Thursday, June 30, 2016

3: The Karate Kid, Prologue

The Reine Family Home.
June 25th, 2014: 9:23 PM

Katelyn Reine’s eighteenth birthday was easily her worst. Not that they were typically fabulous. Katelyn hated being the center of attention, so she usually kept the date to herself and, if she was feeling adventurous, went out to breakfast with some friends. Even putting aside the big thing - this was her first birthday since her brother Albert had died - there were plenty of little things that brought her day down. She’d just been let go at GameStop (something that had been a long time coming given Katelyn’s steadfast refusal to push rewards cards on customers), her parents had failed to make breakfast, and her boyfriend canceled their bowling plans, citing a late shift at Target.

Thursday, June 23, 2016

2: The Ghost of Christmas Something Something, Part Three

The following morning was Andrew’s first final, which was in Intro to Philosophy. The final consisted of a short answer portion, and then an in-class essay that asked: “Based on what we’ve talked about in class and read in the texts, which philosopher that we’ve studied would be the best kisser, and why?” Confused, quiet, and nervous laughter filled the room as students read the question, and nobody seemed entirely sure if the professor was serious until about ten minutes into class.

2: The Ghost of Christmas Something Something, Part Two

“So can ghosts, like, possess people in real life?” Andrew asked as he made a bed out of the couch for the second time. Eugene had been exhausted and quiet when he picked Andrew up, and went right to bed but, Millie was full of energy and very glad to see someone who could see her back.
“Yeah! I mean, I can’t. But ghosts get more powerful the longer they’re around, I guess,” she said. “I don’t really know how it works, but I saw it happen once when…well I don’t really remember, but I definitely saw it. I think.”

2: The Ghost of Christmas Something Something, Part One

“Yep. This is unsalvageable,” Eugene confirmed.
Andrew, who had been picking up toiletries in their bathroom, looked over to see what he was talking about. Eugene, a lanky, nicely dressed redhead, was on his knees, rummaging through the shredded pages of a book that lay atop a pile of many others. When Andrew had last seen that book the previous night, it was being ripped from his hands by the ghost of Jessica Crawley. Or perhaps it was Tracy Roth. Whoever it was, she seemed to have torn the book to pieces in her rage. That was the only explanation for the book’s current state - bits of unreadable paper and loosened binding. The job she did was impressively thorough, leaving only a few pages fully intact.

2: The Ghost of Christmas Something Something, Prologue

Connie’s Convenient Convenience Store.
December 19th, 2015: 9:22 AM

“Deck the halls with something something, fa la la la la, la la la la,” Tara Mason heard a customer singing quietly to herself as they walked through the door, letting in even more unwanted cool December air. Her cheery voice made Tara angry, and she hated being angry, so she did her best to tune her out as she set about putting various gift cards back on the display where they belonged. It wasn’t as though Tara were a Scrooge or anything. Quite the contrary, Tara adored Christmas. It was just this morning that she hated.

1: The Misinformed Women, Part Three

Connie’s Convenient Convenience Store significant in Cierto because it was one of the eleven locally-owned establishments in town. Despite this, it wasn’t particularly visually interesting. It was square brick building with an ugly teal overhang and a sign with the store’s named painted plainly onto it. It had a large glass window on either side of the door, allowing one a look inside.
Given the time of day, the store was, of course, closed, and the area around it uncomfortably silent, with only a streetlight half a block away giving off any sort of consequential light. Often times a few drunk kids or a homeless person or two could be found there that early in the morning, but Andrew and Eugene lucked out. They were alone.

1: The Misinformed Women, Part Two

The next morning, Andrew found himself sitting on a bench on the edge of the large, circular pond around which CSU Cierto was built. It was one of those rare days on which Andrew could see himself clearly reflected in the water. Today, that reflection looked lost and tired. As he stared at himself, memories of monthly rates he could not hope to pay jumped to the forefront of his mind. He could work a second job, Curtis had proposed, but he thought drowning himself in the pond sounded more alluring. Steven suggested he take out a small loan, but that was even less tempting. He could just drop out of school - what did he really need it for? He hadn’t even chosen a major yet. He could just keep working his awful job and never be happy and die alone or live in the streets or in a car which he didn’t even have or or or
How could Steven do this to him?!

1: The Misinformed Women, Part One

It's pretty common to have two first names – that is, to have a first name, and a middle name that could also be a first name, like “James.” Some people even have three first names, if their last name fits the bill as well. Andrew Jonathan Warren-Wilson had four first names. He was reflecting on this strange, meaningless fact while waiting to hear those four names called by Professor Wells, his Group Communications professor. Professor Wells always called students by their full name.
“It helps establish a more personal connection,” he told his students in his smooth, enthusiastic voice on the first day of class. This was also his excuse for telling countless stories about his “slutty” ex-wife Tracy and her “sociopathic” cat Edward Fluffles XIV, about whose poor communication skills the students were expected to write their final paper. Tenure was a dark and powerful thing.

1: The Misinformed Women, Prologue

University Apartments.
December 17th, 2015: 12:08 AM

Andrea Smalls hated her job. No, scratch that. Andrea Smalls hated her life.
“You’re young,” she had told her 30 year-old self when she made the decision to become landlady of the University Apartments. “Living with a bunch of college students will be fun! You might even meet a cute young business major - someone with a future ahead of him.” She didn’t meet one. At least, not one whose death she didn’t pray for after breaking up a party of obnoxious teenagers in his apartment for the third night in a row (”Damn you to hell, Brad Parker”). She couldn’t imagine how she’d ever wanted anything to do with such liberal, disrespectful filth. They were nothing but a waste of space - an annoyance to God’s Earth, sent to test her. In fact, the more she thought about it, the more that she was certain that every problem in the last 25 years of her life, from the cold she had last week to her long, painful divorce, was in some way caused by the little shits that attended the college across the street.