The Follower

"Deviant Art." Footprints Through The Dark by Long-Mi-Mei on DeviantArt. N.p., n.d. Web. 23 Jan. 2015. 

Timothy Smith walked on the street. He was wearing his coat which had his wallet in it and, had his walking stick for supporting him while walking. This evening as he was walking down the street, he felt that someone was following him. He stopped and looked back, but saw nothing or no one.

As the rich old man was walking he heard someone calling him from behind. Timothy immediately recognized the voice. It was Linda, their neighbour. Linda had been their neighbour for 15 years, thus she knew the whole history in detail of Timothy Smith and his family.

“How are you?” asked Linda.

“Good, just came out for a little walk,” replied Timothy, “How are you and the -­--”

It was then that he felt that he’s being followed by someone. He paused, and looked over his shoulder towards the street behind.

“Are you okay, Sir?” Linda inquired, showing concern.

She waited almost a minute for an answer, but instead she found Timothy staring into mid air. He didn't reply and walked off.Linda was shocked to see such a response. She knew Timothy for 15 years, however he had never reacted the way he did that day. She worried a little, but then considered that he was in his old age, therefore she continued with her business.

 

By then, the old man was very confused and frustrated. Therefore, he wasn't paying attention to where he was heading. It was as if the world had stopped. To Timothy there were only two people who he could feel, him and the follower. Timothy continued walking and thinking about the feeling he was having about the unknown figure who was following him like his shadow. However, somewhere in the back of his mind, he was skeptical about his feelings. Was someone really following him or was it just an illusion?.

Later that evening, Timothy received a call. It was from his wife, Kate.

“Timothy, where are you, do you have any clue what time is it?” exclaimed Kate over the phone.

Obviously Timothy had no clue, he had just been walking with the help of his stick and thinking about the follower.

“No, what time is it?”

“It’s 7:30, you better come home quick,” cried his vexed wife as she hung up the phone.

“Okay.”

Just as he hung up, he felt that someone was pursuing him again, and this time he was certain it could not have been just an illusion. Someone was actually following Timothy Smith. He looked back for the last time. It didn't surprise him when he saw nothing.

Timothy suddenly started walking faster. The stalker had certainly made him uncomfortable. Timothy felt that the air was stuffy, even when he was the only one who could feel it. He didn't feel alone. It was as if he was compelled by the unknown’s spell.

Suddenly he felt a push from the back as he made the turn to an empty street. He tripped a little, but managed to maintain his balance. It was time for the anonymous to no longer be incognito.

It was a man wearing black. Timothy was still unfamiliar with the stalker’s identity. Before he could react, there was another push, followed by another and another, until Timothy fell and crashed himself onto the sidewalk.

The old man struggled for about 5 minutes before he managed to stand up. He realized that his wallet was missing. He could hear the sound of the Pursuer's feet ebbing away.

“Son, you’re lucky you've got good eyesight. Not everyone is as lucky as you, so appreciate what you've got,” said Timothy, a blind old man, as he resumed walking towards his home.

The Hunt

           Every few years, something called The Hunt takes place in my town. My town? It’s pretty small, we’re about five hundred people. We’re like a big family, everyone knows everyone and we all live to help each other. The Hunt: is a big event that has been part of our society for hundreds of years. It starts out with a big boom and then it all begins; chaos breaks loose. Soldiers from the big city arrive within the hour of the boom and start to take the children. The ones that are taken are never to be seen again. No one knows what happens to them, but there are myths that these children are used as our meat. They get stuffed until they have enough meat on their bones and then killed to provide for the entire country. Anyone who resists gets executed on the spot. Everyone is scared of it, no one talks about it, and if you happen to mention it, people tend to stare at you with great fear in their eyes. George, my neighbor, always tells me stories about The Hunt, but they’re so gruesome they must be made up. How could human beings do such things to each other? George told me about Mr. Green. Yes, he was a bit odd and had his moments where he completely lost it, but the stories George told me? They couldn’t be true. He told me that Mr. Green had witnessed his own wife’s execution, after his three children were taken away.  She was executed because she resisted against the soldiers when they were taking away their children. Mr. Green has never said a word to anyone ever since. He tends to stay inside with the doors locked and the blinds shut. No one knew a thing about him.The next Hunt is in about three to four weeks from now and my parents are getting more nervous with every day that passes. We had a cabin in the woods where we would hide out during The Hunt. Everyday we took some supplies there. People became more paranoid and more careful. Careful to whom they would speak, share their information with, and even ask for help. Only two days until it starts –my parents are telling me to stay inside at all time. One-day left, I’m scared. My mother told me that we’re leaving as soon as it gets dark. 

After waiting for hours, my dad came up to my room and said that we were leaving. I was nervous, scared, and my heart was beating so fast, I could feel it in my throat. We were walking in the dark, we couldn’t see a thing, and we were all scared to death. My brother started sobbing and my mother couldn’t stop shaking. My father kept saying that everything would be fine, as long as we stuck together and kept on moving. When we finally got to the cabin, we knew something was wrong. Nothing was in the place we had left it in. The cabin looked searched. My mother grabbed my arm and pressed my brother to her body. My father pulled out a gun and I gasped. It was against the law to own a gun or any kind of weapon. We were barely allowed to own a kitchen knife. He put his finger to his lips to tell me to be quiet. I did as he said, but so much was going through my head. Where did he get that? Why didn’t he tell me sooner about this? I had so many questions and no one was giving me answers. We stood there for a few minutes, listening if there was anyone. Every noise we heard we shifted and with every noise I grabbed my mother’s arm with more power. And then, all at once, with a big boom, someone kicked down the door. I was blinded by the flash flights and felt helpless. Someone had taken me from my mother’s side. I tried to get away but he was too strong, I tried kicking him and I kept on kicking him until everything went dark.When I woke up everything hurt. There was this endless pain in my right arm: the arm that was held by the soldier that pulled me away from my mother. I opened my eyes with difficulty. I looked around me. There, in the corner, was a figure. It looked big and intimidating. It was looking at me. I couldn’t see its eyes, but I just felt it staring at me.

“Where am I?” I asked. It didn’t answer so I asked again, but this time louder and with more power, “Where am I and where are we going?” It stayed quiet for a bit and then he answered. He had a deep voice that sounded surprisingly friendly. “You’re on a train on your way to the city”. The city? What’s in the city? Why am I going to the city? “You have a lot of questions don’t you?” He said it in this voice, he sounded surprised.Hours had passed when the train came to a sudden stop and the figure started to smile. “We’re here.” 

He grabbed my arm and pulled me up. The door opened and the first thing I saw were high buildings, made up from glass shining in the early morning light. I was stunned and the man started to laugh, but not very loudly, but softly as if he were trying to make me feel more comfortable. They took me to one of the shiny buildings and told me to stay seated in one of the rooms, which had green chairs. I did as I was told. At the end of the room was a door through which a lady with red hair walked in. She signaled me to her and I approached. She said to follow her; she started to walk towards the same door she walked in through, and I followed. The room was made up of four walls, of which one was completely made of glass. My eyes automatically went to the glass and what I saw was the truth. The myths about the fate of the taken children weren’t myths; they were real. Everything was real; the children being stuffed, held in one place like animals, and the slaughtering.

"Stocks." Dreamstime. N.p., n.d. Web. <http://thumbs.dreamstime.com/x/glass-skyscraper-blue-sky-23720483.jpg>.

Andre Javier Flores

“How did I reach this situation?” he thought while sitting in a chair. ”I loved her. She just wouldn’t love me back. She tore me apart and now I am nothing.”

Hello my name is Juan Pablo. I live in Mexico and I think I am a reasonable guy. I just went through a rough breakup with the love of my life. We had been married for 5 years when she decided she was fed up and wanted to move on. The strangest, most unexpected event happened to me a few days after the terrible breakup. I went running as I normally do in the mornings. After a few minutes, I started to pant really hard and then suddenly, I felt a surge of pain go through my chest and I collapsed. I remembered absolutely nothing when I woke up in the hospital a few days later. I asked the doctors what had happened. 
They told me I had been in a coma for 3 days after my heart attack occurred. Then they told me Doctor Ignacio will be with me shortly to explain everything. Doctor Ignacio arrived after a few minutes. He then took me into his office, closed his blinds and started talking gently but firmly . 

He said: “Over the last few days we have been running tests on you and we have found out the reason why you collapsed in the middle of the street. We are very sad to tell you that you have a serious case of Heart Broken disease due to your recent breakup. This means every time your heart rate goes over 140 you will collapse and have a heart attack. To cure yourself you will need "The Book of Love.” But due to the fact that books of that genre are illegal in Mexico, due to their tremendous power, we are afraid that there is not much that we can do.”

As soon as I got home I looked up this “Book of Love.” I found out that the only copy was found in a Library in LA just off Hollywood Boulevard. There was only one problem. I didn’t have enough money for a plane ticket. I would have to find another way across the border, maybe an illegal way, but I didn’t care.

After talking to my friends and they talking to their friends, I found no one  who would be willing to smuggle me across the border. It was too risky. That is until I found Andrea. She said she could take me to the border but I would have to find my own way across. I was fine with this. Andrea was a very beautiful woman and I wouldn’t mind spending a few hours in the car with her until we reached the border.

She told me she that she was going in that direction anyways and that she would just pick me up on the highway.
She said, “I will come pick you up at 7 am on Sunday morning”.
I was there waiting for her at 6:30 a.m as I was eager to cure my broken heart. She arrived at 7 on the dot. I got into the car with a big smile on my face. I was happy that events were working out for me. We bonded well, I found out we both liked the same music, we both had similar ideas, we both had the same political beliefs, and we both liked Empanadas with black beans. I grew fond of Andrea. After the first hour I fell asleep for a bit. If I wasn’t so one track minded I would have opened my mind up and seen that maybe Andrea liked me too. That didn’t matter. I was too caught up with the idea of curing my broken heart. After a few hours, I felt like I had known this woman for years instead of hours. As we got closer to the border, Andrea started to explain to me how to cross it. She said that between 12:30-12:40 there was a change of  guards at the watch tower, and that this would be the perfect time for me to cut the wire of the fence and get into U.S.A. I had had a good time with Andrea and as we  left I was sorry to leave her. I gave her a small peck on her right cheek to say goodbye. That night as the clock struck 12:30, I jogged slowly over to the fence so that I wouldn’t raise my heart rate too much. I cut the fence and thank god I made it to the other side. Just when I thought I had gotten off scot free I saw a shine of a bright light behind me and a voice coming from a Jeep heading my way. I quickly ran towards the bushes and jumped in. I didn’t pay attention to my heart rate but noticed I had not fainted from a heart attack. This was strange.  I lifted my head up to see other Mexicans being arrested by the border police.

I saw a bunch of other Mexicans that had crossed the border and followed them furtively to wherever they were going. I found myself at the highway after an hour. We walked like this for a few hours until we got to Hollywood, LA. I was ragged and my chest hurt like nothing ever before and that was when I stepped into the library. I made my way over to the Love Section to find the “Book of Love”. I was relieved to find it quickly and opened it up at the Medicine and Cures page. There I found Heart Broken Disease. I sighed as I looked at the book because I had made a big mistake. On the Heart Broken Disease page it said, “The only cure for Heart Broken Disease is true love. I sighed once again and screamed with all my heart “ANDREA!”

I Love MexicoStock video:

I Love Mexico Stock Footage Video 2197315

http://www.shutterstock.com/video/clip-2197315-stock-footage-i-love-mexico.html

Coffee

After the boring morning meeting, Kevin headed to the history class with his friends. Usually, Kevin goes to the cafeteria before class to get some coffee, but today he went straight to class because the coffee machine was broken. When he entered the room, he thought about watching a movie during the class. Kevin hated school, so all he did was play games, watch movies and listen to music during classes. He turned on his computer and was ready to watch another movie. Suddenly, he felt that the earth was shaking under him. When he looked around there was no one in the room but him and the teacher. The teacher was looking straight into his eyes.

“Why didn’t you drink me today?” asked the teacher.

“Excuse me, what did you say Mr. Bucks?”

Suddenly, Mr. Bucks turned into a gigantic cup of coffee as if by magic! Kevin couldn’t believe his eyes. The cup fell and spilled the coffee all over the classroom. As the coffee touched the objects in the room, they also turned into coffee. Kevin tried to run, but there was nowhere to run to. The coffee was everywhere. It got closer and closer to his feet. When the black liquid reached his shoes, Kevin closed his eyes. He felt it caroling up his jeans. He was scared to open his eyes. He thought that he didn’t feel his legs any more. He finally gained courage to open his eyes and see what happened to his body. All he saw was just his desk. He raised his head. He was back in the classroom full of students and no coffee. It was a dream. He breathed out with relief. When suddenly, everyone in the classroom asked him:“Why didn’t you drink me today?”  

He screamed in horror. Next thing he knew, he was in his bed.  

“Time to wake up Kevin, if you don’t want to be late to school,” he heard his mom saying. 

A Small Cup of Coffee. N.p.: Wikipedia, the Free Encyclopedia, 13 Apr. 2005. JPEG.

Glory Days

 I was in my teens when my dad began telling me about his youth. We sat down together every once in a while in my bedroom and he talked about his life at my age. He spoke of the excitement and fun he lived back when he was my age. He’d talked about it so much that I almost grew annoyed of it. It seemed as if every time we sat down to talk heart to heart he talked about his supposed glory days. His eyes wandered as he told his stories and they sparked a mischievous spark before their flame would go out and lock with my eyes as if reminding himself that those days were over and he was married to my mother. It was the same when we would listen to my grandmother every summer when visiting. Grans would reveal old memories with the same gleam in her eye as my father did but her flame would never extinguish.  Rather it blazed on as she grew fonder of her youthful memories in her old age. I almost sensed desperation in her to relive those memories. It appeared to me as if with every day she grew older and more incapable she longed more for her youth. She longed for the thrill of the first touch of her first lover. She longed to run with her dogs Beepee and Fo on her father’s ranch. Her bones had grown too weak to ride and gallop on horseback and to feel the power in the steed’s stride. She felt forlorn by youth as she reached her 72^nd birthday. It was obvious that her reflection was the only thing that kept her calm, mature, sulky and sad. I could tell by Papa’s look that she was only in her happy moods when we were around because we were a living picture of who she used to be.

            Papa himself had never once peeped a sound about the days before he’d married Grans. Every summer I’d urge him to tell something but he would simply say no and grow moody and distraught for a moment. There was a past behind the large glasses sitting in the lazy-boy chair that I believe not even my mother knows about to this day. My grandfather never seemed to trust anyone my age including me and my sisters. I always wanted to grow closer to Papa. His history I believed was highly intriguing even though I’d never heard a word about it but “no”. One day after I’d urged him again, he finally said more than his traditional syllable.

            “Son, by telling you no, haven’t I said enough? What do you want with my history of mistakes and pain? I always hated history class, because it distracted you from the now. I’m glad to be 76 years old. I have earned every snow white hair left on this head. You want me to tell you about the time at summer camp when I was fifteen? Well instead I’ll tell you about last week when I was serving food at Jim Plummer’s Soup Kitchen. I’ll tell you about the smiles on those peoples’ faces but I’m not going to tell you about the time I got into mischief. It’s not cute or funny. It’s just flat out stupid and doesn’t help anybody.”

            With that he sat back in his chair and opened up his newspaper.

 

 Safura, Mardiahtul. "Newspaper Man." blogspot.com. Mardiahtul Safura, n.d. Web.
     5 Dec. 2013. <http://mylovelyjj.blogspot.co.il/>.