WAMS Ink Issue #6
By the Media Makers April 2015 Dystopian/Horror Story Edition And the 7th Grade Writing Fair Winning Stories
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Table of Contents Table of Contents ............................................................................................................................................ 2 Welcome to Issue #6 of WAMS Ink.................................................................................................................... 3 What is Media Makers? - An Interview with Media Makers Members................................................................. 4 Eco Talk: News from our Eco-School Group ................................................................................................. 5 Mirage Hunters .............................................................................................................................................. 15
A Crumpled Note ............................................................................................................................................... 18 Playground..................................................................................................................................................... 20 Sisters ............................................................................................................................................................ 21
MIRROR MIRROR ON THE WALL ....................................................................................................................... 23 Escape ............................................................................................................................................................ 32 The Book Blog ............................................................................................................................................... 35 The 2015 Grade 7 Writing Fair - Winning Science Fiction Stories ............................................................. 37 The Ocean Against the Sky........................................................................................................................... 38 The Blank World ............................................................................................................................................ 44 When the Past and Future Converge ........................................................................................................... 47
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Welcome to Issue #6 of WAMS Ink This issue of WAMS Ink is the largest issue we have ever published! This year the Media Makers group includes many talented writers from all three grades at WAMS. Members have spent the last 4 months writing and editing their stories for publication. Along the way, they have learned new writing skills and experienced what an author goes through during the writing/editing/publishing process, from the exhilarating feeling of seeing their work in print to the tedious effort involved in editing their writing and accepting constructive feedback. The executive editor for this issue was Lauren P., who did an extraordinary job at working with fellow Media Maker members to proofread/edit their work and offer constructive criticism! Her constant professionalism and understanding of other’s feelings has contributed to making this our most successful issue to date! The Media Makers Writing group has developed into a cohesive, fun-loving, and hard-working group of students who effectively utilized our district Google Apps for Education to write, share and edit their writing. They are already working on new stories and continuations of this issue’s stories for our next issue! Media Makers is a group of students and teachers who love stories in all formats. Some of us are readers, enjoying sharing books we have read in our mini-book clubs or independent reads. Many of us are writers, publishing in WAMS Ink. In addition, several members are busy creating book trailers for books they have read and want to share with other students in our school. Stay tuned for those later in the spring during WAMS Expo and Summer Reading Assemblies. We are always looking for new members to join us in these and other activities, such as Skyping with authors, our annual Library Olympics competition or fun story and writing related activities. If you are interested, please come see me or any Media Maker member to learn more. Enjoy our dystopian and horror stories, with a dash of historical fiction and humor thrown in as well as the winning stories from the 7th Grade Writing Fair and an update on the activities of our ECOSchools group’s accomplishments in the article ECO-Talk. There’s something for everyone in this issue! Mrs. Goetjen
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What is Media Makers? - An Interview with Media Makers Members by Elizabeth P. Media Makers is an awesome program at our school! We are the producers of this magazine, as well as various other projects. I decided to interview a few other Media Makers to find out what they think!
Anna (The funny in a good way one) Me: Hi Anna! What is your favorite thing about Media Makers? Anna: My favorite thing about Media Makers is all the books. I really love books and I love being around books for as long as I can; I love to read!
Lauren (the “supreme� editor of WAMS Ink) Me: Hi Lauren! What is your favorite activity we have done in Media Makers? Lauren: I loved the snowball story activity! We all took looseleaf and wrote the beginning of a story. We crumpled it up in a little ball, and threw it up in the air! Then, everyone picked up a snowball and finished writing a part of the story. Once we were done, we all read the stories. It was awesome!!!
Sophia (the writer) Me: Hi Sophia! Why did you join Media Makers? Sophia: I really like writing, and I really like books. Plus, I wanted to meet authors and Skype with them. We already have met L.A. Sees, the author of Nebula. It is such a good book!
Mrs. Goetjen (Founder) Me: Hi Mrs. Goetjen! Why did you start Media Makers? Mrs Goetjen: I started Media Makers because I saw a lot of students at Annin who loved stories in all formats such as books, movies, and recordings. So I wanted to create a community of WAMS students and could read, write, and enjoy stories together.
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William audio teachers who
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Eco Talk: News from our Eco-School Group by Lauren P., Elizabeth P., Emma R. WAMS has a new student and staff group called Eco-Schools. The goal of the group is to understand and educate the entire school on our impact on the environment and how to minimize that impact and “green” our school. The group is part of a national program called Eco-Schools which awards schools colored “flags” based on their achievement of actions and activities within 10 different environmental pathways such as Energy, Consumption and Waste, Climate Change or Healthy Schools. The WAMS Eco-Schools group audited our school and chose 3 pathways to complete Energy, Healthy Schools, and School Grounds in order to earn a Green Flag. Read on to hear from members of Eco-Schools describe their work toward this goal. Our goal in completing the School Grounds pathway is to investigate the WAMS school grounds and use the data we collect to identify ways to “green” the space. We plan to accomplish this goal by planting milkweed for butterflies. Monarch butterflies have lost 90% of their population over the last 20 years. We believe that planting milkweed will help us to earn this pathway because we will be growing something that will help a species threatened by extinction right on our school grounds. HELP SAVE THE MONARCHS!!! Another one of the pathways that we are working on is Healthy Schools. We want to collect information about toxins and other health-related issues that affect the school building and grounds. Another goal is to draw connections between these issues and the physical health of the school population. A goal in Healthy Schools is to interpret and analyze the information gathered to identify priority issues to address. Energy is used in almost all aspects of our daily lives. With that however, also comes the high amount of energy used to power all of these appliances. So much of this energy is used in schools for lighting, computers, and more. For example, in one classroom alone, 1,440 watts were used for just lighting! This is the equivalent of 12 light bulbs. In Eco-Schools, as we work on the Energy pathway, we are becoming more aware of the many things that are already in place to reduce the amount of energy used, like our solar panels, and we also adopt new traditions and practices through our promotion of turning off lights and projectors. WAMS Expo is an event where students show their school projects to friends and family, but is also a perfect opportunity for clubs and organizations to raise awareness for an issue. Last year, EcoSchools had their own table at WAMS Expo where they promoted being green in the community. During Wams Expo this year, Eco-Schools will have a table again to promote sustainability and environmentally friendly actions. Come to WAMS Expo and learn about our goals so you can help out in the community!
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Project Belvirum by Brian C. CHAPTER I
A small fan whirs in my Microsoft HoloLens as it boots into Windows 13 in under five seconds, thanks to a couple of hardware upgrades I made last year. I log in, and when the desktop appears, I select Google Chrome, which opens instantaneously. After checking my Gmail, I search for job opportunities, given my poor economic status. For some reason, an ad for the military pops up. Strange, I think. AdBlock should have blocked that. It persistently appears on the page, even when I reload it, so I decide to air-tap the ad. I am brought to a page promoting joining the military. Patriotic ads flood the page, until I have eventually drowned in them. But every now and then, a message blips on, only to disappear immediately. After much perseverance, I manage to tap it. Finally! I am initially directed to a Bitdefender warning for the website, saying that it is extremely dangerous. Being the valiant risk-taker that I like to think I am, I tap to go ahead, and am directed to a website that at first appears to be malicious as Bitdefender warned me, but little hints pop up everywhere, making it child’s play to understand the meaning. This is actually a website created by the government for people who play virtual reality games frequently. At first, it seems strange, but then I think about it, and remember hearing rumors about some sort of virtual reality military. Knowing this, I move my finger over to a hyperlink that directs me to an exceptionally confidential website outlining virtual reality as well as its timeline, and finally, its usage in the military. “If I’m seeing this, there’s got to be a reason. They must have found out my IP address,” I whisper in my mind. “But why? Why me? And how do they know I do lots of this kind of stuff? Whatever the reason, this is intriguing.” I press and hold the imaginary Ctrl button, press “F”, and then type in “Contact Us”. When the page jumps to the bottom, I tap the now highlighted words, which happen to be a another hyperlink to a page containing information on how to contact the division of the government that created this webpage. The new page loads, and I look at the various emails, phone numbers, and chat links. Under “Opportunities”, I see a phone number. I then whip out my Nexus 8, open the camera app, hold my phone over the phone number, and then tap the number on my Nexus’ screen. It opens the dialer and dials the phone number. After thirty seconds, I earn a response. “Company,” a young man says to me. “Hello. I’m on your website and -” “Are you Xavier Grimm?” “Uh, yes… Anyways, so I was -” “You need no explanation; we know exactly who you are.” As I begin to speak again, a dial tone becomes audible. What just happened? I think as my phone pings, telling me that the same number I had just dialed sent me a text message. It reads, “12:00 PM at the harbor. Come alone and don’t be late.” I check my Pebble Smartwatch. It’s already 10:00 AM. “Of course the harbor is exactly two hours away. Why wouldn’t it be?” I mutter sarcastically. I dash to my Google driverless car, initiate the power, and tell its GPS to navigate the car to “the harbor”, which was actually a saved name for the address where it is. During the two hour ride, I think of various things. Eventually, WAMS Ink Issue #6 - April 2015
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three thoughts repeatedly arise again and again my mind: Why am I doing this? Why listen to this random and completely anonymous person who told me to come alone? And if I was told to come alone, why am I doing this at noon, when the harbor will be packed? After I get tired of thinking about all this, I decide to play some Zelda. It’s a magnificent way to pass the time. *** Nearly two hours after I depart from my home, I hear, “Destination reached,” and depart the car. I had set an alarm for 11:55 AM on my Pebble when I got the text message about two hours ago. It now goes off, and I dash to the entrance. Using Google Wallet, I pay for a day pass, since I don’t know how long I’ll be there, and then sprint to the harbor. At the stroke of 12:00 noon, I reach it. “I don’t see anyone in particular who appears to be looking for me…” I mutter under my breath. “Was this all for nothing? Did I imagine it? Or was this some kind of cruel prank?” Suddenly, someone snaps out of the shadows and grabs me from behind. I turn around and try to fight them off, but they have an iron grip. They drag me while I try to scream for help, but the words are stuck in my mouth and can’t escape. Even if they could, nobody is at the harbor; they are all at the conjoined boardwalk. Suddenly, a needle is stuck in my arm. Jolts of immense pain run up and down the length of my arm. I begin to feel woozy. Is this the end? Am I going to die? Searing pains of terror replace the jolts, and I fall unconscious.
CHAPTER II
I wake up and observe my surroundings. I appear to be in a pretty plain room; it’s just about empty. I suddenly hear a female voice speak, which startles me. Its source, who is in a black pantsuit with long blond hair flowing down her shoulders, says, “Welcome, Xavier. I am Lucy Hunter. You may call me Lucy. We apologize for any inconveniences in the delivery of you to this location, however it was necessary. We do hope you enjoy your stay here though.” Having just woken up from an unnaturally-induced sleep, I respond with, “Whaa… huh?” “I see you are still experiencing the after-effects of the serum. We will refrain from engaging with you until it has all worn off. Quite surprising though, after all, it’s been a month since we’ve taken you in.” That was like a splash of cold water to the face. It woke me right up. “A MONTH?!” I roar, removing me of my sleep deprived state. “Yes, a month. Here’s the latest news,” she says, while handing me four different newspapers, each reflecting what had happened in the last month. While I thumb through the newspapers, she then says, “So I suppose you’re no longer experiencing the after-effects and we may commence your briefing,” and at that I nod in agreement. She presses a button on her wooden desk, which emanates a hologram of what appears to be a person. “Sir, I have retrieved the package.” “Good. How is it doing?” WAMS Ink Issue #6 - April 2015
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“It is well.” Utilizing my skills of deductive reasoning, I come to the conclusion that I am being referred to as a package, so I say, “Excuse me, but I don’t like being referred to as ‘the package’.” “I’m sorry, did either of us say you were allowed to speak?” the hologram asks rhetorically. “Sorry, sir,” I respond meekly. “I’m just messing with you. Tell me something. How did you manage to get here?” “You tell me. The last thing I remember is having terrible pains in my arm after being injected with a syringe,” I answer while rubbing my arm. “Good, good, you shouldn’t remember anything else. That would’ve proved deadly later on. Very deadly I should say. But now for the important stuff. Do you know why you’re here?” “I would assume it has something to do with a top secret military project that you planned for me to find and be intrigued by. Why else would I have been hung up on after my identity was confirmed and been knocked unconscious when I went to the stated destination?” I said the latter part sarcastically. “I like this kid. You’ve got spark.” Spark? I thought to myself, miffed at the notion of such a description. Hmph. “Alright, well, you know why you’re here, but not how you got here. Good. We can cross that off the checklist. Lucy?” “Already done, sir.” “Thank you,” he said, and then aimed his direction back at me. “I think it’d be better at this stage if we met in person. Lucy, please lead Mr. Grimm to the Hub.” “Yes sir. If you’d come with me,” she responds as she motions towards me and begins to walk towards what I assume to be a corridor leading to the Hub. I follow her into a large and spacious room that is as plain as the one I had woken up to. A colossal skylight in the ceiling allows for beams of light to infiltrate the room. These beams focus their way to a large vault door marked with the words, ‘PROJECT BELVIRUM’ in a large black font. Directly next to the door is a small console with the numbers 0-9 on a keypad, which must allow access into the next room. “Is this room the Hub?” I ask? “Yes,” Lucy states. “Beyond this room, through that vault door,” she says while pointing to the circle of light, “is where the purpose of your mission is.” We stand around awkwardly for a minute, waiting for ‘Sir Hologram’ to find his way here. A couple minutes later he rolls into the room in a wheelchair. A shining silver ID tag identifies his name to be Dr. Viktor White. Other than the fact that the nerves controlling his legs are damaged, I observe that he is an aging man, most likely in 50s, with graying black hair. WAMS Ink Issue #6 - April 2015
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“Pleased to meet you, Xavier,” he greets pleasantly. “I’m sure that Lucy has already apologized for our methodology in retrieving people, but I would like you to know that I do as well.” “Thank you, sir.” “Oh, you can stop with the formalities. You and I are equals,” Viktor explains. “So, what do you think is beyond that door?” he ponders as he hints at the large door. “Well, to paraphrase Lucy, it is where the purpose of my mission is. I’m assuming that the mission is referring to some sort of plan in which I am to become a virtual reality soldier to fight in our military. You gave a lot of it away on your easily-accessible website, a website so open, I could just give away its URL to everyone in America,” I inform both sarcastically as well as jokingly. “You could, but then we could also accuse you of spilling government secrets, as happened with Edward Snowden years ago.” I’d rather not meet Snowden’s fate, I think, so after a brief pause, I respond with, “Never mind then.” “Good,” Viktor says. “How about we pop open that door now?” “I don’t see why not,” Lucy speaks. “Ditto.” “Alright then,” Viktor speaks as he rolls away to the keypad and types in a 4-digit code and presses, “OK”. A button appears on the screen, and at this, he turns back, speaking with a much more serious tone, “Xavier, you can still turn back if you wish. There is nothing holding you or compelling you to stay, at least not by law. But once you see what is in here, you cannot return home. You cannot live the life you wanted to, or the life that you would have lived were it not for us. You will be indebted to us, forever in the iron grip of the law. Do you still wish to continue with us?” At this, I ponder the choices. I had never really given it much thought. When I got that text message, I dashed out the door without even thinking. It was a spur-of-the-moment decision. I had no real choice at that point. But now is not the time to make rash or hasty decisions. This is the point of no return in either direction. If I say yes, I learn all of the information of this mysterious project I have been introduced to at a small degree, but cannot live the life I would have lived. If I say no, I can live that life, that life I would love to live, but I will know nothing of this and won’t be helping anyone. Weighing both choices, I come to my decision. “Sure, what’s the worst that could happen?” TO BE CONTINUED
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Cosmos by Brandon Y. January 25, 1949 Dmitri Grebenshchikov had been a cosmonaut in training for about five years. He had always thought he would die an old man at home in front of a warm, gentle fireplace, but now he was starting to wonder if that could even happen. Currently, he was floating adrift in space, hugging his legs to his chest, and helplessly staring at the dwindling power supply meter attached to the steel dashboard aboard the Soyuz.
*** Exactly 2 days, 21 hours and 36 minutes ago, Dmitri and his friend, Ivan, had been interrupted during their space training at a private government facility and requested to visit the head of the space program, who was known to them and fellow cosmonauts-in-training as the khozyain1. Dmitri had only met him once, and that instance proved that he was not a man to mess with. The khozyain was a middle-aged man with a gray buzz cut, piercing gray eyes, and a large, firm stature, like an oak tree. He always seemed to be wearing a military uniform covered in medals of Honor. Dmitri had served in the military for four years, and he had only earned one medal. About six years earlier, during World War II, he had been running around the ruins of Kursk, braving gunfire and mortar shells to save as many lives as possible, as he was a doctor. Dmitri was just about to return to the camp, but he stumbled upon a badly wounded soldier lying in a growing puddle of blood. He bandaged and carried him on a stretcher back to the military camp set up about
1
Russian for “boss�
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a quarter mile from the battlefield. After a quick break, he ran back out onto the battlefield and completely forgot the soldier. When the battle ended and the Nazis surrendered, Dmitri went back to the hospital, tired, exhausted, bloody, and filthy, only to see that the soldier was sitting up in bed smiling. Dmitri had no idea what was going on, but then he noticed a familiar glint in the solder’s gray eyes. The soldier was actually a general of the Soviet army! Dmitri was immediately awarded a Medal of Honor and became recognized as a hero among the other soldiers. But before he left the general’s room, the latter motioned him over with his good arm. “Doctor Grebenshikov, thank you for saving my life. You have done a great service to us all,” the general stated in an amiable but a slightly condescending manner. “It was expected of me to do so. I was simply doing my job, sir.” Dmitri responded, shaking his head. “Well, anyway, let me introduce myself. My name is Kazimir Dubrovsky, although my associates refer to me as the khozyain.” The general cleared his throat. “You seem like a capable young man. How old are you?” “24, sir.” “Are you physically fit?” “Yes, sir.” “Have you sustained any severe wounds in your lifetime?” “No, sir.” “Are you married?” “Yes, sir. I have a wife and two children,.”
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“Excellent. We’ll get started as soon as possible. I will send a chauffeur to pick you up tomorrow morning at 9:00 sharp. Be ready by then and pack up your most valuable possessions. We’ll pay you and your family roughly 3,500 rubles2 monthly. That should settle everything...” Dmitri cleared his throat. “Pardon my asking, sir, but to where am I going?” “Why, I thought you’d never ask. I’ve just hired you as one of the Soviet Union’s first cosmonauts.” Dmitri was speechless. The general had just made him, a simple doctor working on the battlefield, with absolutely no experience in space travel, a cosmonaut? His mind on autopilot, Dmitri nodded, thanked the general, and went back to his tent. It had all happened too fast for him to process. Dmitri paused and took a deep breath. What now? He started to put his belongings into his suitcase. It’s a well known fact that the one person that declined a request from the general was arrested for rebelling against the government… Dmitri sighed. He was perfectly fine with his life. He had a family to attend to, and he liked his current job. But going to space…? It had been his childhood dream to go into the vast abyss called space … among the stars… to touch the moon … to see what no man had ever seen before… Now that faraway dream seemed to be so close to reality. Dmitri knew it would be his only chance to make that come true. Just thinking of the final frontier made his heart pound with trepidation and wonder. Dmitri vowed that he would take the job, no matter what the consequences. Plus, it would finally give him the chance to see space, and give his family enough income to last during these harsh times. He clutched the case, and started his long trip back home.
*** 2
At the time, 1 ruble was roughly equivalent to 2 USD. Astronauts today make about 84000 USD a year, so that would equal 42000 rubles. For the monthly cost, that would be about 3500 rubles.
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Dmitri was snapped out of his daydream back to reality by a tap on his shoulder. “Dmitri? Hello?” Ivan shook his shoulder. “Earth to Dmitri! Do you copy?” Dmitri blinked. “Dang. I’ve got to stop spacing out like this.” Ivan laughed, in a friendly jesting way “One day you’re going to daydream in the middle of something important, and it’s going to cost you, Dmitri.” “You sound exactly like my mother, Ivan.” That led to more laughing. “Let’s go! We’re going to end up a month late at this rate!” The two friends bolted to the office, ready to take on anything. When they got there, the khozyain was sitting behind his desk, calmly sipping a cup of coffee. He glanced up at the two. “You’re finally here. Let’s get to work.” The khozyain briefed the two Cosmonauts-In-Training about their mission. “Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to get to the moon before those Americans do. We are in a war right now, soldiers. We need to show our prowess to them. We are better than them. I have faith in you two. You must win this war. Not for me, not for your family, but for the great Soviet Union,” the khozyain began. The two friends slowly nodded. Dmitri thought that he might crack underneath the pressure. “You have a month of training left before the number one student is chosen. Remember, you two are at the top of the class. Only one of you will be able to travel to the final frontier and leave their mark on history.” What? Dmitri thought. This wasn’t part of the plan! WAMS Ink Issue #6 - April 2015
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“Uhm, pardon me, sir, but weren’t the top two cosmonauts supposed to be going into space together? “ “Unfortunately, due to an unexpected turn of events and severe budget cuts, the Soyuz will only be able to house one person. I’m afraid there is nothing I can do.” This changes everything… Dmitri realized. My friends are now my rivals. Dmitri realized that this would not end well, but what could he do? If the khozyain couldn’t do anything, he would certainly have no effect on the government at all. After the khozyain finished briefing them, the two friends slowly walked back to their dormitories. “We can still be friends, right, Ivan?” Dmitri hoped. “I don’t know. I don’t know anymore. Everything has changed.” Ivan replied somberly. Dmitri said nothing and trudged to his dorm.
More to come in our next WAMS Ink issue!
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Mirage Hunters By Rohan Jinturkar Chapter I “...current data suggests foul play was involved in the explosion. Police are looking for survivors to help assist in the investigation. If you have any more information…” Oh. That was loud. I guess a TV always manages to wake me up. That thought passed through my mind too quickly for me to recall where that memory came from. Wait, what does that mean? No. This can’t be happening. I can’t … remember anything. Not my age, not my family, not even my name. I started to shiver as I discerned how dangerous a prospect that could be. How would I get home (if I even had one)? How could I figure out why I lost my memory? And where is this? How did I get here? Is this some kind of ancient 2500 joke? How-- A torrent of thoughts ripped through my mind as I forced my hands to move up to my ears, a pathetic attempt to calm myself, tears of worry and fear streaming down my face. I didn’t know what exactly I was afraid of, but my instinct - the one thing I still had - yelled “DANGER!” I panic. What type of being wakes up in a dark closet with no idea of who they are, where they are, or what in the cosmos to do? “Reckon there are any survivors, YourName?” A deep voice, most likely one of a man in his thirties, jolted me out of my self-pity party. What kind of person has a name called YourName? Not like I am one to talk, being that my name is Delete. Another random memory, and quite an ironic name. “You know, PeanutButter, a person within two feet of an atomic bomb will definitely evade an explosion in an impenetrable city … Your expertise in common sense never ceases to surprise me.” Pushing my ear to the thin sliver of light peeking out from a small crack in the wall, I strained to hear a different voice this time, softer but still dry, and I couldn’t hear it very clearly. PeanutButter? Wow - I don’t even care anymore. WAMS Ink Issue #6 - April 2015
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“Knock off the sarcasm, boy. I didn’t hire you to diss me,” PeanutButter growled. Well then. Somebody forgot to get his cup of metallic coffee in the morning. “Yea. ‘Cuz you didn’t hire me? Don’t try and fail to act like you are the one who is in charge.” A voice slightly higher in pitch (but still relatively deep), who I presumed was YourName, taunted. “There’s no one else here, so feel free to keep jabbering away if you want me to choke you to death and dump your body in one of these rooms." Silence. Poor guy; I was starting to like him. So they didn’t know I was here. Great, except for the fact that there doesn’t seem to be any way to escape. There was no light, with the exception of the crack in the wall, and I couldn’t make out a door. The ground was freezing, rough, and filthy. There wasn’t even a way to access the teleport Hub! Again, I wondered if this was some sort of joke. Who in their right mind would choose to not put in a gate to the Hub? Even the ancient buildings from 2026 were equipped with them, and all other forms of transportation became obsolete centuries ago. I shivered. If I couldn’t access a Hub, then once I escaped this hellhole, my only choice would be to...walk. Ugh. Whoever was playing this joke needed to dial it down a bit. For the third time I paused when I realized that this memory of a Hub that had suddenly popped into my brain was definitely not there before. What a relief! Maybe this was just shortterm amnesia. A lingering spirit of worry continued to plague my mind though-what if it wasn’t? What if I needed to trigger every memory to retrieve it? I nearly vomited at the thought of trying to recreate the past - sparking years of memories would take an incredible amount of time to do. “...and so, with that, we need to get going. The police will be looking for us soon. Atomic bombs don’t just fall from the sky into a fortified city on their own, and if you keep bickering with me, then you’re asking for trouble,” PeanutButter continued. “What kind of trouble?” “If you ask me that question one more time, I will literally-” The air was tense with an unspoken threat. WAMS Ink Issue #6 - April 2015
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“Okay, okay. Let’s go.” I could hear the sounds of bustling and moving around. Every time they made a sound close to the area I was hiding in I felt millions of hairs on my skin stand up. My breathing labored in the effort to make the least amount of noise possible, and after what felt like ages, I heard the long-awaited slam of a door. Now it was time for me to go. Time to find out what really caused my memory wipe. Find out more in the next WAMS Ink issue!
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A Crumpled Note by Angela A. Summary: It’s the Summer of 1913 and Elena Bailey and her wealthy British family are spending the whole summer with her grandparents in the picturesque countryside of Northern France. While they are there, news about the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand and Europe potentially falling into conflict brews throughout France. Elena’s grandmother explains about an ancient heirloom that has belonged to her family for generations. When the heirloom is stolen by a potential ghost and war breaks out, Elena must unravel secrets about her past, overcome obstacles that will change her family and life forever, and flee to America. This expertly crafted novel consists of horrendous frights, historic events, and vivid description that will make you hang off your seat.
Elena Bailey reclined on the mahogany wood engraved chair patterned with delicate flowering trees and frolicking woodland animals. She gazed out the steam train’s window to the lavish French countryside with rust red farm houses and piles of manure scattered haphazardly around the farms. The sky was a smoky gray that hung in low vapors, and the train’s smoke caressed the atmosphere. Elena glanced over at her beautiful mother, Maria, with her wire rim spectacles adorning her face and nude colored lips and inquired, “Mother, are we there yet? I simply can’t wait until we see Grandpere and Grandmere again and to play in the meadows with Claire and Camille and braid their hair-”. “ Absolutely not! You are here to learn proper British lad etiquette of how a modern 1913 girl should act, you need to learn how to grow up and maintain a household while you are with Grandmere!” objected Maria, frowning as she fixed her profusion of braids spiraling atop her head. “Claire, would you be a dear and lace my pearl embellished corset?” In obedience, 5 year old Claire flung her short carrot orange curls back with her pudgy hands and replied cheekily, “Bien sur, Mama” (Of course, Mama). Elena huffed, causing her curly cocoa brown hair to fly up over her lace hat. Elena turned to her father to see what his two cents were of how she should spend her WAMS Ink Issue #6 - April 2015
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summer, but before she could speak, a bolded newspaper headline caught her eyes that proclaimed, “ARCHDUKE FRANZ FERDINAND ASSASSINATED BY SERBIAN NATIONALIST. AUSTRIAHUNGARY FURIOUS. WILL THERE BE WAR?”
TO BE CONTINUED……
IMAGE CREDITS: https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/9e/e6/26/9ee62683d6e08d302adca3cb00ce1913.jpg https://kowalfamilyhistory.files.wordpress.com/2014/07/thenysunjune29-1914.jpg http://www.rural-route-one.com/wip/wip1/wip8.jpg
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Playground by Valerie C. A gust of wind flutters across the playground, blowing the empty swings askew. Trees are dark gnarled hands against the evening sky. Leaves crackle as they somersault over the dry yellow grass. A lone child lays on a large boulder, watching in wonder as the sky transforms from periwinkle to pink to orange. Behind a brick ledge, a long shadow turns sneaking about, unnoticed by the child, who is too deeply engrossed in the fading light. It stealthily sprints out and ducks its head again beneath the dark looming slide. The child continues to watch the sunset. Darker and darker it becomes. Closer and closer the shadow darts. The shadow steps forward one last time, only feet away from the child, raising a long, sharp, steely-looking object in the air. The last of the sunset disappears, dissolving into a sinister cerulean dotted with stars. The child exhales, rising and brushing the dust off his trousers. The shadow strikes out and the child screeches and collapses on the spongy ground, his head steadily seeping dark crimson, drip...drip...drip...painting the black grass. The shadow turns and leaves, indifferent. But there wasn’t a killer. The child, startled by the sudden movement, had hit his head on the rock. And the shadow...was a murder of crows.
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Sisters by Elizabeth P. The outline of her silhouette sparkled gold like an angel. I don’t remember much, but I do remember the singing, also like an angel. Only my sister could sing like that, but one year ago her life was claimed by the plague that still kills today, 2199 C.E. I hate thinking about her, even though before her death we were inseparable. I’m almost positive it was my sister standing on the foot of my bed in front of the window. The singing transported me beyond this world into a new one where I could sleep, knowing I would have enough food to eat and not have to worry about the plague. I blinked once and she was gone, but her singing continued to ring in my ears until I fell into a restless sleep. ***
My eyelids fluttered open, and as I took a deep breath, I sat up and faced the window where my sister had stood. Only I was in disbelief that my vision was real. Her body was buried in the cemetery in the village and her soul was...somewhere else. But strangely, my bed sheets were rumpled where her feet might have stood, and there was a syringe filled with black tar that was not there before. I ran my fingers over the inscription on the vial: Angela. My sister’s name. Tears began to streak down my face. I cried as I staggeredto the bathroom where I looked into the mirror and saw that my cheek had swelled into a purple lump: the first sign of the plague. My tears turned to screams. “No, no no!” I screeched as I fell to the floor. Breathing began to be painful. I needed to live. I needed to carry on the memory of my sister. I regretted everything I had not done to keep her memory alive. I was going to die, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. Accepting the inevitable, I plunged the mysterious syringe into my swollen purple cheek, which was now oozing purple pus. I closed my eyes and thought that I would soon be with Angela, who was a tender seven year old when the plague claimed her. Suddenly but surely, the oozing stopped. My lungs allowed air to enter, small wisps at first, but they were working again. I was not going to die. My sister had somehow crossed back over to me and gifted me the antidote to end years of suffering. I
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was no longer in denial that the golden shadow and voice I had thought had been a dream had been real. She was not a moment too soon.
*** I decided to name my eldest daughter Angela. The name suits her; she seems very much like my sister. Right now, she is playing with our cat in our backyard, toddling around and tugging its tail and giggling. I envy her sheer obliviousness towards death and the plague, and I hope for her to never experience the pain I did, but she doesn’t have to worry. After I was cured, I decided that I would become a doctor, and I did. I mass produced the antidote my sister left me and cured hundreds. The plague no longer exists. I remember Angela every day, and the song she sung that night still rings in my ears.
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MIRROR MIRROR ON THE WALL By: Sophia H., Roshni T. and Anya S. “What happens when good people are put into an evil place? Do they triumph or does the situation dominate their past history and morality? -Philip Zombardo
Book 1, Volume 1 - A Whole New World I woke up and found myself drenched in a cold sweat, my body shivering. I tried to find my shining armor to protect myself from the biting cold. My short, choppy hair bounced lightly in the wind, and the glistening snow streaked down my frosted cheeks which were red from the cold. I stood up, and fell back down again, too weak to even move. A shiver crawled down my spine, and I laid back down on the cold earth, my pale face frozen blue. Suddenly, my ears perked up and I listened closely. I heard a small ringing sound that was barely audible. As it drew closer, I made out the sound of bells and a whip. I slowly looked up and saw a horse gallop past me. It lit a frightening chill which coursed through my body.
3 Months Later... I woke up to the sound of whirring machines. I glanced around and noticed I was surrounded by people in long white coats. I bent over, hovering just above the ground, unsure of what to make of the situation. A person with black hair turned around and looked at me. She managed to choke out a small laugh. “Everyone, Sleeping Beauty has awakened!” The others turned around and all breathed a sigh of relief. The lady smiled and shook my hand. “It is nice to finally see you,” she told me, extending her hand. I looked at her strangely. “I apologize, but I’m not sure of what's going on. What am I doing here, and who are you? I don’t recall meeting you before.” “Eydis, it’s me Ms. Sturtz. Don’t you remember me? From the reflector? It was me there, I was the one that saved you.” said Ms. Sturtz, in confusion. I noticed her eyes narrowing by the minute as if she wanted to squeeze the information out of me like a tube of toothpaste, but another doctor whispered in her ear, and she loosened up. I dug deep into my conscience, trying to stir any past moment, any wisp of feeling, but in vain. Instead, I reached an unbreakable brick wall that wouldn’t let me pass through. They moved me into a chair and Ms. Sturtz clipped a wire to the side of my head. Her face loomed closer as she secured the wire, and a sweet, yet revolting, honey scent trickled up my nose. I gagged and fell back. The scent, so vaguely familiar, drew a sense of dread. Ms. Sturtz glanced back at the row of doctors beside her and turned back to her computer. They whispered with each other and kept glancing back at me. In my mind, I managed to hear fragments of words, and a memory, repeating over and over. ‘A lot of whispering happens here,’ I thought to myself drowsily. The thought had just passed me to ask where I was. When I did, their reply wasn’t to my satisfaction. “I’m sorry, Eydis, but we have concluded not to tell you for the sake of your life. If you can’t even remember your name, you are in no fit condition to know this piece of information. When you get better though, we will tell you.” Behind me, she typed something in a computer and then shut it off. A different doctor moved WAMS Ink Issue #6 - April 2015
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me to my bed. Ms. Sturtz stood up, stretched, then left the room. The other lemmings followed, the last turning off the lights. “Wow. Some harsh greeting,” I murmured to myself. Well, if they’re not going to tell me I thought, I will take matters into my own hands. I sat in my bed and jumped down. My ankle burst with excruciating pain and red embers flared in front of my eyes. I lay back down on my bed, my new prison, where I was confined to stay. Questions were swirling in my mind and I felt like punching something. Who are these people? Where am I? What rights did they have over me? What happened to my ankle? What secret are they trying to keep from me? Most importantly though, who am I? My head began to hurt with these questions, and I eventually became dizzy, so I closed my eyes and drifted into an agitated, uneasy sleep. The next day, I was taken to a separate place, more isolated from the rest of the building. They began conducting tests on me, pausing only to clean up vomit and take me to the bathroom. Well, that’s not true. They did give me two oblong, green pills that cured the pain in my ankle. Honestly, I felt like a lab rat. For the first time though, I truly got to see myself when ushered to the bathroom. My face, that is. The doctors told me not to look in the mirror because it might stir up some bad memories. But being the rebel I was, I disobeyed their wishes and looked straight up at it. My face was badly scarred and bruised, ‘from something long ago’, the doctors told me when they caught me looking. Surprisingly, they did not try very hard to support the rule they made a while ago with the whole mirror thing, so I decided to keep disobeying them. A white scar ran vertically across my thin, bony, chestnut colored face, as well as many other tiny ones that surrounded my features. Ms. Sturtz claimed my injuries would disappear soon, but I didn’t really believe her. I once had long, dark black hair, but again the doctors said I lost most of it in a fire, so now I had chopped up black stuff on my head. What fire? I figured I would at least have some clue of a fire, maybe a trigger of heat that always lingered? I kept asking them, now starting to insist on an answer, but they ignored my persistent questions. It was the same thing the entire day and after the last test, I was escorted to bed. It was still bright outside, but I was expected to sleep. My tossing and turning kept me awake though, and I was still up after all the lights were shut down. Moonlight stalked me through the windows, casting a shadow in my room. I was thinking about my insufficient memories when I heard a loud thump approximately 30 feet from my bed. I checked my watch which read 12:00. What a coincidence. I looked around for someone, but the darkness shrouded the intruder. I was about to relax, thinking it was just something falling down when a hand clamped my mouth. My lips were shaking from a silent scream and my body was tense. I was shaking, screaming, kicking, but the intruder held on tight. What did this person want from me? Though I was terrified, I willed myself to look up at the person’s face, and saw two bright crystal blue eyes staring right at me. Slowly, the outline of the boy’s body took shape. He was not much bigger than me in size and height, but he wore sharp stinging knives on a belt wrapped tightly against his waist. “We don’t have much time Eydis, so listen. There’s a back door behind the big closet in your room, go through it. You will be in a hallway. Just stay there and we’ll get you, okay? We will tell you about your past,” He took my shaking as a no. The boy looked at me again, showing sheer desperation in his eyes, then pointed at his knives. I gulped and nodded. He smiled a mischievous smile and sneaked out of the room. I wanted to scream and call for help. But I could not, not with the image of the knives glistening on his belt, and his promise for my past. It was my only hope. I didn’t want to stay here forever going through tests with the suspense of my past hanging over my head. So I did what he told me, vaguely remembering that I took WAMS Ink Issue #6 - April 2015
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a medicine bottle for protection. I crossed into the hallway, and a hand grabbed me, then another. Some girl picked me up and snuck into an abandoned room. These mysterious but talented intruders did this in a manor of ten seconds. Still the image of those people was the one thing creeping me out. My personal kidnappers were about as old as me! One girl, who had wavy golden hair, studied me, then she took off my watch and stuffed it in her pocket. I opened my mouth to protest, but the girl shushed me. “Not now, not this place,” she whispered harshly, her eyes darting around the room suspiciously and her smooth, icy voice filling me up with terror. After everyone was seated (rather huddled), the girl breathed a sigh of relief, so I considered I could talk now. I opened my mouth and yelled, “Who are you people? Who do you think you are, just kidnapping me like that, threatening me with knives, and bribing me with the truths of my past?!” The girl cringed and whispered to another girl, who nodded. Then, the boy spoke, a tint of humor in his voice, “I’m sorry Eydis, for scaring you like that. But it was a choice of light or dark, and I’m sure you hate being kept in the dark. But please don’t scream. The magic can only save enough of one giant’s roar.” I blushed, and stared at my shoes, this time glad for the dark. “Our time from the World of Light has left us as savages, not humans.” “What do you mean the World of Light? And what do you mean? That you can do magic?” I was genuinely puzzled, my anger already fizzling away and curiosity taking its place. “We will explain it to you, Eydis, but first don’t you want to know where you are right now?” The girl asked me. I was torn between knowing my past and the answer to my questions, but I nodded to her question. “Long ago,” the girl began, “the world was separated into two halves. The living side,” she paused dramatically, “and the dead. When the people died, they would go into the second phase of the world, which was in the crust. The dead would accept their life is over, and live together in the second world. It would be exactly like…your past world, the World of Light, except the inverse of it. For example, instead of yellow light shining through windows, a black glow would peer in. Of course, peace is never meant to last, for nature does not allow it. A dark magic was rising in the world of the dead, ruled over by the evil lord Nycoln who wanted to go back to the living. Of course this only happens because he was so nice in the world of light that his inverse made him so terrible. Being a new person, he created an army of only dead people, because he can’t reach the light humans, until now. Now he is using one of his creations, a reflector or ‘mirror’ as you call it, to capture the humans from the light. People like you. When you touched the mirror on your bedroom wall, you were spiraled here, for it was one portal of the many thousands he set into place to bring people here. It was bad luck that you were tossed into the cold Shadow Winds territory and got captured by Nycoln’s minion and his spoiled wife, Ms. Sturtz, but we will get you out of here, I promise.” I was scared and shocked. More than anything, I wanted the comfort of home, wherever my home was. But home was not an option now where I was. “Does that mean you are dead?” I whispered. She stared at me solemnly and said, “No. We are just part of a tribe that rebelled against Nycoln’s rule. There are a couple hundred of us hiding. Nycoln prefers to capture people from the World of Light because they think differently than the rotting souls down here.” Suddenly, I thought of something. My family. Were they okay, whoever they were? I could not remember their faces, but I remember the sense of comfort and a feeling. Love. “Is my family okay?”
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The other girl nodded. “Nycoln has developed a quick system. First they go through the mirror, and then he replaces them with a clone, so no one is suspicious. However, there is one scar in his trend. The clone is from this world. Therefore, they think differently. Also -.” I held up my hand signaling her to stop as I already had too much to take in. “I guess you must be confused,” she stated. “You think?!” I replied. A cold gust of wind blew around me. I heard the screeching of my voice. “Shadow Riders!” I did not know on how I knew that name, the words had just slipped off my tongue, but judging by the others’ hazy reactions, I knew I was right. I fell flat forward on my face, and could not stand. It was like that first night in this world. My vision was blurred by hues of dark gray. My only hopes of escaping this world were drifting away; my “friends” were out of my sight. And suddenly I too was drifting from who I was, and felt myself being one of the shadows. Instantly, I revolted and fought against these terrifying creatures. For ten minutes it went on like this and when feeling finally returned we had been mugged and were now left with no weapons or food except for the boy. I could tell from the way he gasped that he had fought those terrifying creatures off him. I realized now that he was our leader and we all should obey him. As everyone gained focus, I looked around and noticed they were struggling too. Most eventually came back okay, all mugged but I noticed that one was not stirring. I limped over and gasped. Her face was deathly pale, her eyes black like the dark night sky. I noticed a small motion at the corner of her eye. The girl’s face was turning a dark, metallic kind of luster. I had barely enough time to react before that boy touched my shoulder and said tensely, “We don’t have enough time before the Shadow Riders come back, and before Heather turns into one. We must flee right now.” I stared back at Heather for a moment, taking in her face, and her expression of pure horror. She died saving me, I think to myself. Since she came for me, it is my fault she is dead. “What were those things?” I asked the boy. He replied, “Many years ago when the evil Nycoln started his scheme he rounded up all the evil creatures and bribed them to work for him. He promised the Shadow Riders his prisoners for they love to feast on people but once feasted on, you become one of them. In return the Shadows promised to steal all weapons and food and occasionally kill the Lord’s enemies and rebels. They kill ruthlessly, like untamed wolves.” A screeching started again. This time however, it was accompanied by a higher pitched screech. It was Heather’s. Heather’s yell for death. I was frightened and everyone around me started pulling out more dangerous weapons and looking out for any more movement. A black cloudy figure raced passed us. The boy jumped up alarmed immediately. “Let’s go!” He shouted. We sprinted to the exit of the hospital room, but the metal door was bolted shut. The girl banged against the other door. Locked. The lights sputtered, and then finally went out. I glanced all around me, but could not see the others. However, I could see one light. It was the face of a smiling person. “Honey, come here,” someone whispered kindly. “Everything will be all right-”. I cut her off. “Everything will be alright if I die? Is that what you are saying?” She smiled and laughed, and her laugh sounded like the tinkling of bells. “Just come to me daughter...” I reached out, suddenly sick of this place. I was holding her hand, and she was pulling me to her when suddenly, she was gone. A hazy mirage. “What was that for?” I shouted at the boy, who I now realized held a knife. He shouted back, “They were taking you. I couldn’t let that happen.” The Shadow Riders loomed in closer, and I sprinted as far as possible, right into a group of more Riders. They jerked their faceless, gruesome bodies and chased after me, WAMS Ink Issue #6 - April 2015
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wanting to creep into my soul. The next moment was a blur, but somehow, it was all so clear. When they came closer, I dropped to the floor and frantically searched for a way to escape. I strained my eyes in the darkness. The misty black shadows were closing in on me, and I backed against the cold wall. Suddenly, something shiny caught my eye. It magically glinted in the darkness. I dived towards it, my only chance of surviving. I grasped the handle and felt a sleek, cold, silver blade. A greenish golden glow surrounded my hand and warmth spread through my arm. I got to my feet and my wrist seemed to know what to do, as if fighting had been implanted inside my mind. I took a firm hold on the smooth handle and pointed it at the nearest Shadow Rider. I stepped forward, spinned around, and stabbed it. It tumbled over and faded away like an old nightmare. This filled me with hope, a spark of sunlight that broke the terror in my heart. I charged at the next group of Riders and sliced my blade through them. My muscles were tense, and I was frightened, but I kept fighting. Suddenly, I heard the boy’s voice and I turned around, “Eydis, duck!” Surprised, I followed. An eerie, hollow sound was floating nearby. Were my ears playing tricks on me? It suddenly got louder and louder. The last Shadow Rider was hovering above me, ready to strike a death blow. And here, I could tell: hesitation would be fatal. With a jerking move, I pivoted around and pierced my blade through the Rider, slicing him in half, canceling out his move and making my own. He gasped, bellowed a deep note filled with grief, sorrow, and pain and disappeared into thin air. Silence rang in the vast hall. The Shadow Riders had gone, and I was safe, for now. I looked down at the blade I held in my sweating palm. Something was carved on the hilt which read ‘Hei’an zǒng shì zài nǐ shēnbiān’. After a short, yet long moment filled with exhaustion, pride, and haziness, I decided to find the others. I looked around for another survivor. My eyes darted to a bright light that was growing hungrily in the corner. A lit torch had fallen on a pile of black powder a Shadow Rider left behind and as the roar of amber flames began spreading through the corridor, I looked frantically for an exit. I finally found a door at the end of the corridor. Grabbing the blade, I ran toward the exit, and I blasted open the hospital's door with the sole of my foot. The golden green light from my palm had extinguished. As I pushed open the door, I found the boy who staggered out, trying to support the weight of the other girl. I ran to help them, but he pushed me away. “How did you do that?” He asked me. I was confused. “Do what?” “Kill them all like that.” I shrugged, avoiding his gaze. “I don’t know…” He stared at me intently, and then said, “Are you a spy?” I stared at him aghast. Him, with all his secrets and knives thought I was a spy? It was a ludicrous thought. I was about to tell him no when a voice erupted in my head. It’s possible right? You don’t know who you are, so it could be possible. No? I refused to answer him, and he looked at me longer. Then he turned and left. I followed them up a steep hill, scared of tumbling to my death. After all I had gone through I felt as if this was a minor risk. I tried to be calm like everyone else but I was breathing heavy and it was quite noticeable by everyone else. As we walked I realized my knife was missing. Its smooth feel had disappeared from my hand. We walked for quite a while, and I was tired when the boy said, “We’re here.” I glanced around me, totally not expecting a sort of house. Instead, right in the center point of the forest was a small cave. Sure, caves surrounded it everywhere, but this one was different. Inside, it was huge, much bigger than how it looked on the outside. Purple luminescent light reflected in the inside, and my voice jumped around on the cavern walls. The boy did a quick check of the area and then concluded it was safe to sleep in. The girl reached into a small pouch WAMS Ink Issue #6 - April 2015
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she was carrying and pulled out three sleeping bags. It was then when I truly felt the exhaustion and lack of sleep catching up to me, and when I curled up in one of the bags, I drifted off to sleep. The tapping of the rain against the windows gave a grim mood to the atmosphere. A tall man in the front was talking. Others, whispering. A scrape of chalk and a soft quiet jazz tune was playing in the background. I was sitting in a desk, and a harsh, calculating, yet familiar voice taunted me. Tears rolled down my cheeks and turned into salty water falls as I tried to cover them up. The man in the front turned around and asked me if everything was alright. I lied and said it was. But it wasn’t. Through my blurred vision, I could see a gold key appear on my desk. I woke up crying as all the other kids watched me. It was not like I personally was sad or anything; I was just crying and I didn’t know why. I guess I looked pretty stupid and wimpy just standing there, bawling because the boy said rudely, “Shut up.” “I hear someone in the back of the cave; don’t anyone move.” He continued. As we all slowly walked to the back of the cave, a person seemed to form in the darkness. His shadow was shuddering as if a thousand volts of energy had gone right through him. “ Fai?” the boy asked. We came to a small spot in the cave where you could see a small boy huddled up shivering, his dusty black hair gleaming in the dark. He looked familiar, a wisp of a memory. I brushed the thought away. The boy kept muttering, “Xié'è sǐwáng kěwàng guāngmíng hé shēngmìng-Wǒ zhīdào tā de mìmì” “We thought we lost you after the ambush,” the boy said “Do you still have the prophecy?” the girl asked “Are you alright?” they both said in unison. Fai replied, “Xié'è sǐwáng kěwàng guāngmíng hé shēngmìng-Wǒ zhīdào tā de mìmì.” “What?” I asked but Fai kept saying the same thing. The boy held his hand and helped him up. “Let’s get out of here, I think Nycoln knows of the Shadow Riders’s failed attempt. He will probably send more troops to hunt for us.” The golden haired girl said and shuddered. “ You're right,” the boy replied back. “What’s your name?” I asked haphazardly. The boy paused, and turned around. His reply came in a sharp voice. “It doesn’t matter.” Then he continued walking but everyone else stared at me. The golden haired girl whispered to me, “Dude, no one knows his name. Tenebris is what we call him though. Before, Fai had been a prophet. He was able to tell the past, see deep into the present, and foreshadow the future. He predicted a prophecy...”. she stopped a moment, then continued. “The prophecy was passed on for many generations in the camp, prophet by prophet, until it got to Fai.” She dropped her tone a notch lower. “No one knows the prophecy, but all that Fai hints about it is that we have to call the boy Tenebris.” “So his name is Tenebris. What’s yours?” I replied back in a hushed voice. “ My name’s Madris, just Madris, no last name or anything” she replied back, still whispering. I have to admit when I observed her more closely, I grew jealous. She looked so pretty, yet, fierce and powerful at the same time. Looking at her made you want to be her best friend. Her dark powerful eyes gave her a serious but stunning appearance, and her thin eyebrows arched in perfect shape above her focused eyes. Her mysterious locket always shined bright. All this made you constantly think about her. She packed our bags and we set off again.
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As we walked, I approached Fai. “Can you tell me about the prophecy?” I asked. I felt like such a doofus asking that, but I felt like I had to know. It might be the key to unlock my past. Fai stared at me like I was some dumb child. “Xié'è sǐwáng kěwàng guāngmíng hé shēngmìng-Wǒ zhīdào tā de mìmì!” he repeated again. I sighed, and I stared into his dark, glassy eyes. Suddenly, I felt something being shoved into my palm. I looked down, and saw a crumpled paper. I looked back at Fai, but he just stared far into the distance. While Madris and Tenebris were talking, I unfurled the wad of paper, which was worn and frayed with age. In ink, the following words were etched upon the cloth, “When serpent’s mouth meets serpent’s tail, When all work threatens to fail, Shall one of hundreds wake To find the mountains earthly quake, And the shadow of the angel meets it’s twin, Boy of Tenebris guides to win.”
I stared at the words, wondering what they meant. No doubt about it that the boy should be called Tenebris. But what does it mean? I glanced back at Fai, then at the paper. This cloth surely was passed on prophet by prophet, just waiting for the lines to tell the truth. As we were walking, Tenebris came to a halt, but me being so dumb (and confused with my thoughts) walked right into him without noticing. He didn’t mind, but took out one of his knifes - a small one and then wrote something in the crusty dirt. I looked up and saw the big silvery full moon glowing above us. Rain was dripping in little plops. I noticed the moonlight was coming directly above the markings Tenebris had made. When it was directly above it, his markings began to crumble, and revealed a hidden cave. I wasn’t surprised, since I had almost gotten used to magic. One by one we all jumped in and started to settle down. The second the moon passed, the earth reformed as if nothing had happened. Madris took out the bags again, and we set up camp, then went to sleep. However, they were pretending to sleep because I heard them whispering. Now they suddenly didn’t trust me, and wondered if I was a spy sent from Nycoln. I heard them say they had not seen anyone fight like me before, and kill so many Shadow Riders. I heard the rain falling, and I drifted, confused, to sleep. “You don’t need to be afraid,” the woman in the mirror’s mesmerizing voice said. I stared at her, not comprehending what I saw. Her yellow toga was so bright, I felt that it had captured the rays of the sun. Her glossy black hair was pulled back into a bun, but what surprised me were her eyes. So bright, and so alive, yet creating a sense of foreboding. “What do you want me to do?” I asked. A faint sour honey smell was entering my nose, and I could barely concentrate. “I want you to come with me, Eydis. Come with me to a place where you belong.” Her misty voice almost lulled me to sleep, and the smell... the intoxicating smell made me want to faint. She leaned in closer from inside the mirror, her words sounding like jagged knives, thrown to trap me. “COME,” she said, with so much force that I grasped her hand, afraid to let go, and in a blinding crash of light, I disappeared. I woke up in a cold sweat, and breathed heavily. Another weird dream, I thought to myself and tried to clear my mind. Yet I could not. The pictures, the woman’s face, the smell. I suddenly realized who was there, reeling me into this world like a fish on a fishing line. Ms. Sturtz was speaking the truth when she said she was there at the mirror. She was the one who abducted me. She was truly Nycoln’s minion and now I had no one to trust. My only hope was Madris, Tenebris, and Fai. WAMS Ink Issue #6 - April 2015
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“How do we get out of here?” I asked Madris, “When we realize it is safe,” She replied back like it was the most obvious thing on the planet. She looked at my puzzled look. “Oh, you think I mean forever? A group of the tribe is coming to bring us back at the next full moon.” “What do we eat?” I asked confused about our survival. Madris simply pulled out food from her bag. And once again we were counting on that small bag to keep us alive. “And,” she said, “Food we catch on hunts.” I looked over at Tenebris. He was working on my watch. Every time I asked if I could have it back, he ignored me. I know he thinks it’s dangerous because he always wears his black leather gloves while working with it. Today when no one was looking, I secretly took one of Tenebris knifes and randomly slashed at the rough wall of the cave. Cutting my fears up made me feel confident. When he saw me I stopped, and gently put the knife back with the rest of his knives. But he walked over to them, picked up the one I had used, and let me keep it because he said I needed a weapon, and I was pretty good with a knife. He then sharpened it for me. He carved on it To Eydis - D. I wonder what the “D” stands for but there were other things racing in my mind. The knife was heavy in my palm and weighed my heart down in my chest from what I knew about knives in stories. They were always meant to kill, or harm someone, or even to protect one’s self. I knew here, it would be no different. I felt like I had been tossed into some random tale in some child’s book and forced to live it through until I got home. All the danger here in this strange world was true danger like any danger from a book. And all the same, I was very scared. We were going to be leaving this dark cave when the moon tipped over, when they came and got us, and honestly, I felt just like a groundhog, excited to come out but afraid of what might happen when I got there. Secretly, my fear was that those Shadow Riders would find us, catch us, and kill us, like how they abducted Heather. Tenebris and Madris went hunting today. This was the second time they asked me to join them, and finally, I complied. We walked outside into a clear, crisp night. A soft breeze met my face. A wolf howled in the distance to the full, luminescent moon. Its iridescent glow showered upon the forest, watching everything. Two curious hounds approached me and barked softly. Laughing, I started chasing after them. Then, something surprised me. To my joyful cry, an owl returned a hoot. Many different sounds soon added onto each other to create a perfect harmony. Soon, unique music from an animal orchestra had reached my ears. I heard a frog’s splash, a hummingbird tweet, a huge mosquito whiz by, and a lone wolf howl to its mate. We sat down on a collection of big rocks, rough, yet welcoming, and I looked up at the peaceful sky. The stars were sparkling gently, and I could almost touch them with my hands. It was a perfectly painted canvas at my fingertips. Tenebris followed my direction back up into the night’s sky and smiled. It was the first time I’d seen him smile. I guess he liked the scenery as much as I did. “So what is the World of Light like now?” Tenebris asked me, while Madris ran back to the cavern to keep Fai company. I stared at him, unsure what to make of the question. I fumbled with a stone in my hands, tossing it back and forth. “I don’t know exactly. My mind is really messed up. I can’t determine if things are reality or a dream.” I paused for a moment, “Or memories.” I think again about my first dream. The girl’s face looked so familiar, just out of my reach. I wonder if Tenebris had dreams about his past life. WAMS Ink Issue #6 - April 2015
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Tenebris stared back at me, as if reading my mind. “Do you want to know about my life?” I looked at him and nodded. “Mmm.” I never thought I would be the first one to know, but I felt like maybe I was already a big part in his life. I never got the chance though to hear it, and I doubt I ever will, because at that moment, Tenebris’s eyes bulged out as he fell sideways on the grass, a dark pool of deep crimson blood surrounding him. His matted hair scattered on his pale face and he lay motionless on the ground. My mouth opened to scream but nothing came out. I was speechless, staring at Tenebris on the ground. A thin silver arrow was stabbed right on his left shoulder. Etched upon it were intricate silver engravings with weird squiggles. I shrieked, and that was when I saw it, the creature that would forever change my destiny and haunt my dreams. The Canavarlar.
This is the end of Book 1, Volume 1. Stay tuned for more… http://dark.pozadia.org/ Volume 2 The Gateway. A quote to describe it... “Don’t be afraid!” “I’m not afraid.” “Then come out!” “Then you’ll be afraid.” -Maleficent (Movie)
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Escape by Justus S. The carriage came to a sudden halt. "Sorry about this, sir. It seems that a band of drunks are crossing the road, wouldn’t want to spoil their time," called back the coachman. He was a scrawny man, with as much knowledge of the city’s routes as a scribe has of books and archives. “Not to worry, my friend. We’ll get there in good time; let the merry have a safe walk, at least from us," replied the man in the compartment, for he was a patient fellow; he saw no need in the rushing of a simple enough task. As he said that, he noticed a dog sitting on the curb of the road. It was watching the crowd with unease. “Do you want me to turn around, Mr. Oran? These people are moving quite slow.” “No, it’s all right. I’m in no hurry. The festival today was quite extreme and has tired me out.” “Very well then. If it is all very well, I’d like to take out my pipe and smoke.” “Go ahead, it won't bother me." From that point everything went downhill for Mr. Oran. The coachman blew out whiffs of smoke that triggered a barking fit from the dog, who suffered from a brutal and mean owner who smoked. RRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR. A sudden roar made the drunks give a sudden lurch and then stand up as if being pulled by a puppet master. They scattered, running in every direction away from the others. One went past the carriage, and as he got past the coach he screamed and was thrown back, as if something got hold of him. The wind picked up, and the carriage leaned with the whining air. Another roar boomed across the town. The carriage became turned upside down its windows shattering as it hit the road. Struck with shock, Mr.Oran didn’t move for a insufferable long time. When he finally came to, he clambered out from underneath the wreckage. Blood splatter took the place of where the coachman once sat, his body-or the remains- were missing. Mr. Oran started limping, for his right leg hurt after the abrupt flipping of the carriage, to the inn that was across the way from him. As he neared, he could see that this particular inn was run down. A sign saying, “The Wishful Inn” was hanging on one hinge with faded letters and frayed lacquer. Moss and vines clung to the quarried stone, and the front steps had cracked and split in various places. Ivy gathered in the front of the building. He walked up the steps and to the door. He turned the rusty, dented doorknob. The door
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squeaked as it moved on corroded hinges. Inside, empty chairs were scattered throughout the room. A desk clerk with a black veil spun in her creaky chair. Mr. Oran strode over to the counter. “How you doing, dear?" said the woman with a happy giggle. “Good. Anyway do you have any idea about what’s happening outside? I mean the wind and the roar!" he answered “Why, good heavens, that sounds awfully strange,"she said with a faint hint of a laugh. “Why don’t you sit down by the fire? It seems breezy outside. If you wish to stay the night, it costs a crown because my business is very slow. Nobody has stayed here for obvious reasons, but I need money for the renovations..” “I’ll pay anything.” “There is only one room that we have, that is in good shape right now and that’s the one where old Mr. Chilssen passed away fourteen years back." Again an unhealthy chuckle. “I don’t mind. Can I still have it?" Mr. Oran said with some concern now. “Ok, dear. Let me go up and ready it for you. Would you like something to drink? I don’t have much," said the snickering old lady. Mr.Oran stopped caring about her, he just wanted a bed. “A glass of wine and some biscuits would do me very good, if you can?” “I have some wine in the cellar. Could you fetch some for me while I prepare your room?” “Sure, I should be able to locate it."The two parted. Mr. Oran was so focused on getting the bottle that he hardly noticed the way the cellar door seemed to have never been used. He ran down the concrete steps and into a bone chilled room. The air was cold and damp. The wine cases were at the far end. He walked toward them and tried to picture a normal scenario about this place but he kept coming back to the same one. That the cellar in which he was walking in right now didn’t seem to completely be there. It seemed to evaporate as he went forth. All at once everything cleared up, and the man came to his senses in chains hanging, upside down. Mr. Oran could only see a mask. The mask was in the shape of a skull with boar tusks. The masked beast uttered a word. The word seemed to become a shout and that shout seemed to come from everywhere yet nowhere. When it subsided it became coherent and he understood what it meant. Mr. Oran had feared that this would happen. He feared that he would die and be ever forgotten. A white blood stained cloak hung from the shoulders of the man, in which the bottom of it had been torn and muck grew from the base like water climbing a towel left in a puddle. Scarred arms with singed hands and bruised knuckles hung from this demonic chest. The killer whispered this time and still it boomed, resounding off the cracked stone bricks, and again once it subsided the same word came into the ears of Mr. Oran. The word was now ringing in the ears of Mr. Oran, temporarily WAMS Ink Issue #6 - April 2015
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making him deaf. He glanced around trying to take his eyes off of that piercing stare. The eyes had fire in them and an evil, corrupted look. Even his surroundings offered no hope, they contained seared bodies on the floor, next to a furnace in which part of a foot could still be seen. Mold was visible in every crack and upon the ceiling there was a large pentacle that took up the space of the entire ceiling. Also the light in the room came from lamp stands scattered about the room, as the furnace was not currently burning. The figure walked out of the room through the only exit-a metal door-and shut it without looking back. The air was still, nothing moved except for the flickering torches. Moisture gathered around Mr. Oran’s fingertips as they dangled. Blood was rushing to his head. A knife was stuck in the ground in a crack between two stones as if wedged there from dropping from a great height. He stretched out his left arm and found that his forefinger and index finger were missing, blood dripping from the areas where they once were. Scars striped his forearms. A paste of blood and mud stuck to his skin with desperation. His clammy hand closed around the hilt of the jagged dagger. He yanked it out, pulling earth from the base. Bending up, he pried the chains off his ankles. With a thump, he landed on chilling rock. He scrambled to his feet with a tiring effort for the air was dirty and infected his lungs. Coughing and spluttering, the youngish man stumbled forward, still limping, only to trip and crash into another victim. The racket must have been heard for a roar banged around Mr. Oran’s head. He jumped up with a new found spryness and ran as fast as his injuries would allow and hastened his way out of the cell. The door was ajar, and he squeezed passed without pushing it open even more. TO BE CONTINUED
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The Book Blog by Anna S. Dec. 8th “Are they gone yet? The library should have closed twenty minutes ago!” “They’re gone! Let’s get off of this shelf. My pages are bent in, and it really hurts.” I woke up from my nap. If you don’t know yet, I’m The Sleeping Apple Core by R. T. Smith. I’m a great story about an apple core who comes to life. The people who bought the apple (core included) from the store want to turn it into a tourist attraction, but all the apple core wants to do is sleep. No one has ever heard of me, but I’m a great read. Some people think I’m narcissistic, but I like to call it having good self-esteem. You know what? You should just call me Edna. It’s much faster, and it’s what my friends, Olivia and Olivia’s evil twin Olivia2, who are also books, call me. So, I woke up from my nap, but the librarian giants were still in my home. They think it’s “their” library, but do they live here? No. Rude! This is our library. It belongs to the books. They are intruding on our house. Time for a nap. Dec. 9th The books in the library are all best friends all the time forever. Our warring personalities, fiction and non-fiction, blend perfectly. What? It makes sense *not*! Ok, fine. You got me. No one is really friends. Except Olivia2 and me. The evil one. But I’m SO not evil. Just Olivia2 is. (Olivia is the good one and Olivia2 is the evil one). The good one is good, not evil. The evil one is evil, not good. And yes, I know I’m rambling. It’s just that nothing is really happening right now, so I have nothing to wri- oh wait! Go Away Giant Bear is attacking The Bedazzled Octopus! Oh no! Go Away Giant Bear might get hurt! I don’t really care much for Octopus Boy. I don’t care what happens to him. Actually, I hope he gets hurt. But remember, I’m very not evil. I just like good people to… get hurt… maybe I am a little bit evil. But just a little bit!!!!!! Please don’t tell anybody! I don’t want anyone to know that I have bad intentions and I really hate every book in the library except for Olivia’s evil twin Olivia2! Oh wait, I just remembered that whenever I write, I say everything I write out loud. I just told everyone that I hate them. Oops. But I’m sure they’ll understand. I just know it. They will all understand. They will! They will! I can’t have everyone hate me! I won’t! I won’t! I won’t! I will make them like me! I will convince them I’m not evil! I will...*everyone stares at me* I will stop saying everything I write out loud WAMS Ink Issue #6 - April 2015
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as I write it, so that not everyone knows that I despise them with all of my shriveled little evil heart, so that if they didn’t hear the first time, they won’t know that I AM EVIL TO MY VERY APPLE CORE MWA HA HA HA!!!!!!!!!! Oh, yeah. I said that out loud. Now everyone knows. I think I need a break from writing. And being a book. I’m going to go back to sleep. 10 YEARS LATER (I take really long naps) December 9th Okay. I’m up from my nap. What did I miss? NO! I missed everyone that I ever knew getting destroyed in a flood that I only survived because I was sleeping on the roof? No!!!! Olivia’s evil twin Olivia2! Oh yeah. Everyone else, too. I guess I will miss Mellie the Ghost and I’m Not Sure: the Story of a Boy who Couldn’t Answer Questions. They were the second closest things I have to friends. I hated them. And I guess I didn’t hate The Creation of Nutella or Men Competing to Get a Unicorn. However, I definitely won’t miss The Smiley Blue T-shirt or Lizards Eating Lollipops in the Library. Lizard was always eating lollipops even though he was a book and couldn’t actually eat anything. And there were WAY too many books about unicorns. My least favorite book of all though, was Barnacle. It was literally about barnacles. I can’t think of ANYTHING interesting about barnacles… THEY ARE BARNACLES. But I guess he was fun to make fun of. I guess I might actually miss (a few) them…
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The 2015 Grade 7 Writing Fair - Winning Science Fiction Stories Each year the 7th grade Language Arts teachers hold a Writing Fair contest and award 3 students for their winning creative stories. This year the story genre was Science Fiction. There were some amazingly, creative stories submitted, and the judges had a hard time choosing just 3 stories, but choose they did! Here are the 3 winning stories, published for the first time in the WAMS Ink literary magazine. We are so glad the students shared these stories with us. Enjoy!
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The Ocean Against the Sky By: Claire H. 7th Grade Writing Fair Winning Science Fiction Story “All children in grade 7 report to Sector A immediately. All children in grade 7 report to Sector A immediately.” The speaker’s cool voice rings out over the PA system in our school. Kids start to look around anxiously. When we report to Sector A, it’s always for a lockdown— some threat to our city, the Republic of the Sky. The last time, it had been a massive earthquake, its epicenter right next to us, a year ago, in 10007. I wonder what it is this time. I slip on my navy blue jacket, looking up to see Gavin standing next to me. “Ready, Isilynn?” he asks. “Let’s go to Sector A already and get this over with.” “Yeah, yeah, Gavin. Even if you’re my best friend, I don’t want to be stuck with you for a threehour lockdown,” I joke. “Let’s go, then.” Gavin tries his best to look offended, but there’s an undisguisable sparkle of humor in his pale ocean-green eyes. He brushes some brown hair out of his eyes. Together, we walk out of our classroom, out the school building, and into the crisp fall afternoon. The trees are a rainbow, shimmering in all shades of green, yellow, orange, and red. Then I notice that there is no birdsong. The trees wave their leaves in an eerie, slow dance in complete silence. Even though the sky is blue, not a cloud in the sky, I am scared. Even though it is not cold, I pull my jacket tighter around me, my polished mahogany hair blowing in my face. Suddenly, a strong wind tears through the trees, a sorrowful sound, filled with all the sadness in the world. The wind scatters leaves on the ground, blowing them into little swirls. Within five minutes, we’re at Sector A. The concrete building rises up, dark and worrisome, a titanium wall and gate surrounding it that only the people inside have the means to open. Slowly, the gate creaks open and children run inside. Gavin and I run forward with the rest of them, and as we’re the last to enter, the gate slams shut behind us with a metallic clang. The fortress commands attention, like a huge, majestic castle straight out of medieval times. We enter the building itself. The entryway is high and arched, wreathed in shadows. The inside is stark white tiles and walls, lit with bright fluorescent light bulbs, covering the interior with a sickly greenish tinge. Guards stand by doors in the hall, directing children to separate rooms behind the WAMS Ink Issue #6 - April 2015
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doors, shutting them when they’re filled, and locking them with double diamond bolts that are sure to hold. Each room fills up, and Gavin and I are pushed to the last door, at the end of the hallway. All that is behind the door is a pale white room, lit with the same greenish light as the hall. About forty children are inside, and the door closes with a bang, locking with a thud. As soon as the door locks, we all start to whisper in hushed, worried tones, scared for family, speculating on what might’ve prompted such an abrupt lockdown. I hunch myself against the wall, suddenly feeling tired. I close my eyes, and the world fades away. My world jolts to wakefulness as harsh light floods my eyes, Gavin shaking my arm, his grip very urgent, saying, “Isilynn! We’re leaving. Come on. The guards are telling us to go to City Square.” “Ughhhhh…” I groan. “Gavin, I’m coming…” I whine. I rub the last of sleep away from my eyes and we set off for City Square, walking together in a grim, funeral silence. The sky is now overcast in gray clouds, a storm certain to hit later. Our leader, the Ruler of the Sky stands, back ramrod straight on a stage in the middle of the cobblestone square, in front of a microphone, a grim look on his face. I gulp. “Thank you all for coming,” he says uncertainly. “I have sad news for all of you. Our enemy for the last eight thousand years, since the Great War of Division and Prophecy, the Republic of the Ocean, has launched an airstrike attack on the Factory, where all citizens of the Sky Republic years fifteen and up work. The airstrike was by a battalion of one hundred fighter planes. The Factory was completely destroyed. No one survived.” Here, his voice cracks, and his composure wavers a little as the crowd of citizens broke out into pandemonium, many crying for their family members who had worked at the Factory, many crying out in nameless fear. “What I can tell you now,” our leader continues, “is that I will keep you all safe as best I can. I will not let anyone else perish in the face of impending danger. Meeting dismissed. For now, life must continue on as usual.” He ends his announcement in clipped tones. I stare, amber eyes wide. I touch a hand to my face and only then notice trickles of tears falling from my eyes. People begin to recover from the initial shock of hearing of the demise of their families, leaving the square in tightly packed groups, some crying, some still shocked. Soon, Gavin and I are the only ones left in the now-empty Square. Even the leader is gone. “We have to do something,” I say, voice tense and strained with fear. “We can’t just let this happen. You know the leader won’t do what he says he’ll do. He never does enough.” “Isilynn, I want you to know I—“ Gavin begins.
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“Fine! Just be like the rest of them. You never did believe me with this type of thing. The Ocean Republic leader is a monster. He took my mom, my dad, and my brother away from me. My brother Collin, Gavin! He was only fifteen!” I’m nearly screaming. “—agree with you.” He finishes. “You’re right.” His voice is bleak, full of despair. “O-oh. I’m sorry,” I whisper, embarrassed. “So… I know this is dangerous, but are you up for a little reconnaissance? Sneak out in the middle of the night and infiltrate the Ocean Republic?” I bow my head, sure he’d say no. But he doesn’t. “I’ll go. You’re right. We can’t just…do nothing.” His words, clear and resolute, cleave the air like a knife. We leave the Square, again walking together in silence. That night, we meet at the interior of the Sky Republic’s walls. We silently creep through an unnoticed hole that we both know the location of, and we’re outside our city. The brightly lit lights of the Ocean Republic are barely visible in the distance, about a mile away. We set off in silence, walking towards the lights. Within fifteen minutes we are there. Buildings and towers loom up huge, bright lights shining like glitter sprinkled on a background of black paper. We creep forward, staying close to the walls, hiding in the shadows. Under the cover of the dim light we inch forward and—and— “Stop.” It’s a guard speaking—we’ve been caught. He steps forward, the top half of his face shrouded in shadows, his mouth curled in an ugly smile, and in a voice deep and cruel, says, “One hit from this gun and you’ll fall asleep and never wake up.” He brandishes a gun, the moonlight glimmering off the barrel, black as night. “Little girl, you’ve been sneaking in the wrong place in the wrong time. Bad little children must be punished.” His voice is singsong, the tones of a madman. “Please, Mr. Guard. I’m lost,” I plead, acting the part of a lost little girl. “I got lost in the city and I’m trying to find my way home. Can you help me?” I finish plaintively. The guard seems to think about the ridiculous story I had come up with on the spot. I stand there, palms sweaty and clammy, gaze flitting around like a butterfly. Then, suddenly, I see Gavin sneak up behind him, large rock in hand. He bring the rock down on the guard’s head, who immediately goes limp. I let out the breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. “Gavin, let’s go,” I say nervously. “Who cares about reconnaissance now? We’ve got to get out of here.” I look around anxiously—every second spent here is dangerous. Gavin nods, and we take off running, running, running, back home. The next morning I wake up, safe and sound in my own bed. I quickly get up and get ready, eating a quick breakfast. The house is so lonely and empty and just so sad without my family in it. I catch myself wondering when WAMS Ink Issue #6 - April 2015
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they’ll come back, and then I remember that they’re gone. I take a few moments to go to their bedrooms and look at their pictures, for remembrance. I take a look at Collin’s smiling face. He seems so young, his black hair blowing in his face and yet he is gone. My parents smile too, their eyes twinkling with good-natured humor. Tears fall from my eyes, their fragile forms shattering when they meet the wooden floor. I curl up on the floor, hugging the photographs of my family. All dead, all gone. I must’ve fallen asleep, because the sharp wailing of the emergency sirens jolt me to wakefulness. I glance at the clock. I’ve slept all the way until three in the morning. I’d woken up holding the photographs tight, and I jump to my feet. The photographs clatter to the floor, their glass covers shattering, shards of glass scattered across the floor. Picking up a shard, I carefully curl my fingers around it, and place it gently on a photograph, on all that is left of my family. I pick up my jacket, and run down the stairs and out the front door. In the city, it’s absolute chaos. “Isilynn! Isilynn! Where are you?” Gavin calls anxiously, as I run to him. He tells me, “We’re being attacked! Hurry!” We’ve practiced drills for this type of situation. We’re supposed to report to the underground Bunker, where there is enough food and water to sustain us for at least half a year. I don’t plan on going. I’d decided, as soon as I had found out that the Ocean Republic was attacking, that I would stay, fight, avenge my family. Children are screaming, scared, without parents to reassure them. Of course, there is the government to protect us, but they won’t be enough, I realize, as soon as I see the huge masses of the Ocean Republic’s fighting force, an easy ten thousand as opposed to our three thousand, I estimate. Then, all of a sudden, I have a revelation—we won’t bring them down fighting. We can only take down this enemy by taking down their driving force—their leader. I’m jolted back to the present, Gavin calling my name. “I’m not going, Gavin. I need to avenge my family. It wasn’t their time to die. I would never be able to let go, knowing that I hid like a coward and let my family’s killers go free. I’m going to take the leader down. Go, Gavin. Be safe. I can’t lose you, too.” I look away, sadly. I leave him behind as I run to the side of the street, behind a building, watching the army advance while I stay hidden, out of sight, so as not to be seen and sent to hide. The two armies meet with a clash like lightning and thunder, and fighting ensues. I close my eyes, opening them a minute later. I see a large convoy of enemy fighters at the back of the Ocean ranks. They’re very heavily armed, and I can see that they are protecting someone in their midst—the leader. I tiptoe out of my hiding spot, and run by the fringes of the melee. In the chaos, I pick up a gun, the same type of gun the guard had threatened Gavin and me with, and keep on going. Miraculously, WAMS Ink Issue #6 - April 2015
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I reach the last of the army ranks, where the leader is hidden. I load the gun, and run for the leader and his guards. Immediately, strong hands grab my shoulders and arms and hold me back. I thrash around, fighting to get free, managing to aim my gun at the Ocean Republic leader, now in view, as so many of his guards are restraining me. Then, in the edges of my vision, I see Gavin run to me, yelling my name though I can’t hear him, and I see him fall, the light fading from his eyes. I realize that he must have stayed behind and fought. Pain lances through my side like a knife. For me. Which means that this is my fault. He’s not dead, but asleep. For forever. The fighters started noticing, and grow silent, one by one. I am forced to the ground, a knife against my throat. I know shooting will ensure my death, but I am ready to do it anyway. I have nothing to lose. I’ve already lost my family, my best friend. Suddenly, a pure white hawk with an ebony-black beak, black-edged wings and luminous silver eyes flutters down from the sky, landing on my wrist. Our Ruler of the Sky notices and his eyes grow wide as coins. The Ocean leader notices too. He motions to his guards to let me go, and I lower the gun. The leaders chant, in unison, “She who the white hawk hails is fated to rule the sky and the ocean. She who the white hawk hails will wake the ones in eternal slumber.” It sounds as though they’re saying a mantra, or a prophecy, and then I realize they’re talking about me. Me? Wake the ones in eternal slumber? Then I realize that that means Gavin and the others wounded with sleep bullets. The prophecy must have been the one from the War of Division and Prophecy. The fighting forces, sensing the gravity of the situation, kneel in respect. The white hawk takes flight, and spirals up into the sky, as graceful and pure as a snowflake falling to earth, growing smaller, smaller, smaller, until I can no longer see it. I walk over to Gavin, still and asleep on the ground. His arm has a red line across it, from the sleep bullet grazing his arm and working its deadly magic. I kneel next to him, taking his ice-cold hand in both of mine. “Gavin,” I plead. “Gavin, can you hear me?” I ask plaintively, as he lies there, still and quiet. “Gavin,” I intone, “I call you back.” I bow my head, expecting nothing to happen. Then, he opens his eyes. “Isilynn…?” he begins weakly, disbelievingly, and I crush him in a hug, big, salty tears rushing down my face. “You came back,” I say softly, my voice breaking. “I thought I’d lost my best friend forever.” I let go, and he gets up, and embraces me. “People of the Republics, rise!” I call. “From now, we will live in peace and harmony! We will build a city—our city and we will be known as the Republic of the Ocean and the Sky! Now, this eightWAMS Ink Issue #6 - April 2015
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thousand-year-old conflict is over! The prophecy is fulfilled, and our symbol will be the white hawk. I will wake the sleeping and we will treat our injured. Together! We will rebuild our world together!” My voice grows stronger with each word, more confident. In a rallying cheer louder than even the battle, all the fighters yell in unison, Ocean and Sky Republics alike, “TOGETHER! WE WILL REBUILD OUR WORLD TOGETHER!” Gavin and I turn towards the horizon. The sun is just beginning to rise, turning the sky a variation of beautiful hues of red, orange, yellow, purple, and pink, its bright, hopeful rays making the whole sky lighter. The sight of the beautiful sunrise fills me with optimism and hope, and I look ahead and glimpse a bright future. I grasp Gavin’s hand, and we watch our new world dawn, together.
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The Blank World By: Karenna B. 7th Grade Winning Writing Fair Science Fiction Story You wouldn’t notice by looking around. Things don’t really look any different. So why do they feel different? The grass is still mostly green, birds still chirping. But you have this feeling, deep inside the core of everything you know. It’s a feeling of unsettlement that can’t be pinpointed with a specific cause. Everything is tinged with confusion; as if you picked up a key you had touched moments before and found it felt completely different. Your key must have been accidently swapped with a stranger’s. That’s how you feel right now. The deep breath you take to try and calm yourself down and the glance you peeked at your surroundings both feel foreign. Somehow, your body knows what’s going on, but it isn’t until you see it that your brain confirms it. It’s a person. The first person you’ve seen since this feeling came on. He is walking towards you. Not right to you, but near you, and you think he is are just out doing his daily business. You must be sick. You are going to go home and rest till you feel better. But that’s not true. And you know this when the person’s eyes come into view. You’re not sick, but something is seriously wrong. His eyes are blank. Not in a threatening way. Just blank. Sure, he can hear, smell, touch, taste, and see. But he isn’t thinking. He isn’t thinking in a way that ponders the unknown. Though that is what everybody used to do. He is just existing. But you’re different. You are thinking. So what’s different about you? This thought sends you into yet another whirlwind of confusion. You might not know, but I do. I can tell you, but you have to promise to keep it a secret. Because it is the most important thing you will ever know. You have the power to do what needs to be done. You think. You are always thinking, and you always will be. Like me, you are a decider. And you must decide. You see, a few years back they made the change. They thought it would be good for us. That communism would work. So they “switched the grid” as you could say. They made everything “fair” and “equal”. But it didn’t work out the way they expected. Humans need to WAMS Ink Issue #6 - April 2015
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think to live. They need to make their own decisions and choose their own paths. So as you can guess, after a year of not doing that, humans stopped living. Yes, they were surviving. But they weren’t living. The communism took over everyone. It even took the ones who chose it in the first place. Sorry, I shouldn’t say everyone, because there are a few left. Some of us thought too much and too deeply. That’s how we ended up how we are. Real thinking people with thoughts that run through the core of existence. You are one of us. I know this must sound like every science fiction story ever invented. And it does. But this one is real. And in this one, there is no real enemy. Nor is there a real hero. There is just the world. And decisions that need to be made. Actions that need to be taken. You can do those things. We can do those things. Let me tell you how it started. Because only then will we be able to continue. Only then will we decide. I woke up one morning in the bed I had slept in millions of times before. But, it felt different. Not uncomfortable, just unfamiliar. Cool and uninviting instead of warm and comfy. That’s how it started. A feeling of change. And then all went crazy. I got up with the hairs on the back of my neck prickling. My movements were sluggish, like I was up to my chin in water. I had a gut feeling. I would not be in my room for a while. I put on sturdy jeans and a T-shirt with sneakers, and grabbed a jacket. At the time not knowing what I was doing. But I was preparing. The backpack filled with a few of my prized possessions was on my back before I even realized I had packed it. Walking down the stairs I remember the eerie silence. Silence, but not exactly. Everything was muffled, though I could tell my senses were on overdrive. Eyes dilated with fear. Or knowledge. To this day, I’m not really sure. Continuing down the hallway, I could sense my mom making breakfast. I could SENSE it! Not see, smell, taste, feel or hear, but sense. I didn’t think much of it. Back then I guess I was too confused. Then, I was in the kitchen and my mom was smiling up at me saying, “Morning!” You’re probably thinking, it’s just your mom, she’s just telling you ‘good morning.’ But, you weren’t there. You didn’t see the look in her eyes, the smile on her face. You have NO
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IDEA. It wasn’t real. Her eyes weren’t seeing me. And her smile was shiny. Fake, but she didn’t know it was fake. “Mom?” I whimper. “Yes, Honey?” “Are you ok?” I ask. “Of course sweetie. Now, would you like some breakfast?” she replies. I don’t know what’s wrong or how it happened. It’s not like she is evil or incomprehensive. She’s just blank. And I need to get away. “Uh, n-no th-thanks Mom. I have t-to get to school early t-today,” I stutter. “Ok Hun, see you later!” my mom states. I open the door and then I’m running. I don’t know where or how long, but I run. Every time I pass people, I can see their thoughts. I can sense their beings. And they are all blank. Wind rushes in my ears and the world gets blurry until I can’t even see. Finally I stop cold. Because I see her. My friend. Even my best friend and she is blank too. How, why, when it happened, I don’t know. But it did. I collapse. For how long I sat there, I will never know. With a blur of blank people going about blank things with blank thoughts and blank emotions. Then, suddenly I find myself in the woods. I must have walked in there, but I don’t even remember. Things are peaceful. Unchanged. That’s how it dawns on me. Maybe people didn’t change, maybe I did. I can’t believe that this happened. I’m all alone. A non-blank person in a blank world. I know this probably still doesn’t make sense. I don’t really get it either. But I’ve pieced a few things together after being in the woods for about a year. I’ve been constantly thinking. And I think I know what to do. Today, right now, I stumbled across you. And you’re not blank. You’re REAL. I’m about to come out and tell you. We will fix this. We will decide.
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When the Past and Future Converge By: Katelyn K. 7th Grade Writing Fair Winning Science Fiction Story “Noooo!” I screamed, jolting myself out of the prison of my dreams. I woke up panting, blue eyes wide and my curly red hair sticking out at odd angles from tossing and turning in my sleep. “It’s only a dream,” I chided, “Only a dream.” The same dream, though, I had been having for months, except worse, much worse. It had only been three months since my father left, in the same manner that all of the other poor citizens who had been manipulated for King Ember’s benefit departed. Nothing was the same after my father left, leaving me to fend for myself in 25th century Nonopes, hiding in fear inside my burned out hut that was so feeble, I couldn’t go up to the second floor for fear of falling through the floor to the hard ground below. Outside wasn’t much better, for nothing but dirt and weeds crowned the Earth, and the smog filled skies burned my eyes and throat, limiting the view to a half-mile in front of me. My father told me that it had been like this since the oil ran out hundreds of years ago, and the world was plunged into darkness. Everyone in Nonopes was so desperate for revival, they believed King Ember’s empty promises for success and gave him the throne. Things only got worse after he took power, when he began to select citizens for his council meetings. That’s what everyone thought he was choosing them for, but I know the real reason why he began taking twenty-five people into his palace each month; to supply the power to run his palace and keep his heart beating. That’s why King Ember is the only man in Nonopes with electricity; he extracts the energy from the strongest body part of each of his twenty-five captives and converts it into electricity. Some of the power is used to run his castle, but most of it is run through wires into his heart; which is so cold, it couldn’t continue beating on its own. The brain power of all of Nonopes greatest inventors, the muscular strength of its working men, and the kindness in the hearts of all of its generous people was robbed, and no one ever knew it. WAMS Ink Issue #6 - April 2015
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“At least just knowing about this underhanded plot makes me better off than most,” came the optimistic thought as I was putting on my sneakers for the day. The thousand year-old sneakers looked like they had been amputated, burned, and then amputated again, but I didn’t care how awful they looked or how uncomfortable the flapping soles felt while I ran, for they were my father’s, and the last memory of him I had. Immediately after I was dressed, I ran out the opening at the back of my house that was supposed to be a door, and headed for the junkyard about half a mile to the back. I knew that hanging out there made me a hoarder and an outsider in society’s eyes, but I didn’t care, for nothing intrigued me more than looking for old scrap parts to make into something new. As I was rummaging through the junk pile, just loud enough to be heard over the clanking of the scrap metal, came the deep, gloating voice that I dreaded more than being taken to a council meeting. “Assemble!” King Ember intensely demanded. The first thought I had after hearing that voice came rolling through my head like a clap of thunder, Run! Unfortunately, I was a moment too late, for as soon as I turned to bolt, one of King Ember’s hawk-eyed guards spotted me behind the junk pile, and began pursuing me as fast as his legs could carry him. Frantically, I took off, running as fast I could away from the guard, my heart pounding against my chest, as eager to escape as a caged animal. I dashed around corners and ducked under fallen debris, but as hard as I tried to lose the guard, he only seemed to be gaining on me. As I dived around another corner, I quickly peered backwards over my shoulder to catch a glimpse of my pursuer. In seeing his stone-cold face wrought with unwavering hatred, I was struck with a twang of fear, and before I knew it, I was falling head-first over a large junk pile into the unforgiving dirt. As my head struck the ground, all I saw was the same hatred as on the face of my pursuer, but on the face of two guards as I stood there helplessly watching my father being torn away from me. Shaking from my brief moment of shock, I slowly hoisted myself off of the ground to find that I was missing my right shoe and my pursuer gone. Grumbling from the pain and annoyance at the loss of my shoe, I began to search around the junk pile until I found it. As I WAMS Ink Issue #6 - April 2015
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began to slip it back on, two neatly folded pieces of paper fluttered out from underneath the shoe’s loose sole. Puzzled, I recovered the sheets of paper and unfolded the smaller sheet. My small mouth hung wide open, I began to read the tiny rows of straight letters that I had become so accustomed to reading; my own father’s handwriting. The words flew past my eyes as I wildly read the note that my father had addressed to me: Dear Alexis, I have struggled to write this note to you over, and over, and over again because there really is no good way to say this. I am about to be taken to my death by King Ember’s guards for treason against the King. Though it may sound like it, I am not a criminal, but an inventor of an alternative energy source that can change our world forever. I have confidently entrusted you, my most beloved and capable daughter, with the last copy of blueprints detailing my invention. Good luck and all my love, Samuel Anderson (Dad)
Tears streaming down my face, I tore open the blueprints and marveled at my father’s invention, brooding on how hopelessly I had failed him. Why would he leave this for me, I cried out in my mind, Doesn’t he see that it has ruined my world already? That it confirms my fears that he really is gone, and doubles my chances of being captured, too? Enraged and unable to control myself, I threw down the blueprints and raced home as fast as I could, collapsed onto my bed, and fell deep into the bottomless pit of my sleep. *
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When I woke up the next morning, collected and fresh, the events of the previous day seemed so far away and out of reach that they hardly bothered me at all. It’s a new day, I thought, No council meetings or hawk-eyed guards, or even mysterious notes from deceased kin. Pausing, I considered all that had happened. Boy, is my life strange, I finally concluded. Excited to enjoy a normal, uneventful day, I clambered out into the junkyard to take my mind off things. While searching through the heaping pile of odds and ends, I found lots of old scrap parts that fit together perfectly. As I sifted through the rubbish to find one last finishing
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touch, I discovered something that I would never have thought to look for in that junk pile; the scratched, dirt-covered, beaming face of a little boy. “Nice to meet ’cha!” the head cheerfully cried. “Ahhh!” I screamed, cowering away from the pile to escape the talking head. “What is it?” The head questioned as, to my relief, it emerged from the heap of parts with a skinny body attached. Standing before me was a small boy who looked about twelve years old, but seemed to be covered with a million years worth of dirt and scrapes. His deep brown eyes stared at me from a dark face, made completely visible by his short, black hair which clung to his head, tucked away from his face. “What are you doing in there?” I exclaimed, my heart still pounding from the shock of his appearance. “Well excuse me for taking the liberty of dwelling in my own home,” the boy indignantly replied. “You live in that?” I asked, pointing to the junk pile. Astonished that he could live in such conditions, I was suddenly grateful for my own home. “Yep,” he proudly stated, “Best quarters around. I’m surprised you haven’t noticed me before, ‘cause you seem pretty observant to me. Good thing I’ve noticed you, or else I wouldn’t be able to give you this.” My heart skipped a beat when I first caught a glimpse of the large blue paper the boy pulled out from underneath the junk pile, and my first thought was that this was all a bad dream, that no one could possibly live in a junk pile, or have found my father’s blueprints and known to give them to me. Sadly, this was not so, for as I gingerly took the blueprints from the boy’s hands, the smooth paper on my hands and the fresh, inky smell of my father’s favorite pen seemed all too specific to be in a dream. “When I saw you drop the paper, I knew I had to return it to you, ‘cause something like that must be important, right?” The boy sheepishly explained. “Yeah,” I mumbled, my eyes cast downwards towards the blueprints, “Too important to ignore...” As I stared down at the blueprints and let everything that had happened sink in, I WAMS Ink Issue #6 - April 2015
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realized how selfish I had been, and the depth of my mistake. “I need to make this right,” I declared, “Nonopes needs my help, and King Ember must be brought to justice.” It’s what father would have wanted, I added in my head. “Help me,” I pleaded, facing the boy, “I can’t do this alone.” “Max, just Max, is at your service.” The boy joked, executing an exaggerated bow. “But before he agrees to anything, he needs to know what it is that he is doing.” Max slyly inquired, smiling. “Max’s help would be most welcome.” I replied, mimicking his proper accent. Then, returning to all seriousness, I mysteriously whispered, “Want to help me save the world? The invention that can save it is already planned out in these blueprints, so all we need to do is build it.” “Really? You want me to help?” Max clarified, his eyes wide with disbelief. “Of course!” I cried, “Without you, this solution would have been lost forever! It would be amazing if you were to help, for you seem to be great with your hands.” “Let’s do it!” Max cheered, his excitement reflected in his eyes. “Alright,” I puffed, wondering where to begin. “Since you know this junkyard like the back of your hand, can you find me all of the parts on this list so that I can assemble them?” “Yes ma’am,” Max chanted, stiffening into a salute before bounding off into the junkyard to search for reusable parts. In about five minutes he was back, doubled over from the weight of the rubbish he was carrying in his arms. Everything in the pile fit the design perfectly, and as I began to assemble the pieces to form my father’s invention, Max ran off again until he had recovered more parts to bring back to me. We continued on in this manner until nightfall, Max running all over the junkyard while I tried to keep my frustration at bay as I attempted to piece together the impossible puzzle my father had planned. It wasn’t until the moon shone down upon the Earth like a flame in the black night that my father’s invention was finally complete. “Wow,” Max breathlessly remarked, gazing at the majestic mechanism before us. “I couldn’t have done it without you,” I gratefully reminded him. “Help me take it back to my place?” After dragging the large gadget almost a half-mile back to my house, Max and I WAMS Ink Issue #6 - April 2015
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stashed it where no one would look to find it, and flopped onto my bed. Despite our wonderment about the events of the next day, exhaustion quickly overtook us, and pulled a dark blanket over our mind and eyes, allowing us to enter the limitless bounds of our dreams. *
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As the distant sun began to illuminate the dust particles wandering in the sky, Max and I began plotting to bring the fall of the king. "This invention," I wearily explained, remembering that walls have ears, "repurposes and transforms the energy exerted from the task of walking." Gesturing to a large mat attached to a round metal chamber by tangled red and blue wires, I continued, "Whenever someone walks on this mat, the kinetic energy they exert while moving will be absorbed by the mat and run through these wires into this transformer that converts it into electrical energy." Max's face twisted into a knot as he pondered what I had said, and began to relax as he understood. Acknowledging that I had to explain no more, I hinted, "There's a council meeting today." Each thinking the same thing, we covered the invention with a tarp to avoid suspicion, hoisted the load up onto our shoulders, and bolted out into the clearing where every council meeting was held, ready to put our unspoken plan into action. "Quick," I whispered urgently, "Everyone will arrive soon." With utmost speed and cooperation, we hid the transformer behind a rock and concealed the mat and wiring under the dirt. Almost immediately after we had finished, the all too familiar voice of King Ember rang through the desolate field, setting my ears ablaze. "Assemble!" He roared, revealing himself as thousands of his innocent subjects scrambled into his presence. King Ember’s cold face was distorted by scars and burn marks, and his short black hair clung to his head in odd places. He stood on a platform built into the castle walls, wearing a red shirt with a brown cape draped around his neck, and tall black boots with large buckles protruding up his legs. Summoning all of my courage and anger at King Ember, I bellowed, "Stop!" One by one, thousands of wide eyed citizens turned to look at the last person they would have expected to see, me. "Do you ever wonder why your kin never returns from inside King Ember's walls, WAMS Ink Issue #6 - April 2015
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despite their promises to reunite with you? Or that it's strange that King Ember is the only man in Nonopes with power? If you do, you’re on the right track. King Ember isn’t taking us to his council meetings, he’s enslaving us to extract energy from our bodies to turn into electricity!” I fumed, trying to make the crowd understand their perilous plight. A murmur of protest and disbelief erupted from the crowd. “She’s right,” maintained a strangely familiar voice from behind King Ember. Using all of his strength, a crippled man rose up from behind King Ember, wearing a metallic cap with thousands of wires connecting it to King Ember’s heart. His bony face and body was scratched and bleeding, but his short brown hair, blue eyes, and pale lips were just as I remembered. “I am a captive of King Ember who is being robbed of his brain power. I am living proof that my daughter is right.” My daughter… I started as King Ember pushed my father down and ordered his guards to seize everyone. As the crowd broke into a frenzied panic, the loose soles of my shoes slapped the dirt as I ran over to Max who was intently monitoring the fueling of the transformer, yet unaware of the guard approaching to his rear. “Max! Watch…Huuuh!” I gasped as the air was torn from my lungs, and I was forced back by a guard who had caught me by the collar of my shirt. Dangling in mid-air and choking on my bland, dirt-covered collar and the taste of fear in my mouth as the guard held me up, my eyes rolled over to Max who was suffering the same punishment. From the middle of the abandoned field, King Ember approached in a painfully slow manner, as if to prolong our torture. Examining Max and I like two new swords hanging on his castle walls, King Ember murderously started, “Look what we have…” In a flash of light, I felt myself falling to the ground as a scream of agony pierced the air. Then, all was silent as the sleek, black crows circling overhead chanted their death song.
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