My Super Special Secret is My Sister

                My sister is five years old and eats her boogers so when my friends come over I lock her in my bedroom closet. It’s a walk in closet. It's got a light. She won’t suffocate or hit her head or anything. She cried the first few times I put her in there but she just sits and plays with stickers now. When my friends ask about my family, I don’t mention having a sister at all.

                At school on the first day, I sat at lunch with a home-made sandwich and an abundance of napkins and myself. From across the room I saw Grace Sylvester and Alex Malone share pale hand sanitizer. At once I knew I should be their friend. I approached them as they sat on the grass in the corner of the fenced school yard and said, “Hi, I’m Nettie,” and Grace said, “Hey, I’m Grace,” and Alex said, “I’m Alex,” and I sat down across from them and I asked about their siblings.

                “Eh,” Grace said. “I’ve got two older brothers. They’re super annoying.”

                “Oh,” I said, “What kind of stuff do they do?”

“I mean, my oldest brother is in high school now, but Nick is in seventh grade and suddenly all he cares about is video games. He just sits there after school and shoots bad guys and eats Doritos.”

                Gross, I thought.

                Alex plucked some grass from underneath her. I searched for the bottle of sanitizer attached to Grace’s lunch box.

                “My little sister’s in fourth grade,” Alex said. “She just steals my clothes all the time.”

                I reached over and poured some on my hands.

                “Hey, Nettie,” Grace said, “What about you?”

                “Oh.” I stopped rubbing my fingers together. “It’s just me and my mom, usually.”

                “That’s lame,” Alex said. “Must be boring.”

                I rubbed my fingers together some more.

                When two weeks went by and I invited Grace and Alex over to my house. My sister was using finger paints on the table. I made her wash her hands in the bathroom and then I locked her in my closet.

                “Dee, I’ll give you all these stickers if you just sit in here for a little while.”

                “I want…”—she counted on her hands—“five! Like me!”

                “Alright, five it is. Just be quiet, and… don’t touch your nose, alright?”

                When Grace and Alex arrived my mother greeted them distractedly from her office and we went into our family room with the chest of costumes and played dress-up.

                “Alex,” Grace said, “you’re a movie star. I’ll be your director, and Nettie can be the camera man.”

                “Oh, that sounds fun! Let me find a scarf.” She rummaged somewhere around the fairy princess Halloween costumes.

                “Hey, can I be a movie star, too?” I asked.

                “No,” Grace said, “I just said you’re the camera man.”

                From upstairs, I heard a faint rendition of the Daniel Dinosaur theme song, and suddenly, a loud and uncomfortably wet sneeze. Impulsively, I picked some hairs off the scarf Alex held.

                “Um. I think I have some more stuff in my room. I’ll be right back.”

                I rushed to the closet and threw open the door and she was sitting there with both snot and stickers plastered across her face. She looked up and grinned. I blanched. In five seconds I had a handful of tissues and was wiping and peeling as painstakingly as I could.

                Grace and Alex appeared behind me in the doorway. I froze.

                “What the heck!” Grace said. “I didn’t know you had a sister!”

                I held the tissue as far away from me as possible. “Um. Yeah, I do.”

                “That’s so exciting! She can be my assistant. Alex, let her have the scarf!”

                “Wait, you don’t think she’s gross?”

                “No, she’s adorable. C’mere!”

Dee held my leg and giggled. She was soon swept up by bigger arms. I looked at my fingers; I threw out the soiled tissue and I washed my hands.

Alex looked at me sidelong as Grace carried my sister down the stairs.

                “Nettie?”

                “Yeah?”

                “You’re a little bit of a clean freak, aren’t you?”

                

Creative Writing Assignment: Day 1

My Life Without You

Today you were not in school; the chair next to mine was empty. You haven’t missed much. The bathrooms still smell of urine, the cafeteria food still sucks, gum still covers the sidewalks. But things have changed. The flowers don’t smell as sweet. Henry’s jokes can’t make laugh. You’re not here anymore.

   Remember, that ribbon you wore to the party last night. The one you were wearing when Colton Meyers drove you home. I have it, on the ring finger of my right hand. It won’t come off.   

I see him in the school hallways. I see him in the midst of the hundreds of students who walk to and from their classes. But he is the only one I recognize. I thought it was impossible to hate a person, but now know I know I was wrong. His unscathed figure mocks me. I hate him; I want him to burn in hell. But it’s just as much my fault as it is his, and the knowledge of this crushes me. Every time I close my eyes, the scene replays in my head. I can’t sleep, I can’t eat, and sometimes I can hardly breathe.

I should have stopped you. I knew he was drunk. But I knew that you really liked him. I wanted you to be happy. So I let you go, despite the little voice that screamed inside of me. I wish I could turn back time; I would have told you no. You would have been mad at me for the time being, but not for long. Now, you will never be mad again. I will never see your face grow red from too much laughter. I will no longer be able to tease you for sleeping with your stuffed elephant.

I’m sorry. God, I am so sorry.

If you can hear me, if my words can somehow cross the infinite boundary that separates life from death, I want you to know that you will always be my best friend, and I will always have this ribbon tied to the ring finger of my right hand.

The Valiant Princess

The Valiant Princess

Elijah Oates

No. No no no no no no no no. No.  This is not how it works. The valiant knight is supposed to save the princess. Nobody ever heard of a valiant princess saving a knight. It was just wrong. Against the code. Uncouth. Yet here I stand, a knight stolen of his valor. Sure, I had been taken by a dragon, that in and of itself is not exactly storybook. But I would have escaped. Eventually. I swear it. I mean, how hard can it be to free yourself from chains no thicker than a unicorn’s horn? And it certainly is not that difficult to break through a door, run down some stairs, and slaughter a massive dragon. Simple really.

But no, she did not even give me the chance. By my tally, via scratch marks on the wall, she had arrived exactly seven years after I had been taken. Not even King Arthur would be able to escape that quickly. I had been lying in full armor on my humble, three legged bed, in my humble, triangular room, that crowns the dragon’s not so humble, slightly lopsided tower. I was just about to give another mighty tug on my chains when I heard some ruckus. I stopped to listen for a moment, noting the panic in the dragon’s constant roar. A few bursts of fire streaked past the triangular window opposite me, and the corner of a flapping wing briefly came into view. I thought the thing was merely arguing with itself, a common occurrence among dragons I hear.

I ignored the commotion and refocused on removing my manacles. I was close to success, I really was. And then, all of a sudden, the hypotenuse of my triangle shaped room fell over. After coughing up copious amounts of dust and blinking away a few stray swirls of smoke, I beheld.

Now, I have beheld many things before, not the least of which a silhouetted horseman riding off into the sunset, his sword held aloft. That definitely was not me. I would never behold myself. Really.

I save the act of beholding for the right occasion. One does not simply behold a mule. One beholds a unicorn, or the like. I do not, then, say this lightly. The scene that unfolded before my eyes in that slightly lopsided tower was most certainly behold-worthy.

 It was the dragon. He had seemingly crashed into his own tower and died. I was quite confused, all chained up on my three legged bed. There was an awkward silence between me and the dead dragon. I did not exactly know what to say. Then the dragon’s head twitched. It twitched again. The dead dragon proceeded to open its mouth, wide, as though it were yawning. Lo and behold, a princess crawled out of the mouth. I say she was a princess, but in truth, it would be better to say she was a blood-soaked princess. Her once pink dress was drenched red. I guessing killing a dragon whilst inside said dragon’s mouth will do that to a girl. She stood, straightened her pointed pink hat atop her impressively long blonde hair, and gave a small wave.

“Uhm, hi,” she said through a blush, “I am here to rescue you.”

I stared at her. I had never been rescued before. It was a rather uncomfortable process so far.

“Oh, uhm, I found this. I think it’s yours,” she said as she reached back down into the dragon’s mouth and pulled out a gore-stained sword. “You can have it back; I’m quite finished with it.”

I stared some more.

“Ah, right, the chains.” She took a step or two forward, raised my sword-knocking her hat askew once again-and broke through the chains in one swift swipe. I did not flinch. Really.

Once I was free of my shackles, the princess handed me my sword. I took it gingerly, not wishing to touch any dragon flesh that was along for the ride. The princess pulled me to my feet and stepped back over to the dragon head.

“Uhm, this way to freedom,” she said, another blush rising, her hands swaying awkwardly at her sides.

I attempted to take a step. It did not work. Seven years on a three legged bed is not good for balance apparently. I proceeded to collapse, face-planting onto the stone floor, breaking my nose and denting my helmet. I puffed a sigh. I really was not good at being rescued.

“Would you like some help?” This time I could hear the blush in her words.

“No, no, just give me a moment,” I replied with a nasally, muffled voice.

After more than a few moments had passed, and I had made no visible progress toward standing, I amended my original statement.

“Yes.”

The princess was soon carrying me, baby style, down the back of a dragon. The dragon had been nice enough to die in the perfect position, so that it now functioned as a rather scaly staircase down to the ground. Moments more found me on the back of a horse. It was a four legged horse with a dazzling white coat and an equally bright mane. The princess had mounted in front of me, my arms around her waist. It was all terribly backwards and confusing.

Alas, here I sit, upon that same horse, behind that same princess. She is a pretty one at least, all blonde hair and blue eyes. The sun is setting now; the horizon is calling it back home. What an image we must be; a valiant princess and a freshly rescued knight, riding together off into the sunset. That is something I would not mind beholding. Really.

Leaving Home

He drove up to the house in the late afternoon, when it was the hottest time of day, and the a/c and every fan was on high. I heard his car rumble up the driveway, but didn’t move from my spot on the couch, not interested enough to even glance out the window.

I knew it was him when he rang the doorbell though. He always did, even though Mama had a policy of ‘c’mon in.’ I still didn’t move though, too busy looking through the window to make sure it really was him. Mama rolled her eyes at me as she wiped her hands on her jeans and opened the door.

“It’s Giovanni, Maya.” She said softly.

I must have gotten up after then, but all I can remember is looking at his soft brown eyes as he spoke. I could hear what he was saying, but I couldn’t focus enough to understand what they meant. They weren’t good words though, and they were making me squeeze onto his hand harder and harder.

His top choice school. He’d been accepted. Ten hours away.

“Don’t,” I started to whisper. I wanted to tell him to stay here with me, but he’d spent months planning out the perfect program. I bit my bottom lip, struggling to find words. He must’ve seen it in my eyes, the way my face was slowly crumbling, that I couldn’t congratulate him.

“Baby,” he murmured, “it’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

I could barely nod.

“You know I don’t belong here.”

He didn’t. We both didn’t, and we’d also made months of plans of getting out of here together. Traveling Europe. Traveling the world. He’d take me to Berlin and Paris and Versailles and Barcelona. All I’d ever wanted was to run away to Vienna.

“I just-” I gulped. My mouth felt dry, and I couldn’t find the words. I couldn’t tell him not to go. I couldn’t tell him to wait for me. “I thought-”

“Baby,” he whispered, taking my other hand too and squeezing it, “I wanted to take you with me, I really did. But I thought we both knew…”

That was never going to truly happen. I finished the rest of his sentence for him, lip trembling as I realized what he meant.

I searched his face for anything. But his lips were tight in a straight line, and his brown eyes seemed to be searching mine. The first tear slipped down my cheek as the news sunk further and further into my chest.

“Stop-” Now he was at a loss for words.

We both knew this day was coming. I finished his sentence again. One day he would leave and I would stay, and that would be our ending.

“Please don’t leave me,” I finally whispered, my words hoarse because I pushed them off my tongue before I started crying.

“I don’t want to,” He whispered back. “But I have to,”

We both know that. I finished it once more. I tried to nod. I did, I really did know that this day was coming. That he was going to go to college, and I was going to stay here, and our adventures would always stay here. He couldn’t take me with him. Not to Europe. Not around the world. And he couldn’t stay here.

“I wanted to talk about it with you,” he said, his voice soft, “but…” he struggled for words, and cleared his throat. Had I made him start to cry? He couldn’t cry too, he just couldn’t. “Maybe we can later.” He said softly.

I tried to nod again.

“I’ve gotta go then,” he said, voice still dangerously soft and low. He looked down at our hands, as I was still gripping onto him.

Please don’t leave me, I wanted to repeat. Somehow I pulled myself away from him. As the screen door slammed shut and he turned his back to go back to his car, I ran from the door, ignoring Mama’s calls, out to the backyard. I wanted to go as far as possible, just wanting to run out of breath.

I always hid out in the barn when I didn’t want to face the world. With silent tears streaming down my face, I pulled myself up the ladder, laying down on the faded old blanket I’d left one day in the loft. I pressed my face into the soft fabric, and hiccuped from crying so much.

The barn door swung open again, and I turned over to look down and see who it was. Lucas stumbled in, covered in a sheer layer of sweat that made his skin shimmer in the sunlight that filtered down through the holes of the roof. He was my daddy’s farm hand, and I could tell from the way hay was everywhere he’d been moving bales. He was breathing deeply, and leaned his leg up on the old tractor, clearly meaning to use me as a distraction from work.

“Go away,” I grumbled to Lucas, “I’m going to India.”

He glanced up at me and laughed,

“You’re not really gonna do that.” He scrunched up his nose then, like he was confused and so expected an explanation.

I didn’t reply. I didn’t really want to talk about it with him, I knew he wouldn’t understand.

“I will,” I barely whispered, looking away from him and back up at the holes in the roof to stop myself from crying.

“What’s wrong with you?” He asked, seeming annoyed that I wasn’t willing to talk.

“Nothing!” I shouted. He pulled his leg off the tractor, and stepped back, picking up a bale, not saying a word but giving me a look that said it all. I didn’t care what he thought. Yelling had felt better. I wasn’t sure how I felt anymore. I didn’t want Giovanni to leave me, but I felt mad that he would even dare to.

I stayed in the barn for the rest of the afternoon, breathing in the sweet smell of the blanket, it hadn’t trapped in the smells of hay but rather reminded me of the day Giovanni and I had climbed up into the loft and had held hands and he’d pointed out the way the sunlight filtered down. I’d told him he was so poetic. And it was one days we talked about where we would go, and how we’d never come back. I wondered if he’d come back now, after he left for college.

At dinner, I picked at my food. Daddy asked me what was wrong and Mama spoke quietly. I wondered how she knew that Giovanni was leaving. But I didn’t want to ask. I didn’t want to talk about any of it. They let me leave the table early and not even clear my plate. I told them I was going outside to get some fresh air, and they just nodded.

I sat down on the front step, extending my legs out. They’d always looked so pale to me in comparison to Giovanni’s dark tan. I thought about all of the times he’d driven his car up to the house, and spent the day with me. Even on the nights he’d stayed up late and told me he had a lot of work to finish, he always found some time. On the days he’d taken me out, or I’d spent the day at his house, it didn’t matter: every night when we had to part, he’d let me stand on the stair so I could kiss him more easily. It had never really crossed my mind that one night, that would be the last time we kissed and parted.

I stared out at the black inky expanse that had covered up everything from the daytime. I strained my eyes, wanting to see something else, but it was impossible. There weren’t any other porch lights or car headlights. It was Sunday night, and people usually went to bed earlier than usual. But Daddy had been working, so Mama made dinner late. I didn’t mind, I knew I’d be restless all night.

I didn’t know why I’d told Lucas I was going to go to India. The moment the words left my mouth and he started laughing, he took his shirt and wrapped it around his head like a turban. He’d made me want to puke. Lucas was an idiot, but he wasn’t alone. Giovanni needed to get out of here, but so did I.

My heart started to beat faster, and I felt dizzy and out of breath as I continued to think. Why did I need him to get out of here? What was stopping me from traveling the world alone? I’d wanted to visit Europe with a lover. Someone I could kiss in front of scenic vistas, and so I didn’t feel so lonely in the cheap, cold hostels I assumed we’d stay in. Someone who would hold my hand if I felt lost.

But it didn’t matter anymore, because I’d either spend the hot, lonely nights alone here, or I’d spend them anywhere else.

In a haze and realization of desperation to leave, I stood, saluted my house, and turned. I walked out into the inky blackness, walking further and further, the sound of my feet on the pavement as my only guide, ‘til I’d been totally absorbed by it too, and only then glanced back at my house.

I wondered if Giovanni would call me tonight. It didn’t matter, by then I’d be gone.

Football and Glitter

Short. You’re short. You’re not tall enough. You can’t reach that. You can’t ride this. She’s heard it all her life. On top of that, Lila is a tomboy. The idea of playing with dolls and sparkly dresses and her mom’s makeup repulsed her. Not that there was anything wrong with those things; they were just not her things. Walking through that humid, dusty field during recess today, Lila makes a resolution. She was going to play football with everyone else. “Everyone else” being the sixth grade guys. She was going to show them that she didn’t have to play house or hear who had a crush on who with the girls, not if she didn’t want to.

She hears their gabbing before she sees them. Bracing herself for the worst, Lila rounds the corner of the broken-down shed that was used to store recess toys like soccer balls, jump ropes, and hoola hoops. Dressed in pristine white, neon pink, and glitter galore are the Rachels. The Rachels have been friends since third grade, when Rachel Smatter moved from California, completing their snotty little threesome. As Lila passes them, trying not to look at their glistening golden hair, she remembers the day when she tried to become part of their group last year.

She’d just gotten a new t-shirt at the store her mom usually refused to go into, calling it “overpriced and too girly for her little Lila.” Lila would always protest that her mom was wrong, and fail miserably. But just this once, she’d relented to her pleading ten-year-old daughter, reminding her “Just this once.”

So she was proud when she walked up to them that Monday. She’d even snuck some of her mom’s eyeshadow, and even though it seemed too gawky for Lila, she’d done it anyway, because that is what the Rachels would do.

“What are you wearing?” asked Rachel Talor. Lila sensed a hint of jealousy, and smiled up at Rachel.

“Do you like it? My mom let me buy it this weekend.”

The Rachels laughed in a chorus of snickers, and it made Lila sick. Rachel Smatter stepped forward, hands on hips, saying, “Your mom let you buy that? Now I can see where your terrible fashion sense comes from.”

Lila tried to come up with an come back, a retort that would shut all the Rachels up. Recess, however, ended with Lila in the nurse’s office, faking a stomachache and asking to go home. Her mom persistently asked her what was wrong, and Lila refused to give a truthful answer, saying she thought Timmy had a stomach bug that weekend, and came to school, even though he shouldn’t have.

So here they were again, the Rachels versus Lila. They’d gotten fake brightly-colored hair extensions this summer, and she’d gotten tough skin. They didn’t seem to bother her much anymore. She thought she’d found her niche, with the guys.

“Look at Lila, going to play with her own kind,” she hears one of them say.

“Finally. Took her years to figure that out,” someone else responds.

Lila doesn’t want to turn around. Doesn’t want to give them the satisfaction of an answer. But she has to. It’s just something about them, and something about the way she is. Defiant and stubborn, in every sense of the words.

“So what if I wanna play with the guys? They’re a whole lot better than you three are.”

“I can see how you’d think that, seeing how you’re a guy, too.” Classy, Lila thinks, Sticking with the same “guy” tactic they’ve used on me for years. How original.

“I don’t want to hear you talk about how “dreamy” you think Tom is,” she says, looking at Rachel Talor. “And I don’t want to listen to you go on and on about your new puppy,” she says, now glaring at Rachel Smatter. “And your latest shopping spree,” she says, voice rising, looking at Rachel MacEntire, “I couldn’t care less. It’s fine that you do. But that’s not me.”

With that, she turns on her heel and marches toward the gaggle of boys on the football field, not waiting to hear what they have to say next.

“Hey, Michael,” she calls, heart pounding, trying to get the attention of one the boys on the field. He glances at her through sweaty tufts of hair, finishing a play and running to the side lines, looking curiously at Lila.

“What’s up, Lila?” His breathing is ragged, his chest heaving up and down.

Lila looks up at him, all sense of her courage gone as she realizes how big he is - how small she is. “I...I was wondering,” she begins.

He looks at her expectantly, urgently, as another boy calls from the field, “Hurry up, Michael!” A group of sweaty, smelly boys form a circle around her and Michael, eagerly listening to what this girl had to say.

“I was wondering if maybe I could play with you guys. Today. Right now.” She stumbles over her words, looking at him hopefully as she finishes. She notices out of the corner of her eye that the Rachels have slowly joined the crowd, standing on the edges in what they think is out of Lila’s eyesight. It isn’t. Now she is even more desperate for an answer from him.

“Are you kidding?” Tom asks, crossing his arms. Lila sees Rachel Talor smirking in pure glee and her stomach feels like it was punched.

“She can’t play. She’ll be ruined,” calls a faceless voice in the crowd. Lila tries to search it out, but she can barely see over Michael.

“We’ll crush her!” someone yells. They mean it as a warning, but it is fueled with anger that leaves Lila feeling shaky, as though it were a promise.

“She couldn’t even carry the football. It’s bigger than her!” This invites a tumultuous cackle, pulling the blood to Lila’s face, creeping it up her neck and through the curves in her ears. Tears prick at the back of her eyes, and she bites her lip hard to keep them from escaping. No way. Not today.

Throughout this whole time, Michael has said nothing. “Come on, Mike, let’s just get back to playing,” Tom says.

Michael held up his hand. “Why can’t she play?”

Rachel Talor takes this opportunity to contribute her oh-so-observational tidbit. “Duh, she’s a girl, Michael. Not to mention she’s smaller than some of the fourth graders.

Michael doesn’t turn around, doesn’t even respond to Rachel, and that makes Lila smile with triumph and hope. “I think she should play. I’ve played with her since I was a little kid. She can roll with the rest of us.”

Lila can’t contain her excitement; she wants to hug him right there. She doesn’t, she can’t. But she wants to.

Everyone seems to reluctantly agree with Michael, or at least follow his orders. The crowd disbands, and everyone walks back out to the field. Lila nudges Michael with her elbow, only reaching his side. But she didn’t care. He’d stuck up for her, and now she was playing football, like she’d always wanted. “Thanks,” she said, grinning at him.

Hello again!

Here's a list of the students in Silas's class:

Julie Walton
Lilly Rothman
Monet Polny
Yelitza Pagan
Clara McKnight
Cassidy McGinty
Kendra Mase
Kelly Hartwick
Meghan Cook
Bethany Dodge
Cassidy Smith

Happy writing, and posting, and reading!

The Curtain Rises

Welcome to the Dead Fish Afternoon blog, home of creative writing students working with Catherine Dent and Silas Zobal during the Advanced Writers Workshop at Susquehanna University.  Here you will share your work and read what others are working on.

Here is a list of the students in Catherine's Workshop:

Megan Paris
Richard Berwind
Paige Drews
Liana Dudley Holland
Honor Ford
Sara Green
Samantha Koon
Alice Lin
Kayla Lynch
Elijah Oates
Daniel Sellers
Adam Unger