Wednesday, July 22, 2009


A/N: Inspired by Raksab's plot bunny in the Adopt a Plot thread at the NaNoWriMo forums.

For Neil Jackson’s third grade introduction, he said, “Hello, my name’s Edgar Moncherant, my family consists of ex-Mafia members, and I have three snakes and a zebra for pets. Nice to meet you.” For his fourth grade introduction, he said, “Hello, my name’s Alexander Christy, I’m a model and singer when I’m not studying and I’m secretly on the list for the next Grammy award.” And for his fifth grade introduction, he said, “Yo, I’m Black Jack Red, and I come from the alleys of New York City. The part you don’t even wanna know about.”

No one knew quite what to do with him. They told him lying was bad, of course, but that had no effect on him. His lying habits seemed to have no basis—he simply found lying fun. His family, a perfectly normal family, tried punishing him for lies, but that seemed to tell him only one thing: it’s only bad if you get caught. So Neil started disguising his lies with the truth, and soon even his own family couldn’t tell what was what.

He had few friends; no one liked the idea of a friend who wasn’t completely trustworthy. He had sworn a total of seven different times to seven different people that he would never tell a lie again, and proved all seven promises to be lies. And he kept lying through his teeth with a smile on his face, all the way to the beginning of his sophomore year.

Neil started the year off by responding to other students’ friendly introductions, “Hey, my name’s Neil Jackson, and oh—is that a spider in your hair?” There hadn’t been, but it had created a lot of panic and resentment for Neil in the classroom.

The next school year was going to be just like previous years, he thought. Full of gullible and uninteresting classmates.

Neil had no idea that this next school year would be stranger than any lie he could ever tell.


“Neil. Are you listening to me?”

Neil snapped his head up so quickly the teacher flinched. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be listening?”

“I just asked you a question.”

“Oh,” said Neil. “I was trying to figure out the best answer to your question.”

The teacher stared at him expectantly. “Okay,” she said. “Tell us your answer.”

He paused. “Yes.”

“Excuse me?”

“Yes,” Neil said slowly, his mind racing back to their class lesson. What had they talked about again? “That is the answer to my question.”

“Yes,” repeated the teacher, giving him a strange look. “Elizabeth the First became queen in yes.”

A few classmates snickered.

“Yes. November 17, 1588.” said Neil.

Her lips quirked in an effort to conceal her smile. “Well, Mr. Jackson,” the teacher said, turning away from him. “I hope you’ll pay attention in the future.”

“Yes… ma’am.”

As the teacher resumed her lecture, he sat back and let his mind drift. History was easy enough if you were good at memorization. Neil glanced at his watch and sighed. Twenty-five more minutes to go.


After the class ended, Grant, a bleached blonde with thick glasses and enough personality to fill a shot glass, caught up with Neil as he was walking out the door.

“That was a close one, Neil!” said Grant. He was also arguably the only friend Neil had.

“I know!” Neil said. “If I hadn’t known the date I would’ve been in big trouble. Miss Brady has seriously been out for me ever since school started. Actually, I bet all of them are out for me,” he joked.

“Well, your lies certainly don’t help. You’ve got to admit that.”

“Didn’t you see back there? My lies saved me!”

“Sure,” Grant scoffed. “Although I bet ‘What was the question again?’ would have worked just fine, too.”

Rolling his eyes, Neil shrugged. “You know that’s not my style.”

“I do believe you have no style,” announced Grant.

“The best style is no style,” Neil said philosophically, shaking his head and trying to fight a smile that threatened to break out.

Grant laughed. “But seriously, Neil,” he said. “I really think you need to cut the lying. Or at least some of it. You’re gonna land in hot water someday.”

“As if I weren’t already?"

A/N: Definitely needs some work, but that's the beginning. Hope you liked that.

Five Questions

I was tagged here.

People often die halfway through reading a book. What book can you envisage you being halfway through when you die?

Often? That's the first time I've heard of that. I'd probably be reading some random book I would have picked up from the library. I do that a lot.

You can spend a day with any person, living or dead or invented, in any place, in any time. What person, what date, what place?

Oh, gee. I have no idea. Hm... I guess Elphaba, from the play Wicked... although I suppose I'd be mostly in awe of her and too dumbfounded to do anything intelligent.

Imagine you can transport yourself into any TV show, book or movie. Where do you go, and why?

I'd be transported into Pokemon, definitely. I loved that show as a kid and that love hasn't faded. I've always wanted to live in the Pokemon world. It's childish, perhaps, but that's okay. I'm a kid at heart.

What’s one thing you wish you were really good at and why?

I wish I was really good at speaking. I'm a horrible speaker and although I can imagine presentations in my mind, they turn out badly when they come out of my mouth. Writing gives me the opportunity to say what I cannot speak.

Zombie apocalypse scenario: What would you wear to a zombie apocalypse?

I would wear my worst clothes, because with all of that zombie activity, my clothes are bound to get messy. No point wearing your best clothes for zombies who won't even care.

Now here's how it goes:
1. Leave me a comment saying, “Interview me.” If I don't already have your email, leave it with your comment.
2. I will respond by emailing you five questions. I get to pick the questions. (Cue scary music.)
3. You will update your blog with the answers to the questions.
4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post.
5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

Pretty simple, right?

Saturday, July 18, 2009


“Look at them,” Tanthos muttered. “Aren’t they despicable, Arktos? Promising love and money one day, and running away the next? Trying to stay young forever? And love—what is this love? It’s hardly love at all!” His gold-tinted eyes gleamed in disdain and amusement.

“Indeed,” agreed Arktos.

“Humans,” Tantos snorted.

“Mm. Which is why I fail to see the reason of your dragging us down here when we could have gone to Xysensia for vacation. Earth is such a vile place.”

“Why, I wanted to laugh at the little Earthlings, of course. Xysensia’s environment is beautiful—it is, after all, the tropical center of the universe—but it’s so terribly dull. Here, my dear little brother, one may watch all the soap opera drama you want!”

“Unlike some undignified creatures, I’m not amused by watching Earthlings fight amongst themselves.”

Tanthos laughed. “You always were the serious one. Perhaps you are suited to Xysensia: you’re both so dull.”

“And I suppose you fit Earth: you’re both irrational, idiotic, and smelly."

A mock frown spread on Tanthos's face. "Why, how rude! I thought you were supposed to respect your elders!"

Arktos's golden eyes stared at the people below their third-floor apartment window. "Look at that man! See him?"

"See what? I was busy weeping over the fact that my little brother no longer respects me."

Arktos ignored the hint. "He's an imbecile, like they all are."

"Why? What did he do?"

"He's trying to convince the clerk he paid for those items."


"Here's how it works: if the man can argue heatedly and semi-reasonably enough, the clerk will let him keep it, under the thought 'It's only a small item and I don't want to deal with it.' Then, the man thinks 'Since I got away with that, I'll try something larger next time.' And it escalates."

"Won't the owner have something to do with it?"

"It's a cheap stall. That clerk is probably the owner. Oh--see? Just like I said."

"True, true. They should just arrest the man. Humans are far too merciful. That's why they have so many troubles!" Tanthos laughed. "They are an amusing race."

Arktos stretched and flexed his arm. "And of all infuriating matters, we have to look like the idiots as well."

"Well, can't let the humans see our true forms. They're so overreactive that we'd be all over the--what is it?--the Internet, and we'd never be able to return again."

"I'd like that," muttered Arktos. Tanthos patted his shoulder comfortingly, but he didn't mean it and both of them knew it.

A/N: Yet another beginning of a story I may do. The story's plot is not what it looks like here, but I don't have anything else written yet so here is the first part.

Thursday, July 9, 2009

The Yard

It was technically a yard, but I think the word cemetery fit better. A cold, foreign feeling crept up my nose and into my mind, freezing all rational thought as I stared at the place. The swing set lay still, lifeless and pallid, like a corpse. The sandbox had a hole where I’m sure a 12-year-old kid’s body like mine would fit in nicely. The barbecue was open, prepared to immolate a sacrificial meal. The bottle of ketchup, uncapped on the table, was surely a bottle of blood, waiting for a vampire to suck it dry. The dark wooden fence surrounded the whole area, enclosing and trapping me and the deadly things together.

There was no way out.

Up above, the storm clouds started raining, as if already mourning my demise.

A/N: Something I may or may not continue.

Thursday, July 2, 2009

Prompt: The food did not look good to me.

I swear it started squirming as soon as Jane took it out of the oven. The smell hit me, and it hit me hard: it was like smelly socks dipped in old spinach and baked for an hour. Red, green, blue, and countless other colors mushed around into a nasty swamp green. Half of the blubbering mass was pure liquid, dripping off the plate and solidifying into blobs on the way down. A particularly larger blog managed to divebomb next to me, splattering its remains onto my new pants. The other half of the mass looked as hard as a rock and as porous as a sponge. Ooze, green and probably moldy, seeped out of the cracks.

"Would you like some?" asked Jane with a hopeful look on her face.

"No thanks," I managed to reply.

It was by far the worst hamburger I've ever seen.