passports are in this,” as she clutched our tattered luggage.

                I should have felt relief, but I was too preoccupied with the impact of the theft.

               After the purse ordeal, we staggered back over to where it all started. Since that particular spot was right in front of Saj’s condo, it reminded me that my parents had never given me their decision.

               We sat on the sidewalk with our backs against the stucco of his building and made sure we avoided sitting on the other bench that stood next to the broken one. Even though our luggage wasn’t stolen, we still managed to end up looking pathetic. Someone actually even offered us a few bucks and a loaf of bread. My dad took the bread, but not the money. All that running had made us work up a tremendous appetite. Plus, we hadn’t eaten anything since the tasteless matter the airline called food.

               While we were eating, I told my parents about Saj, how he knew Grandpa and that he might be able to help us find the Valinium. I began to think my parents had forgotten all about me lying to them, but thanks to my big mouth, I brought it up again. However, they seemed more excited about going on this trip, although they hadn’t said so yet.

               The hot sun, all that went with it, started to give way to the moon. We all agreed we probably should call it a night and introduce ourselves to Saj. We hoped he would let us stay with him, if he still lived here.

Introduction to our Winter 2014 Teen Writers

Introduction to Teen Writing

By Lynette Benton, Instructor

Here are the works that several of the Robbins Library Teen Writers wrote during the winter of 2014. As you will see, their work exhibits a level of creative expression seldom seen in writers so young. Each of the works expresses the writer’s own unique style and vision; none of the pieces resemble any of the others. The teen writers achieved that critical element of strong writing: originality.

Each of the teens focused on improving one aspect of their writing, such as inserting more suspense into their work or strengthening descriptions so that readers could easily visualize both the environment and the action.

The writers presented their work in a public reading in the Robbins Community Room in April 2014.

We invite you to join the Robbins Library Teen Writers in the fall. (You will be able to register for the classes here on the Robbins site shortly.) Classes begin on Monday, September 8, and run for six (6) alternating Mondays. We meet at 6:00 in front of the elevator in the main lobby. I hope to see you there.

Now, sit back and enjoy the students’ writing. Prepare yourself for mystery, mischief, and the macabre!

Holaweeno- by Cole Kraus
When Arrows Fly- by Emma Kraus
"Concert Kill", "Protected by the Predator", and "The Abomination" by Hunter Spadafora
The Advanced Society by Ian Bernardin
The Writer by Isaac Wilde

If you would like to read all the works by our writers, please click here.