As Simple as Untitled by Alyssa M.

She put her makeup on and looked at herself closer in the mirror.

Her face was still a little bruised, just on the cheekbones that stuck out in
her flesh. She smiled, and, with a slow graceful movement, pushed aside all
that was on her dresser, and sat on it.

Her frail figure didn't have any impact on the furniture, and sometimes she had wished it would. Regan counted the seconds until she would hear her father hustle up the stairs, and slam his fist into her door, demanding to be let in.

It happened every morning before she went to school. She could almost set a clock by it. The only time that she was left alone to prepare herself for high school, were the mornings where her father had blacked out from drinking. Some days he was sleeping until she got home from school. But that rarely ever happened, and it caused Regan great anxiety.

It was the middle of April, warm weather, but yet, it was so dark that
she needed the light of her room on, at 7:00 a.m. Her figure rested gently on the dresser, with her long legs hanging down almost on the floor. Regan closed her eyes.

'Thump thump thump.'

"Oh sh*t" Regan said to herself, as her father stormed in the room,
with boots on and a flannel tank top. He was no more than 5 feet and 9
inches, but he was all muscle. Even Regan, who stood 6 feet and 2 inches had no chance against him. Her bone structure was small, and she might have weighed 130 lbs.

Regan's father grabbed Regans short black hair, and pulled. She
spiraled to the floor, legs spread out under her, arms folded in close. It reminded her father of a broken baby deer. It hurt him to see her in pain and discomfort, but he brushed the sorrow away, and kept harassing his daughter.

He was mad that she never stuck up for herself. She had always just let him push her around. Ever since Regan's mother died, she just kept to herself, and never tried to help herself. Her father noticed the marks and scars on her rms and hips, but never said anything. He was just confused as to what was going on.

Regan didn't cry. She just stared back up at the man who had loved her
for all her life, but yet beat her and made her bleed. Her brown eyes
looked black against her white skin, and her lips took the shape of a heart,
small and pink and faded. The black hair that hung just above her shoulders looked frizzy and broken, although she had just straightened it. Her collar bones stuck out on her chest, and the small patter of her breathing seemed to get faster and deeper. The look in her fathers eyes was fierce, a strong passion of confusion and hatred and loss. Time seemed to get slower, and the lights still glowed a deep red like at an opera. It was Thursday, and Regan would be late for school if she didn't hurry.

'I love you' her father said.

He closed his eyes, and walked away. She just sat there. Not looking.
Not thinking. Not seeing. Not hearing. She couldn't taste any blood in her
mouth. Nor see any on her body, although she had felt like she had just
been stabbed. It felt scratchy in her throat, and she could feel every
movement that occurred between her ribs. She got up and got her car keys and put on her boots and walked out the door. She didn't say goodbye to her father. Just walked out and locked the door behind her.

She was a senior in high school. She had a job at the local restaurant,
a great group of friends, many scholarships, and she was someone that
people wanted to know. Regan put the key in the truck ignition and pressed the gas pedal. She sped off to school, arriving just in time for the second
bell. She went to the bathroom before first class to fix her makeup and make sure she had no apparent bruises at the moment.

She lifted up the corner of her shirt, making sure no one was around,
to look at the cuts on her hips that had been put there the the previous
night. In a second, a freshmen walked in. She noticed the marks on Regan's
body, snickered, and walked away. Regan felt herself turn red, and she walked into a stall and waited for the girl to leave. It took a while, but
eventually the girl left, and Regan walked out into the middle of the bathroom. By now, she was late for class and decided to just leave school. She could use a drive, and missing one day of school wouldn't hurt her record. She waited until the bell rang, and while everyone was in their routine, she walked out the door.

Feeling excited, she skipped to her car, smiling, laughing, breathing
heavily and nervous like she had just robbed a bank. She got in the
truck and put her seatbelt on. That was a first for her, since she always
hoped that she would get ejected through the windshield if she had gotten
into an accident. Not today. Her father couldn't could ruin any other day but today. She got onto the highway, as if to go to the ocean. She turned up the radio, and sung to her current favorite pop song.

She noticed a small blue car weaving on either side of the road. It was
quite a way ahead of her, so she payed no attention, and there were no
cars near it. She picked up her chapstick, and just as she applied it, she
noticed the blue car stop. And turn around. And head straight for her.
She was scared, but there was another lane, and she decided she would just
head into the other lane and get off at an exit.

The car got closer, it seemed to be picking up speed, and then, nothing
happened.Time stopped. The sky of 9 a.m. got dark. Wait, no, that wasn't the sky. That was just the fear of dying.

She looked at herself in the hospital. Old, worn, frail, slender. She
ate so much, why was her body so small? Her feet hung off the hospital bed.

Her friends were there. Looking at her. Holding her hands. Crying. They all
had balloons for her, tied around the bed rail. She knew she was dying. She
watched the doctors take her body into another room. She just walked
alongnext to her physical self. Her father was there, in the room. He was in
handcuffs. He held his head down and Regan thought she saw him crying.

No.

It couldn't be. Her father was crying over Regan.
Her fingers now had small clamps on them. They didn't look painful,
just annoying, and loose-fitting.

Her body felt uncomfortable. She felt like she was shrinking. She
climbed back in her body and folded her hands across her stomach. She didn't want to die this way. She didn't want to die at all.

Arriving Somewhere, But Not Here by Hillary L.

I stood in the intensive care unit, looking at my lifeless body lying on the stretcher in the white room. The doctors and their nurses were moving about the room, stuck in fast forward, as they went from evaluations, to tests, to medications to keep me breathing. Inhale. Exhale. The heart monitor thumped slowly, and after every thump, I was sure it would stop. Where I stood in obscurity, they seemed to not see me, as if I was a figment of my own imagination, and I was. I walked out of the unit, and went to the waiting room. There, I saw my family; they were lifeless as I was, with their clouded eyes, and sorrowful expressions. My mother was weeping silently into my father’s shoulder.

The heavy rain beat down on my new car; I thought the rain was going to dent its new frame. The sky was black, and I could see the moon straining to shine behind the ominous rain clouds. I pulled over on the side of the road, because my thoughts were intoxicating me, making my driving ability impaired. Arriving somewhere, but not here. I felt outraged towards my mother all the times we fought over little nothings. She was my reason for leaving. I just needed to let go of my breath I’ve been holding for so long. Exhale. My resting body jumped out of the driver’s seat, and I felt a violent pain shoot through my bones. I was hit.

My life flashed before me. I saw everything I loved, or had cherished throughout my years. It was as though all the old home movies we took at all the important occasions were playing back in my mind. I knew then that I was scared that I was going to die, but I wasn’t ready. My mind screamed for help, but my mouth couldn’t omit a sound. I struggled to hold onto my place on this earth, but got increasingly tired, and lost my consciousness.


My body was drawn to the site of the accident. Police cars lined up at the crash site and were looking over the wreckage. My skin sent a message to my body asking, ‘ever have the feeling you’ve been here before?’ The ground was glittered with a thousand pieces of broken glass. I saw a crimson color stain the grass and pavement underneath my feet, and I felt weak and cold. Another pull on my invisible bones dragged me back to the dreary white hospital. I was ready to come back. I opened up my eyes and sat up, I didn’t want these doctors poking me with their instruments, I wanted to be left alone, I wanted to sleep, I wanted to go home.


The last thing I knew before I faded out was a song. It was quiet and consistently grew louder. Instrumental pieces calming me, warming my deathly cold body, and I knew I was where I belonged, and I had arrived just on time.

The Perfect Match by Morgan D.

Today was a big day for both Lisa and Marc. Neither Marc nor Lisa knew anything about each other or have ever met. They had two main similarities; each were leaving their European soccer clubs to go home for Christmas with their families. They were rushing through the London airport expecting to make their flights to Boston.

Marc was a 23 year-old professional soccer player from North Boston. He left his college and family when he was 19 to go to England, where he was given a spot on the New Castle United FC. This was his second consecutive year as a strong force of the offensive line. There was more to Marc’s life then his soccer career. He was highly intelligent and had a great sense of humor. He was very family oriented and blessed with the good looks of his parents. He was a dark tan, in shape, and an eligible bachelor.

Lisa lived in Portsmouth, New Hampshire. She too was a professional player in Europe that was given the opportunity of a life time to play there. She was playing for a newly developed New Castle woman’s team. This was her first year playing and her first year away from home. Lisa lived with her father and her two older brothers in a tightly nit family on the shore. Lisa was 5”7” with dark brown hair and a models body. She was 20 years-old, and smarter than most. She had an outgoing personality that no one could turn down.

It was already 9:00am and her 9:10 flight was boarding. Her taxi was late to pick her up so she carried her luggage along running down through the airport. She knew that this flight was the only flight home for the next month. She was anxious to get home to spend the holidays with her family. As she got to the gate, the door was closing. She ran down the hallway and made it on the plane. Now she looked stressed and tired, ready to collapse. She rambled through the plane to find her seat. When she sat down she passed out.

It was the squeaky noise of the food cart strolling by that woke her. The guy in the next seat over helped her figure out what was going on. She didn’t care about what he was saying. All she could do was stare into his dark blue eyes and wander. He was beautiful. He was even wearing a New Castle warm up, just like hers. Conversation started and never stopped.

When the flight landed both Lisa and Marc walked out into the airport terminal. When Lisa saw the board saying that rt. 95 was closed due to a snowy blizzard, she was startled. She had nowhere to go and it was Christmas Eve. She wouldn’t be able to go home for 2 days and she had nowhere to stay. Hand in hand, Lisa looked up to Marc. Marc smiled and was happy to offer her a place to stay with his family. After all they got to know each other quite well over a 12 hour plane flight.

Marc got a taxi and Lisa got in. Together they cruised the streets of Boston to Marc’s house. After one night with his family, everything seemed so right. His family was just like hers and very comforting. She felt at home. Lisa and Marc had identical personalities and loving families. After Christmas, Lisa invited Marc to meet her dad and brother. Her family loved him. They loved who she was with him and they loved seeing them together.

After realizing their living situations, they both flew back to England and continued playing soccer for New Castle. The next Christmas, their families went to England. During conversation, Lisa’s brother brought up the fact that Marc and Lisa were so close to each other at New Castle and yet they had never met. The fact that it took a 12-hour plane ride home to Boston and an unexpected blizzard to find each other made everyone laugh.

When Marc found the rare connection between the two of them, and looked back on the past year and how everything evolved, he asked her to marry him. Together everything worked out. They were both soccer players living in England playing for the same club, their families meshed well, and together they were happy.

The Ordnance by Patrick D.

Date: January 15, 2036
I will be keeping a log of the next year; it will be short and to the point. I am Jansen, leader of The Ordnance. It has been 1 month after the apocalypse, more commonly, The Judgment. World War III destroyed nearly half the population, and major civilizations. Waste from the war has turned the climate deathly hot, and the sky has been turned a dim, hazel red. During The Judgment, I and a few dozen of my… group managed to escape to London from our jail cells. We are strong, smart and merciless; we were soon able to form one of the three Factions, The Ordnance, made up of a few hundred former strong willed citizens. The Drudge, the barbarous, vigilant group of rogues, by far the largest and most destructive, The Ascendancy, the smallest of the three, and lesser known, and try to stay away from the constant anarchy and battle, and stay to the surrounding cities, and finally us, The Ordnance, just trying to stay alive, which can be hard based on the lack of resources and constant murderous raids of Drudgies, as we call them.

Date: January 29, 2036
Constant skirmishes are now beginning to grow into conflicts with The Drudge. The Drudge is beginning to grow in power and people, but so are we, as Ascendants are drifting to our side.

Date: March 4, 2036
One of my former inmates was executed for suspicion to helping The Drudge today. I did it myself, and sent shockwaves through the hundreds of onlookers in the area. I will not have a possible revolt against me at all costs. The Drudge is becoming more ruthless; stories are coming in from Ascendants that Drudgies are taking up cannibalism.

Date: April 22, 2036
Two days ago marked the first major battle with two other factions. A food supply was found in the center of London, and naturally all wanted in. Supplies were done to less than a month, and we could not survive without food. It was a bloody scene, dozens were slain, but we managed to take control of the center of London. The Catholic Church was destroyed after months of abuse from skirmishes. Only one brass Cross managed to survive, and we are now keeping it in one the office buildings The Ordnance’s newfound headquarters.

Date: April 25, 2036
We have built a huge wall around about 6 miles of area. Order is being restored, at least in our faction; things seem to have become worse outside the walls.


Date: April 27, 2036
I cannot stay long; Ascendants are beginning to pour into the streets. The Drudge and Ascendancy seemed to have joined together to destroy us, but we are holding strong for now. Two of our new council leaders were killed in a suicide bombing. We seem to outnumber them by far, which is a surprise, based on the sheer amounts they must have when combined. God pray they are not planning something larger.

Date: July 5, 2036
It is unmorally hot now that summer has rolled in, but spirits have been raised because of the sudden peace within the walls. Raids on the wall have been minimal, and the response last month by the two factions was quickly eliminated, but it is still jarring to know those two joined to destroy us… The people of The Ordnance try not to the think of it anymore. We try to maintain high morale by placing the Cross outside our headquarters, our new symbol of hope.

Date: July 20, 2036
We have made a scout team of elite former marines of the Queen; they are being sent out of the walls as I speak. No one has set foot out of the walls since they were built, and the people are becoming restless.

Date: July 22, 2036
Hundreds now pray at our huge cross. It has become the Ordnance’s new emblem. Most of the people have settled down, and a tailoring factory was found, which is currently making uniforms for our small militia, which will bear the brass cross. Skirmishes are coming closer to the wall, and the last thing I want is for us to be quite unaware.

Date: August 19, 2036
The scout team has come back with only 8 of the original 12 after about a month of staying out of the wall. They have reported scenes of death and chaos. Ascendants have come back into the city, and are now fighting a small war with Drudgies. The last thing they told us was how they lost the four men. They were caught spying on a group of higher Drudgies making plans to set a hellish raid on us, and the messages are becoming more violent.

Date: September 9, 2036
I write with pace, The Drudge has attacked with over a thousand; I can hear dozens outside our headquarters as I write. Our little militia could not fight this army; Drudgies have just been killing with no thought of self-protection. They have killed nearly all our civilians, and some militia men are taking a last stand in the headquarters.
The walls have been turned down, and I can see flames everywhere outside my window. Our brass cross was viciously torn down by a tank the Drudgies have decorated with human skulls. The messages are now depicting victory for the Drudge. Indeed, it seems like the end of The Ordnance. I can hear Drudgies storming the building a few floors below. Gunfire is echoing through the building. I cannot write much longer, they have gotten to the second floor.
I look outside to where our cross was, to where our hope of a new life, where our dreams, hope and future were. Drudgies are banging on the door to my room. I will fight to molest moments. They have broken through. Good-bye.

Running Short of Irish Luck by Max H.

“Upsurge ahead!” screamed Jack McFarland.

A rugged sea captain around fifty years old, McFarland was an easy man to understand. Dedicated but stubborn were his biggest traits. Irish born, McFarland often fished off the Irish coast.

He gazed into the experienced eyes of his crew. Four men clenched their ships protrusions as a monstrous wave engulfed them and the ‘Old Maid’.

“All men accounted for!” first mate Scott Shimson yelled as the waves quieted and the ship began to settle. Grunts came from the three other crew members, Steve Shirley, and Matt and Jon Rider.

“Get used to it boys, there’s more trouble brewing once we near the coast.” McFarland chuckled.

Each crew member wondered why the skip would take the chance of nearing Ireland with such unlucky weather and the rocky reputation Ireland’s coast held. Becoming uneasy about his captains decision to continue on just so the crew wouldn’t lose some of their catch, first mate Shimson brought up the topic in the late hours of the day.

“Skip, I’m worried this idea of yours can lead us to bad outcomes. The coast can be very untrustworthy with weather like this and its deadly rocks.”

“It’s no secret Scotty, the ‘Old Maid’ isn’t in her prime anymore. I did the figuring and this catch could give us just enough money to hold ourselves up ‘til we find our bearings and get the Maid fixed up good.

The captain raised his head and looked dead into Shimson’s eyes.

“If we lose any of our catch, the price of our fish goes down and we won’t have enough money for the ship. It’s that simple.”

Getting up from his seat and raising his voice just enough for his crew on deck to hear, the captain said aloud, “We’ll sail to the Irish coast with no worries about the storm. The ‘Old Maid’ will live on if I have any Irish luck left in me!”

As night came the sea became choppy. All five men prepared themselves for the worst possibilities as the ship passed the first few indomitable rocks off the coast. The rain seemed to be as thick as glue and waves crashed along the ship, teasing its tired body from years of use.

Members of the crew began questioning where the coast actually was, when from the nest, Jon Rider was heard clear, “Light ahead! Light ahead! Due north Skipper! Right in front o’ our eyes!

The men on ship cheered and jumped, all seeing the lighthouse clearly, some four hundred yards away.

Dangerously sidetracked from the excitement, the crew paid no attention to the disaster they had placed themselves in. Steve Shirley was the first to notice but it was much too late. A cry was heard above the waves as the ‘Old Maid’ was treacherously smashed against an enormous coastal rock.

“Man over board!” Shimson barely finished while the right side of the ships hull was destroyed, sending the crew and debris to the sea.

By early morning the two Rider brothers and first mate Scott Shimson found their way onto the high point of the rock. Captain McFarland and Steve Shirley weren’t seen by day break.

Realizing they wouldn’t have much time before another storm and ultimately their death, the three men began to think up possibilities of how they would make it to the shore. Sitting close to the water, Matt Rider noticed the Maid’s anchor was wedged between a few rocks very close by, the rope still attached. He gathered the rope and brought it to the others who had quickly thought up a plan.

One man would have the rope tied around his waist and swim to the closest rock. The other two would hold the ropes end and make sure the man made it across. Once arriving at the rock, the order would reverse as the two men swam to him.

With the water relatively clam, this idea worked phenomenally. In a mere four hours of work, the men made it to Ireland’s shore. Scott Shimson, Jon Rider and Matt Rider lay on the cold beach of Ireland, remembering never again to test their Irish luck.

An Ice Cream Sunday by Connie F.

The sun bore down on the pavement surrounding the pool. Bare feet pounded on the cement and chased each other in circles. The town park was always busy on summer Sundays. Kids splashed in the pool, and a pick-up baseball game was going on in the field. A group of young ten-year-old girls sat in the shade of an umbrella, chattering away.

“My daddy’s getting me a doll for my birthday,” Christy bragged to her friends. “That’s better than any of your presents,” she said smugly. Her perfect golden ringlets bounced as she swung her head over to her father.

“Right Daddy? My present’s the best, right?”

Tracy watched the girls from the water. Usually being in the water and swimming alleviated all her worries, but right now she just wished she was back home and had never moved to a new town. Her plain features and southern accent didn’t fit in with these fancy girls and their rich clothing.

Tracy never wanted to move to begin with. Her parents had decided that farming was no longer a profitable business, and it was time to try their luck elsewhere. However, Tracy had had plenty of friends back home, but up here she couldn’t get these girls to like her. Christy and her cohorts refused to speak to her. Tracy had tried befriending them at the beginning of the summer, when they had first encountered each other at the town pool. She had greeted them with a wave and a huge grin on her face, and they just laughed and walked away. Their cruel nature had deterred Tracy from trying to make friends with anyone else at the pool. Now she just came to swim. Well, to swim and to see Charlie.

Right now Charlie was having a conversation with Christy. Actually, Christy was talking, and Charlie was looking longingly at the baseball field.

Charlie was only ten, but he knew he was going to play baseball for the New York Yankees someday. There was absolutely no question about it. He practiced every day of the summer, and right now Christy was cutting into his practice time. He didn’t care about what doll Christy was going to get for her eleventh birthday. Now, if Tracey was talking to him it might be a different story. Charlie thought she was really interesting. She was unique, coming from some place far away. Plus, she actually seemed to really care about swimming, just how he cared about baseball. The best part; she wasn’t obsessed with a stupid doll. However, she didn’t seem even the slightest bit interested being friends with him. In fact, every time Charlie went over to talk to her she ducked underwater and swam away.

“My dolly’s going to have a lacy skirt and a red dress over it, and her hair will be tied up with a bow. It’ll be a pink bow. Actually, pink and white. Pink with white polka dots. Oh, and her hair is blonde just like mine…” Christy said, while batting her eyes at Charlie.
“Charlie,” she whined. “Are you even listening?”

“I think that your doll is very, um, interesting,” Charlie said, while staring over his shoulder into the pool where Tracy was treading water. “I have to go now,” he said, and walked as fast as he could over to the edge of the pool nearest to Tracy. As he approached she dove underwater and swam away. Slightly disappointed, Charlie decided to return to his baseball game.

Tracy wished Charlie wouldn’t come over. He was obviously good friends with Christy and her buddies, and it was clear that they were planning something. I mean, who couldn’t tell, with the amount of time he spent glancing over at her, and the speed at which Christy was talking. Those girls should just leave her alone. Tracy wasn’t going to let them make fun of her again.
The crack of a bat, the yell of ‘CANNONBALL!’ and the laughs of children made up the song of summer. An ice cream truck’s jingle added to the composition. Kids flocked to the truck, hoping for something to lessen the heat of the day. The baseball game was broken up, and even Christy and her friends raised themselves from their shady spot to go get some ice cream.

Tracy realized it was an opportunity to get out of the pool undisturbed and go home. She dried herself off and pulled on shorts and a t-shirt, swung one leg over her bike, and began to pedal. She stopped at the sidewalk to wait for the ice cream truck to leave and for the flock of kids to diffuse. As soon as she stopped she realized it was a mistake. Christy and her friends menacingly approached her with their ice creams and vicious smiles.

“Oh, is the new girl too poor to buy an ice cream?” one of Christy’s friends teased.
“The farmer girl makes her own ice cream.” Christy replied. “She’s too good for our ice cream truck.’

“How does she make the ice cream?” Christy’s friend asked, playing along.

“From the cows.” Christy answered. “She’s good friends with the cows.”

Moos and giggles came from the group of girls.
“I think she is a cow!” called out one of the girls. “A big, ugly cow! Moooo!”
They walked back to the pool laughing, and left Tracy sitting on her bike, with tears in her eyes. This wasn’t fair! Tracy never did anything to hurt them; she had been as nice as possible. Why did they feel the need to be so nasty? And Charlie was coming over too. As if they hadn’t made enough fun of her for one day. Tracy hopped on the bike and pedaled as fast as she could.

“No, Tracy, wait!” Charlie called after her. “Tracy!” he yelled, and ran after her.
She stopped pedaling, and hopped off her bike.

“What do you want?” she said, with more coldness in her voice than she had meant.
“I, I mean I-,” Charlie faltered for a second, and then continued. “I just wanted to say that I think that it’s horrible how those girls are treating you, and that I don’t think you’re a cow at all. Actually, I think cows are kinda pretty. So I do think you’re a cow, because I think you’re really pretty. I mean, I don’t- oh, never mind.”

Tracy smiled in spite of herself. Encouraged, Charlie continued.

“Anyways, I like you a lot, and I want you to have this.” He offered his ice cream to Tracy. Now she was really smiling. Charlie actually meant what he was saying. Tracy took the ice cream.

“Thanks,” she said softly, and kissed him on the cheek. He blushed a vibrant shade of red.

“Ew, Charlie’s got cooties!” Charlie’s friends from the baseball team called from the sidewalk.

“Do not!” he said defiantly, and chased after his friends.

Tracy stayed by her bike and licked her ice cream cone. Maybe it wasn’t that bad living here. Maybe some people did like her enough to be her friend. She didn’t need everyone to love her, especially not Christy and her crowd. Tracy had a friend who liked her enough to buy her ice cream, and that was really all anyone could ask for.

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