YGMM: Take a Bath

JournalWord: "Take a bath."

::

Chris sighs and flips a page. Her patient’s file is practically a novel and she’s going to have to spend the night reading every diagnosis her patient has had over the course of his life. She chews on her pen as she attempts to decipher a particularly interesting mess of scribbles for a prescription of aspirin. Chris leans back on her chair, impatient and drained of energy, and decides a break after four hours at her desk is worth her time.

Chris finds herself in the fridge, scrounging for some orange juice when the front door to the apartment swings open, announcing the arrival of her roommates. 

“Chrisy, you will not believe what happened,” Tristan shouts, trotting to the kitchen. Jones and their border collie pup, Mr. Marbles, trail behind him, hot on his heels. 

Chris shuts the fridge door, the carton of orange juice in her hand, and does a double take at them. They’re dripping wet and muddy. Water is pooling under their feet as they squirm under her scrutiny. The mud clumped to the hem of their shorts is drying and flaking behind them like a dust storm.

“Take a bath,” she orders, daring Mr. Marbles to shake off his fur. She waits for a response but decides to cut Tristan off. “I mean, now.” 

Jones, who has been looking quite miserable since he walked through the door, doesn't hesitate and tucks Mr. Marbles under his arm and strides down the hall to hose the puppy in the tub. Chris grabs a glass from the dish rack and pours herself some juice. Tristan coughs and finds himself a seat at the island across from her, despite her frown. Her eyebrow twitches at the squelch he makes when he sits.

“We were walking Mr. Marbles in the park,” Tristan says, starting his story. He fidgets in his seat for a comfortable position and finally settles, only to shake his blonde mop of grass sprinkled hair. A strand of something leafy plops beside Chris’s glass of juice and she pulls her glass protectively to her side of the island.

Chris begins to open her mouth to remark the inch thick footprints extending from the front door to the rest of the apartment, however she’s interrupted by the howling and clatter of Mr. Marbles’s claws pawing to get out of the bathtub. Tristan and Chris pause to listen to Jones’s irritated ramblings. 

“So, anyways,” Tristan says when the only sound coming from the bathroom is the shower. “We were checking out some girls when we realized, too late, that Marbles was checking out a duck. Next thing we know, we're in the water.”

“Well, yes, you smell like a swamp,” Chris adds, crinkling her nose as she sips her juice. 

“A pond, actually,” he corrects.

A yelp and a splash from the bathroom is given a moment of consideration. Tristan stands up and walks around the island, heading in the direction of his chip cabinet, setting off mines of squeaks every time his soaked sneakers hit the tiles. He opens the cabinet door and consults the array of his favorite snack. 

Chris tenses when he tugs on the collar of his plastered shirt, releasing a ‘pop’ when the wet cotton is forced off his chilled skin. 

“You’re going to get sick,” she states, hoping he’ll take the hint.

He shrugs and grabs a bag, shutting the cabinet door. Tristan has just split open his bag and dusted chip crumbs all over the front of his sticking shirt when Jones marches down the hall, a hand holding up a towel around his waist, his dark hair splattered to his forehead and water dripping into the hallows of his eyes. 

The puppy under his arm barks, sparkling clean and wrapped under his other arm with a towel. Jones strides over to the island, dumping the bundled, squirming puppy into Chris’s arms. He mumbles something under his breath, though Chris only catches “stupid duck” and “so much alien slime”. 

Jones marches his way back down the hallway only to stop, turn around, and grab the back of Tristan’s neck. Tristan drops his bag, adding chips to the growing mess on the hardwood floor. Chris gulps down the last of her juice as she watches Jones drag Tristan to the bathtub in a headlock with Tristan yelling and skidding down the hallway.

Splashing and cursing is the last thing Chris hears when she closes the door to her room.

::

Just a little something from the YGMM Universe. 

This is further along in the timeline, where they have somehow procured a puppy. -shrugs shoulders with a secretive smile- (If you want to know, drop me a hint? *wink!*) 

There's a lot about them that has just been revealed about the trio's behavior here :P I hope you enjoyed it!


I will definitely not be able to post a lot this semester, so I leave this story to amuse you all until I have the time. I'll be occupied by school, volunteering (I got a position at the hospital!) and BCIT application prepping. I hope I survive this semester! >.<!!

Wish me luck and I hope you all have a gnarly time while I'm super busy setting my life in motion :)

Be good ;)
mera!

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Investment

JournalWord: "Because I need your strength."

::

The door to his dungeon slams the wall on two of it's hinges when it's kicked open. Renald strides in and covers the man with his cloak, holding it closed as he barks for his men to come in. 

Carefully, he instructs two of his men to scoop up the man covered in the cloak. "Be gentle! And keep him covered," he warns. He leads the men out of the dungeon, and past the drugged and wounded guards, taking a slow pace so the men don't jostle the man. 

Marching out of the prison, they close the gate after them before letting off soft whistles for their horses. Instantly, the rest of the army makes itself known, revealing themselves from the forest. 

"Status," General Breer commands, still put off from being instructed to not be part of the rescue.

Renald accepts his horse from a soldier. "Success," he says, then turns to the men still standing behind him. "Load him on my stallion."

It's a struggle to get him on the tall horse without touching any of his festering wounds, but they finally seat him on the beast. The man doesn't say a word in the whole process, but Renald suspects that the man is suffering. Renald quickly tucks and covers one of the man's mangled legs when it dangles in the cold, harsh fall wind.

"We'll tend to your wounds as soon as we get to Lions," Renald assures as he mounts his horse, mindful of the hunched man. There is no reply, so Renald calls out and the army starts their trek into the mountains.

"Why are you doing this?" he asks, his voice stronger than Renald thought it would be. 

"Because," he explains, snapping his reins to a gallop, "I need your strength."

::

Tomorrow is the beginning of a hellish semester, so forewarning is being detailed as I will not be updating regularly and I will be frequently spazzing and stressing. :D Bear with me, please, and I'm sure someone can relate to being busy. I'm highly doubtful that I'll be able to think up creative and interesting tales while I'm focused on all of my science-y courses (there's A LOT of biology and genetics. All the good stuff!), so drop me an idea that you've always wanted written. I'm curious, what do you want to read??

Much love!
Mera! <3

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Drop Dead Pet

JournalWord: Imagining perfection.

::

Aiming for the bathroom to inspect my hungover condition, I shuffle down the hallway and turn left, thankful that I don't feel nauseous. The eastern skylight catches the last few color pitches of sunlight and I realize how lucky I am only a few hours have passed. 

Already demoted, I know if I am late or miss a day, my reputation would get much, much worse. And now I have all the evening to unravel this male mystery with casual interrogation. 

He follows me like a puppy to the bathroom. "Do you have somewhere else to be?" I ask at his reflection after I splash freezing water onto my face.

"Hmmm. Not really. Lately I've been staying here and there, you know." He jumps up onto the counter beside me, the sink basin between us as I pat my face dry with a towel.

"Are you some kind of stray?" I tease.

"I guess so. I was staying in this garage for awhile, then a tree fort, then I found a man who let me stay on his couch for free but he tricked me and said I had to pay him back with my body. I couldn't bring myself to do that so I ran away as fast as I could but the guy chasing me was really persistent. I was hiding in that pile of trash. Before I knew it,
 I fell asleep."

I remember the bruises. His story is impossible. Yet it is told with the same sincerity he has said the hour and admitted homelessness. "Who are you?" I ask.

"Are you frightened?"

"No," I say automatically. The thought had never crossed my mind. Concerned? Yes. Confused? Deeply. But this man could do nothing he hadn't already had a hundred chances for. "Why would I be? If you wanted to hurt me you would've done so by now."

The friendly atmosphere is sucked from the small room. "I've met all sorts of people," he admits, suddenly dark and raw, hopping from his perch. There is little distance between us and his encroaching prowl forces me backwards until my spine bumps against the wall. His smile is unholy. I hear the shower curtain jingle and bend to my weight before I realize I've grasped it for balance. 

He breathes into my hair as his hands grip my hips. "But this is the first time I've ever met someone as trusting as you—"

I pull on the shower curtain, taking it down along with the steel bar its metal rings held firmly. A good whack across the head sends him back to the hallway where he topples over.

"I don't wanna get the wrong idea but that stung."

"Get the wrong idea." I stomp over and dig my shoe heel into his shoulder. He yields with a grimace. "I found you hurt and felt I had to help you but if you're healthy enough to get frisky, you're healthy enough to get lost."

"But I don't have any money!" He clutches my calf with a whine, abruptly a new person. It's too late; I know which persona is the act.

"I'll give you money."

"But... I don't feel so good..." He crosses his arms over his stomach, performing with all the candor he can manage with my heel still sticking into his shoulder. I merely tap the pipe against my shoulder for emphasis. He and I both see the head-shaped depress on its smooth surface.

"I want to eat first!"

"I didn't ask you for tonight's dinner menu! Get out!" I snarl and assault him with the pipe again, this time impacting his left shoulder just as I move my leg. Without a brace he bounces against the ground like a dog toy.

His hands catch my third strike. I am shocked when he holds firm, my strength matched pound for pound in a stalemate. "I'll have sex with you."

"What the hell?" I fluster, offended. I am ready to crush his nuts with my foot. I would've tried if he wasn't curled up on himself, smartly blocking access.

"Why not? Do you have a boyfriend?"

"That's none of your business! And I'd never be interested in a pervert like you!"

I wrestle the pipe away just as he gets to his feet. Without a shirt it's hopeless to get a hold on him for long. 

He ducks beneath a few more blows but I manage to sink my free hand into the crest of his blonde hair. I instantly yank him up. He yelps and bows forward with the momentum. His distress is muffled in the valley of my breasts. I jerk his head down and away from me, but the damage is done.

"Small..."

"Fuck you."

With the pipe in one hand and his hair in the other, I drag him all the way to the front door where he renews his pleas. "You're a great lady! Your refrigerator has food! I think we'd get along great— do you know how cute you are when you're asleep? And when you woke up, I felt so happy! Your sweet smell—"

"Don't go smelling me!" It is regrettable that I have to drop the pipe in order to open the door. He senses the lost advantage and immediately thrashes like a shark on blood lust. But he hasn't laid a hand against me. Despite my animosity, he fights like I am his only lifeline. His eyes promise so.

"Let me stay with you! Please, please, let me live here! Anything, I'll do anything—" He isn't even halfway out the door before I begin to succumb. 

I have to; my energy is teetering on absolute depletion from drinking and his strength is insane, probably greater than my own. I realize that even on my best day I'd be hard pressed to force this stubborn man out the door and nothing said he wouldn't force his way back in. My only chance of success is to fight him on other terms.

"Fine," I say. "You can stay on one condition. Agreed?"

"Yes! Oh, thank you!" He bounds away from the door and tackles my couch like it's a gazelle under the kill. "I'll do anything. I can pose as your cousin, your bodyguard, a masseuse, you name it."

"Become my pet."

He falters in bouncing against the plush cushions, dropping to his rear like concrete in water. "Your... pet?" he squeaks.

"Yes. If you're good I'll take care of you and cook for you." Crossing my arms not unlike a prison warden I eviscerate his simplistic fantasies with the clause, "But you won't have any rights and you'll have to do everything I say."

"... I wouldn't have any rights?" He drags a pillow over his lap, an emotional safeguard to my harsh criteria.

"No. Because you'd be a pet." I remain steadfast in body and voice but for however stern I sound I feel an uninhibited smile cross my face. His troubled visage spells victory. He has fallen into this agreement like a fool. "Take it or leave it," I sing.

I watch him worry a thumb between his incisors while his other hand tugs the roots of his hair, silently and dejectedly going back and forth between the benefits and provisions of servitude. 

I am a lion on the plains. My kills come from diligence and wit, so I am perfectly patient to let him corner himself into my trap. I know no man would degrade themselves to my standards. Their honor would drag them out the door and to some other sap's doorstep. His morose nod accedes the same conclusion. I copy him, smiling. He wouldn't comply to my terms.

And then things change.

I watch anxiously, feeling my own eyes widen as I decipher the slight nuances of his true feelings. He shows bewilderment, but not humiliation; unease, but not opposition. It takes my full concentration to pick out what is underneath the underneath and by then it is too late.

"Woof!"

I trip backwards and that asshole laughs at me.

"A pet? That's it? Man, how lucky!"

"What do— just a second— by pet you understand that—" I cut off as he launches himself across my living room's wood flooring and slides on his knees right up to my waist.

"Thank you master! Woof!"

I feel lightheaded. I think it might be delirium. "Wait... you... weren't supposed to..."

"Are you a person that talks a lot to themselves?" He blinks and even tilts his head to the side like a curious Corgi. "There are weird housewives that do that, mutter about husbands coming home late and single women..."

"Shut up! You're the one who's not normal! Don't you have any ounce of pride?"

He taps his chin with a finger in thought then smiles. "Mmm, none."

I clench my teeth and look away to keep from screaming. He sits there with nothing, not a lick of integrity. I've stripped away the very valor of his masculinity and thrown him into this inane subservient responsibility. Calling him 'compromised' isn't even close to accurate; he's been castrated. And he let me do it. That's how men are. All of them. Not a single one care about character, about superiority, dignity, anything. Just like Lee. Now this.

I look back when I feel his touch firmly grab my wrists, lifting my palm to lay kisses in its center. The unanticipated sight of lips against skin is hypnotic. His beryl blue eyes gaze up at me unabashed, so honest with his display of wanting that my breathing balks and I pray for a sense of how and why he belies nothing but true desire.

Then, there unstoppable, kneeling before me he whispers in the manner a proposing man reassures and promises a woman 'I'll love you forever', "I'll become your pet."

I rip my hand from his and slap him across the cheek.

"I'm sorry!" he cries and clutches his cheek. "What'd I do? Don't send me off to the shelter!"

I hate him. I hate all of them. I am sick of their selfishness. The thoughts and images of Lee assault me, all his little pieces I want to crush and grind in my hands. The deformed legs I'll happily rip away, along with his deceiving lips. I'll burn away his arms, the same arms he held me with only to wrap around someone else. Most of all, I want to fry his brain with boiling acid until his ears bleed and mind melts. Or do it to myself. It seems like the only way to relieve myself of his memory.

I stomp to my bedroom like Athena, bitter and vicious and shrewd, wishing to be a reborn virgin purified from the infection of weak males. The idiot had the audacity to come after me and even more balls to look confused.

I stop as he is about to pass the threshold of my room and snap an arm against the frame to block him. "What do you think you're doing?" I am clenching my teeth so hard my jaw begins to hurt.

"You look upset... and I... I want to make you feel better..."

"In my bedroom? Just because you're living here now, don't get stupid ideas. I'm not going to have sex with you. In fact, I want nothing to do with you outside of our agreement. Got it?"

"No, I mean— I am concerned—"

"I don't want your concern," I turn around to see him looking surprised and I start to really seethe. "What's that face for? Of course I wouldn't! You're a pet. You're nothing."

"Ah, yeah..." His timid smile is stricken in anxiety, unsure if I am going to do worse than a slap with my clenched fists. To placate me he backs down the hallway and lowers himself to the hard floor like I'd told him to sit by command. 

A sudden wave of apathy doesn't surprise me. This man is pathetic. No thought of resistance cues his mind, not even the inkling of being stubborn. The smallest hope is dashed and I am defeated.

He lays onto his back and paws the air.

"What're you doing now?" I sigh and lean on the door frame with arms crossed.

"The pose of submission. I," he touches his chest, "submit to you." He expands his hands as a welcoming gesture to me and smiles. "I won't do anything inappropriate. But if you say you want me to... then I can do that for you too."

I shut the door when he winks at me. It seems the peon is delusional as well because there is no way I would ever ask for something like that. Slapping my face, I attack the blush that threatens to blossom on my cheeks. "Ice your cheek before it becomes inflamed," I yell before tossing myself into my pillows.

::

A sadist looking for perfection when her world is crumbling down and a masochist who doesn't mind a new role.

I'm quite interested in the characteristics of a masochist and sadist. So drop me a comment on what you think :P

Bear with me and my strange interests,

-mera. 

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Lost Pet

JournalWord: Murdering a microwave.

::

He slams open the cupboard doors, still ungratified by the crack of wood clattering onto the tile counter and the smacking it makes on the linoleum floor. He fingers the empty glass by the sink and swipes it to the floor with a sweep of his arm. He swipes at another glass, a small smile 

lifting his frown. He rips off another cupboard door from its hinges, then pulls the fridge door off with a spray of sparks.

"Find what you wanted, Riche?"

"Hardly." He doesn't even turn around and continues to kick the microwave he has just tossed to the floor.

Clement leans on the door frame, arms crossed over his chest, watching his friend brutally murder his microwave as if this scenario is a daily occurrence. "Riche, what is it this time?" he tries again. 

"I'm looking for my pet," is the reply before Riche hefts the rest of the fridge over his shoulder and smashes it onto the demolished rubble that used to be his microwave.

"And have you found it yet, because, seriously. My kitchen is being severely destroyed and I'd rather you don't harm anymore of my household appliances."

Riche chooses not to answer, filling the unspoken reply with sure kicks into the gut of the toppled fridge.

"Riche," Clement starts, not wanting to play Riche's game. "You refuse to associate with human beings, let alone with animals. What is wrong?" 

There's a moment before Riche speaks. "My pet ran away and I'm looking for her."

"Riche," Clement warns. 

Riche turns his back away and crouches, examining the wires and other components spilling out of the gutted fridge. "I don't like pets," Riche mumbles. "They're so pure and innocent, and are so willing to open their hearts to humans without a sense of hesitation." Riche grasps a handful of colourful wires and rips them out of their sockets with a yank. "But this one 

is different. It has nothing to do with purity and innocence, and all that lovey crap others like her have."

"Then what is it?" Clement asks, startling Riche. Riche tenses and stands up, the bundle of wires still in his tight fist.

"She won't open her heart," he whispers. Riche lets go of the wires, and watches them fall lightly onto the chaos he created.

::

Oh! This is going to definitely be a busy semester! My class schedule is all over the place, with 6 hour breaks between classes and days that stretch from 8am to 10pm. I hope I don't burnout! 

I've also got an interview for a hospital volunteering position in the ER Information desk on Tuesday! So nervous! I need the hours for my requirements to BCIT, but I'm also excited to be volunteering again! Fingers crossed that I make a great impression >.<!!

Gonna keep positive!
Mera!

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BTF: Let Me Sleep

Sometimes, when the stress of household finances weighs on my mind, and I can't sleep, I find myself on my laptop surfing the internet.

I'm looking for contests, sweepstakes, and giveaways, all for cash, all to instantly clear the worries in my mind.

For someone who can't work and needs to devote her time to studying, I crumble at the thought of my father being the only one who is supporting his family. I want to take his place.

But unfortunately, this life doesn't work the way I want it to and I have to continue living off my family to achieve the career I want and need to support them. 

There is no give. There is no mercy. There may not even be a God.

In moments like these, I have no faith. And maybe I should.

But I find it a little hard to believe in an entity that only inflicts pain and suffering to it's followers. 

I would never wish for a sole provider to be inflicted with a disease that painfully, fuses his spinal vertebrae together with no painless solution to slow it down. 

Is it too much heart? Maybe I don't want this heart. Why give me this heart?

At 2am, I don't want to be awake and hurting. I want to be filled with dreams that are achievable and hopes that are believable. 

Asking for so much. Giving so much. Stricken with so much.

I'm tired so, please, let me sleep.

mera.

I'm very worried right now, as my posts as of recently have implied. Lost and very unsure, so bear with me. I'm occupied and can't focus on writing stories. I'm going to try to clear my mind for now, especially with a new semester and deadlines to meet, so posts may be infrequent. Your support is greatly appreciated. Thank you.

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Fool's Paradise: Chapter5

::

The girl they towed away sits dejected, pouting as some people converse around her. We're all starving, but Angus warns us from the forest, probably because the "Demon" has taken residence there. The ocean, though is something we are currently focusing on. 

"You," Angus addresses, pointing to a red-headed girl in the group. She shoots up to her feet at his tone. "Go and check if there's any fish in the water."

"B-but, I can't swim," she stammers. Her hands fidget at the hem of her torn skirt. 

"You won't need to swim, just check," he commands and dismisses her with a flick of his wrist. 

To my amazement, she gets up and walks to the water. I turn to Brianna who has joined me on my blanket. "What happened to the guy who got sent to look for food in the jet," I whisper.

"He came back empty handed and crying so Angus sent him to the other side of the beach," she fills in, eyes wide watching the girl get closer to the water.

"To find food?" I ask. 

She doesn't turn to face away from the scene, but her eyebrows furrow for a moment in thought. "No. Angus got angry and wanted him out of his sight."

"Get in the fucking water!" Angus shouts from between cupped hands. His laughter is joined by others when the girl almost topples in the waves. 

The water is a mystery, mostly because I'm sure none of us knows how to swim. It just didn't seem like anything worthwhile when textbooks, research and exams occupy our mind since infancy. I'm fairly sure this is as close to the ocean we have ever been, and the mystery of the sea intrigues us with fear opposing our curiosity to check it out ourselves. So watching this girl roam farther into the ocean intrigues us and we all watch with a fascination of discovering something not taught. 

The red haired girl turns back to us and starts to yell something, but her voice is lost in the surf. She's too far for us to hear but we're too scared to creep any closer to the tide, so we don't move. 

Someone yells at her to repeat what she said. We wait and she starts to yell again. Her red hair, the only beacon of which to see her in all the foam and blue water, suddenly disappears under the surface. We all jump to our feet. 

The red pops in a flurry of splashing water before it dips back under. A series of fins slice through the waves, circling around where she should be and I gasp as the pieces fall together. Someone cheers when the body of a shark arcs out of the water for a moment before crashing back into the spray. The flurry calms back down and the ocean surface settles. 

This is absolutely mental. My eyes are still glued to the ocean, searching for the short bob of red to pop out. I can hear Brianna cheering with Angus and the others as they relay "how cool" the sharks are. 

Bile churns in my stomach and my hunger dissipates. A rush of nausea forces me down to my knees and I vomit into the sand, gagging, because I haven't ingested anything. Pulling my legs to my chest, I lay my cheek against my knees, turning away from the scene, and swallow back the bitter aftertaste.  

::

Drop a comment on the story so far. It's mostly Maria's recollection of the events.
~mera

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BTF: So Far...

What a way to start the new year...
Feeling absolutely wretched with a cold that won't let me hold anything down.
Weakened by lack of sleep.
Stricken with crazy dreams (drug-trafficking empire in Costco??) induced by medication.
Bruises and muscle pain from tobogganing.
All around anxiety from starting up next semester.
Stress from having to complete the requirements for the BCIT Lab Tech. program by April.

Whoa. I'm a big ball of stress and pain.

And! Not to mention, my overall fear of change. (Hahaha, I'm everywhere right now.)

I'm at a low point at the moment, when I really should be optimistic and positive. I've got to find ways to boost my moral. (any suggestions?)

Hmm, maybe I'll try to reshape myself, with makeup and clothes... (damn, need money for that.)

Well, hopefully I figure something out (especially with uni and BCIT).

I've only got a few days before this holiday ends and reality tumbles onto my shoulders,
mera.

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Fool's Paradise: Chapter4

::

The sun is high and the humidity is sweltering. Our campsite consists of a towering pile of driftwood, stacked for a fire, and the pile of sandy luggages in the sand where we slept. Angus claims we should be on the open beach where hovercrafts and satellites can see us. 

 A fire isn't lit but Angus claims he'll figure it out for us. We're all too tired from lugging around driftwood and luggages across the beach to argue all of his claims. A breeze sweeps in from the sea and I sigh when it reaches me. Looking up the beach at the trees, I envy their shade. 

Why am I sitting here when I could be in the shade? Will I really survive with this group?

I regard the group. We're all drooped in the sand, laying on our blankets. Angus is laying with us, complaining of hunger. "Hey, you," he kicks out to someone laying by his feet. A head pops up to acknowledge him. "Go to the jet and get something for us to eat."

More heads pop up from their blankets and the same horrified stare on the boy's face is reflected. 

"I can't," he says and he turns to all the other heads, seeking help. 

Angus glares and throws a fistful of sand into the boy's gaping mouth. "You will go into the jet  and you will bring back food for the group."

The boy immediately scrambles to his feet, spitting out the sand as he runs to the jet. No one joins him and we watch him inch closer to the collapsed metal and squawking seagulls. 

I turn away from the retreating figure and stand up, irked by the smirk on Angus's face as he watches the boy trip in the sand. "I'm going to go pee," I announce, heading up the beach. No one stops me and I'm glad. The repressing atmosphere that Angus has created is destructive and this heat is only making it worse.

Instant relief accompanies the cool shade of the trees and I take a moment to regard the slight red tinge of my skin. I lean back on a tree trunk and slide down to sit on the roots. Holding my stomach when it clenches, I tilt my head up and wonder if we'll be able to survive until rescue arrives.

A flash of blonde hair and white shirt catch my eye from between the trunks of the trees and without realizing it, I'm on my feet and walking towards it. I don't have the time to berate myself for following my curiosity because I become momentarily stunned by his appearance.

The rays of the sun that peek from between the palm trees highlight his features, especially his blonde hair, casting a halo around his face. His face is tipped up to the sky, hands by his sides as he stares up at the treetops. His lean, tall figure resembles the tree trunks and I find myself approving the slope of his nose and chin as I study his profile.

"What are you looking at?" I ask softly, and as if I had just broken the illusion, he jumps back. I recognize the fear dancing in his eyes and I instantly apologize. "I'm sorry, I'm not going to hurt you, I swear. I'm just curious as to what you're looking at. I'm not going to hurt you."

I prop up my hands by my face, open palmed to show I don't have anything to throw at him. He still looks visibly frightened, but recognition flits across his eyes.

"I'm picking a tree," he whispers, and I'm surprised by the baritone of his voice. "To climb."

I tilt my head up to regard the trees. "They're really tall and don't have any low branches to climb from," I say and from the corner of my eye I see him tilt his head up as well.

"The Demon!"

We both turn just as a girl picks up a rock and throws it at the boy, impacting his arm. He doesn't move, stone-faced as she picks up another rock.

"Get away from her, you Demon!" she shrieks. "Get away!"

"Calm down! I'm okay!" I yell back at her, but her arm winds back and she lobs the rock in his direction. I call for her to calm down again and dive to intercept the rock. The rock hits the back of my ribs as I grab hold of the boy. Another rock hits me in the back before voices yell for her to stop.

A boy comes running, having heard the yelling and tackles the girl down, wrestling the rock out of her hands and telling her to stop. In quick succession, more people come to see what is happening and they tow away the hysterical girl.

Angus finally joins the commotion and comes towards me, and I realize I'm still protecting the boy. The boy doesn't say a word and just watches as I retract myself from him.

"Are you alright?" Angus asks, holding me by the shoulders. I nod that I'm fine but he wraps an arm around my shoulders and leads me away from the trees before I can say anything. I turn in his grasp, ignoring his concern for my well-being and find that the boy is gone. "The boy," I start, but Angus interrupts me.

"That weirdo didn't hurt you, did he?" The venom in his voice stuns me. "If he did, I'll make sure he'll pay." I can only shake my head, and when I do, he relaxes and smiles. "Good. I can't have any of my girls hurt by that lunatic." Suddenly the hand rubbing my shoulder feels heavy and his smile looks slimy.

::

Happy New Year!!!
~mera

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Fool's Paradise: Chapter3

::

Brianna and I pick up any stray luggages on the beach and drag them to a pile where Angus has decided will be our campsite. We were set with the task only because they concluded that we are brave enough to venture close to the plane. 

I'm stuffing spilled clothing back into a bag when I hear Brianna shriek from near the treeline. I abandon the soaked and sandy shirt in my hand and start running towards the sound. The short time I've talked to her has secured her as a friend, surprising me. Friends were not encouraged in our school, seeing as we were all going to be competing with each other in our departments. Although language and medical research  students would never even have a chance to be friends in the first place, nor talk about anything of similar interest. Although making friends on a stranded island isn't typical either. 

"Brianna!" I call as I reach the treeline. "Brianna, where are you?"

"Here, Maria!"

Her voice is close and I find her with the rest of the group. When I catch up to her she smiles. "It's that boy!" she exclaims excitedly. "Remember when he joined the group right after we had all woken up? He spooked me. Came right out of the trees and I thought I saw a ghost!" Her voice hushes to a whisper as she adds, "Who knows where or when he left, but you're not going to believe who he really is."

I don't mention that I don't know who anyone is, but indulge her anyways. "Who?"

"It's the Demon!"

"The what?" I ask, horrified. 

"The Demon! You know, the guy who, on the day of orientation, went on a rampage and beat up twelve students. He hasn't been on campus since, but he still aces all the exams for the biology department." Her eyes sparkle and I realize that she must really be into gossip and the know-how of the student body. 

I nod, as if I already knew. She seems satisfied, and continues her excited chatter. "Who would think that he'd be on the jet with us, I mean, I did hear that someone had to be personally escorted by the Dean's bodyguards to board, but he never comes to classes, much less a national conference."

The huddle in front of us parts slightly and I catch a glimpse of blonde hair. A shout cuts through the air and someone crashes through the group, knocking people out of his way. 

Angus follows after him, addressing him with another shout. "I just want to know where you went! I'm leader of this group so I have to know," he huffs with a malicious grin. "You can't just go off looking for snails. What are you, some lunatic, or something?"

The boy, still in the sand, turns away and, in turn, his eyes meet mine. I remember his frightening eyes and instinctively, I drop my gaze to avoid them. 

A murmur flows through the group as people start persecuting him as well, calling him a weirdo, a demon, and other unjustifiable names. Angus's influence is embedded in this group and now people are forcing their pent-up blame and frustration on the boy. Calls are spat at the boy and when I look up at Angus, the malice and amusement glittering in his expression scares me as it is mirrored on the faces of everyone who is calling names.

 The first pebble hits the sand beside him, having been thrown with poor aim. The boy scrambles to his feet, clutching whatever is in his hand protectively to his chest. More pebbles and some pieces of driftwood and glass are thrown after him. Angus laughs as he throws a broken bottleneck at the retreating back of the boy before he disappears into the jungle. 

The escalation of the anger is startling and I realize I've just witnessed a case of mob mentality. Angus's laughter is joined by others who congratulate each other for chasing out the Demon for what he deserves. When I turn to Brianna, I'm horrified by the smile on her lips as she congratulates a girl beside her with a high-five.

 ::

And now things will start to heat up! Let me know what you think (a couple words is all I ask).

Right now, I'm imagining a New Year's Countdown on top of a mountain, seated on toboggans, and watching the sky over the city, deciphering where the city ends and the stars begin.

Just a thought :P
~mera!

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Fool's Paradise: Chapter2

::

A groan signifies the first person to wake up. I watch as she pries her hand from the confines of the blankets to rub at her eyes. She lazily blinks, and when she finally opens her eyes, they lock with mine. To my shock, she laughs.

"Morning," she chimes, a smile straining on her lips as she fights out of her trapped blanket. She rolls out of the group, causing a string of groans from those that she crushes as she rolls from over them. Straightening, she pats herself of the sand, pushing her short black hair over her forehead when she eyes the ocean. She wears the same uniform, a navy, mid-thigh plaid skirt and white blouse with the school crest on her left breast. She's missing the navy vest that I have on, but she pays no mind to it so I assume she doesn't wear it. 

She turns to look at me and I am caught by the fierce stare that accompanies her hazel eyes. "So we survived, holy shit," she whistles and smiles again, and I can't help smiling as well. Holy shit, indeed.

She pulls her arm over her chest to stretch out the limb, alternating after a moment. "Is this all?" she asks, indicating with her foot to the mass in the sand. 

"I hope not," I say and turn to regard the jet. Seagulls flock over the twisted metal shell and squawk as they peck at the soaked debris that didn't get cast to sea. "Did the captain survive?" I whisper. She doesn't answer.

An orchestra of groans start up and we turn our attention back to the mass. A boy kicks out and knocks a girl in the head with his shin. She lets out a string of curses that invokes a muffled snort from me at her vulgar language and a full-on laugh from the girl standing in the sand. 

When everyone eventually wakes, all in moments of each other as they really are entangled, we all blink at our surroundings, quietly trying to recognize each other. A couple girls tearfully clasp onto each other after crawling to each other through the mass. 

"So, where are we?" a boy asks, and we all swivel to look at him. He turns bright red in the ears and attempts to shrink into his blanket. 

"We should be around Hawaii, right?" someone pipes in, hopeful.

Comcasts flip open in hands and a murmur flits through the group as we relay the same message displayed on the screens. 

"Did the captain survive?" someone else adds, repeating my question, and a silence lays over us all as we direct our attention to the metal glinting meters away. 

No one moves so I ask, "What should we do now?"

Everyone looks around to each other for an answer. 

"Food, shelter, water, and fire," someone supplies and we all turn to watch a boy walk towards us. Where did he come from? He's the boy who gave me his blankets, with the blonde hair and the cold eyes. His eyes are still cold as he casually strolls to the group. He doesn't sit, instead he fidgets and paces around us, avoiding eye contact with everyone.

"Right, we should get on that." The girl walks to stand beside me now. Her smile is hopeful and I'm glad there's someone with hope.

Immediate conversation starts as everyone interjects with what we should do, but we are all guessing with speculation. Our school trains for the academically inclined. Survival and physical means are not in our curriculum. We are probably the worst to be suited to be stranded without any technological means. 

A girl clutches at her blanket, her tearful stare directed at the jet and not in the conversation. "We need to get the other survivors," she quietly speaks and suddenly all conversation transforms into bickering. 

"Are there any other survivors?"

"There has to be!"

"I'm sure they'll crawl out..."

"What if they're hurt?"

"What if we're the only ones?"

We all look to each other, hoping for some answer to the questions. Usually someone is there, a teacher, a mentor, a tutor. Someone to supply the answer so all we have to do is apply it and memorize it so we can ace the exam. 

"I'm going to get Meghan," the soft-spoken girl announces and we watch, helpless as she stands up and heads towards the plane. 

We all scramble to follow her, not sure of what we will find. But a nagging feeling knows. 

It was a better sight when I left the jet, only because I wasn't aware what I was leaving behind. We only have to peek in from the gaping hole to realize that we are the only survivors. 

The soft-spoken girl breaks down into tears when she finds her friend, tripping over bodies as she rushes to the body of a blonde haired girl. She clutches at the body, uncovering it from the pile and screaming when the bottom half of the body hangs loosely from a visible section of spine. 

Someone vomits in the sand and all of us have tears in our eyes. No one else makes a move to the bodies and we stare at the horrified screams, like dolls. 

Deciding we need to leave, blindly, I start pushing them out. They easily relent to my efforts and sink to the sand, some burying their heads between their knees to regain breathing.

Going back into the jet, my focus solely on the screaming girl, I tiptoe towards her. Someone follows me to her, and we coax the body out of her hands. She latches herself to the other girl and we drag her out to the rest of the group, marching back to where we all slept. There's a somber silence, with the occasional whimper from the crying girl as she is cooed to sleep, that settles around us for a moment. 

A guy stands up abruptly, straightening his blazer. "We need a leader," he announces, shifting his glasses up his face with a finger. "Until rescue arrives, we need to set ourselves up with a clear hierarchy with a familiar social influence. I say we vote on a leader to direct us in keeping a clear focus on our survival."

Immediately people stand up, claiming they have the traits that would enable our survival. This has become a familiar setting for those specializing in political debate. Persuasion of attributes are announced and a vote occurs with three main contenders speaking animatedly about how they will be helping our survival. 

"This is a great distraction." I turn to the girl beside me, watching her rock the sleeping girl we had dragged out of the jet in her arms like a child. She smiles wearily at me. "The name's Brianna and these kooks think they're running for student council." She scoffs. "You have better leadership sense than they do, I mean, you took control over the situation when we all sat around like ducks."

I shake my head. "No way. I just snapped out of the stupor before everyone else. I'm not leadership material." She raises her eyebrow at me and I add, "I'm Maria. I'm more into medical research than politics."

"Well I'm a language-stud and I'm afraid we're going to have to rely on you more than we think." 

A series of applause breaks us away from our hushed conversation and we watch as the same guy who announced that we needed a leader takes center stage. He's the only one standing and towers over us all as he accepts the applause with a victorious smirk set with the dimple in his chin. "Thank you, survivors, for voting me, Angus Lemark as your leader until rescue arrives. I'm sure it won't be long until we are saved but until then, I promise, with the power invested by you all, to lead us to survival, because we most definitely will be surviving." 

His exuberant voice has enchanted the group and from the whispers around me, Angus is a hot topic to the girls, in terms of academic credibility and visual charm. Brianna rolls her eyes when Angus accepts an imaginary bouquet of flowers and winks at his fan girls. I can't help but hope help arrives before I get sucked into this disillusion the rest of the group is building.

::

Times are tough and nights are now sleepless. 
Worries are shadowing every decision I make, and I don't have the strength to shut them out anymore.
I'm scared for a future that may never happen.
mera.

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