troubled sleep

If this, perhaps, turns out to be one of the most horrid and all around revolting things you've ever had the displeasure to read...please inform me of this fact straight-a-way so that I may strive to make a story a bit more palatable. Also, I'm fully aware that the title and information above may not be the most fitting things in the world for this story. But unfortunately the choosing of titles has never been one of my strong points. ------------------------------------------------------)( A small figure in a large floppy sun hat sat alone in a small grey kiosk in the middle of a busy shopping mall. The crowds pushed past her, barely noticing the kiosk, the figure, or the large neon pink sign flashing ‘How to Take over the World on $80 or less.’. Many who had seen this sign had quietly waved it away without thinking as a gag, a hoax, and generally a waste, and perhaps rightly so. But the point was that the figure in the sunhat seemed rather bored. This isn't so suprising considering that extereme bordom is a side-effect of sitting along in a kiosk for several hours. But what is suprising is that absolutly no one had ever even approached her. And she had been sitting her for over three days. All the time hoping to pass on her interesting knowledge before her presence here became widely known. It was then a dark haired man of about twenty-three stopped and stared at the sign before turning to the girl in the sun hat. “You’re showing how to take over the world?” “Yes.” the figure said bluntly,pulling her sun hat off to reveal a young face with short inconspicuous blonde hair. She quickly pushed a few strands of hair back into place and replaced the sun hat after a nervous glance up towards the nearby security camera. “Yes, I am.” she repeated, looking up towards what appeared to be her first customer, “I assume you’re interested?” “Yes...I supposed I am.” he said, stepping closer towards the kiosk. “Good. You too can be a ruler of the world, Mr.....” “Brandon Bassett.” “Yes. Right. So you, Mr.Brandon Bassett, can be a ruler of the world, and I can tell you how. But first I’ll be requiring a nominal fee of 50 Dollars, or 51 Euro if you’d prefer .” she said, brown eyes staring coldly up at him. “That’s a nominal fee? In this economy?” “When you think about how much things cost in this day and age, you should be grateful it isn’t the customary 500 American dollars. Besides, you can worry about world economics when you’ve take everything over.” “Ah. Well, in that case.” he said, pulling a spare 51 Euro out of his pocket and reluctantly handing it to her. “Thank you.” The girl thoroughly examining the bill(one of the German ones) and checked each water mark before carefully tucking it into a pocket of a sleeveless button up dress with a mundane floral print worn open over a black t-shirt and jeans. An odd silence fell upon the two. Even odder when you consider that the holiday crowds were still surging around them. They sat like this for several moments, until Brandon suddenly spoke: “So...now that I’ve paid you and a good twenty minutes have elapsed...are you going to tell me how to take over the world?” “Certainly.” the girl said, looking up once again, though this time her eyes were obscured by a pair of large sunglasses she had recently donned. She folded her hands in front of her on the desk of the kiosk and then opened her mouth as though to speak. “You know, you may want to take notes...” she said, thrusting a pad with ‘Clearwater Beach Hilton’ printed at the top and a matching pen in his direction. The customer accepted it, and made ready to write. “Ok, so first of all you have to have an initial 80 bucks. You can't expect to take over the world on anything less." "Ok," Mr. Brandon Bassett said, writing this down. "Next, you have to call everyone.” “Such as?” Brandon asked as he scribbled ‘call people’ on the pad. “Oh, anyone. 1-800-SUICIDE, me, the presidents of Russian, the United States, and France to name a few. You may also want to contact the editor of Puffin Books, and the people who make chex mix. Calling the Army, Navy, and Coast Guard of your respected country may help too. But most importantly-” she drew a quick breath and paused, as though trying to suspend this climactic moment, “call a cab.” Mr. Brandon Basset looked up at the sunglass covered eyes of the girl as though expecting something more. But when nothing of the sort came, he grumbled softly about things being ’anticlimactic’ and quickly wrote ’call a cab’ on the note pad. “Yes...Call a cab...because you’ll need one to take you to USA Route 1. You’re going to pick it up about twenty miles south of Washington DC.” “Why?!!” Brandon said, not able to restrain his sudden distrust of this entire situation. “So you can flag down a passing truck driver, of course.” the girl replied matter of factly. “Ah.” he replied, a confused look never leaving his face. “So you’re going to flag down a passing truck driver-” “With what?” “A large towel, of course! Personally, I recommend you buy from K-Mart. The Martha Stuart Everyday Brand is notoriously good. And in a bright color, so you’re easier to see. I’ve seen many people fail horridly at flagging down vehicles when they try to use cheap and inconspicuous towels. Anyway, so you’re going to flag down this truck driver then hi-jack his truck. Or if you can’t find a truck, go for an SUV or something else with severely tinted windows. Trust me, you don’t want to be seen. Anyways, so you toss the car or truck’s driver out onto the street where he will sit in shock for about three minutes. In that time you should be able to figure out how to drive the truck or hotwire it in the event that the driver still had the keys in his hand when he was thrown out. Then you ride south to-am I going to fast for you?” she said, suddenly stopping to watch Mr. Basset's progress with copying this down. “No, no. Continue.” he said, not looking up from his notes. “Good. So you start riding south, and you keep going that way for about...four hours, maybe three traffic permitting. Now, you’re going to take the Suffolk Virginia exit, and you’re going to drive until you find a stable.” “And how exactly can I tell this particular stable from all the others in that area?” “Well, how many stables can there possibly be? Besides, this one is next to a raw clam bar. And the raw clam bar is just over a large bridge. It has a pirate flag too. And a dock!” “Can you name any of these bridges, clam bars, or stables?” “No...I moved away years ago. And I can’t exactly go back...especially since there are always loads of police on the bridge; you’ll need to watch out for that too.” She paused for a minute and waited for Brandon to shake out his cramping hand for a moment before continuing. “So you find the stable, and you hi-jack a horse-” “Any particular hose? Thoroughbred, colt...whatever other sort of horses there are?” “You just grab a horse and go!” “But what if-” “No what if’s! You grab a horse and start riding west until you reach those states commonly referred to as the ‘plain states‘. Then you’re going to sell you’re horse for a few thousand dollars to a group of passing cowboys.” The girl had told Brandon this in a dead serious tone, but he couldn’t help but laugh. “Cowboys??” “Yes. Cowboys. They’re all over the plain states, you know.” “If you say so.” Brandon said, returning to his notes. “I do. So as I was saying. You sell you‘re hi-jacked horse for a few thousand to passing cowboys. Now, afterwards you‘re going to have to walk for a while, but it really is great country with some lovely scenery. Be sure to take plenty of pictures.” “Great, and where am I going to get a camera and/or get the pictures developed?” Mr. Brandon Basset said, his faith in the girl’s words fading fast. “At Walgreen's, where else? They’re everywhere, you know. And open 24 hours a day. But this particular Walgreen's is located in Middle of Nowhere, Ohio. It’s actually a very nice store, and you can stock up on provisions like soda and peanuts, and perhaps purchase another towel. But remember: drink Pepsi, not Coke.” “Why?” Brandon asked as he started on a fresh page of the notepad. “Because it’s Pepsi! You’re supposed to drink it, and that’s a fact.” “Ah.” “So also at this Walgreen's you’ll need to purchase a bicycle. Preferably a mountain bike though I’ve heard that regular bikes work-” “And the point of this is??” “That you’re going to hop on this bike and travel across country until you get to the Grand Canyon.” “Ok...bike to Grand Canyon...” Brandon said as he wrote this down. “No! Wait! I forgot! On you’re way you'll find a passing group of Migrant workers!!” “What??” “Migrant workers! However could I forget them!!” “Umm...ok then...” Brandon said, scratching out ‘bike to Grand Canyon’ and replacing it with ‘meet migrant workers’. “Oh it’ll be fun! Migrant Workers are great people.” “Really now?” “Yes. So you’ll meet up with these Mexican Migrant workers who have just taken a wrong turn on their trip home from picking grapes in California. You’ll then communicate with them using your superb Spanish speaking skills.” the girl said, shaking her head and getting thoroughly excited about this part of the story. “But I can’t speak Spanish!” Brandon protested. “You don’t have to! Just smile, nod, and say ‘si’ repeatedly and you’ll be *fine*.” the girl replied confidently. “But...But...” “Hey, if I can get through several years of French with at least a B average smiling and saying ‘oui’ and ‘c’est combien?’ repeatedly, you can communicate with these migrant workers!” “Okay...okay...” Brandon replied, quickly writing ‘say si a lot’ on his notepad. “Alright, so now you will barter for a while and in the end agree to trade your Walgreen's Bike for a few leftover bottles of California’s best wine.” “Yum...” “No sidetracking...I’ve got a limited amount of time here.” the girl said, glancing nervously at a mall cop who seemed to be staring in her direction, “So after swapping email addresses and pointing them in the general direction of Mexico, you’ll continue on foot again.” “Again?” “By this time you’ll be almost into North Eastern Arizona. Or at least you should be.” the girl said, completely ignoring Brandon Basset’s complaint, “So after wandering around for a while, you should come to a car Shoppe.” “A Car Shoppe? In the middle of nowhere?” “Sure, it’s called ‘Pueblo's Ford’. It’s a droll little place run by a Chinese man named Tan. He’s a failed tanning bed owner you see. He couldn’t take the heat of the Peachtree City, Georgia tanning bed industry, so he bought this quaint car Shoppe.” she said matter-of-factly to Brandon, “Anyways, so Tan is in possession of a Model T Ford, which you will most graciously borrow in the dead of night.” “Isn’t that stealing?” “No, it’s larceny. And besides, Tan will never catch you...if you’re fast enough. So you’re going to steal his precious Model T and run. The car itself will take you about three miles over the Arizona border before it literally falls apart on you. But that’s ok! Because by using you’re trusty Martha Stuart Towel-” “Yes, about that. I have a few color ideas to run past you...you know, so that I can attract maximum attention. I was thinking a blue...or maybe a red...yellow is nice as well, but do you think it’s too light?” Brandon said, trying to prattle on in the serious tone the girl managed to pull off so well. His only response was a death glare muffled slightly by the pair of dark glasses the girl wore. “So you take out you’re towel and use it to bum rides from passing cars until you get to the Grand Canyon.” “Weren’t we just at the Grand Canyon?” Brandon asked, flipping back through his now numerous pages of notes to double check. “No! You were supposed to scratch that out! You had to visit with the Migrant workers and steal Tan’s car before the Grand Canyon!” the girl exasperatedly cried, rubbing her forehead in disdain. “Oh...” he said, noting the scratches on his paper, “okay, you can resume.” he said, flipping back to a blank page and holding his pen at ready. “Alright, so you’re now at the Grand Canyon, and you’ll ride one of landmark’s legendary donkeys, or mules, up onto the Canyon at sunset. Now, be sure to take *lots* of pictures. After you get them developed you can visit the famous Grand Canyon Camp Grounds and sell you’re pictures for ten dollars a picture to unsuspecting tourists. And then when you get someone in an exceptionally nice RV, you lure him or her outside with the promise of more Grand Canyon at Sunset pictures and steal their RV.” “There certainly is a lot of stealing in this plan.” “Hey, when you’ve taken over the world they’ll be no way they can touch you, so why hold back?” the girl replied frankly. “Good point...and about that, while all of this running around America sounds like oodles of fun, what does it have to do with taking over the world?” “Crazy...I didn’t think anyone actually used to word ‘oodles’ anymore...but then I’m always being surprised. And this ‘running around’ has everything to do with taking over the world, if you’d just sit through it!” “Okay, okay...” Brandon said, cowering next to his note pad and preparing to take more notes. “So then you’ll go RVing across the last of Arizona until you get into Nevada-though, I do recommend you take a few short detours and visit the Great Salt Lake up in Utah, I’ve heard it’s beautiful in the summer. Now, there doesn’t appear to be very much in Southern Nevada, not even a Walgreen’s or a gas station for miles. Which is okay, because you can’t afford anymore of the RV’s expensive gasoline anyway. ” “Say, do RVs run on diesel? Or regular unleaded?” “Who cares? The point is that by this time you will only have about three dollars left, so you can’t afford either.” “Ah, I see.” “So after raiding the RV’s fridge and stealing and towels in sight you scrawl a sign saying ‘FOR SALE, CALL 1-123-456-78910” (which oddly enough matches the number of a cell phone the RV’s previous owner left in the car) on the top of a pizza box. From then on to Vegas you’re back on foot, I’m afraid. But after just a few hundred miles of good road, you make it to LOS VEGAS!” the girl said, unexpectedly throwing confetti up into the air. “And?” Brandon said impatiently. “And in the time it took you to get there, you’ve gotten quite a few offer on your stolen RV. and the highest bidder just happens to live in Los Vegas.” “That’s convenient...what if the highest bidder lives in Puerto Rico?” “Then you deny their offer and wait until one from Vegas comes.” “But what if no one from Los Vegas sees the RV or the sign saying it’s for sale?” “Then you...you...I don’t know! Place an advertisement in the classifieds or something! But the point is that you need to find a buyer, and you need to find one in Vegas!” “Okay, okay, I was only asking!” Brandon replied meekly. “So you take this person from Vegas up on their offer, and manage to make enough money from the closing to afford a few nights on the Vegas strip.” the girl said. “Hehe! I’m rich!” Brandon said happily as he wrote this bit of information down. “No, You’re not. Not yet, at least. Besides, that will be peanuts compared to the riches you’ll have when you take over the world.” she said. But as she turned to stare at her client, her eyes caught a glimpse of several security guards and policemen massing in one section of the mall, their gaze fixed on her. “Ok, we have got to speed this up! My time is almost out and we’re only at Vegas! So you have all this money, right?” “Right.” “So you check into a fancy Vegas hotel, and register to stay for three nights, but unfortunately you gamble all but a hand full of pennies away at the slot machines. So, you have to flee your hotel room under the cover of afternoon in the biggest car in the county. But not a moment before you have raided the hotel’s mini bar, stolen their brightly colored towels, and run up a huge bill for pay-per-view movies. So you speed down the highway in your overly large stolen car and you head over into California, where you dump your car in a disused vineyard. Continuing on foot, you hitch rides to all the major theme parks: Disney Land, California Adventures, Sea World, places like that. But you can’t stay long at any of them...especially after you try to steal Shamu.” “I’m going to try to steal Shamu?? But isn’t that illegal?” “There are many things in the world, Mr.Bassell, that are illegal.” “But it’s cruelty to poor Shamu! I’ll have the United State’s entire population of five-year-olds plotting my demise if I steal Shamu!” “Now now, I never actually said that you would steal Shamu. You see, by mistake you accidentally pick up Lamu, father of Mamu, grandfather of Kamu and most importantly half brother to Shamu. You see, Lamu was filling in for his half brother while Shamu was doing a gig in Sea World Florida.” “Ah...” “But after you realize your mistake, you return Lamu to his overly small ‘habitat’ and continue on your way.” “Let me guess, on foot again?” “Yes. Look at it this way, you’ll be the guaranteed winner of the world leader’s walk-a-thon. But back to your trip...so you‘re walking again, and on the run from the cops...they didn‘t like the whole whale stealing thing. So you‘re starting to loose hope when suddenly you see the Hollywood Hill. Knowing that you‘ve always wanted to go here-” “No I haven’t.” Brandon said indignantly. “Knowing that you’ve always wanted to visit Hollywood, you stay here for quite some time, selling the Migrant Worker’s California win as needed.” “But what if, in the process of nearly loosing hope before getting to Hollywood, I deicide to get stone drunk and drink all the wine?” “You won’t. I told you that before.” “No you didn’t!” Brandon said, trying hastily to find the place in his notes which mentioned the wine. “Well...I did it telepathically, write it down, draw an arrow and let’s continue!” the girl said, watching out of the corner of her eye as a SWAT team joined the growing mass of policemen. “So you’re in Hollywood for quite a while, and you manage to land a few jobs as an extra. But all good things must come to an end, and the cops, the tourists whose RV you...uh...borrowed, The Nevada Gaming Commission as well as the owners of that hotel you stayed in on the Vegas strip, and even Tan catch up with you. So after saying a final farewell to the silver screen you’re on the run again.” “It seems to me that in this entire plan, all I’ll do is run, walk, and steal things!” “Don’t worry about it! you’ll be the ruler of the world by the time this is all over, remember?” “Ah, that’s right...” Brandon said, brightening at the prospect. “So you make it up into Oregon, and snap some beautiful pictures of the local scenery. But, when you go to develop them, you find that you still don’t have much more than a handful of pennies, so you break out the RVer’s credit card, which has been living in your pocket this entire time, to pay your bill. Unfortunately, this gives those RVers as well as all of the law enforcement agents after you a chance to track you. So just for a change of pace, you’re back on the run again!” “God! Is there ever an end to the running??” Completely ignoring this comment, the girl continued, but this time her voice was a little faster and the pitch higher, as though she was suddenly afraid. This may or may not have had anything to do with the throngs of police, security guards, and other miscellaneous law enforcement personnel suddenly pushing through the crowds towards the kiosk. “So you run and run, getting rooms at cheap and inconspicuous hotels until you get up into Northern Washington State. There you’ll hopefully run into some more Migrant Workers.” “All that way up there? Migrant Workers!!?” “Yes. Canadians, never question them. But the point is that they’re heading back home to Canada, and they give you a ride and they’ll graciously lend you a tractor-” “Are they seriously going to lend it to me? Or will I have to steal some more?” “No, they’ll actually give it to you.” “Whoa, there’s a first.” “Come on, less side talk, something tells me I may or may not be able to finish at this rate. Horrified that after sitting through all of these rather tedious, if humorous, instructions that he wouldn’t be able to hear the conclusion he quickly motioned for her to continue. “So they lend you a tractor when they can’t take you any further, and since they actually gave it to you with their blessing and you didn’t have to...borrow...it in the dead of night it’s not exactly top of the line. So it takes you to Vashon Island, Washington before breaking down completely. Now, you have tremendous blisters by this time, and can barely walk, but you have to get this tractor fixed. So you push it across the Island to a the only tractor repair shop on the Island. But, of course, the owner of the shop is in Singapore and won’t be back for another three months. So you rent a room for your remaining pennies from an eccentric elderly woman who lives down the street from the repair shop and wait the owner’s return. But, three months is a long time to be sitting drinking tea with eccentric old ladies...so you head to this mall and after hocking your watch you’re able to rent this kiosk and-” “Excuse me, young lady?” a police officer said, a huge group of his colleagues assembled behind him. The girl looked up at the officer and cursed inwardly, preparing to bolt. But first she put on a warm smile and spoke: “Yes, is there a problem officer? Because I am in the middle of a very important business transaction which desperately needs to be completed...” “Oh, well in that case-” the police officer started to say, but a hand on his shoulder from one of those assembled colleagues made him think better of his response, “Yes, there is a problem. Are you Nicki Claris?” “Maybe, but may I ask why?” the girl said, wrapping her hand slowly around the strap of a purse at her feet. “You are wanted on charges of...well...lots of things...and I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to come with m-Hey! Where are you going!” he yelled as the girl, who has now been identified as Nicki Claris, stood up, hopped over the desk of the kiosk, and ran towards the nearest exit. "Sorry, you'll have to wing it from there! Happy travels, Mr.Bassett!" she yelled back as she darted out of the mall. “Hey! Come on everyone! AFTER HER!!” The policeman yelled. Those standing behind him took up a short battle cry and followed his lead, their nightsticks held over their heads. The massive crowds(which had begun to dissipate during Mr. Brandon Bassett’s long conference) parted for the horde of policemen, and Brandon himself scrambled up and, after stuffing his numerous pages of notes into his pocket, ran off in their wake. But instead of running outside after Nicki, he stopped at a payphone where he quickly dialed information. “Hello?” he said into the receiver, “I’d like to call a cab to pick me up. Yes, out in front of the Springfield Mall will do.” silence followed as the person on the other end of the line spoke, “Yes, thirty minutes? Sounds good. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a few phone calls to make. No! Wait! One last thing: you wouldn’t happen to know the president’s phone number, would you?” ------------------------------------------------------)(

"Somehow I don't think that ' the only bright one' is an accurate discription..." Char said as seh scanned the note, not aware that the bard was already out of earshot until she looked up after finishing. It was then she attempted to take full account of everyone in here: the two twins who were at least no longer simply sipping tea(though their general air of calmness hadn't left them), it seemed the elf formally lying on the floor had recovered...and was healing the one who had given her the note. Perhaps there won't be any lozenges needed after all she said absent mindedly as she took note of (insert name of Jareena Faye's Character here), who appeared to be the last 'other' in the room.

And now for what one may or may not refer to as Chapter Two. ---------------------------------------------)( Mary always told people, myself included, that she absolutely hated Christina for her blatant perfection and just overall snobiness. This could easily believed, especially because it well known(or rather became known eventually) that Christina had never liked her either and both shared the mutual belief that they were on opposite ends of the spectrum. But in the years that have followed, I’ve thought about both of their testimonies...and I can’t help but wonder if maybe its not so much that they hated each other because they were different, but because they were slightly similar and that thought terrified them. Granted, they had their obvious differences...but all the same, perhaps they simply created those differences simply because neither wanted to concede. -From An Observantee’s Observations and Speculations on the IsoLab project by Caitlin Carmichael. * The viewing room was her sanctuary. Plain and simple. It was a sad thing, she knew, but as she glanced about at the half finished books and writing notebooks strewn about the room Mary Robins knew that this was as close to a home as she had these days. Her gaze flickered down for a moment at a monitor; school would be starting up soon, in fact the first bell would sound any minute. When the bell rang, it meant not only that the students below would be called into their classrooms, it meant that she would have to begin taking notes, begin watching their every move. But there was one person in particular she was looking for today...one person who might be able to... “Mary, are you there?” a small voice said, appearing to come out of the pile of books stacked in front of her. She frowned for a moment and scanned the pile before reaching in and pulling out a small two way radio. “I’m here, sorry, I was zoning out for a minute.” “As usual,” the voice replied “Very funny Lisa. Now tell me what you guys have done.” “We’re replacing the front lens right now, it was cracked in more than one place, so I’m guessing that caused the fuzziness.” a new voice with a slight Puerto Rican accent added. “Great, Stephan. Now hurry up, the bells about to ring and I still haven’t got any semblance of a picture.” Mary replied as she brought up the view from camera 45I, the one currently being fixed. The cameras were never turned off, so even now she could see a silhouette of two figures bent over the camera. “Ok, we’re putting it back now.” came the voice of Lisa after a few moments of crackling silence. Soon the silhouettes blinked out and were replaced by a few of an out of focus hallway. “Ok, give me manual, I’ll fix it.” Mary said over the radio as she lifted a panel to pull out what appeared to be a small joy sick which apparently controlled the focus of this camera.. “You know...I went to see Christina today....” Lisa said cautiously over the radio. “Really; and what does out oh-so-respected ‘leader’ have to say?” Mary replied as she twisted the joy stick this was and that. “Mary, don’t be mean. She’s not that bad, you just never give her a chance.” “Oh shut up Lisa, you’re starting to sound like Mike.” Silence crackling over the radio frequency greeted her comment, though she was sure she heard Stephan laughing in the background. “So...I told her about how you get...depressed. And she agreed with me that it is a problem...and she said she was going to come and talk to you. I think that we can all help you if-” Lisa said after a while. “What?!?” Mary cried, dropping the radio and immediately switching the camera to outside view. Sure enough, there stood Christina, poised to open the door any second. “Spare me,” she said hastily picking the radio back up, “The oh-so-respected one is here. And thank you I don’t wish to become another mindless member of Christina’s following.” “I am not a mindles-” “Mary out.” She with a tone of finality before killing her end of the frequency and tossed the radio back into its customary spot amongst the mess. It was then a beeping came from the door. “Come.” she said, causing the door to swing open and Christina to walk confidently in, stopping only to quirk an eyebrow at the messy state of the room. “Mary.” “Christina.” It was an odd greeting, since it neither person’s tone held any emotion whatsoever, but it was they’re customary one. It had been ever since Christina had appointed herself the ‘leader’ of their little group, despite the fact that Mary had openly denounced the whole idea. “Maggie? Would you mind leaving the room for a moment? I need to talk to Mary.” Christina said to a limp figure sitting in a chair just a few feet away. Maggie didn’t respond, much to Christina’s annoyance, so she repeated her words. Still no response. It was then she turned back to face Mary who was suppressing a laugh. “She brought her headphones in again. She can’t hear you. See?” Mary said pointing to the tell-tale strip of plastic running across the top of Maggie’s head to either ear. She then ripped a small piece of paper out of a spiral notebook next to her and scribbled a note that read as follows: Maggie-Christina’s being annoying, wants you to leave for a minute. Go change your CD or something.-Mary She then slid the note over to the other, who read it quickly and wrenched her head phone’s off and greatly upsetting her short brown hair, the Mariah Carey song still blaring. “You could have said something!” She said pushing the chair back and starting to walk towards the door. Mary shrugged at her comment and affixed her gaze on Christina. “You wanted to talk to me?” She said, her voice unnaturally cold. “Yes, I heard an odd rumor today.” “Really? I congratulate you on learning how to extract information so well. It was Lisa this time, was it not?” Mary replied flatly. “Yes, and she came to see me herself. She’s worried about you.” “That's understandable, she usually is. But you’re not” Silence greeted Mary’s reply, and it lingered in the room for some moments. “You know, if you’d just stop fighting this would all be a whole lot easier.” “If I just stopped fighting? I’d probably end up committing suicide or some such nonsense. Besides, what’s to fight?” Christina stared coldly down at Mary, but her glare was greeted by a gaze which seemed very amused, as though the whole conversation was terribly funny. “I heard you’re trying to get out.” This frank reply form Christina made her jump with surprise, and ‘Oh my god...has she found out?’ went racing across Mary’s mind. But it was quickly followed by :‘No...her expression is too questioning...besides she would have gone ahead and killed me already if she knew.’ so she began to relax enough to reply. “And if I do indeed want to leave?” “So you do!” “I never said that exactly now did I. Now answer my question.” “You can’t leave, you know that as well as I do.” “Kayla got out.” Now it was Christina’s turn to be caught off guard. In the second year of their occupation of the IsoLab, Kayla, formerly a freshman, had mysteriously disappeared, leading everyone still in the lab, and those who happened to know about the facility in the first place, to believe that she had found a way out of the isolation. But there was no solid proof of this, and Christina was a woman of facts. “There’s no proof. For all we know she just...hung herself in a closet or something!” “And you accuse me of being morbid.” Mary replied with a mirthless laugh. “You know what I mean!” “Yes, I do, actually. And for the record, I am not suicidal, I was slightly off to begin with, being crazy has never been a crime, and besides I’ve found insanity to be a wonderful companion.” Mary retorted quickly. “Why are you always like this!” an exasperated Christina replied. “What now?” Mary’s face once again held an expression of supreme amusement. “Trust me, ‘you would cry too if it happened to you’.” “Now thats just a stupid quote.” “Maybe, maybe not.” “Because it has happened to me. We’re all in this together, have been since the beginning.” “So you think. And that is your fatal flaw. Leave me, I have things to do before the bell rings.” Mary said, turning back to the monitor in front of her. “Not until I get a straight answer.” “You’ll be here forever then.” “You’re always contradicting me!” “Deepest apologies. But what else am I supposed to do with my spare time?” “Heres an idea! Come to practices for once, we need a cellist!” “You know I gave that up.” “I don’t care, I don’t want you just lying about all the time,” Christina said, her voice returning to its state of the ‘oh-so-respected leader’, “So, you’re going to help everyone out.” “I am now?” “Yes, I’ll have a full schedule printed up tomorrow. Enjoy your last day of freedom.” and with that, Christina Albertson exited the room leaving Mary to shake her head and return to the monitor in front of her. “Wha’d I miss?” Maggie said as she walked back into the room to take her customary place in a chair. “Sure.” Maggie replied, tucking her headphones back behind her ears and allowing Mariah Carey to drown out the world. She did indeed take a walk, but not until after she had pulled a few wires here and there to place some cameras in neutral and pilfering a small view screen from the viewing room. As she left, her gaze swept over the room with an odd kind of finality, as though saying goodbye before she turned into the hallway. All along the walls there were murals, one hall painted by everyone in the IsoLab. This particular one was Hiroko’s, and was rather surrealistic and supposed to be relaxing, but Mary found it only that more stressful. This hallways were wide and open, and Hiroko often went about touching up her hall’s murals, and above all, Mary could not been seen. She made it to her room undetected, and quickly shut and locked the door. But it wasn’t until she had over-ridden the cameras in and around the main living area of her rooms that she began to pack up a grey messenger style bag laying across a small chair with the stolen viewer and a brand new laptop given to her by the others for her birthday with a bit of their combined bribe money. After adding a few other things she set the bag down on the floor, and lifted a carpet to reveal a slightly loose floorboard. And since they were above the main school, if all went according to plan she would be able to drop down from the ceiling in some discrete corner of the school. Unless, of course, she was found out. ----------------------------------------------)( ((((More is hopefully on the way...))

Alright , here goes one of my many odd attempts to write something other than humor! Constructive critisism is more than welcome, as are all other comments, even if it's only to tell me that this is the worst story you have ever had the displeasure of reading, and that you would be forever indebted if I would leave the site on the first avaliable plane out. ---------------------------------------------)( Have you ever wondered whose watching? No, I don’t mean extraterrestrials or the ninth grade coordinator who seems to be standing behind you every time you turn around. What I do mean are video cameras. Globed in tinted black, they follow our every move in movie theaters, shopping malls, schools, and the local 7-11. Everyone who cares to look up knows about them, and many have formed their own explinations at why they think they’re there...but no one ever seems to ask themselves what exactly is behind the plastic and wires. So...who is it? Who or what watches our lives play out each day, as though they were watching a tv sitcom? Is it just a cold unfeeling computer just going about its business processing data to be locked away with all the rest of the hours and hours of video no one will watch? Or is it something, or rather someone, more? Someone trapped in a world of their own creating, watching always watching in the one place where scenes of drama and annoyance are played out each day and become the memories that last with us a lifetime. Somewhere like...high school. ---------------------------------------------)( The Original IsoLab charter was simple enough: To study the behaviors of average high school students in an average high school, in an average American city. A worthy goal it seems, as the teenage brain is something that is so often misunderstood. It had been a thing brewing in the minds of scientists for years...yet while studies were conducted in that time, the subjects always knew they were being watched, and so that tended to skew the results. And so you have the more difficult goal of the IsoLab project: To study these subjects without their knowing. The answer was, of course, to surveillance cameras hidden in the walls and ceilings, leaving just a few exposed to insure the general goodwill of the public. This continued wonderfully, and many very revealing studies were made and published in some of the lesser known journals. All was going according to plan. But the problem is, that those people who were originally watching, had not anticipated someone to wonder who was watching, and later lead the oddest bunch of people up and after them. So it came as a total shock when those scientists working on the project found their jobs hostilely taken over by a group of Orchestra students. Negotiations commenced at once, and the students, led by the then senior Christina Albertson, complied to be isolated from the rest of the world in the IsoLab. Of course, they didn’t want to comply with anything else or, being teenagers, make it look like they had ever complied in the first place. So they locked themselves in ahead of schedule, breaking contact with everyone and therefore taking over the school in a backwards sort of way -An excerpt from “IsoLab-The fatal flaw” by the original Lab inhabitants. * Things were going well for Christina Albertson. Of course, she was still in the ‘IsoLab’, as she had been for the past several years, but it wasn’t really all that bad, after all Mike was still here. Though, she grudgingly admitted that Mike had been spending an awful lot of time with Lisa lately. But that wasn't the point; the point was that everyone seemed basically happy, to her at least. Sure, they could be just putting on a happy face in her presence, but that didn’t bother her. In fact, it flattered her. It only proved that she was a worthy leader of the group, self appointed or no, and while she didn’t do too much as far as the behavioral studies went, she never had been too good at that anyway. She was thinking these very thoughts as she brushed her hair, as long and golden as ever, when Lisa Kynes entered the room with a small knock. ‘Yes Lisa?’ she said without turning away from her mirror. Lisa took this as permission to enter the room, and so stepped in and walked over to where Christina was sitting. ’How are things down stairs?’ Christina said, not waiting for an answer to her first question. By this time she had successfully bound her hair up in its customary knot and was turned in her chair to face Lisa. ‘Fine, as always. The originals should be fairly happy with the things we’re getting.’ The originals. The name given to those scientists who had once occupied these very rooms...until of course they(headed by Christina ,of course) had taken over. ‘Thats nice, I suppose. Though I’m guessing that is not what you came to talk about.’ was Christina’s reply. Lisa shrugged at the truthfulness of this statement and said in her ever faltering, even after all these years, straight Kansas accent: ‘Its Mary. I’m worried, she’s more...well, moodier than usual. Won’t even talk to me and just spends all her time staring into the view screens watching what’s going on below.’ ‘Yes?’ ‘And frankly, I think she wants to go back.’ Lisa said this with utmost care, revealing to Christina at once that this statement had been planned and picked over by the other all the long walk down the corridor. “Yes, I had noticed this as well...” Christina said, beginning with a flat out lie, “Though I hadn’t heard anything of her wanting to go back down.” Her last statement had been truthful, but that wasn’t the point. The point was now what Lisa could tell her on the matter. “Well, I think she does very much...its obvious. and I think that’s why she hasn’t shown up to any of the scheduled practices...or any of the masses on Sundays.” A great note of concern was evident in Lisa’s mention of the Sunday church services they managed to wire up to one of the monitors in the viewing room every Sunday, a thing that was very important in Lisa‘s view of life, her being a devout catholic and all. “Really? How strange...like I said, I hadn’t know of this until now, and I thank you for bringing it to my attention, and I know that I shall have to look into it before the day is out.” Christina said in her trademark ‘responsible leader’ voice. “Yes, I would like it very much if you would talk to her.” said a very relieved Lisa. “Alright than I shall do that.” “Thank you,” Lisa said her smile broadening. It was then she happened to glance at her watch, “Oh! I’ve got to go! I promised I'd help Stevan...he is trying to fix one of the cameras...Bye then!” and with that, she was gone. As soon as Lisa’s footfalls could no longer heard in the nearby hall, Christina turned back to her mirror. She truthfully hadn’t know that Mary was having these...issues. But then, when was Mary not having issues? In a way this whole IsoLab thing and figuring out what was watching them through the surveillance cameras had been her idea. But of course she hadn’t been willing to take responsibility for it, and that was where she had had to come in and bear the burden of the leader. She frowned at the remembrance of the day she had self appointed herself to her current position. A strange memory, and with one memory came another, and she suddenly recalled Mary saying something about how every group had to have its nonconformist, and that word described Mary exactly. But then...maybe she would go and talk to the girl...after all, it had been some time since she had gone down to the viewing room. ---------------------------------------------)(

The random lady popping out of nowhere was a little...spontaneous...but other than that I like it quite a bit. Don't worry about switching between flashbacks and the present, though. To me, at least, it still makes sense so long as you keep the flashbacks all in italix

((Well, its been awhile since I said anything...deepest apologies...between the marvals of being an extra(hey, a play isn't a play without them) to random bio projects(which I'm supposed to be working on now) to exam reviews(I've got six exams of them coming up this week, a wonderful end of the school year present, eh?) and so I haven't had too much time online. Also I've had no clue what to say. In fact, I still can't vouch for the relevency of this post. But then, you can't have *everything*)) As one may or may not be able to guess, Char was confused, amazed, frightened, and bewildered all at the same time. These emotions, and a few others thrown in for flavor, had all mashed together to form a particularly interesting expression which resembled a train wreck. She had come in just before the sorcerer-if that was even the correct word for him-and had quickly pressed herself against a nearby wall to avoid being seen. So far, this seemed to have worked; no one had even glanced her way since her entrance. And so she had watched the whole affair silently to keep up her inconspicuous state, but after the appearance and then disapearance of both the plant and the girl, she couldn't help but let out a gasp of suprise, shock, and any other emotion that had been before unused.

Sam smiled rather largely and muttered 'thank you' several time, all the while staring at the 'accepted stamp' on her application as though she was afraid it would disapear. It was in this state she moved to leave the Recruiters office, nearly forgetting her cello in the process. It was then, as she was halfway through the door she realized she had forgotton something rather important. So, feeling comfidant in the durablity of the case, she left her cello to prop open the door and ran back to the office's center desk. "Thanks again..and by the way, I'm ostrich_in_china@yahoo.com" Unsure of whether or not she'd been heard, but feeling the need to rescue her cello from an incoming applicant, she dashed back to the door and left.

I ran into a door once. I actually kicked it. While running for the phone, as odd as it sounds considering I'm not exactly the preppy run for the phone type. But I had been specifically ordered to get the phone in case it was the Army people calling to say we were moving to Siberia or something(actaully it ended up being Georgia, which isn't much of an improvement). But the point of this story, yes there *is* one, is that I kicked the doorframe and ended breaking and dislocating my last two toes on my right foot and ended up being on crutches for three months.

A typical looking girl by the name of Sam curled a hand around the doorknob to the Recruiters Office. She stood there motionless for a moment, but then with a small nod turned the knob and entered, a large red cello case bounding in behind her and just narrowly avoiding getting stuck in the door. She pushed her way through the crowd mumbling about how she would never have a chance against all these people. She reached the desk with relative ease and with minimal squashing of other's feet by her instrument case's wheels. The desk was cluttered with hopeful applications and forms for those interested in investing in one of Wyvern's famous get rich quick schemes. After a bit of poking about, however, she finally found a blank application and settled down in a low chair in a corner which had just been vacated by yet another confidant applicant. She sat down and pulled her cello up near her, and commenced to raid the case's storage pockets. She pulled out a ball point to write with, a ceramic lucky German pig and a tiny replica of a cello for luck, and a large bag of Reese cups because God knew she would need them to calm her nerves before the end. Having all this out she uncapped her pen, popped a Reese Cup into her mouth and began to fill out the application form. Name: Either Sam or Mary, it depends on who you are. Age: 15ish Last Requests: Can I not be buried in Georgia?? Comments: Should a person's application crash, burn, and be crushed into tiny pieces could that person reapply sometime in the near/distant future with a story which would hopefully survive its maiden voyage? After filling this and a few pages of offers of a quick buck or pleas for financial aid for new companies sure to make it big someday, she finally found the actual text section of the application, and she had to stare at for a few hundred moments before attempting to scribble down some semblance of a story. ---------------------------------------------------------------------)( It was December of 1999. December 31st to be exact. The day dreaded by all was nearly upon us. 01-01-00. Fear of this day had driven people to stockpile food, take their money out of banks and revert to their initial instinct to stuff it under a mattress (which was of course, stupid, because the chaos and anarchy these people expected to arise when the ball dropped in New York would have more than likely wiped out the dollar, Swiss Franc, and the ruble anyway). And most importantly it stimulated us all to place those little “Y2K COMPATIBLE” stickers on every single thing the newspaper or TV said was certain to fail once the apocalypse came. Experts believe there was something comforting in those thirteen black and yellow letters printed on a 3” by 2” sticker that pacified the general panic. Something that made people confidant that they had done all they could to protect their computers(though who but Bill Gates and Elementary schools had one back then anyway?), toasters, and anything else which seemed lonely or incomplete without the Y2K sticker of protection. More proof of this can be found in the fact that not a month before the garbage disposal, which had previously lived an uneventful life in the sink of my family’s Southern Virginian home finally, kicked the bucket. A plumber was, of course, called right away and after arriving several hours late(Rule number 767 in the ‘plumber's Handbook’ states that at all costs, the plumber must not arrive on time. If one did arrive at the originally agreed on time, they risk bringing about Armageddon) and spending several minutes poking about under the sink while shaking his head and whispering to himself. It was then he took my mother aside and told her in hushed tones that the tragic death of the garbage disposal was all due to a pre-Y2K fluke that had caused the mass breakdown of household appliances across America. He also told her that this tragic wave of the needless death of reliable appliances could have been easily prevented with a 500 point Y2K inspection and of course the sticker that went with us. I immediately voiced the opinion that this was the stupidest thing I had ever heard. But of course the only response I received from the plumber was a rather unsuccessful death glare. My mother, on the other hand, is nothing if not cautious so after paying the plumber for his nonexistent services, she arranged for us to acquire a new garbage disposal, and this one had a gleaming Y2K COMPATIBLE sticker. The garbage disposal was safe at last. But as I said, it was December 31st, a day that will live in infamy as the only time in its prestigious history that the local Food Lion ran out of bottled water and Hershey bars. This sudden lack of necessities was due to the last minute stockpiling which had been commencing for the past twelve hours. Also, earlier what was left after all these years of the Confederate States of America’s soldiers had paraded up and down the mall carrying their official CSA muskets, each with their own little Y2K COMPATIBLE stickers. They marched around generally making fools of themselves while yelling about how when the clock struck mid-night the South Would Rise Again But that had all been hours ago, and now it was nerve-wrackingly close to mid-night, and on every television channel it was either people leading each other in last prayers before the second coming, late night TV stars cracking lame jokes about the now almost past year, and people in all grey yelling about how the South was indeed going to rise again, despite what you may have been previously thinking. Eventually even President Clinton came out to join the late night TV fray, and he began talking at America about how we were going into an age of prosperity and wealth and other miscellaneously reassuring things generally said by presidents As for me, though, I was sitting next to the phone awaiting a call from my good and dear friend Colleen. The reason behind this was that she was going to call her family’s friends in Britain when the clock struck mid-night there. We figured that if she called and there was no answer, or it said the line had been disconnected then it would be clear that the world was going to end. The two of us could then spread the word to everyone who would listen and together lead our town into mass hysteria. On the other hand, if when she called the phone was answered and she had a nice long chat with them, everyone’s fears could be stilled. Though, there was still the outlandish chance that the South would rise again, but no one really took that seriously despite the claims of the leftover CSA soldiers. But so far there had been no call from Colleen...and no news of world destruction on the news. In fact, the great New York City New Year’s Ball had now taken the place of the praying and lame jokes on every channel. And my dad suddenly broke the long silence that had descended on the room as we all sat up half-asleep. “Mary! Wake up! We’re only two minutes away.” he said yelling in the general direction of the chair I was sitting in. “I’m already awake.” I said sitting up, “there haven’t been any phone calls have there?” “No, not since Aunt Helen called about an hour ago,” my mom said quietly in the hopes of not waking up my younger brother, “and even if someone had, you’re practically sitting on the phone.” “We’re now only about a minute away!” My dad said loudly as he shifted his attention back to the television and their dwindling countdown. “Mom...” my seven-year-old brother whined without opening his eyes “has the world ended yet?” “No William, it hasn’t. And it isn’t.” My mom replied. “Well Mary said it was this morning...” “Mary! I thought I told you not to tease him anymore.” “I was only joking! It isn’t my fault no one can ever take a joke!” I said frowning as I tried to focus my eyes on the TV screen without the aid of my glasses. “Ten more seconds...” My dad said, as always, keeping us posted. “ten...nine...eight...seven...six...five...four...three...two...one...” I said counting softly to myself. “Happy New Year!” my mother, father, and even little brother said at once in unison with the people on the television as NBC replayed the footage of the Ball Dropping in New York and Fireworks in Washington, DC. I immediately ran to the window to see if anything interesting had happened, but Knox Court remained the same street it had always been with a low level of activity that fit the late hour. No mailboxes or cars spontaneously combusted, and the streetlights didn’t even flicker. All the anticipation for nothing. All the panic. All the stockpiling of food and money. All for not even a ripple in normal life. And so, being the disappointed sixth grader that I was I commenced to join half the East Coast and trudge upstairs to sleep. Perhaps the only nice thing that came out of the entire Y2K ‘crisis’ was those wonderful Y2K COMPATIBLE stickers, partly because while they may seem rather annoying at first, they really do grow on you after a few years of staring at them. The stickers are also monuments to how incredibly odd humans can be, and may well be the only survivors of Y2K when you consider the fact that besides those stickers, most of it was built up on fears, gullibility, and stocked piles of Hershey bars all of which have long since dissipated. But those no-longer-so-gleaming 3” by 2” stickers still inhabit the now derelict computers living in places like Elementary schools and the garbage dumps across the US. And, of course, the garbage disposal of my old house. -----------------------------------------------------------------)( Sam shook her pen for a moment trying to bring the last few drops of ink from her pen onto the paper. After failing horridly in this respect, she finally decided that this must be the end of the story and ate the last Reese cup to celebrate. Now all I have to do is wait... she thought as she ran up to place her application in the appropriate pile, knocking over her cello case and several unoccupied chairs as she went. As she trotted back to her seat she chances to look at her watch. three in the morning... 13 hours...not too bad I suppose... she thought as she curled up in her chair to wait for judgment.

I liked the first one quite a bit actually. The prospect of being forgotton is something I tend to face often, it seems...

=nodds in agreement= I like it tooooooooooo!!

((=takes an insanely deep breath= Well...here I go?)) Char had been on the other side of the tavern when Calonderiel had stated the fact that he was hiring merenaries for some journey or another. And it hadn't been until Jareena's small speech about her character and manners before it occured to her this may be something worth looking into. But of course, the tavern being as crowded as it was, it hadn't been espeically easy getting across the room...for though the thought of just falling over everything to clear a path as the bard had done did slightly appeal to her, she had never been one to want to draw too much attention to herself. Best to do what you must, get it over with, and not make a huge fuss in the process. Of course, she had rather violated motto just by the very thought of running after this total strangers in search of more information. For yes, it did seem as though she would be running to catch up, seeing as though the entire party had exited the tavern and were halfway down to the mill by the time she reached the door. It really didn't help that the bartender decided then of all times to hound her for money to pay her tab. A few moments later she had finally cleared the doorway of the tavern and way making her way down towards the mill, and all the while her principle plan of joining the proposed escapade deflating before her eyes. After all, two of them had been elves, and elves didn't always look towards who could claim partial ansectory in the races of both elves and men.((quarter elvish...on her father's side...it promises to be a long story...))And besides, was it really her place to go bounding off...wherever it was that these people planned to go. It occured to her then for the first time just how little she knew about all the goings on here, and she was very close to going back to the tavern and having another drink in solitude when she reached the open door of the mill. Going inside she was confronted by the sight of the two elves and the knight from before as well as two others who appeared to be humans who were balancing cups of tea in one hand and holding kitchen knives at guard in the other. Naturally, a rather bewildered and confused look found its way onto her face. It was then that odd feeling of both impending doom and sorcery hit her, which caused even more confusion and fear to enter into her facial expression.

Hehe!! Dark-haired girl on cell phone! I'm included!! YAY!! =feels so special= Yes well, I like it! You know I do!! =hopes you get accepted and all that fun stuff=

Peachtree City! Not that accursed place!! This should be interesting...and as pip said at least you have inspiration!!! OK, so I'm not working on a magna plot...in fact I couldn't even guess at what would even be considered a plot of that genre in the first place...but inspiration is indeed hard to come by for oddities like myself.

=cringes= Nick Carter....gah! At least its not Shiryl Crow music videos, and at least your dad wasn't singing along! =cringed again as she has a quick flashback to an odd trip to the local K-Mart= -The one and only Sam

=stares= Well, there are no decent stores of any kind around here, so consider yourself lucky! In fact, I do believe the closest actual music store is several hours away inside the nearest mall. Also, this music store is nearly completly made up of country music CDs and scary country music fanatics!!!! -The one and only Sam

=appears out of thin air= No, Pip, I think what they're asking is if you want to move this thread to the board below where they're talking about random movies. So...did your DVD end up coming today? Or shall I continue with my plans to get my little brother to use his deteriorating hacking skills to crack their system and have BN.com next-day deliever it??? =pokes the Merry one= And what if the skillet is in the evil drawer beneath the microwave and not in the oven at all?? Then what should I do!? -The one and only Sam