Category: Reading

Isabella Landwehr is fifteen-year old writer who participated and completed the summer 2024 Hero’s Journey Writing Challenge. Her short story” A Hunter’s Game” is a somber and poignant journey of a young woman’s attempts to save her family and find purpose in her life.

Read Isabella’s epic short story below:

Το Κάλεσμα: To Kálesma: The Calling

Rustle, rustle. Snap! I whip around, bow drawn. I aim my arrow at the heart of whoever is stalking me. I feel the familiar tensing in my muscles as I prepare for the kill.

The sound gets closer and closer until… a harmless rabbit hops out of the bushes. I kick myself for looking so foolish. Then, I am reminded of why I am here in the first place.

I should be dead. Instead, I’m hiding in the woods. I ran for hours, days even. It’s all a blur, really.

It all started on that warm, late summer night. The man in blue robes brought the letter to our door. The royal insignia shone on the seal. He handed it to my mother and her eyes shone with tears.

Though I didn’t understand at first, my mother immediately knew what this meant for us. At first glance, the things seem unconnected. One of the tributes died before reaching the palace. My father had fallen out of the king’s favor and was killed. Debts had gone unpaid, because our money, and all of my own time and effort, had gone to sustaining our family.

My mother broke the news to me, holding back great sobs. I, Theia, the eldest child of Sebastian of Crete, was to be slaughtered in the Labyrinth to feed the Minotaur. If they sent me to my gruesome death, all of our debts were to be forgiven.

Yeah, right. I thought. Like they would let it all go, just like that. They just want me dead so I can’t avenge my father’s death and the rest of his children will starve. If anything, it takes away all of their problems at once. But I hold my tongue, so as not to add to my mother’s distress.

Later, I will discuss the plan I am formulating with Atticus, the second oldest but several years younger than me. I find him tending to our sorry vegetable patch. His brow is knit with frustration, but the most fake of smiles is plastered on his face when he hears me approach.

“Hey, there…” he trails off and his smile falls. It is not just my look of determination that pulls him up short. He knows he doesn’t have to keep strong for me.

“How are the onions? I don’t want to pull you away from your hard work” I say.

“I know you are not here for small talk. And they cannot come to be much worse, anyway. What do you need to discuss with me?” Atticus asks, dusting off his palms as he stands. Brusque as he seems, my little brother can always tell when something is on my mind.

I glance around and see my youngest sister, Thea, playing nearby, so I whisper,

“We must speak in the woods. I do not want the mikrá to overhear,” I say, referring to our young siblings with our affectionate nickname for them. It means ‘little ones’.

His brow knits even deeper than before as we reach the treerow. I can tell he is working through every horrible scenario. Mother is sick. Someone we love has died. They are taking more, or all, of our land.

“They are sending me as tribute to the Minotaur,” I say quickly.

My brother is not one to surprise easily. He has become quite adept at hiding his emotions behind a gilded veil. This news blows him out of the water. He sputters but quickly recovers.

“What?… When?… How?… Why you?!” he manages. Even he knows that I am the one holding our fragile family together.

“It is reparation for Father,” I reply solemnly.

He utters under his breath curses that would make Mother faint before continuing, “How soon?”

“I have a week at most,” I reply. “That is why…” I take a deep breath and say, “I plan to flee before they can get to me.”

Atticus begins to pace. He thinks through every avenue and examines every facet of this plan that may save us from heartbreak and ruin.

“Have you told Mother yet? Never mind. I know the answer. But how will we get by without you?”

I had wondered long and hard about this myself.

“ I will teach you all I know before I must leave.”

He raises an eyebrow and says, “You have to leave at the new moon, and you plan to show me all you know before then? How will we both hunt, for surely you must fend for yourself as well? We have but one bow to our name.”

“No,” I say quietly, facing the leaf litter at my feet. I raise my eyes to his. “For all of us to survive, one of us must take up Father’s bow.”

Atticus went quiet, though this time, it was not for thinking. I had rendered him absolutely speechless. The great bow had sat untouched upon the mantle since Father’s death.

But as he sat there silent, his face changed. He slowly nodded his head. It hadn’t taken him nearly as long to come to the realization as it had me, but either way, we both understood.

There was no other way.

🙚❊🙙 🙚❊🙙 🙚❊🙙

And so, I ran. I flew through the woods as if I had the wings of a griffin. Not before one last stop, though. The one thing that might make the king leave my family alone.

I went to the house of Theseus, my closest friend. I knew he alone would even think of taking on this huge favor. Our fathers were friends from the beginning, so we became friends as young children, too.

Months after receiving the fateful news, I knocked upon his door, a new moon above my head. Though it was the dead of night, he opened it immediately, knowing it could be only me. I gathered my courage and begged him to replace me. Otherwise, the king would just take another of Sebastian’s brood. But if Theseus went in my place, Atticus would be spared.

Η Οδηγώ: I Odigó: The Guiding

It was hard to leave Theseus, especially knowing he would be dead if I ever returned. My one solace was that my family would live, and I was confident Atticus could get them through our hard times.

I disappeared into the woods with only a rucksack, a quiverful of arrows, and Father’s bow. It pained me to take one of the few things of his we had left. But it was better for us all when I left. We all knew it, and if not, I hoped they would come to understand.

Before I had left Theseus that night, I asked him for advice. In the wee hours of the morning, we conversed. We plotted and planned until Eos brought her first light.

All night, we spoke of how one another could survive. He taught me all he knew of the woods. Edible plants, tracking, and whatnot. I told him what little I knew of combat. It wasn’t much that we did not know already, but at least we felt better prepared to meet our fates.

Theseus told me to escape Crete by following a stream leading to the sea. Deep in the forest, it was silvery and winding. And rumored to be used by the goddess Artemis herself.

It may seem an odd thing to add. However, that was not just a random bit of gossip. My best friend was the only one who knew my deepest wish: to join the Hunters of Artemis.

They were an elite group of young women who fought by the goddess’s side, immortal lest fatally wounded in battle. Fearless warriors who sought to maintain balance and lived off only their wits and abilities. The only condition was to vow against romance of any kind. I was fine with that.

Theseus would never tell me this to give me false hope. He knew I wanted this too badly to make light of it. No, he was saying there was a chance they may help me or, better yet, prove myself and join their ranks.

It was time for me to flee. I thanked him for his help and friendship, wished him well, and gave him a fierce hug. Then, I took off for the woods in the dawning light.

🙚❊🙙 🙚❊🙙 🙚❊🙙

So, that is how I got here. But there is still a long way for me to go.

I have found the river and tracked it for miles. Days. At first, I tired quickly. But my instincts drove me on.

It may just be wishful thinking, but I believe I am receiving help. When I lose my way, a path leading back to the stream seems to appear in the dense undergrowth. If I hesitate at a fork in the stream, a wind seems  to push at my back to guide my direction.

Perhaps it is a coincidence. But I don’t think so. It feels like destiny, hanging in the air just ahead of me. Or, dare I hope, divine intervention. Maybe someone on Olympus wants me to succeed.

No. No, it’s preposterous… isn’t it? I shook my head.

One foot in front of the other, Theia, I thought to myself.

Things were getting harder as I went. My cloak tore on the branches. I was running out of rope.

Alas, I have no choice but to persevere. I know that it will soon be the day of the festival, which the king and queen throw each year before they send innocent children to their death in that Labyrinth with the Minotaur.

I thought I was deep enough in the woods, but I could hear the commotion of muscular village men setting up. I trekked on faster, before I was noticed and really had to make myself scarce.

If I were to be caught at any time before the Minotaur had finished the last of them off, they would cast me in as dessert. That’s when I realized something huge.

I could never return home. Ever. They may forgive my family’s debts if we sent in Theseus as a replacement. In fact, our father’s misdeeds may be forgotten entirely and my family would be left alone. For good. But if I was caught…

It would stir up bad memories. They would remember and we would never be trusted again. Our family would be ostracized, banished from all dignified society. Or worse.

No time to dwell on the bad. I would just have to escape the island and start a new life elsewhere. Then it hit me like a ton of bricks.

I was thirteen years old. How could I possibly do all of that? Completely alone, to boot. It was all too much. I sank to the ground in utter despair.

I sat in a cluster of rushes and my eyelids began to flutter. I finally understood just how exhausted I was. I’d walked for days without rest. Just a short nap, I thought, seeing that the light was fading.

As I lay my head on a soft patch of ground, I raised my head to look at the sky one last time. The first star, the one guiding me North each night, had appeared. I sank back to the ground.

And as my eyes closed, I could almost swear the rushes were enshrouding me from the sky. Maybe I was not so alone after all.

☁ ☁ ☁

Wake.

My eyes shot open. “Who said that?!” I cried out in alarm. I was confused to hear my own voice echo faintly.

I looked down to see… myself. I was right there, still wrapped in the rushes. But I was also standing here, alert, while looking at a self who was not standing and alert, while I… Nope. I had absolutely no idea what was going on.

The same voice chuckled. Calm, little hero. You are safe.

I realized that I trusted this mysterious woman’s voice, whoever it belonged to. I responded,

“Wh-who are you?”

She laughed again. All in good time, child. You will understand everything when you are ready, Theia Rue.

My eyes began to tear up. Only my father had called me that. Did she know him, I wondered.

Your father was a good man, but you show greater promise than he ever did.

“You… you know what I’m thinking?”

Of course. I know everything about you, Theia, and I delight in the strong warrior you are becoming.

☁ ☁ ☁

I woke with a jolt, two important things abundantly clear. First, that I was receiving divine aid. And second, I was following the wrong river!

Η Προσπάθεια: I Prospátheia: The Trying

Woah.

That was all I thought when I saw it. I had finally found the stream I was supposed to be following. In reality, it was more of a small river. The water flowed the color of liquid silver. I stare in complete awe.

I had faced steep widowmakers, poisonous plants, and a near-fatal encounter with a hungry bear (thank the gods I had one more stick of mink jerky). Regardless of it all, the sight of the river was well worth the struggles it took to get there.

I look for any sign of trouble. Not seeing any threats, I approach the stream very cautiously.

I began to reach out my cupped hands to get a drink, but suddenly pulled up short. If this brook really was used by the gods, it may not be safe for mortals to drink. But it had been such a long time since I had a drink. Suddenly, my throat felt more parched than ever. Maybe just a small drink would be safe…

I quickly scoop some river water into my mouth. I tense my whole body, waiting forー whatever it was that happened to humans who consumed what the gods forbid.

So little is known, it could be anything. Spontaneous combustion? Madness? A slow, painful transformation into some hideous beast?

I was wracked with an uncontrollable shiver. It’s starting! I thought in a panic. I give myself a once-over as I try to determine its effects. Blood roars in my ears. I begin to panic. What is happening to me?!

🙚❊🙙 🙚❊🙙 🙚❊🙙

I had eventually regained my wits. I had gotten colder because a breeze began blowing off of the stream. It was only my nerves that had increased my heart rate so dramatically. I was fine. Surprisingly, nothing had happened at all.

As I sit on the banks, something out of the ordinary catches my eye. The faintest hint of a boot print. I had noticed earlier that the ground seemed tamped down along the water’s edge, but I had thought it was a deer trail or something of the sort.

Instead, it looks like someone was trying to walk lightly so as not to leave a trace. They would have succeeded, too. If they had stepped a centimeter farther from the riverbank, they would have stayed on the firm path. As it was, I knew this part of the woods was not entirely forsaken.

I begin to look for a second print, when I notice something about the first track that stops me in my own. A symbol. Could it be? Yes, it was there. Just a small imprint in the sole.

The mark of the Hunters of Artemis!

Filled with a renewed energy, I eagerly followed the direction the foot was headed. Whoever it belonged to must have been following this trail! Even if I couldn’t see if they left the path or not…

I walk on, face close to the earth. Not a single boot print. If the first one was not so distinct, I could almost believe I imagined it. Almost. Then, I see a different kind of track that excites me just as much.

There were deer nearby! The freshness of the sets of tracks showed that there were five, maybe six, of them by the river’s edge less than a day ago. My stomach is growling. I have not eaten much for nearly three days. They must still be living nearby, as I note older prints of the same size close to the newest ones.

I resumed following the path, this time intent on discovering the deers’ whereabouts. My mouth waters at the thought of so much food. Enough to keep my stomach full until I escape Crete, surely! I keep my eyes glued to the ground, chase every zigzag and sudden stop those deer have made.

I even find edible plants they have nibbled on and try a few. Bitter, but filling. With my bare hands, I dig up some tubers. They can tide me over until I find those fat, delicious deer!

Unless someone, or something, gets to them first, I realize in alarm. No, no, no, no, NO! As the sun begins to sink under the horizon, so too does my heart.

There are large tracks, likely belonging to a wolf or some other wild dog, now following along the deers’ trail. Their pace quickens, paws and hooves alike making bigger and bigger strides as they fight for life. Then the wolves’ paw prints disappear, their final marks deep. They jumped on the deer and killed them. I can see where their bodies landed in the dirt. No way that hungry pack let even one of their prey escape.

I sigh in despair. Then, an even worse thought hits me. How long have I been walking? Surely I would have reached the shore by now… How many days did I lose? Am I going the wrong way? And, most importantly, Where in Hades am I??

🙚❊🙙 🙚❊🙙 🙚❊🙙

While I decide it is safest to continue following the brook, I am still unsure of both my location and destination. All rivers and streams, every body of water on the whole island, lead to the ocean. After many twists and turns, I’ll eventually get there. But that begs the question, What then? When I see water and sky meet a thousand kilometers ahead of me, what will I do?

I could build a raft, or even a boat. It is another thing entirely to make a seaworthy vessel and sail it to the mainland. Not that I even know how to get there once I reach the open ocean.

Was I doomed from the start? It must be an ill-fated journey, because I have no idea how I ever expected to successfully pull this off. On the other hand, if I go back, then sure, I’ll be alive, but for how long? The king will kill my friends and family for my escape, whether I had a labyrinth replacement or not. It was utterly hopeless.

Then, of course, things got even worse. The stream forked. And I haven’t a clue which way to go.

Η Επιβράβευση: I Epivrávefsi: The Rewarding

I probably cried for hours. A thirteen year old girl (surely fourteen by now, though Time is a beast I no longer know) alone and without hope. Theia Rue, you will die today, I think with a hollow certainty.

No food. No shelter. Plenty of water, but that caused me the most anguish of all. Left or right. It feels like I am in a Roman Colosseum and they just asked me in what gruesome way do I wish to die. No matter what I choose, I will starve before I get anywhere. Cruel Fates.

Another wave of weeping hits me, hot tears spilling into the accursed stream below me. I sob for Theseus, who is surely dead by the hands of the Minotaur by now, him and all the other innocent kids from villages on the mainland.

I cry for the family I may one day see again, but even if I could, Mother would be dead of age and only Atticus had a slight chance to recognize me. Still that was better than their agonizing deaths if I had stayed. Oh, a double edged blade cuts twice as deep.

I weep for my late Father, that gentle giant, for none of this would have happened if he had stayed away from the executioner’s sword.

I mourn my own death, which is soon to come. Of this, I am certain.

How, pray tell, did I get here, this horrid situation? Why me? Everyone I love will be dead and gone but I will beat them to the Underworld, I am sure.

I gaze into the rippling water, to see the girl who thought she could save everyone. The fool who thought she could make a difference.

But I didn’t see her. In fact, the beautiful woman in the reflection looked not a thing like me at all. Another tear slides down my cheek to splash into the stream, yet something is… odd about it.

I watch the drop fall, as it takes on a yellow luster. When it hits the water, it unleashes a small burst of brilliant gold the color of a bright full moon. I watch the individual drop join a swirl around the otherworldly visage, like a frame made of ichor and honey straight from the heavens itself. I can see each little rivulet of water join the procession. I can manage nothing but to stare in awe.

“Hello, little hero,” the woman says in a gentle voice. The same one I heard speak in my dream all of those nights ago. “You have done well. I see you continued your journey, without any help from me, might I add. For it was really your instincts that have guided you. Only the strongest women I have met can manage this.”

One word finally escapes my still lips. “Artemis.” It wasn’t a question.

“You are stronger than you think, Theia. You must not lose hope.”

“B-but,” I stammer. “It’s impossible. I can’t do it.”

“Now, now. Surely you know, as all good Greeks do, that nothing is possible for those the gods favor.”

“Favor? Why would you favor me? I’m a nobody. I can’t even find my way out of the woods.”

“Why tell yourself these lies? It is of no use to you. You have a brave heart and a strong spirit, child. You have the utmost potential. I know you can get out of this place. You have the skills to. How else could you find a campsite of the Huntresses not a day after we moved on? Look down.”

I see tents had been pitched in the clearing. Those large paws from earlier criss-crossed dozens of boot prints that looked just like the one I had seen upstream.

“But… How? Why?”

“Those are questions you must answer for yourself, Theia Rue. Be warned, however, young hero, and stay alert. Even now, the King’s men hunt for you. Now you must escape this island. When you do, you will find us in another wood, not far past the shores you land on. There you can join the ranks of the Hunters of Artemis.”

“Not if?” I asked.

The image of Artemis swirling in the stream shakes her head and smiles. Her visage begins to fade away. In a panic, I yell for her to wait, though I know it is no use. I did not want her comforting presence to go.

The water that had swirled in liquid gold and defied the current just moments before now slips downstream once more. I chase it.

🙚❊🙙 🙚❊🙙 🙚❊🙙

I hop back and forth across the currents below, not letting the glowing strip of light out of my sight. I know it is guiding me, through bend and fork without ceasing.

I keep running even as I tire after what feels like an eternity of sprinting. I take a sharp left at the fifth fork I pass, following the otherworldly rivulet. Suddenly, the golden water arcs into the air before disappearing into the depths.

My heart sinks until I realize I must not need its guidance anymore. I take off again, and the tree roots and undergrowth seem to part before me. Not that I notice it, flying like I will never see overmorrow. I break out of the brush, tumble down a short bluff, and land in cool white sand.

When I regain my bearings, I shake out my braid to loose the sand and twigs it has undoubtedly collected. I jump to my feet. I made it. I made it to the shore! I whoop with joy before remembering I’m a fugitive. I freeze in fear, keeping my eyes and ears open for threats. Deeming things safe, I huddle low in a sand drift as white as snow, just in case. I don’t know if there are any towns nearby this secluded cape.

That is when I see it. An old, abandoned fishing boat. Maybe I’m getting a little help from some friends up on Olympus after all.

Τα Νέα Ξεκινήματα: Ta Néa Xekinímata: The New Beginnings

It wasn’t easy to fix the boat. However, it was well worth it to escape just in time. The last few days of repairs had gotten tense. I had heard angry nobles and their sons searching for me on horseback. Their voices got louder and closer every day.

When the little ship was finally seaworthy, I almost didn’t launch it. I need to test it, but I fear they will discover me if they hear it being launched. Late one afternoon, I see a tall, bald man riding a mare as I peek over the bushes and decide to risk it. It is now or never.

The second I move from my hiding spot, he sees me. I am confused when he turns his horse and runs away from me, but understand what he is doing all too soon.

He rallies his fellow searchers and they come for me right as I get to the boat. I push it with the strength of the desperate, a brute force to rival Heracles. I launch the boat not a second before the men hit the sand.

I dive into the sea, not even thinking about how I’d never learned to swim. Let a sea monster eat me for all I care, just don’t let them capture me.

Their hoof beats sound like the thunder of the first summer storm Zeus sends in his insatiable wrath. I swim even harder, with skill I never dreamed of. My head hits the hull, adding to the pounding in my ears. I climb aboard and lie on the deck, trying in vain to catch my breath.

I roll my head to the side to see if I am being followed, but apparently they do not know what to do next. They argue and swear. Still no one comes for me.

I think about my family one last time as the sun sets on Crete, my home for fourteen years (my whole life!). The island shrinks and fades in the distance before disappearing into the horizon. Deep down, I know I have made the right choice.

🌊🌊🌊

I reach a foreign shore after eight nights and seven days on the water. Miraculously, I found some edible food in the hold to tide me over until I saw land again. I don’t know if it had stayed good since the ship was abandoned or if some deity was sending their aid. I find a part of me wishing for the latter.

I wash up just before dawn after the eighth night. A pale rose glow starts up on the Eastern horizon. Remembering Artemis’s words to me, I begin to trek into the dark and foreboding woods. I take nothing but Father’s bow.

Though I do not know where I am going, my feet appear to guide the way. Once more, and for the last time, the forest parts for me. Dozens of animals line up along the newly forming path that seems to disappear behind me. Each creature stares at me, an intelligent gleam behind each set of beady little eyes.

While I certainly should feel some unease at all that occurs, I do not. After a while, I arrive at what my gut, my instincts, are telling me is my destination. The moment I step into the clearing, a thousand candles alight instantaneously.

Dozens, maybe even hundreds of women, emerge from the forest. Some drop from trees to the ground. Others move to lower branches or stalk forward along the ground. They study me but carefully avoid making eye contact. Their ages range from eight to twenty-five and every single one of them wears clothes as silver as beams of the moon.

These were the Hunters of Artemis.

They all snapped to an erect position, bows drawn but pointed at the ground. For Artemis, goddess of the moon, childbirth, archers, and the hunt, was emerging from the forest. And the entire forest went silent. She spoke in a benevolent yet commanding voice:

“Step forward.” I did.

“Theia, daughter of Sebastian, and warrior of Crete,” she looked me in the eye as she spoke. I nodded when she paused.

“You have proved yourself a worthy candidate to join the ranks of the Hunters of Artemis. I believe your character and skills would make you a beneficial addition to this band of elite huntresses. And so, do you, Theia Rue, accept the call of the forest, forswear all romantic endeavors, and pledge your loyalty to the Hunters of Artemis as a dedicated warrior for eternity, lest you break your oath or sustain fatal wounds in the heat of battle?” This was it. The moment of truth.

I take a deep breath and do not hesitate to say, “I do.”

“It is done!” she proclaims. The other women have shouldered their bows and begin to applaud.

One approaches me and says, “Congratulations. You are now forever 14, but don’t worry. We’ll keep you busy.”

“Will I still get to know what happens in the outside world?”

She sighed. She knew what I was really asking. “It is hard to see your loved ones pass, but you should know that Theseus is alive.” My jaw dropped. Another huntress chimed in:

“He killed the Minotaur and…” she glanced around, snorted, and looked me in the eye with a serious face, but broke down laughing.

The first young woman finished, saying, “He has taken a lover.”

That did not strike me as his personality, but I shrugged.

“He can live his new life however he wants,” I said. “I’ve got my own path to follow.”

Το Τέλος. To Télos. The End.

Kerrigan Thompson is a twelve-year old writer who participated and completed the summer 2024 Hero’s Journey Writing Challenge. Kerrigan’s hilarious and adventure-filled short story, “A Summer in Time,” is filled with twists and turns.

Read Kerrigan’s epic short story below:

Chapter 1

Summers were the most boring time of the year in Bellville. Most all of the town’s small population left on camping trips or vacations; you get the picture. If the town had known what would happen during the summer, I’m certain that they would have stayed for the summer. Well, it’s time for me to tell you what actually happened during last summer in Bellville . . .

Lydia Dick was probably one of the few people from Bellville that actually stayed summer. All of the shops were closed, because the owners had left for the summer. Most houses sat dark and empty. Ghost Town describes what Bellville is during the summer.

I sat on a bench, alone in Bellville’s one and only park. Not even my best friend was still in town. Heidi had gone away to stay with her aunt for the summer. Heidi doesn’t even keep in touch. While she is having the time of her life, I’m sitting here in boring Bellville. What even made Mom want to move here? Oh, right, I forgot: ‘Small town vibes are the perfect place for you to grow up’ She actually said that. And now, we’ve been here for five months! Is she trying to torture me? Let me tell you something; Mom always gets her way. Sure, I love her and all- but can she try to cut down on all of the bossing around and persistence? Because of her bossiness, I’m sitting in an abandoned park! She told me that she wanted me to leave the house so that she could do some ‘summer cleaning’, when there is like nothing even open in town! Now that I’m kicked out of the house, I’m bored. My thoughts wander. Hmmmmm, I hope Mom knows that it’s summer not spring- wait, what am I even thinking about? Okay, now I really need some- thing to do since I’m thinking about seasons.

I get up from the bench, and walk towards the exit of the park. It only takes me about 9 seconds to get out of the park (it’s that small). Small towns come with smaller things like parks, I start to realize. I sigh loudly, as I walk onto main street. All of the shops have signs that say something like: Closed for the summer, come back on August 15th. What a bore. Now I’m considering making a movie on my phone about a ghost town. I guess I would need more actors. . . but it is a ghost town, so I could be the only one here. Just for fun(and so I don’t die of boredom), I think as I pull out my phone and tap the camera app. I click on video, and go to find the right place for the first scene.

I pick to shoot the first scene by a street sign. After I find the perfect angle, I prop up my phone. Then I hit record, and ran to take my place. I can cut that part out later. I walk over to the sign and read the street name.

“Main street,” I read. “Must be in the right place. I can’t wait to meet all of the people!”

I walk up, and then sneak back over to end the video. The second scene involves my character looking for people, and then trying to find something to do- so pretty much how my life has been lately. The next seven scenes are of my character trying to entertain herself, but failing. The final scene is me dying of boredom. Yes, I die at the end- from boredom.

After I edited it and put it into one video/movie, I sent it to Heidi. I also decide to also text:

Lydia: This is what the summer is like in Bellville.

Then I look at the time. 12:36AM, Uh, seriously! I only managed to kill twenty-five minutes. Is time working against me? I’m actually starting to think. Then my phone pings with a text. It’s probably Heidi, I think. I checked it.

Mom: You can come home in half an hour!

“Wait, what is that emoji? Soap-no one uses the soap emoji-come on Mom!” I murmured out loud as read the text, since it wasn’t like there was anyone around to hear me. I sigh as I send her a smiley face, which normal people actually use. Some people just never learn.

I decide to wander the streets to look for any sign of life. Zero activity happening. This place is truly dead. Even the squirrels aren’t hanging around! Only 15 minutes left before I need to be home. Since I had enough time, I could go the long route. I zig-zag through different neighborhoods (all deserted). My phone pings, and I stop on the sidewalk to read the text.

Heidi: I’ll watch it tomorrow or at some point. I’m having so much fun!!! Need to get back to my friends

Some best friend. She didn’t even say ‘my other best friends’. It was as if she didn’t even consider me her friend at all. I shove my phone in my pocket. I’m so done with texts today. I’m about to keep walking, but I swear I saw a figure in one of the windows of the little gray house I was standing in front of. Creepy.

I study the house suspiciously. I’ve never seen any people inside. I had thought it was just an abandoned house. The bushes out front were sticking out in all directions, the grass was severely overgrown, and there were weeds all over the place.

Just then, the door squeaks open and a arm appears. It throws a paper airplane that flies over to me. The door shuts. Okay, now I really need to get out of here. I’m about to step over the plane, when I realize it says: Read Me

I grab it and run, reading it on my way.

Come back here tomorrow at 9:00AM sharp; I need your help!

Chapter 2

I would be lying if I said that I wasn’t scared after reading the message written on the paper airplane. First the figure in the window, and then the message on the paper airplane. What is happening to my life? Creepy notes – check. Strange figures – check. Probably haunted house – check. All that is left to happen is some murderer that is hiding in that house or something. Okay, my life has gone from totally boring to creepy and unexplainable events in a matter of minutes. I’m tempted to message Heidi but then remember that she’s busy with her ‘best friends’,which don’t include me.

I’m only a few houses away from my own, which is a relief. As I walk up the driveway, I throw the crumpled up paper airplane in our garbage can. It would only remind me of where I have to go tomorrow at 9:00 AM sharp. It’s going to be a early morning tomorrow. Between the facts that I hate waking up early, and my wild thoughts of what might get done to me (or what I have to do/help with), I am not looking forward to any part of tomorrow.

When I open the front door and walk inside, I immediately have an major coughing ft. Mom wasn’t kidding about the summer cleaning; the house reeks of the smell of chemicals and cleaning supplies. My family would have to wear gas masks to even be able to survive this insanity. Even though all of the windows are wide open, the smell doesn’t go anywhere. My family is no where, but whatever. I need to get outside. The sliding door is also open, and I go through it. My family is over by the fence; the location farthest from the house. I’ve soon reached their location. I hear what they are talking about.

“Come on, Everleigh, don’t be dramatic,” Mom is saying to my older sister.

“Seriously, we have to camp outside if we want to live to see tomorrow!” shouts Everleigh, who was totally overdoing it. The smell isn’t going to kill us, but I would rather sleep outside. It’s still seriously unbelievable that she didn’t even notice the smell as she kept on doing her summer cleaning.

After they finally agreed (on staying outside for the day), they made a game plan.

“You go get our old camping gear, and then start putting the tents together,” Mom instructed Everleigh as she walked inside. “As for you, please locate the sleeping bags for tonight.” My younger brother, Waylon, had been leaning against the fence. I rolled my eyes along with Waylon, about our Mom always being prepared. My mission/ assignment was to get food for the rest of the day. I think Mom was getting entertainment for the rest of our day. As I entered the house, I gagged. I still couldn’t get over how bad it really actually was.

Once in the kitchen, I looked in the pantry and then also in the fridge. I grabbed a box of crackers, some cheese, and some other snacks. Since that was all that I could carry, I went back outside to my family (and room-mates). Only one of our tents had taken shape. . . but it didn’t look like a tent at all. Everleigh must have been the one to put that one together, sort of. There were random poles that stuck through the tent’s outside material, and the ceiling wasn’t even, so it was taller on one side and shorter on the other(there was also the fact that it looked like it could topple over if the wind hit it). I wasn’t the only one doubting her skills – Waylon was also. I felt bad for the kid; he had to go inside to lay out all four sleeping bags.

Worst case scenario, the tent would collapse the minute he got inside. A pole would come crashing down, and would bang the top of his head. He would black out and end up with a concussion. My mom, my sister, and me would hold onto hope that he wouldn’t die. Okay, here’s a important life lesson; don’t let you’re thoughts wander too much because you’re thoughts can scare you. You don’t need as many problems as I have.

A few hours later, both tents have been put up correctly. We had lunch and then we played Uno. Waylon won. It was now 8:00PM, and Mom had confirmed that the odor was gone. I’m not sure why Mom decided to have us put up the tents, when it wasn’t like we were going to have to sleep in them. Now we had to take them down.

As I worked on un-assembling my tent I thought (once again) about that little gray house. I had to talk to someone about it. When my work was complete, I went inside and knocked on Everleigh’s door. I knew she could keep secrets and that Everleigh was a good listener so she was my only option.

“Come in,” Everleigh said, muffed through the door. I saw that she was reading a magazine as I walked inside her room. It wasn’t surprising that her room was clean, considering Mom’s cleaning spree.

“I’m in need of advice,” I say. Everleigh nodded seriously. “So you know Heidi? She called me earlier and she told me about getting a weird invitation to a creepy house. Do you think I should tell her to go or not?”

Of course this was a lie, but I needed someone else’s thoughts about if I should go through with it.

“I think that she should go through with it because she might miss out on a awesome party or making a new friend. But if she doesn’t feel comfortable going, then she shouldn’t,” she told me after she had a moment of thought. I pretended to text Heidi, but I was actually setting my alarm. Then I went to bed.

Chapter 3

The next day I walked up to the little gray house. Getting out of the house early without suspicion was easier than I had expected. They probably thought that I was just getting away from the faint lingering smell of chemicals and cleaning supplies. I had kind of hoped that they would have caught me sneaking out or stopped me, but there was no such luck. Going inside the creepy gray house definitely wasn’t on my bucket list. It would be more likely to be on my Top Ten Fears list.

So here I was, standing in front of a place I didn’t want to be at 8:59PM. Uncomfortable was an under – statement. If I hadn’t been invited I wouldn’t ever have gone anywhere near this house. Why couldn’t it have been abandoned? My problems would never have started. Uh, why did I even show up here. I wouldn’t even care if that mystery person thought I was a coward.

Since I was collecting my many thoughts, I didn’t realize that someone had opened the front door. But it had, and I was only just starting to realize that some guy (that I’d never seen before in my entire life) was waving at me as he stood on the front porch. Believe me, I was trying my hardest not to let my (major) shock show, but it was physically impossible. How in the fve whole months that I’ve walked past this house I’ve never once seen him (except for yesterday- but that was only his arm). Okay, Lydia, I’m completely positive that I’m not blind, otherwise I wouldn’t have seen him today, obviously.

So I did the nicest thing I could think of;I waved and smiled like I was some happy neighbor of his. I made my way slowly up the front walk. The guy was studying his yard like it was his first time seeing it.

“I didn’t realize my yard was getting to be such a mess,” he says, except he says it like it’s a very deep and private mind-blowing confession. Okay, that was pretty rude of me for even thinking that.

“It’s not that bad,” I say, even as my leg gets whacked by a majorly overgrown weed. I didn’t even know that weeds could grow to be so big when left unattended (for over five months I presume. This guy must not realize that there is such a thing called yard work). He looked around the neighborhood like it was his first time seeing it.

Since I was the only person (besides that man ) in the neighborhood no one else could see this man. Even if I had decided to tell anyone (which I for sure would not) no one would believe me. Someone in Bellville would turn my story about the man leaving his house for the first time in months to a ghost emerging outside and chasing me away. It’s not like I would just secretly take a picture of him with my phone without him even noticing. Even though I conveniently brought my phone, it doesn’t mean that I planned to take as many pictures as possible, but I only brought it so I can easily call for backup.

Suddenly the guy is calling me inside. So, um, no introductions? I’m seriously going into a stranger’s house without even knowing his name! If I want to find out why he invited me here I have to go inside. So I do.

I was very surprised when I saw that the inside is completely clean. It actually looks pretty normal. Yeah, a little outdated, but it’s not surprising. Next he leads me down a hallway and into a room.

He sits down, and so do I.

“I just want to ask you a few questions to determine whether you can help me or not,” he says. I nod, very confused, but can you blame me?

“What’s your name?” he asks me.

“Lydia,” I reply

“I’m Julian. How old are you?”

“Thirteen,”

“Are you into engineering or anything like that?”

“Ummm not totally,”

“Would you be comfortable coming here on a regular basis?” “Well if I’m not ‘helping’ with anything dangerous, then yes,”

“Ok, what I’m about to show you is a secret. You are not to tell anyone of its existence EVER!!!”

Then he gets up and leaves the room. I have no choice but to follow. Julian unlocks a different door and then opens it. We both enter.

There is this shiny contraption with levers and buttons. I can tell it’s hollow, with just enough space for a person to ft inside.

“What is that?” I breathe, still in shock.

“It’s a time machine, and I would like you to try it out for me,” Julian says so simply, I have to register what he just said. After a moment of thought I say yes. Who can blame me?

“Okay I’m going to have you go inside. You have to press the green button on the wall. Once you are in the future, I need you to find a calendar and take a picture of the year. Then press this button when you are done,” he hands me the button. And then I go inside. I press the first button I see.

And just like that I’m no longer where I used to be. This is not the future, it’s the past. I’m in 19-something. I do not wish to tell you about my surroundings because I’m way too embarrassed. I couldn’t find a calendar, so I in – stead recorded myself asking a person what year it was.

I exit and play my recording. I was in 1999.

“I pressed the past button,” I say truthfully. He looks at me before saying:

“I want you to come back tomorrow. Your eagerness and your truthfulness is what I’ve been looking for. I would appreciate your assistance,”

“Thanks,” is all I can sputter.

What happened???

Chapter 4

So he had apparently wanted me to come back because I was honest and willing to help (or something like that). Julian seemed really lonely and I wasn’t about to give up the offer of trying out his time machine again. Obviously I agreed.

After that I left his house and I’m now back in my bedroom. No one was really suspected anything. I told them I was at some secret hide out, but they didn’t even seem to care. Waylon must have been playing with some toys or something, and Everleigh was sulking over her computer as she scrolled through her friends’ new posts.

As for Mom? She was looking through her files. Mom definitely isn’t sorting them, because she would only scan them for certain information and then put them back. I had no idea what was up with that, so I went into my room and plopped on my bed. My phone dinged. I saw that I had five missed messages.

Heidi: watched ur video last nite

Yesterday

Heidi: like y r u even home during the summer?

Yesterday

Heidi: y r u not answering my texts? did you already die from boredom?

Yesterday

Heidi: its not like u have better things to do

Yesterday

Heidi: guess what??? my cool uncle took us to a coffee shop and actually let us order coffee!!!

Today

Wow, so now she texts me. And she thinks that getting coffee is cool. If she only knew that I time traveled.

I don’t even care enough to answer her texts. And those rude comments – uh. I’m starting to think that the day that

I block her texts is very soon.

Not much happened the rest of the day. Mom kept digging through files until she had to make dinner. Everleigh complained about all of the fun that her friends were having and ‘why did we have to stay in this ghost town during the summer.’ Waylon straight up left the table once he was finished eating to avoid all of what he called ‘girl drama.’ I was jealous of the kid. He was just small enough to leave the room unnoticed, but I didn’t have any issues because they were caught up in their argument.

Then it was the next morning. I sneaked out fairly early and I noticed that Everleigh and Mom weren’t talking. But that wasn’t my problem. If I didn’t show up on time then Julian would figure that I didn’t want to come back.

Now I’m in front of his house. It’s not long before I get let in. Julian has something planned. Once we reach the room he tells me it.

“I’m going to teach you how to work it,” Julian says. Then the instructions come. First you have to choose the place that you want to go, the time period, and there are many levers and buttons. After an hour of this, Julian wants me to do it for real. I can go wherever I want. I start off with the map. I’ve wanted to know what Bellville was like a few years ago. Were the summers always this boring and empty? I find Bellville on the map and click on it.

Thirteen is my lucky number, so I choose thirteen years in the past. Then I pull and press buttons and the machine starts. I got inside. Julian makes no comments, so I can only guess that I’ve programmed it correctly.

Then I’m in the past.

Bellville looks the same. The old buildings. And it’s also abandoned. Even though it’s a bust, I still decide to wander around. There are less houses in the neighborhoods, but otherwise it’s the same.

I hear music coming from the street behind the one I’m on. Maybe there is a party. I soon reach the street with the music. It’s Julian’s street. And the lights are on in Julian’s house. Has Julian lived here for that long?

I can tell that the music is coming from the backyard. Also the yard isn’t overgrown at all. Weird. Maybe it isn’t Julian who is living here. Even so, I creep over to the fence gate and look through. The sight confuses me.

Julian is standing in the backyard alone. But then a young Everleigh comes outside through Julian’s back door. Everleigh stands there waiting for someone. Then Mom comes out with a baby me in her arms. What???????

Then I’m more confused. Everleigh looks behind her and then screams “Grandpa!” Mom just smiles. That’s all I can take. I press the button to go back. When I’m inside, I just stare at a wall.

Can this be possible? Does Julian even know? Either way, I need to just come out and say something. So I do. I stare at the ground and then at Julian.

“You’re my grandpa?” I ask. He seems shocked. But then realization strikes. I can’t handle it, so I run out of the room and out the front door.

I’m soon home. I find my Mom and then ask her why she didn’t tell us about Julian living here.

“How do you know about him?” Mom asks, confused.

“I’ve been meeting with him since yesterday. I he why we moved here?” I ask.

“Yes. Years ago we lost touch. As you know, we don’t have any other family. I decided to move here. Since we’ve moved here I’ve forgotten his address. This town has grown over the years. Recently, I’ve been searching for where I wrote down his address. . . but you’ve met him? You know where he lives?” Mom says. I nod.

“Are you going to tell Everleigh and Waylon?” I ask. I don’t think I could keep such a secret. Mom nods and then calls them into the room, and I leave. I go into my room and fop on my bed.

I can’t say I’m not happy!

Chapter 5

Over the rest of the summer, things couldn’t have been different. I wasn’t the only one heading to Julian’s everyday. My siblings were shocked at both the fact that we have a grandpa and the whole time machine existence thing. Waylon was more confused about Julian than Everleigh because she could still recall a faint memory of him. But I can say that Waylon had been a big fan of the time machine. Julian was able to teach Waylon the reins of it in a short amount of time. I’d never known how good at machinery Waylon was. Waylon had the creative touch as him and he even looked like him. Mom and Everleigh even went to the past and or future.

Now the summer was over. Most of the town had returned. It was much harder to get to Julian’s house un-noticed, so eventually we had to stop going. We couldn’t risk any of Bellevile’s getting suspicious, investigating, and finding out about his secret. But that wasn’t what ended up happening that exposing Julian’s secret . . .

Me, Everleigh, Waylon, and Mom were at the grocery store. The place was packed, being that everyone had just came back from their vacation and needing to restock their fridge. All shelves were emptying very quickly. We had been lucky to get here earlier to find our groceries. Even though, we were still stuck in a long line. Very boring. There was only one employee that was checking everyone out. It must have been exhausting. Everleigh was texting her friends to make plans to meet up. Waylon looked bored out of his mind. He glanced at the six people in front of us and then said to Mom: “I would rather be at Julian’s; his time machine is fun,”

A few of the ladies in front of us turned and stared. First the phones were whipped out. Then the whispers started. But they were completely audible.

“Isn’t Julian that guy with the overgrown yard?”

“I thought that Julian had moved away years ago!”

“A time machine?!”

“You heard it too?”

“Is it true??”

“It must be! I’ve heard clanking in that house!!”

Mom slapped her face, and then looked at Waylon. He looked just as shocked as the others.

“Let’s get out of here,” Mom said. She abandons her cart and then we dash out.

“We need to tell Julian that the secret’s out,”

We get in the car and get on our way. At least Everleigh is off her phone. . .

I still can’t get over what Waylon did. I’m not sure whether to be mad or glad. The secret would have gotten out at some point. This was better than some random teenager sneaking into the (haunted) house and then finding the time machine.

We soon arrive at Julian’s house. Mom is the first person out of the car and is now banging on his door.

Waylon is sobbing on the lower half of Everleigh’s shirt. It’s a mess, is all I can say.

Julian shows no visual expression when my Mom tells him what happened. Our family goes inside and just sit in the living room. No one moves. No one says anything. Everyone chooses this time to remain silent. Even Waylon has quieted after his meltdown outside. This goes on for two hours.

Then Everleigh gets up and goes into the kitchen for a snack.

“How do you get your groceries when you never leave the house?” she asks as she scans his fridge.

“I get them delivered to my doorstep,” Waylon says, still not moving from his spot on the rocking chair. Everleigh grabs a bottled water, closes the fridge and then gets a handful of crackers from the pantry. As

she opens the water some leaks out. She goes over to the sink and wipes the water with a dishtowel. Everleigh put the dish towel back, but then paused to stare out the window.

“Uhhhh, half of the town is on the front lawn,” Everleigh says, glancing back at us. Everyone stares back at her, eyes wide. Then all at once, we jump up and crowd in front of the nearest window to see for yourself. It’s true.

“Okay, are you guys to stand here gawking for another two hours just like earlier?” Everleigh asks and then continued crunching on her crackers. Except everyone (except for me) just looked at all of those people. Most were arguing loudly or were sharing what they had heard. Either way, that didn’t stop me from marching out the door.

Yeah, I didn’t totally work out my plan. Now I’m standing in front of most of town. Just defend Julian, is all I can think of.

“Why are you all here?” I ask them. Of course know why they are here, but I still need to find out what part they think they have with the time machine.

“THE TIME MACHINE!” they yell. Noisy, are we?

“What point did you want to prove by gathering here?”

“For years, Julian was building a secret time machine. He hid it from us! We had the right to know!!!!!” one lady said, and the rest agreed.

“Let me tell you something. Why do you think that Julian hid the time machine? Judgement? No! He had to keep it a secret because he knew that all of you would be jealous and try to steal it for themself. You all are what is called self-centered. Over all of those years, you showed no interest in Julian. You didn’t care about anything that he did. But then when he had something you wanted, now you show interest in him? WHAT KIND OF PEOPLE ARE YOU??? Just go home and forget this ever happened. Maybe then, Julian will forgive you,” I say. Then I leave . . . and they do to. And then everything was fine.

So that’s is what went down in Bellville, that one summer. I’m sure no one will forget it.

And in case you were wondering; the time machine is now open to the whole town. But let me tell you – our story wasn’t over; because things aren’t always perfect. Even with a time machine the future can change.

The End

K. Ann is an eighteen-year old writer who completed the 2024 Hero’s Journey Writing Challenge in which she wrote a 5,000 word original short story.

Author Bio:

As the daughter of a Marine, K.Ann grew up in a world near yet strange, her experiences influencing her writing. Going from writing almost every genre to narrowing it down to one specific niche, she writes young adult contemporary and historical fantasy with hints of dystopian. When she’s not writing, you can find her touring her favorite fantasy worlds and her local libraries.

You can connect with her by signing up to her email list https://kannwriter.myflodesk.com/z8s2ldayio, as well as on Pinterest as @kannwriter and Havok Publishing, where she works on the operations team.

Read K. Ann’s original short story, Painting the Stars, below!

I tighten my hoodie, hunching against the sheets of rain pounding my back. My glasses fog for a second, and the auto cleaner function kicks in, clearing the fog as if it had never been there. Good thing I saved and splurged on them. I can see again.

I stare at the gray sidewalk. There was a time when there was color, when there was more than only shades of gray. A time before the Rift.

Not that I remember it. There’s been no color for decades.

I have no idea why, honestly. Why anything with color is illegal. But that’s the North American sector for you. There’s rumors that the South American sector has color, but that’s just it: a rumor. With the borders surrounded by a border of solid darkness, there’s no getting in or out.

I don’t meet anyone’s eyes. I’m pretty sure thinking such treacherous thoughts is illegal.

And there are people who can get access to mind reading devices—if they pay enough.

I just need to be inconspicuous.

My sneakers splash in a deep puddle, and I groan. Water seeps through, and my socks squelch as I take another step. They’re sopping. If only I wasn’t a broke runaway orphan, maybe I could afford hovershoes. But no, all I can get are regular, pre-historic sneakers.

My feet squish as I trudge up the stairs to my apartment. I place my thumb on the doorknob, and the door illuminates for the briefest of seconds. It opens, and I am met with a sparse, drab room. This building used to be a really nice hotel—at least, it was before the Rift. Now, it is one of thousands of apartments rented cheaply since it has none of the amenities the

rich folk have. Like a stove that cooks for you and seasons the food exactly to your taste if you code it to your DNA. That sort of thing.

I close the door behind me and hurry into my bedroom. All I want to do is collapse on my little cot in the corner of the room. But first, I hurry to my closet, yanking out a dry hoodie. One of those automatic drying machines sure would be nice on days like today.

But alas.

After I pull on the hoodie, I rifle through the back of my closet, glancing behind me, praying nobody can see through the walls with the latest x-ray vision goggles. Shoving aside piles of laundry that I’m saving my decis to wash, I unearth a lockbox.

Historically speaking, it’s a safe. But today, safes are locked and unlocked using DNA, not spin dials. So I call it a lockbox.

It’s so ancient that, if authorities ever knock on my door, they won’t be able to unlock it. Or so I hope. I have no clue what technology official investigators have, anyway. Or if they’d be able to use a software to discover the code.

I unlock it—459—and pull out my most prized possessions.

A set of paint and a sketchpad.

The curtains are drawn, and my door is bolted. I’m safe. Or as safe as you can be when you participate in illegal activities in the North American sector.

I sit on the linoleum floor and open the sketchbook to a new page. I’m never quite sure what I’m going to paint until I start, especially since I have never seen anything with color. It’s amazing, really, that pure paint survived the Rift untainted and lasted so many decades.

I wet my brush and select a dusty rose color. I’ve never seen the color of a rose, but it is the color I imagine they are—a pink that seems slightly darker than a normal pink, which is several shades lighter than this current paint. I brush it along the whole canvas.

I then choose a deep eggplant color—it’s probably lighter than a normal eggplant, but it’s the closest I have to what I imagine an eggplant looks like—and mix it with the pink in large strokes.

I choose color after color, and it doesn’t take long to realize I’ve painted something I’ve never seen before except in gray shades—and in my dreams.

A breathtaking sunset.

***

I scan the bag of chips someone has set in front of me, not meeting their eyes. “12 hectos.” They place their hand on the sensor, using the chip implanted there to make their payment. I place the chips in a bag and hand it to them, never once looking at them.

I’m a cashier at the Econautic Fuel station (which sells economically friendly fuel made from completely water).

I only made about 15 hectos an hour, but working ten-hour days at least pays for my apartment and a few packets of ramen, even leaving me a little extra.

Extra for the White Market.

Another person waits behind the one I just checked out. I scan his items, and he pays in real coin.

“Here’s your four centis change.” I place the coins in his hands. “Have a nice day.” “Thank you…” his voice trails off, and I glance up, wondering what he’s staring at. He’s reading my name badge. “Marita.”

“It’s just Rita.” My eyes drop once more to scrutinize the dusty counter. Why did I just say that? I never say anything to anyone beside social niceties.

“Rita, you want color, don’t you?” His voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper.

I drop the hectos he gave me, and they clatter against the register. “Are you insane?” I hiss, my eyes frantically looking at the security bots that can transcribe lip movements.

He raises an eyebrow and taps his glasses. My jaw drops.

He has a mind reading device.

And I just met his eyes.

He’s going to turn me in for the reward of 312 kilos.

That’s ten years of wages right there.

I swallow a little and take a step back, bumping into the mini fridge behind me that holds grown-up drinks. It clatters, the display on top falling to the ground with a loud crash. I scramble to pick it up, my heart racing as my fists clench involuntarily. I need to get out of here. I have to run. Hide. Perhaps move to a different region entirely.

I might even have find a smuggler willing to help me illegally leave the North American sector.

“Excuse me, mam…”

I look up, and a woman with a child on her hip holds out a couple bags of chips.

I smooth my face so that there are no worry lines showing and straighten. “I’m sorry for the delay.” I scan her items, she scans her hand over the sensor, and then I’m alone.

The man is no longer here. Only one thing is. A note.

It says, Meet me at the northern corner on the east side of the White Market at midnight.

***

I’m not sure what I’m expecting, exactly. On all accounts, it would probably be safer to book it and leave town. So why am I sticking around?

That note. It’s somewhat ominous, almost as if my doom is impending. And yet, here I wait, at the northern corner on the east side of the White Market, a little before midnight. The White Market opens at 1 am and closes at 3 am. And I’m here, skulking about before it opens.

Second, why is a man who knows how I long for color to be back in the world not turning me in for the reward?

Curse my curious mind.

I hunch over, blowing on my numb fingers to warm them up. I tug my hood up over my head and draw my hands into my sleeves, then stick them in my pockets.

The distant ding of the Mountain Region clock rings through the air. It’s midnight.

I peer into the darkness. Midnight in the North American sector is dreary, with no stars to paint the sky. I glance up at the eternal expanse, wishing I could see the Milky Way, the starry system I only read about in science books when I was in school.

I’m about ready to forget it and leave—both the White Market and the Mountain Region, potentially the North American sector altogether.

But something stops me.

A figure, darker than the rest of the darkness, approaches. I hesitantly take a step back, furtively glancing around me in hopes that someone—anyone—might be there. In hopes that someone will witness what is about to happen.

But nothing. The White Market won’t open for another hour.

The figure is fast approaching, and I can make out his face a little. It’s the man from the station, the one who accused me of wanting color then left a creepy note.

My breath comes so fast and so thick that it fogs my glasses, and the auto-cleaner function has to work double-time to clear it.

“Rita.” The man stops right in front of me. I don’t meet his eyes, but I take in his figure. He’s not super imposing—rather short for a man, about my height. His cheeks are speckled with freckles.

He lowers his hood, and I see his hair is a deep shade—not a gray, but not solid black either. And, not to mention, the fact that he is wearing mind-reading glasses—they sort of look like the mythological Harry Potter glasses.

I force a little smile and take a small step backward. I don’t lower my hood, but I do remove my hands from my pockets so I can fight if need be. “Who are you?”

He is quiet a moment. “My name is of little consequence.”

“I should think not. A name is important. It’s who you are as a person.” Then I clap my hand over my mouth. I can’t believe I just said that, especially not in a time where names are not important and your entire being is shoved into the 28 digit number listed in the chip in your hand. You don’t just go shouting out that names are important when, to the leaders of the North American sector, they’re not.

“Be that as it may.” He clears his throat and glances around again. “Time is short. I need to know where your allegiance lies.”

I stifle a gasp. “W-why, to President Volton, of course.” I salute as I say his name—just like any other citizen would.

He raises an eyebrow. “Really, Rita, I’d think you wouldn’t be such a liar.” “I-I…” I swallow down the lump of fear rising in my throat. “I’m no liar.” “Then why will you not meet my eyes?”

Why indeed?

He sighs. “I’ll be straight with you. You know of the Rift, right?”

Obviously. Everyone knows about how President Volton fifty-eight years ago realized how color influenced people’s minds and made them more susceptible to rebellion. And thus, he went on a journey to discover how to separate color from the world because, without color, there would be no rebellion, and thus less death.

I don’t buy that propaganda, but I give a nod. “We all learned it in grade school.”

He shakes his head. “A bunch of lies. Written by a bunch of liars.” He gives me a wry smile. “Like you.”

I jerk my head and death glare him. “Am not.”

“Are to.” He taps his glasses again, and I grow cold. I did it. Again. Let him read my thoughts.

“What do you want from me?” I whisper.

“That, Rita, is something only you can answer. How badly do you want color into the world?” I dare myself to meet his eyes again, and he reads the answer. “Just as I suspected.” His voice drops to a whisper, and he says, “Let me help you, and together, we will bring color back into the world.”

I give an almost imperceptible nod.

He smiles. “You can call me Orion. Like the hunter who crushes the scorpion.” Oh dear. What have I gotten myself into?

***

The plan is simple: infiltrate Obsidian Holdings, retrieve the famous paintings Starry Night and the Mona Lisa. Each member of the Phoenix Squad has been assigned specific paintings to find there.

The problem with the heist? Oh, the usual—Obsidian Holdings is the largest protection facility for art—mostly, they hold paintings. Other places—like Shadow Holdings or Twilight Holdings—protect the books.

Or, should I say, imprison.

I swallow a gulp as I shudder. Cloaked in darkness, this heist is doomed from the start. Even I know that. It’s not well thought out, for one. Because who plans 27 heists to steal 54 artifacts on the same night?

The dumbo ringleader Scorpius, that’s who. We all have code names and hide our identity, covering anything that might give access to our DNA. So, gloves, hair coverings, face obscurers, the works.

I’m called Sun now. Not Rita anymore. Protection of privacy, or so they say. But I don’t trust Orion to not share that if something better comes his way. I don’t trust him.

Come to think of it, I don’t trust anyone anymore, not since my parents were killed when I was three for secretly writing novels and circulating them to the entire sector.

They were dumbos for being rebels. And here I am, a rebel.

I’m a dumbo.

Sun, do you read? It’s a neurotransmitter installed in my inner ear. It reads my direct thoughts and transmits them back to Orion, who then sends it to Scorpius. And so on and so forth.

I really cannot manage my thoughts right now. Even though anyone could have a mind reading device, and I’m allowing myself to remain completely jumbled inside.

I read. I squint at the window below me—I’m standing on the roof of Obsidian Holdings. Or perhaps I should say I’m laying on the roof of Obsidian Holdings because that is what I’m actually doing. I’m watching the night guards doing their circulations and timing how much time is between them while Scorpius does his hacking thing to take down the cameras inside.

Then begin phase 2.

I roll my eyes and carefully raise the window. No alarms go off, so Scorpius must have pulled through. One advantage to having a master hacker during a heist.

Carefully, carefully I lower myself into the building, changing the settings on my borrowed hovershoes so that I change the surrounding gravity gradually.

One thing for sure about this rebel circle: I get nice gear, better than I ever got as a runaway orphan working at an Econautic Fuel Station.

I peer around, pulling my black hood over my head. I’m wearing a face obscurer, so that if I’m caught nobody will recognize me. Hopefully. Hackers are everywhere, and if someone has a mind reading device, all is lost.

I slowly step down the hall, making my way to one of the galleries.

This is the one. Stop here. The first one is hidden in here.

I approach the door and stop. DNA scanner.

I’ve already removed the sensor. Just go in.

I turn the doorknob and enter the room, glancing around me. I hear steps coming my way, and I quickly shut the door as the guards come into view. Hiding behind a large, ornate vase, I hold my breath as someone marches into the room, does a once-over, and leaves.

Breathing a sigh of relief, I step out of my position. I have seven minutes, more or less, to find the painting Scorpius wants and hide before they’re back.

Describe the painting. I scan the room, searching for something in this room. There is little color here, but there is some. And some means some hope. Hope that color can seep back into this room, this region, this sector. Starting with this painting.

There is a dark black tree-like image that is the focal point, but that is not the main part of the painting. Imagine swirls of glorious colors, with a bright gold sun in the shape of a moon.

A bright gold sun in the shape of a moon? What in the North American sector is that supposed to mean? But I don’t directly think those thoughts because I don’t want Orion to hear them and send them to Scorpius. Will I actually see glorious colors and a bright gold sun?

Perhaps. But perhaps not. Just look for something like what I described. Vague. Obscure observations. Sure I can. My eyes scan the room, searching for something. There are a lot of paintings with hints of color seeping from them, but they’re honestly not very pretty paintings. Probably confiscated from inexperienced painters.

Kinda brilliant, though, hiding a brilliant painting with not-brilliant paintings.

I start peaking behind the stands, looking for something. I’m still not really sure what I’m looking for, though.

And then I see it.

Something so vibrant it hurts my eyes.

I thought my paints were bright, but that is incomparable to this.

The swirls seem to engulf each other, dancing across the canvas over the little town and the tall dark structure.

And the sun! The bright gold sun that looks like a moon doesn’t even begin to describe the majesty. It looks like it is reflected in a water-borne sky with a ripple effect, blending seamlessly into the mystical background.

My hand reaches out to touch it. And that’s when I hear it.

“What are you doing here?”

I whirl around, and there is a guard there, holding a laser taser. “Just taking a little peek. I’ll just be going now.” My hands pick up the painting and hold it behind my back as I slowly inch to the side.

Sun, what is the status report?

Shut up! My mind hisses. I’ve been caught, doofus! I told you this plan was doomed from the start.

Sun, what happened?

I ignore the probing questions and continue my side step. “I just got lost. I’d best be leaving.”

The guard approaches. “You’re not going anywhere.” His eyes try to focus on my face, but he can’t see me well—his pupils go in and out of focus as he tries to see my features.

I grip the painting behind me. I can’t lose this breathtaking piece of art.

The guard shoots the laser, and I dodge it, the painting falling from my hands and skidding across the ground. I leap to my feet and whirl around, the laser shooting toward me again.

I arch my back, and it shoots right past me as I leap through the air toward the guard, knocking straight into him.

He’s out like a lightbulb.

“Oh no, oh no, did I kill him?” I gasp, staring open mouth. But then I realize I can’t just stand here; they’re going to find me. I’ve got to get out of here.

Sun, Sun, do you read?

I ignore the probing and start running, scooping up the painting and turning on my hovershoes as I go. Soon I’m half walking, half flying as I dash toward the open window.

And that’s when a laser hits the obscurer on my face. And a security bot flash blinds me. Oh no oh no oh no. I turn the hovershoes on to the highest setting.

I break through the window, gripping the painting tight, as lasers soar past me into the night sky.

I fly off into the night, just as I see a picture of my face and the words “Wanted: Marita

Davis, 312 kilos” form in the sky.

***

“Sun, what the blazes were you thinking?”

Orion is mad—like, blazing mad. I don’t meet his eyes, since I don’t want him to read my traitorous thoughts to both the North American sector as well as the rebellion, but I can see it in the hardened lines of his jaw.

“What the blazes was I thinking? Fulfilling a dumb mission, what do you expect?” I roll my eyes to the painting in my arms. The colors seem to swirl, filling my vision with beauty. “It was doomed from the start—that many heists in one night is a horrible idea.”

Orion rubs his head. “It was all a farse. The missing paintings were a distraction. You could have left them! And instead you got caught, and we got compromised.”

“Sorry.” I fight surprise but feign sarcasm. “Must’ve missed the memo.”

“Duh. Scorpius was using that opportunity to hack into the government’s security banks to find the secret to how they keep color locked up!”

I glance at the painting in my hands. “They haven’t done a good job of it.”

Orion rubs his temples then sits down on a bench, leaning against the muddy gray building. “There’s a reason for that.”

I plant a hand on my hip, then remember the painting and straighten so as to not soil it. “A reason? How could—” Remembering to play it cool, I rephrase what I was saying. “Why would the government not get rid of color if they could?”

“No, no, no, not that sort of reason.” Orion takes the painting from my hands, and I clench my fists, biting my tongue to keep from yelling at him to give it back. I feel sort of… empty without it. He examines it closely and shakes his head. “The key, my dear Rita, is creativity. And you just broadcasted yourself—and the painting—to the entire nation!”

“Sun.” I reach out and touch the painting, feeling a surge of something run through my fingers. “Sorry. And creativity? What is that?”

“Think of your parents, Rita.” His brows furrow at me, his tone calming as he sees me touching the painting. He pulls it slightly away again, and my body grows cold. “Think of the artist of this painting. Think of yourself. What do you all have in common?”

And that’s when I understand—my parents could not be suppressed. Their life work, their creativity could not be stopped. They had to write, like I had to paint. Just like the artist had topaint this starry night.

Creativity. It’s powerful.

I touch the painting again with a renewed spirit. Light pours out of the painting and into me, streaming through my consciousness and into my very soul. The world seems to explode around me, weaving together in streams of majesty I have never seen before except in weak imitations.

Color.

It’s in me, around me, through me.

It doesn’t matter that I’m a wanted criminal.

What does matter is sharing this beauty with the rest of the sector.

I stare at Orion, and he nods at me. “Rita, you have the gift of creativity—don’t let them take it from you. If those few with creativity are silenced, then there is no hope for restoration of the sector.” He stares into my eyes—his brown eyes with flecks of gold in them. “Will you join me?”

“I’ve already done so,” I say, my eyes taking in his entire personage. His dusty brown hair, his eyes that match, his pale freckled skin, his pinkish lips

I think I want to kiss those lips.

I shake my head to clear that strange urge as Orion continues speaking. “Not that rebellion—the inner rebellion, where we share creativity with the world. I don’t care about hacking and stealing and setting fires. I want to restore the sector. Will you join me, Rita?”

I meet his eyes once more, removing my gaze from his lips. “Yes, Orion, I will help you.” His eyes bore into my own. “It’s not Orion. It’s Dustin.”

I smile. That’s the perfect name for him. “What do we do first, Dustin?”

***

Color seems to spring from my every step. Everywhere, there is overwhelming, swirling colors.

And Dustin can see it, too. I know that now. His desire for a rebellion to overwhelm the world, his mind-reading device so he can find those who are sympathizers to the cause and who might have the gift of creativity inside, his joining with a dumb revolution leader so that he can gain access to art that can cause the spark of creativity in someone to burn to an inferno.

And now, it’s my turn.

I can’t get into my apartment because my DNA will entrap me and garner authorities to the scene, but I don’t need my paint to do this.

All I need is a touch. This one singular painting might not be enough, but it will be the spark. The spark to bring color back.

“Scorpius, we need you to hack into the government broadcasting system.” Dustin stands, leaning against the leader’s desk.

Scorpius rolls his eyes. “Not happening. They’ve blocked my signals.”

I narrow my eyes, crossing my arms and staring him down. “Guess you’re not a master hacker, then.”

“Guess not.”

Blazes. Reverse psychology didn’t work.

“For goodness’ sake. Move over.” I push his arm, and when he doesn’t budge from his chair, I grab his computer mouse and start scrolling. I have no clue how to hack, but maybe this will get him to help us.

I start clicking and clacking away, and Scorpius huffs. “You’re ruining my algorithms.” “Your algorithms, huh?” I highlight a section of code and hover my finger over the ‘delete’ button. “You going to help us or am I going to delete this?”

“Fine, I’ll help you. I can scramble the signal and get you access to the broadcasting system.” He grabs my hand and yanks it aside, and Dustin looks about ready to blow when he sees the man touching me. But Scorpius just grabs the mouse and the pad and starts frantically typing and muttering to himself, strings of code pouring forth from his fingers. “Get ready. What are you broadcasting?”

“This.” Dustin holds up the painting. “Make this the entire sky.” Scorpius’s eyebrows raise. “All over the sector?”

“All over the sector.” I narrow my eyes. “Unless I need to destroy your code?”

“Nope, I got this.” Scorpius takes a little scanner camera thing, and a laser light scans the painting and deposits the image as code into the system.

“We need to have our voices hooked up to the system,” I say. “As soon as you start broadcasting the painting.”

Scorpius’s face goes pale. “They’ll be able to track us if we do that.”

Dustin interjects. “Do it.” The determination in his voice strengthens me. I’m a wanted criminal, but this is worth the risk.

Scorpius mutters something intelligible, then starts typing frantically. He pulls a recorder device from a drawer and connects it to the computer. “Start talking. I’m broadcasting. We have less than ten minutes before they can trace the signal and five minutes for them to get here.”

I grab the device and start talking. “Hello, citizens of the North American Sector. My name is Marita Davis, and I’m a lot like you—someone who has something to hide from the government.”

Dustin takes the mic. “I am Dustin Skies. I seek to remedy the problems that the government has infringed on us. Namely, the dystopian world they have perpetrated in locking up creativity.”

I take over. “Look at the sky. Look at the stars painted in the sky. The colors. The vividness of them. Look what we’re missing. Look at the intricacy of it, and consider this: why has the government locked up color?”

“They’ve traced us,” Scorpius hisses, frantically tapping away as his brow sweats.

“So we don’t get the idea to rebel against them!” Dustin exclaims. He is also sweating. “And has that worked? No! They’ve locked up our paintings, our books, our creativity, and to what end? We’re rebelling anyway!”

Clattering noises ring through the building, and I bite my lip. But I can’t freeze now. My voice gains strength as I continue. “Authorities are on the way here to stop us right now. But our voices will not be silenced. Our words will not be stopped. Look at the stars painted in the sky! Let that creativity abound inside you.”

The door crashes open, and someone screams, “Hands in the air or you’re getting tased!” “Don’t let your voices be silenced!” Dustin cries. “Don’t let your creativity be squelched!”

“I’ve lost the signal!” Scorpius yells.

“Silence!”

The room swarms with officials, and I grab Dustin’s hand. He turns to me and wraps his arms around me, his lips pressing hard against mine for a split second before the officials grab our arms and wrench us apart.

“Don’t tell them anything!” Dustin screams. Someone tases him, and he slumps to the floor, unconscious.

I make myself go limp, but I don’t fight. Neither does Scorpius, other than reaching out his finger to his the “delete all” button on his computer. And he gets tased for that.

I touch my lips, and they take us away.

The End.