new writing

This semester I took another creative writing class, so I decided I should share some of my work. There are three poems and one short fiction story. Please leave comments if you have suggestions for me. I'm ALWAYS looking for ways to improve!

simulation

The sun seems extra bright today. I don't know why that is, for it's actually the same brightness every day. Never a cloud in the sky, a drop of rain, a flake of snow, a bolt of lightning. But we don't need those things in Pleasantview. The grass is always lush and bright green, and it never needs mowing. The trees never lose their leaves, never grow taller, never get diseased. And though I can hear the sound of a chirping bird or a barking dog, they can't be seen. They are just part of nature's sounds.

I stand between my mailbox and my garbage can and stare at the house in front of me. My new home--split-level and cream-colored with rose bushes in the front yard. My parents walk up the wood steps to the front door and go inside, taking baby Logan with them. I start to follow, but just as I get to the steps my feet stop.

Come on, Alaina," my brother calls. "We're going to be late for school."

So I follow my twin brother Luke and little sister Annalee down the sidewalk to school.

***

"Say goodbye to the Arkyns," the bus driver says.

"Goodbye, Arkyns!" the other kids on the bus say.

I step down from the bus and look at the two things in my hand: a blue notebook and a white slip of paper saying, "Today's Report Card: C."

Inside, Mom and Dad sit on the couch reading books in silence. Upstairs Luke sits at the computer playing some kind of game that makes his whole body dance back and forth as his virtual character dodges objects. I shake my head at him and set my homework down on the floor by the computer desk.

I go to my room. It's pink. All pink. I don't mind pink, but this.... This is overboard. The walls are painted pastel pink, and both Annalee's and my bedspreads are pink with blue and pink flowers on them. They look like somethingI would have liked at Annalee's age, but I'm fourteen, not eight. There's a pink teddy bear chair, a pink castle bed, and a pink toy chest. And on one wall is one pick over-sized dresser. I don't know that we need a dresser that size. I can't recall other clothes that I have except for a dress, pajamas, work-out clothes, and a swimsuit. Annalee owns the same. But, nevertheless, we have a dresser.

I walk down the hall and peer into Luke and Logan's room. Blue everywhere. Whatever happened to originality? Sports memorabilia covers the walls and shelves. On one side of the room is Luke's bed. Logan's crib and changing tableare on the other side. Logan snores softly in his crib. His stomach heaves and falls. He's so peaceful. I could watch him for hours.

My feet start moving automatically out of the room. Wait, I don't want to move. Why am I moving? But I can't stop myself. My feet carry me downstairs.

What are you reading," I ask.

"Cooking," Mom says without looking up.

"Mechanical," Dad says.

I turn on the television and flip through the channels. "Um, Dad, why do we only have four channels?"

"What do you mean, dear?"

"Look at this,"and I navigate through the channels. "See? Only four."

Dad glances over his book. "I don't know. There must be something on that you like, though."

I settle on the news, for that's all that looks remotely interesting.

"Houses in the city lose power after the power plant shuts down due to lack of funding. Sources say that the plant should be up within the week, and they caution homeowners not to panic."

The screen changes frames to another anchor. "Mortimer Goth was found dead this morning lying on the kitchen floor in the fetal position. Investigators said that Goth had no food in his fridge, and with hardly any money to his name, he starved to death."

Then to the weatherman. "We've seen some great weather today with highs and lows of seventy-five degrees. Tonight should cool off to seventy degrees. And for our five-day forecast, we see a beautiful week ahead of us, with highs and lows of seventy-five degrees throughout the week, and it's looking to be a gorgeous weekend."

Of its own accord, my hand flips the channel with the remote to the "Yummy Channel." A man chops vegetables, stirs them in a bowl, and then puts them in a pan on the stove. Suddenly, the stove bursts into flames and the fire alarm wails. The cook hops back and forth, screaming, until the flames engulf him, and then time for a commercial break. Wait...did the man die, or did he live? After the commercial, the same chef is chopping vegetables just as before. He stirs them in a bowl, he puts them in a pan on the stove, and again the fire blares, the alarm screams, and the chef dies, or at least is covered in flames. Commercial again.

"Are they just playing the same thing over and over?" I say, but Mom and Dad continue reading and don't even look up.

The school bus pulls up in front of our house again, and Annalee hops down the steps. She walks in the door and up the stairs to put her homework next to mine and Luke's on the floor by the computer desk. I turn the TV off and sit for a minute before going upstairs to paint on the easel that is in the hallway. Just as I get upstairs, my feet move on their own again, pulling me to the bathroom. I don't have to go. I don't want to go. I want to paint, but my feet won't let me go the way I want to go. I sit on the toilet, and when I look down, my lap is completely blurry.

"What is going on?" I whisper.

When I'm done and stand up, my mid-section returns to normal--no more blurry. I sit on the toilet again. Blurry. Up. Clear. I'm pulled to the sink, and I wash my hands. The water burns, but the temperature doesn't change when I turn the knobs on the faucet. I go back to the easel, but my feet stick to the floor. Annalee walks in front of me.

"Help me with my homework," she demands.

"Do your own homework."

"Help me!"

"No," I say again, but I follow her to her notebook anyway and stand behind her. "Okay, let's see.... Write the word 'orphan.'" She sticks her tongue between her teeth as she writes the word. "Now write the word 'losing.'" She writes it. "'Isolated' is the next word."

As Annalee spells "isolated" she says, "Lainy, do you know how to spell these words?"

"Yes. I learned them in school," I start to say, but the words catch in my throat. "Actually, I don't know. I don't remember." My mind races back. I see myself looking at by blurry torso. Back further. I'm watcfhing the chef being burned. Further. I am getting off the bus. Even further. I am standing by the mailbox before school. Further.... My memories halt. Before the mailbox. I'm trying to remember before the mailbox. But nothing comes to mind. I can't see anything before this morning. I try to concentrate on school. I remember walking down the sidewalk, and the next thing I knew, I was getting off the bus. I squint my eyes, concentrating on before the bus. All I can come up with is walking downthe sidewalk to school. I don't even remember arriving at school.

"Annie, do you remember what you did at school today?"

"Yes."

"What did you do?"

"I got this homework."

I hesitate. "Yeah, but what about before you got the homework?"

"I was at school."

"I know you were at school, but what did you do there?"

"I don't know." She pauses. "I did whatever we do when we're at school."

"Luke, do you remember school?" I say.

He has stopped his computer game and is not hunched over his notebook on the floor beside Annalee. "Yeah, I went to school," he says, not looking up.

"What did you do?"

He thinks for a minute. "I went to school, and I came home."

My brow furrows. "Doesn't it bother you that you don't remember what happened between that time? I mean the time between when you went to school and when you came home."

"No."

"It doesn't?"

"No."

"Not at all?"

Logan starts screaming. Mom comes upstairs. "I"m so glad to see you three working together on your homework. How sweet," she says, and she disappears into Logan's room. When she emerges she is carrying Logan. "What shall we have for dinner, Annalee?"

"Hamburgers."

"Hamburgers? I don't know how to make that. How about mac and cheese?" Mom says.

"Salad, then."

"I don't know how to make that either. I'll make mac and cheese."

"Do you knwo how to make anything besides mac and cheese for dinner?" I ask.

"Of course I do, Alaina."

"Like what?"

Her smile remains plastered on her face. "I'm going to make mac and cheese for dinner."

"Lainy, what'sthe next word?" Annalee whines.

"Oh, sorry. Um... 'action.' the next word is 'action.'"

Through the window I see the sky go from clear, bright blue to black.

"Seven o'clock," Luke says.

"How do you know?" I say.

"The sky. It's dark. That means it's seven."

"NEXT!" Annalee yells.

***

We all sit down at the dinner table. Dad moves his hand over his plate and inhales the cheesyscent before he eats. Logan sits in his high chair and shakes his feet. He's beginning to get impatient, but he remains quiet. Annalee picks up her bowl and shovels her food into her mouth. Bits of noodles and cheese fly from the bowl. I look at Mom to see if she's going to tell Annalee to slow down, but she ignores her and talks animatedly to Luke about finances. Dad soon picks up his bowl and copies Annalee. Luke burps loudly. Still, Mom says nothing about the behavior around her. An involuntary burp comes from my mouth, emitting a green vapor.

"Excuse me," I say, but nobody even looks up from their food.

Annalee finishes her food and jumps up from the table. "I'm going to play."

"Is your homework done?" Dad says.

"Yes. Lainy helped me."

"Okay dear. Don't play too long. You do need to take a bath tonight," Mom says. she turns back to Luke and continues her conversation. "If you get a part-time job and reach the top of that career track you'll be ahead when you become and adult, and you'll be able to make more money."

I finish my meal and stand up to take care of my and Annalee's bowls, but every time I try to pick up my bowl, my hand sets it down again."

"I'll get it dear. You go do your homework," Dad says.

I situate myself on the floor by the computer desk and begin working on my notebook.

Who's Who

Who were the first settlers in the area? Bob and Betty Newbie

Who is Mortimer Goth's wife? Bella Goth

What happened to Bella Goth? She was abducted by aliens.

The answers seem to go right to the page, completely bypassing my brain, but I don't care. I just want to get this assignment done. I work for an hour or so, but answering one question after another about Pleasantview and its citizens. I am confident that my answers are correct, for my hand automatically writes them. I flip the page--the last page. Suddenly my arms put my notebook on the floor.

"Wait, I'm not done," I say, but I can't make myself pick it up. I go to my room. I'm not sure where Annalee is. I thought she was playing in here, but I guess not. Perhaps she snuck past me while I was doing my homework. I start to walk to the bathroom, but my feet stick to the floor. My arms pull me into a twist-hop, and I emerge wearing purple pajamas.

***

I wake up and get out of bed. It's five o'clock, though I'm not sure why I know that. I just know that I'm not tired anymore. Annalee is not in her bed. I creep silently to the boys' room. No brother in the crib, no brother in the bed.

"Luke? Annalee?" I call out into the dark house. I want to turn on a light, but there are no light switches. "Luke? This isn't funny..." I trail off.

The wooden stairs feel cold on my bare feet. Mom and Dad aren't in their bed either. "Mom? Are you in the kitchen?"

The silence in the house pricks my ears. No one in the kitchen. They couldn't have left me. I mean, where would they have gone? We're new here. We don't know anyone, and we don't know where anything is. I go out to the backyard. The water in the swimming pool glimmers in the moonlight. I see something in the shadow under the trees beside the pool, but I'm not sure what it is. A bench? A bush? A rock? I walk closer. Graves. Stone graves. My eyes dart to the pool, and the ladder is missing.

"No way. This can't be happening."

I touch the cold stone. It's definitely real. I cup my hands to my face and let out a few quick sobs. I feel something--is it pain? Sorrow? Confusion? Guilt? The pool ladder materializes before me."

"Wait! No!"

My body turns. I try not to turn. I try to keep my feet firmly planted, but I can't help it. I climb down the ladder into the pool. But I don't have a choice. I begin swimming across the pool. I go back and forth, swimming laps. My arms tire. The sky flips from navy-black to cerulean blue in an instant. Seven o'clock. My body can hardly move, and I need to get ready for school. I swim over to the side of the pool. The ladder is gone again.

"What the....Help!" I yell, but I don't know who would help me. "Help me! I'm going to drown! I can't get out of the pool!" My arms flail about. I jerk my head to the sky to scream to the heavens. Not a cloud in the sky. Just a green diamond.

while listening to carrie underwood's "what can i say"

Wind gathers speed and careens through the canyon,
Whips my hair and plasters it on my sticky, sweaty face,
Wildly slaps my cheeks and pulls me to the right.
While I finger the buttons on my iPod
We don't talk, don't acknowledge one another's presence.
Walk slowly. Wait for the right moment to say the right thing.
Wind gathers speed.

the candle that flickers last

The candle that flickers last lights the room
in dimness. Creepers lurk in quiet corners,
down empty halls, through crimson curtains,
muffling and hiding whispering warners.

The candle that flickers last breathes a sigh,
heats the skin that devils prick.
But glowing embers can't hid this flame
that floats lonely atop wax and wick.

The candle that flickers last goes out.
Ghostly fibers of smoke rise,
cobalt threads swirl to the ceiling
and enhance the disguise.

Shattered shards of glass.
Dark dispersing fast.
Iridescent mask.

appropriate uses for washer fluid

Canadian bacon sizzles in grease on the stove.
Mangos ripen as we speak, in delectable salsa on the table.
Powdered sugar makes Mom sneeze into the pie.
We'll still eat it.
Mom calls us to dinner.

An absent car.
A garage floor of old oil.
Dad's fixing the jalopy again.
Backfires, toot-toots of horns, screeching breaks--
and the loud rumble of the garage door closing.

I call Dad in to eat,
but he doesn't answer.
Out on the porch I bellow to him,
but he doesn't answer.
I stomp to the garage
and rap on the dented metal,
but he doesn't answer.

"Daddy?"
He looks up from the hood
with grease on his face
and rusty screws between his teeth.
In his hand is a bottle of green liquid.
"Don't want to get down the road
with no way to clean the windshield."

Impatient huffs, hungry gurgles, and rolling eyes
don't make him hurry any faster.