Incomplete Stories

Below are some passages from something I have recently begun. It is nowhere near complete, and it does not commence from the beginning. Because of writer's block and not being sure how to start it, I have decided to just have a few passages here and there--for the parts I am sure of--and then tie them all together later.

Fear Comes Home
Genre: Teen/Young Adult Fiction, Sci-fi/Horror Thriller, Adventure
Influences: Christopher Pike, Dean Koontz
Four teen must prevent the evil resurrection of Edgar Allan Poe


Chris, Sam and Carrie stood at the far edge of the room, the gaping chasm behind them where the explosion obliterated the wall. There were blank looks on their faces, but in their hearts and minds stood a sense of disbelief. At the other end of the hallway was Angel. She looked more like an escapee from a POW camp than the bright-eyed, energetic soul they had come to know and love. Her clothing was severely torn to shreds, and both it and much of her face, neck and arms were covered with dirt, grime and blood stains--some dried, some not. Her trademark mane of lustrous brown hair had turned into something resembling a disheveled rat's nest, and there were what appeared to be gnats scurrying mindlessly about her head. Maybe it was just a trick of the light, or maybe Angel's friends were losing their minds--or had already lost them. Either way, they were hallucinating. This girl was supposed to be dead! They were sure of it! They distinctly recall kneeling down beside her broken and battered body, her short life snuffed out from the horror they all had endured since the beginning of their sentence. Or had she just given up the fight? It's been said that some people would rather let go in a moment of weakness than continue a futile struggle. Carrie knew she touched flesh when she held her friend's hand, the tears streaming down her face so forcefully that they might, at any moment, churn into a river and carry them all away into oblivion.
"Angel?" affirmed Chris, though even he could not believe his own ears. "Is that really you?" He looked at Sam and Carrie for a moment, then returned his gaze.
"Yeah, I'm here," she replied.
"We thought you were dead," said Carrie.
"I am...but I'm not. Sort of. I don't know. I sure feel dead. But I'm up and walking. And you can see and hear me."
"Yeah, we sure can," Carrie said softly, with a slight smile, the first to cross her lips since she last saw her friend fully alive, and who had now come back to her. Carrie began to move toward her, her arms starting to stretch out to give a hug. Chris and Sam took a step forward, following her.
"No!" Angel cried out, with her left arm stretched out before her, her palm facing outward. "Don't touch me! Don't come any closer!"
A look of shock and bewilderment came over Carrie. "Why? What's the matter, honey? We're your friends. We're not going to hurt you."
"I don't know," Angel answered. Just...don't. Stay away!" She pulled back her outstretched arm and slowly ran it over the length of her face. For just a split-second Chris could have sworn he saw her eyes take on a reddish, satanic glow and briefly roll back into her head before returning to normal. *That couldn't have been a trick of the light*.
"It's okay, Angel," said Carrie. "We'll stay right here. After all you've been through, you're probably in shock or something."
Chris said firmly, "That's not Angel. It may not even be human."
Sam looked at him quizzically. "What have you been smoking, man? Is this thin air getting to your brain?"
"I'm just saying..."
"Look," Carrie interrupted, tossing a quick glance Chris and Sam's way, "why don't we all just take a deep breath and calm down, okay?" Looking her friend squarely in the eye, she said, "Angel...honey...it's alright. Here, take my hand. I'm your friend." Carrie stepped forward and placed her hand in Angel's. "We'll go slowly, at first. Okay? We all have to get out of here," she implored.
The moment she turned away, Angel released her grip from Carrie and wiped away a wisp of hair from her brow. "Wait," she pleaded. "We can't go just yet."
"Why not? What's the matter?" inquired Carrie, turning back to her.
"There's some unfinished business to take care of." She ran her fingers through a few strands of hair, and then pressed them lightly against her right temple, as if trying to fight off a headache.
The pain inside grew, even as Angel shouted back against the voice, but it only screamed louder.
*Do it! Do it now!*
*Please, no! I can't! They're my friends!*
*You must do it! Complete your task or you shall die!*
"You okay, girl?" asked a half-nonchalant Sam.
"Yeah, I'm fine. I just..."
A thunderclap, as loud as the eruption of Pompeii, tore through the sky, signaling the arrival of the storm of the week barreling through the valley. Carrie, Sam and Chris glared out the jagged opening in the wall behind them and wondered how long it would take for the landscape to flood. Reaching to the horizon, they could see beyond and below them forested hills, interspersed with fielded glades and rocky mesas. They could very well stay where they were, sheltered from the rains to come. But at the same time, they wanted to escape Poe's wrath and find a way back home. Besides, how were they going to reach the plains below? The house was situated a mere twenty yards from the edge of a seemingly mile-high cliff. The only way out appeared to be through the front door, the arrival of which was made more difficult by the maze of caverns and passageways, any one of which could either lead them right back to square one, or set them face-to-face with heaven knows what adventures--or characters.
Or even, the one character at this moment borne from hell: Poe.
With the trio still facing the direction of the outside world before them, Angel reached behind her and pulled from the small of her back a pistol. Holding the weapon at arm's length with one fist over the other on the handle, her finger barely caressing the trigger as if pretending to comfort a wounded animal while preparing to mercifully deliver a final death blow, she ever so slightly--and try as she might, silently--cocked back the hammer. But there indeed was a sound. The kind to make one jump; the kind that shook Chris and the others out of their reverie. They turned and froze like statues, their faces white with terror, as they saw Angel pointing a gun straight at them. They weren't two feet from the edge of the opening, and a shot upon any one of them would send them flying to the ground below.
Sam stammered, "Angel! Wh-wh-where did you get that thing? What are you doing, child?"
Angel's expression was locked in a tight grip of concentration. Dark, grim concentration. She spoke in a voice which was clearly hers, yet wasn't. It was tinged with a growl which sounded like it came from the deep, evil crevices of her soul (a devil rather than an angel) indicating Chris was right upon mention of her being inhuman.
"...I have to kill you guys now," she said.

END OF CHAPTER, # TBA
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Angel raised the gun at her friends. Carrie yelled, "Angel, my God, what the hell are you doing?", who, along with the gang, had their backs against the wall. "You can't just--"
Angel fired a shot. Apparently there was still a part of her which had some control over her possessed spirit for, despite the fact that the weapon was aimed to take down one of her friends (Poe didn't care which), at the last second she tilted her arm upward. A bullet sailed over their heads--reducing macho Chris and Sam to cowering trolls--and lodged into a salamander resting on a rocky ledge in the wall behind them, separating the head from the body. A squirming, reptilian tail became tangled in the laces of Carrie's right sneaker for a second before scurrying away. Carrie shrieked.
The three of them quickly hit the ground and aimed for Angel's feet, trying to drag and hold her down. Angel fell into Chris and Sam's arms. Carrie reached over to pry the weapon from her hands, but not before another shot fired, ricocheting off the wall and sailing into the sky.
"Angel, stop! Just stop it, okay?" yelled Carrie. "What has gotten into you?"
"I-I'm sorry. It's not me, it's Poe. He's in me."
"Stop your lying, girl," scolded Chris, harshly. "Poe isn't around. We all concluded he materialized from our imagination and fear, remember? It's up to us to find our own way home."
"He won't let us go," Angel whimpered, the tears clearly in her eyes. "I told you, there's some unfinished business to take care of."
"What unfinished business? What are you talking about?" said Carrie.
Angel's eyes glowed red again, and her face distorted into the resemblance of a wolf. "I'm not going to tell you," she snarled, in a sinister male voice. "Not until I've locked you all away in my dungeon."
Carrie looked straight at Angel, then up at Chris and Sam, her eyes opened wide and her mouth closed in a tight line. Chris knelt where he was, unmoved, with a blank stare. Sam shot upright like a rocket.
"Okay, Angel," he said, "what was that?"
She turned and looked up and behind at Sam. "What was what?" she replied. She was sitting Indian-style, with her hands in her lap.
Still half-shaken with shock, Carrie whispered to Chris, "She doesn't even know when it comes out."
Chris said, "C'mon, guys. We're getting out of here."
He helped Angel up by her arm. They all stood there, glaring at the opening to the hallway leading to the rest of the house and, hopefully, out the front door and into freedom--if they could make it. And they were just about to take the first steps to start their journey when they were stopped dead in their tracks by...
They were set in a trance by a warning flashing in their heads reading, DANGER! ESCAPE AT YOUR OWN RISK! A multi-colored smoky mist swirled in the hall amidst beastly grunts, growls and shadowy forms. The shadows were sliced every few seconds by lightning strikes and thunder rolls which seemed to echo the environment outside.
It was warm and dry where they stood, but at least the outdoors did not present a mysterious collection of light and sound, leading to probably demise.
The raindrops had already begun to fall. The group decided to take their chances becoming drenched until they hopefully located shelter somewhere.
Carrie, Chris and Sam cautiously stepped to the edge of the precipice and looked down. Angel was behind them. The three unpossessed kids simultaneously sucked in a breath. They were sure they were all thinking the same thing. *That girl's gonna push us out of the way so she can claim this nice, big house for her very own. And this storm is a manifestation of her freakiness.*
Carrie grabbed onto a long shard of slate sticking out from the wall. Chris grabbed a sizable ball of Carrie's long, wavy hair, near her shoulder.
"Ow!" she said. "Chris...Chris, let go." She looked at him for a moment and shook her head. "I've heard guys are big babies, but this is ridiculous." She nodded over to Sam. "Another fine example."
Chris was so lost in the moment he didn't even notice Sam gripping his shirt collar, holding on for dear life, and frantically biting his fingernails. Chris peered down at Sam's fist.
"Uh...honey, do you mind?" Chris said, sarcastically.
Sam immediately took his fingers out of his mouth and released his hold. He gave Chris a sheepish smirk.
"I feel bad. I feel out of place," said Angel. "I'm the only one without a joke."
Her comment was ignored.
"What's up, guys?" she continued. "Are we getting out of here so we can go home?"
"Yes," said Chris. "We're going home. Stay close."
Poe made Angel speak. "Oh, boy! I can't wait to go home and play!"
That made Carrie turn sharply around. "Angel, that will be enough! We're not playing! This isn't a game!"
"I didn't say anything," Angel whined, in her Angel voice.
Carrie, with an exasperated expression, grabbed Angel's wrist and pulled her close. What began as a reunion with their friend--straight out of a monster movie--had turned into an obnoxious romp, with Angel seemingly turning into a childlike burden that was getting in everyone's way, and needed to be dragged around and taken care of.
"Angel, can you please just keep quiet for awhile? Stick with us. We'll be home soon," pleaded Carrie.
"Okey-dokey," Angel remarked, like an eight year-old.
Chris encroached--like a guilty trespasser--onto the grassy knoll which inclined to an embankment several yards to his right. The knoll narrowed ahead to a ledge that appeared (from where Chris and the other kids were standing) to be no wider than two feet. A bluff rose a thousand feet above them. Sam and Carrie cast their sight downward and sucked in the cold air. It burned their lungs, but they didn't care, for it proved they were alive. Below them, at the bottom of a steep drop, lay the valley, stretching as far as the eye could see, with hills rising in the distance.
From them, an eerie howl was heard, in a low pitch. *A cold, winter wind?* Maybe...maybe not. It sounded like either an animal crying out in pain, calling out for a mate, claiming its territory, or a cry of contentment over a predatory kill. The kids huddled together, each seeking comfort from the other. One animal's call potentially held four different motives, none of which the group hoped was for real. For all they knew, it could have been one for each of them!
*A new test awaits.* Perhaps Poe had more tricks up his sleeve.
The wind blew stronger, the sky grew darker, and the raindrops--which grew from a mist into a hard, steady fall--had begun to sting.
The moment the sound ceased, Chris led the team to continue on the path toward the ledge, and toward safer ground. The ledge lay before them, stretching ahead for a hundred yards, and ending in a broad field. They hoped to make it across to that expanse of space, thinking they'd be able to find a way home from there. They couldn't retreat back into the house the way they came, toward the front exit...for they already presumed chances were greater than not they would not survive the exit.
They were past the point of no return, so they had to press on. Chris took a quick glance behind to see that everyone was alright. Sam, as hard as he tried to put on a brave front, couldn't stop putting out vibes that he was the biggest chicken of all of them. Carrie stood shivering, not as much from the cold as from the fear that whatever made that howl would swoop down from the sky and gobble her up. And Angel...
Angel was gone!
Chris did a double-take. Perhaps the rain muted his view; perhaps Angel was shrouded in a cloud.
"Angel!" he cried out, frantically. "Where are you? Where's Angel?", meant for Carrie and Sam, though he shouted it to the air.
Sam was facing the wall of the cliff. "Uh, Chris...", he said, pointing a finger to his left.
"Open your eyes, you dim bulb! She's right here!" Carrie said, with an eye roll.
Chris took a moment to brace himself and focus his vision, as if he were a former blind man who had recently regained his sight, and was overcome with euphoria at the experience of seeing a flower again after many years. There, not three feet in front of him, unobstructed by a cloud or sheet of rain, stood Angel, giving him a smile and a wave. What seemed at times in their ordeal (especially the last few minutes) to be Little Miss Chatterbox had suddenly become stone silent, and it was as if her voice was her whole existence; where it led, Angel followed.
Chris returned her display of joviality with a quick, broad smile of his own--one of relief--placed his head in his hands for a moment and gave it a slight shake. He didn't dare speak his next thought aloud. *I'm losing it, over here. Maybe Sam was right. This thin air is starting to get to me.*
He shook it off and urged the group to continue on, with a wave of his arm. He placed his left foot onto the ledge--raised a foot off the platform--and grabbed onto a rock set into the cliff wall to hoist himself up. The others followed behind, in unison, playing a game of Simon Says.
The ledge was jagged and seemingly fragile at some points, and the kids didn't think it was a good idea for all of them to be gathered together, placing their combined weight in one area every several feet or so, despite Chris' insistence to stay close. The entire rocky protrusion constantly felt like it would give way at any second, and the prospect of the sound of all four of them simultaneously splattering across the valley floor below was a thought worse than landing softly and confronting Poe and his band of not-so-merry men in the Sherwood*n't*-like-to-go-there Forest.
They were soaked to the bone by now by the driving rain, which had only now (that they thought about it) begun to let up in the slightest. It wasn't as if any of them had ever been in *that* predicament before, but the tension of their situation only added to the misery.
"Don't look down," Chris told them, looking down. "That's it, nice and steady. We're almost there. Go slow, and stay within arm's length." He glanced back for a second to be sure Angel was still with them, and not another disappearing act from his tortuous imagination. There she was, bringing up the rear. "Angel, you doin' okay back there?"
Angel answered with a thin smile.
"You're awfully quiet back there."
Angel struck a thoughtful pose. "Oh, yeah. That's because Carrie told me to keep quiet. Remember? Only, with the way she said it, it may as well have been, 'Will you shut the hell up, you possessed little fool?'"
Carrie looked back at Angel, keeping one hand against the cliff wall to steady herself. She knew she had been put on the spot. "Angel, now you know that's not what I meant. I was just trying to get you to calm down 'cause we needed to--"
*Howoo!* came a soul-stirring cry from the hillsides, closer than before...and followed by several more. *Owoo! Ow, ahwoo, yeooo!*
Their unseen friends were back...or had never left. It would only be a matter of time before the clan and four young humans came face-to-face.
In the rain.
In the darkness.
Without so much as a weapon to give a fighting chance...unless...
*The gun.*
"Angel," said Chris, "do you still have your gun?"
"Yeah," she answered, reaching behind her. "I got it right--"
"Don't show it to me! Just keep it handy! You know...in case...we might need it...for something."
"Where in this type of world would you get hold of a gun?" remarked Sam.
"I don't know," she replied. "Just found it, I guess."
Carrie wanted to know, "What kind of gun is it?"
"A bright, shiny one--with a scary barrel," said Poe.
Angel looked around, innocently, like she couldn't tell where the voice was coming from. She was faced with three frustrated scowls.
"Not again!" said Carrie.
"Oh!" Angel corrected. "Again, I don't know. All I know is it's got four shots left."
"And where are you stashing the extra magazines?"
"I didn't bring any magazines. Sorry, I left my TV Guide at home," Angel spewed sarcastically. "Whatsamatta? You need your Oprah fix?"
Carrie shook her head in her hand. "No, Angel. Another set of ammo...for the weapon. How many more rounds of bullets are there?"
"None. I just grabbed the gun. It came like this."
"Well, don't lose it," barked Chris. "And don't fire it anymore unless you really have to. Those four shots left may be our only leverage for survival. No doubt we'll run into something unearthly."
*Only four shots left. Even if it means one each to TAKE DOWN ALL OF YOU BRATS!* fate chuckled to herself.
"I know. I'll be careful." The thought alone made Angel shudder. "Hey, guys...?"
Chris' troop continued to march on, slowly, fearfully, listening to Angel behind them, though she thought she was being ignored again.
"Guys, stop! Listen to me!"
The three of them turned and gave their friend their undivided attention. At that moment, with that tone, it became clear they were a family. And deep down, Angel was a carefree soul who just wanted to be loved. The baby of the family. It was beyond all decency of humanity that Poe should pick an innocent to carry out his crimes. Angel's older 'family members' felt a tiny pinprick of rage. They vowed to remember it, for it would provide the extra drive they would need to eventually take Poe down.
"We're listening, honey," said Carrie, like a concerned mother. "What is it?"
With a tear almost on the verge of appearing, Angel said, "I--I'm sorry...that I tried to kill you guys. I shot at you. I don't know what happened. I'm sorry."
Carrie acknowledged Angel's apology with a forgiving smile.
Sam piped up, "It's okay, girl. We know you didn't do it on purpose. You didn't do it on purpose, did you?"
Carrie's stored pinprick of rage bore through Sam for a second. She wanted to thrust her elbow into his gut, right there on the rocky ledge, reducing the number in the group by one.

END OF SAID CHAPTER TBA
//////// (To be continued...when I think of more!)
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Random Earlier Passage:
The moment Poe was gone, the kids were released from their 'energy' prisons. They stood in the room, silent as statues, checking their whereabouts, then each other--suspiciously--for what seemed an eternity. [Note to self: "REWRITE" this passage!]
Finally, Angel broke the silence, speaking perhaps the three most comforting words any of them had ever heard: "Is it over?"
"Yeah," answered Carrie. "It's all over. We're free to--"
"Is he gone?" Angel continued. "Whoever or whatever he was...I don't want him to come back."
"He won't be back," said Chris. "Just don't think about him. I don't think he was real. He was just a product of our imaginations. You know how the mind can play tricks on you under stress."
"Oh, really?" interjected Sam. "And the fact that we couldn't move and were practically bound to the wall...was that our imagination, too?"
Chris stared at Sam. He couldn't give an answer. The only reaction he could produce was his fail-safe whenever he found himself under pressure. He pulled a small bag from his jacket pocket, and offered it to Sam. "Corn nut?"
Sam looked at Chris perturbedly. "I don't believe this. We're trapped in a haunted house, and all you can think about is your stomach?"
"Hey, we gotta eat something sometime. We need our strength to get through this."
Angel took an eager step toward Chris, holding her right hand out. "I agree," she commented. "If Sam's not hungry, I'll claim his share."
"Why doesn't that surprise me? I bet if it was chocolate, I wouldn't be allowed to have any."
"If that was chocolate, you guys would probably be dead already," said Carrie.
"Speaking of which, enough of this chitchat," quipped Sam. "We should all get out of here before that becomes a reality--not that this ride hasn't been fun."
(To be continued...)



The Hunger
A young man finds more than he bargains for when he inherits an abandoned estate.

I could tell the moment I got in the door and dropped by bag, I wasn't staying. The stench was overwhelming. I thought it was coming from the kitchen; the odor of days-old plates of food left over from the last inhabitants of this place. But as I ventured further into this old house, toward the guest bedroom, it turns out I was only half-right.
I hurriedly trodded toward the room to set down my bag. At first I had second thoughts about even coming here. But the realtor said it would make a nice family place; it just needed a little fixing up. So I decided to go against my hunches and make like I was settling in, at least for a night.
That smell was back again. Did it really disappear, or had I just gotten used to it? In any case, I found myself being pulled back in the direction of the kitchen, a stone's throw away from the bedroom wing. I was drawn inside like a magnet. There were dirty dishes and scraps of food scattered among the counters and floor. Some of the rats and roaches had already begun their feast. The bulk of them were hanging around the floor cabinets which, I reasoned, the odor was most likely coming from.
I opened the cabinet doors, expecting to find rotting food being devoured on by the rats. There indeed was food, but the sight before my eyes opened the door for horror to visit my heart. What was there was not days-old plates of food left over by the last inhabitants of this house, but rather the remains of those last inhabitants. One of the rats--and a good-sized one at that--who was enjoying a strip of raw flesh torn from a previously live soul focused his attention on me and bared his fangs. My guess was that I was dessert.
What was I thinking? I ran out of there as fast as I could! At first I headed for the bedroom, assuming that if I could only hide underneath the covers for awhile, the nightmare would go away. Again, what was I thinking?
I flew, like a bolt of lightning, straight for the front door of the old mansion. I aimed to place myself as far away from the old house as I could. But as I prepared to touch the handle to the front door, I was confronted by another one of those furry, little rodents. RATS! What am I gonna do now? This was the biggest, most hideous monster I had ever encountered in my life! I cringed back in terror intensely enough to make the winds outside howl...and I mean literally, like a coyote with a thorn stuck in its paw. The thing was standing on its hind legs, trying to reach out its tiny forearms, as if to grab me, with seemingly two inch fangs a prominent accessory to its two foot-sized body. I knew I had to get out of there sooner or later, dead or alive. I would much rather have it be alive, even if wounded, for I was sure I'd heal eventually. I had to face my fear. My enemy was staring at me, a huge piece of meat, dripping with saliva and blood, hanging from its mouth. This was a test of wills. It was saying, "Go ahead, pal. Make your move." So I did. I wasn't about to let this situation get the better of me. With one swift blow of the back of my hand, I violently knocked the beast from its perch atop a headless mantlepiece. The thing shrieked and went scurrying along the baseboard into God-knows-where, a room in the building completely void of light.
I finally got rid of my nemesis, but not without a price to pay. As I was calming down from this incident, and prepared to will myself, once again, to try for the door, the adrenaline pumping through me collapsed in favor of hallucinatory weakness. I couldn't believe the sight of the back of my hand. It was all scratched up. And then, as I prayed to the heavens for this not to be happening, I watched, in real time, as rodent-like masses of hair began to grow upon my skin!
I jerked open the door, and was immediately confronted by the real estate lady who apparently had come to see how I liked the place so far. I gave her a look like she was half out of her mind, my face scrunched up like a sour lemon. "This place is insane," I said to her, as I hurried down the front walk to the country lane leading back to town. "And you're insane for being part of it."
"Oh, come now, Mr. Withers. You just need to give it a chance. I never said it was perfect. It just needs some cleaning up, that's all."
As I turned the corner of a bush, she showed a pleading expression, begging me to return. And then I thought I was hallucinating again, as an appendage resembling a giant rat's tail flowed in the wind from underneath her coat.
(To be continued...)



The Dark California Sun
A frightening speculative future where Hollywood has completely run out of new ideas.

I remember it like it was yesterday. Whistle a happy tune, and you will always have a song in your heart! I remember my father used to say his father told him that his father learned from his father that there was a pasttime in the 'old Earth', where new and exciting visions and words were brought forth each and every day. Now, though, a dark cloud has settled over the land, and today they are nothing more than memories.
I will never forget the look on her face when she told me. The sun was warm that day, but I felt cold ice in my veins. No, not regular winter storm cold. Much worse, like the Gods of the Arctic had come down from the heavens and visited my soul.
I looked out the window of my cottage, a small, secluded fortess deep in the woods, far hidden away from a world gone mad. I tried my best not to turn around; I did not want her to see my melancholy, and futilely attempt to brighten my world.
I could not, would not, in a million years believe it. All of the creative ideas for new works in the arts--gone! All used up! I had heard stories, legends if you will, told of how the "Hollywood machine" was running out of new ideas. It was just a sarcastic rumor, really. All anyone could produce anymore were remakes of old cartoons and television shows. But I never dreamed it would actually materialize.
"Why do you still turn away and not look me in the eye?" she asked, finally. "Don't you believe me? Why would I make up a story such as this? I cannot, anyway. "There are no more stories to tell."
"Yes, there are. I'm sure there are." I tried to hold back my tears, but they had other plans. "Just look deep inside yourself, and I'm sure you can come up with new tales. Why would you think that your own thoughts have been dreamed up by somebody else, already?"
"Because it's true."
My Lord, she was beautiful. The kind of beauty that could only be sent by the heavens, making a man wonder if it was just a mirage, or the real thing, even if it only lasted for a short while. Yet another lesson handed down by my father, who was taught by his, and himself by his own, and so forth, until the first day back at the beginning of time when men and women were first captivated by each other.
I told myself, just for a moment, that I would gladly trade in this feeling she gave me--if I indeed had the power to do so--for the chance to see a new film, or hear a new song, or read even one page from a new book, once again. It has been so long; much of my life has been filled with repeats. No! I must erase that vile thought from my mind! Nothing should be worth wishing a life away! Nothing!

"Why don't you come for a walk with me?" she continued. "I want you to run from this so-called sanctuary, which is really a prison, and come see the rest of the world. Stop trying to convince yourself it isn't pretty anymore just because nothing new can be found. Besides, so much was made before it ended that I'm sure there are many things you haven't experienced yet. So it will be new to you."
"And what happens when I truly finish with all of it? Am I going to be relegated to run through it all again? I will get bored after a short time. Most anyone would. We as persons were not meant to stagnate. We have to learn and know new things if we are to grow and be happy."
"You can still be happy. When you come across something familiar, just think, 'I remember that now.' Think back to where you were and what you were doing when it first came upon you. You can use it as a pleasant memory for when life if not well."
I grabbed my coat and started for the door. The smile on her face told me she was pleased that I was doing as she asked. But if that was the only reason, then I was less than satisfied, for it meant I relinquished all control to her. "I'm just...afraid. I'm afraid, that's all. I fear I will not enjoy it. I fear it will sadden me. It already has. And I fear we will run into many others who feel as I do.
"Don't worry," she urged. "Everything will be alright. Come...take my hand." As I placed her hand in mine, little did I realize how much I would miss my humble home. And how much I would be able to convince her of the same feeling. She would break down and cry.
We were neighbors, yet strangers, in an isolated land not far removed from the main kingdom. Each of us, separately, was exiled from the city for daring to question the truth about finding new material. It was the way things had to be, I suppose. Though one big difference between her and I was that I was filled with hope of changing things, whereas she was content to accept the world as it is.
We walked in silence down a country lane to the middle of town, where merchants could often be found peddling their wares on cobblestone streets. At one particular booth, a gentleman held out a small sample cup to me filled with strawberry fruit puree. I took it eagerly. I forgot to take something to eat from home. On a high shelf of the back of his venue, a modest, tabletop radio was playing a song I think I may have heard before, but I wasn't sure. The proprietor told me the man singing was named Elvis Presley, and the song was called *Can't Help Falling in Love With You*. I exclaimed, "See? I told you! That's new , isn't it? I know I havent heard it before!"
My companion answered, "Sorry, wrong again. This is a very old song. It's from the mid-twentieth century, I think."
"And you mean to tell me that after all that time, five hundred years later, no one could come up with anything different?"
"That's right," she answered. "There are no more ideas for new songs, anymore. Everything that can be made has been made."
The guy in the booth spoke for the first time. "Or maybe folks simply stopped trying. Perhaps due to the law of the land, sad to say."
"What do you mean by that?" I inquired. "What is this about a law?"
"Well, not many people know about this--and you didn't hear it from me--but there is a rumor lately that there are laws secretly put in place to suppress the creation of new material. I suppose the government men and women think it's too difficult to think up anything new, so they want everyone to think what they want them to think. We must only rely on the old stuff. Also, having new things created will make us happy. And they don't want us to be too happy, because we will be tempted to think we can have other freedoms, as well. And if we're given too much freedom, we may overthrow the system and their control of us."
"If it's true..."
"If it's true, we should uncover this plot. How would you feel if you found out that new shows and songs you thought up were not allowed to be made public, just to perpetuate the plan?"
"It's not true," she said.
"But what if it is?" I prodded.
"It's not."
A momentary silence passed between me and the old man, though it seemed like forever. "You don't think she's working for them, do you?" I tried my best to whisper. The man just shrugged his shoulders.
She said, "If you thought I was one of them, would you be certain to risk inquiring of such a thing, presuming there was chance I'd take you in?"
I just looked at her. I didn't say a word, but my face said a million.
At about this time, a small crowd had started to gather, enticed by the banter. A kindly old woman, dressed in stripes with a polka dot shawl, emerged from the group so steathily I didn't even see her. "You youngsters better listen up. The man is right. There's a great conspiracy among us. They won't allow us to create anything new. They try to win us over by giving us hope, but the smart ones like me...we know better," she scowled with a warning finger held up.

"Come with me, my lady," I said, taking my companion's hand. "We must find out the truth."
"I am sorry that in the short while I have lived near you and passed time as the sun blazes the sky, that I never officially introduced myself. My name is Kara. I'm Kara Vanderlese."
The old man shirked back in fear for a moment. "Not the Kara who was exiled? They say you're dangerous."
(To be continued...)