I sat inside the fortified walls of her castle with the others, gripping the arms of my seat as I watched the battle over the monitor. Esmeralda was busy backing up the system’s important files, and Alice shouted angrily into the phone for someone to get off their ass and help. But I knew that no one could help–these two were too evenly matched, and their power exceeded that of anyone else in the colonies. Only they would be able to solve this.

Selena’s husband sensed my worry, “It’s alright, Rachel,” Ray smiled at me, cradling their child in his arms, “Selena’s been queen for centuries. You don’t get to be in that kind of position for that long unless you’ve got the abilities to back it up.”

He was right, I knew that I should worry, yet some how his words didn’t comfort me. I was still unsure. I looked at the child in his arms, she was only six months old, and already there was a possibility that her life could change drastically. I prayed for the best.

An explosion rocked the room, causing glass to shatter as it fell to the floor. Ray teetered unsteadily on his feet and I helped stabilize him, helping to make sure that the child didn’t get injured. “The cameras have gone down, I can’t see anything!” Esmeralda shouted, desperately taping away at the keyboard in order to restore the feed. I panicked, rushing out of the room, down the stairs and outside. Voices echoed behind me, shouting at me to stay, that it wasn’t safe out there, but I had to go. I had to see.

I stepped out into a cloud of dust, coughing and wheezing as I waded my way through it, hoping I’d find them. I came across Zenith first, his body laying on the ground, charred and with a vacant stare in his eyes. My heart lept for joy, she had done it, she had won! I had to find her, to congratulate her. I heard coughing a few steps away, so I rushed towards her– she was still alive!

I saw her silhouette through the dust, and shouted for her. She stepped out of the cloud, and to my horror, collapsed in a heap on the ground. I picked her up, holding her in my lap, shaking her like a rag doll, calling her name, but she didn’t answer. She dangled lifelessly in my arms, she felt cold– she must have used her life force to create that explosion. I tried to cry, I wanted my tears to bring her back to life, to hear her voice one more time, but nothing came.

I just sat there, holding her in my arms, staring at her until Ray had found us when the dust finally cleared.

[By: Lindsay Ruais]

“Ugh, today was probably the worst the day of my life.” I sighed, stepping over the threshold and into my living room. That was most likely and overstatement, but I was well known for my exaggerations. I tossed my jacket carelessly onto the couch and slogged over to the answering machine. The light flashed red– I had a new message, which was unusual because most people just texted me if they wanted something.

I clicked the button, “You have one new message. 5:00pm, June 28th.”
“Hey Hannah, it’s me. Micheal.”
My eyes widened. Michael? What was he doing calling me? It’s been almost two years since we broke up, what would he want with me now?
“Look, I wanted to apologize for breaking up with you on graduation day. It was the worst mistake I’ve ever made, and I’m sorry. Things with Theresa didn’t…they just didn’t work out the way I hoped they would. I want to make it up to you. I’ll be at Mama Lucia’s tonight at 7:30. I asked Lucia to prepare some Cavatappi, your favorites, and there’s live music tonight. Please, it would mean the world to me if you came. Please. You won’t regret it.”

The machine clicked, signaling the end of the message. I sat on my couch, dumbfounded. Michael obviously wanted to get back together with me, but I wasn’t sure whether I should be happy or enraged. That son of a bitch broke up with me on our graduation day– our freaking senior graduation day– just so he could go out with Theresa Hunnigan. The worst part is I thought that he really loved me. He had been the one that I allowed my virginity after all, only after we professed our love for each other. But it had all be a lie– he was a skirt chaser, the bastard.

I gnashed my teeth together, there was no way I was going tonight. He was going to sit there, all by himself, with the band playing sappy Italian music as he desperately waited for me to show up. After an hour or so, he’d hang his head in despair and walk home, depressed and alone, just like I was at graduation. I laughed, God I wanted to see that, to rub it in his smug little face. But a the same time…I felt bad for him.

I sighed, picking up the receiver and dialing his number.
He picked up after the third ring, “Yeah?”
“It’s Hannah.”
“Oh, hey. Are you going to be here soon?”
“No. Listen, I’m sorry things didn’t work out with Theresa, but I’m not going to pity you.”
“I know, that’s why–”
“That’s why I’m not going tonight. I’m sorry, but I think we should just forget about us ever being together, okay?”
“Hannah–”
“Goodbye, Michael. Have a nice life.” And with that I hung up.
I ignored the phone as it rang, plucking my coat from it’s spot on the couch, pulling it on, and going out for a long and relaxing smoke.

2: You are a small child, a first grader– no, a second grader maybe. The world is still new to you, yet you think you’ve mastered it already. Take that book for instance, that one that your mother reads to you every night before bed. Harry Potter, yes that one. You think you can read it too, don’t you? Your mother can do it, and you understand what she’s reading to you, so why can’t you read it. You ask her one night, after she tucks you in and cracks open the cover of the book. She looks at you and smiles, handing the brick over to you. You take it in your hands, feeling its weight for the first time before laying it in your lap and beginning to look at the words on the page. You smile as the letters all jumble together into some coherent form and you begin to read them, flowing elegantly out of your mouth. See, you knew you were smart. Your mother must be proud of you; her smile indicated that she is. You will remember those days, and how they have helped shape you into the literate young adult that you are now.

3: She remembered those days, all the way back in elementary school, when her mother would read to her before bed. She remembered how images danced in her mind of wizards and magic every night before bedtime. She even remembered when she asked her mother if she could read the next Harry Potter book out loud. Her mother smiled, a smile which always reflected one onto her daughter’s face, as she handed over the large tome. The child took it into her fragile hands and read from it with such clarity that her mother couldn’t help but be proud. The child went on to read more books, each with increasing difficulty in language usage and variation. She read them and loved them, maybe not all of the one assigned through school, but most of them. She still remembers those nights, snuggled up into her mother’s side, listening intently to the latest installment of the series. She cherishes those memories, after all, they helped make her who she is today.

The three perspectives are interesting, to say the least. I prefer first and third more than second, but for different reasons. I like First when I want to keep things limited to one person’s thoughts and feelings– I want things to be biased, so that people may wonder, “What happened on the other side?” which is a question they will have to create the answer too. I like third person for the opposite reason– to make things objective and to show both sides of what happened, so that people know all the character’s feelings and their motivations. Second, I don’t know, just feels weird to me, so I don’t use it.

[By Lindsay Ruais]

“What’s your name?”
“…Caroline.”
“That’s a lovely name, you must be proud of it.”
“Not really…it’s just a name…” Holy crap, why am I responding to him?
“Well I think it’s beautiful, like you.”
I turned to glance at him, it was the first time I had really ever looked at him, usually I just turned and walked the complete opposite way whenever I saw him. He was kind of cute, in a nerdy way, with thick rimmed glasses, a striped polo, and faded jeans. Despite the fact that I thought he was midly attractive, I was still getting negative vibes from him. It took me a few moments before I realized that he had moved closer to me.
“Ya know,” He said, lowering glasses, giving me a better look at his eyes, “I don’t think I’ve ever met a girl as beautiful as you before.”
Before I could respond, he planted a kiss on my lips. This shocked me, and I wasn’t sure how to feel because I was still getting mixed vibes, but then he groped my breast and started reaching for other places that I was just not about to let him get away with. I struggled with him, trying to get him off me, but for a nerd, he was pretty strong. I guess those self-defense classes were a waste of money, because there was nothing I could do against this guy.
Just as he was about to grab for me again, the elevator doors were pried open and a very large black fireman burst into the elevator. “Are you kids alright?” He asked, taking in our disheveled appearances.
I desperately clung to his leg, “Please get me out of here!”
“Don’t worry, honey. You’re safe now. You can take the emergency stairwell up to your apartment. This elevator is going to be down for a few days.”
“That is alright with me, sir!” I said, not even caring that my voice had raised an octave or two. I rushed out of that space, and never looked back.

Now whenever I see that guy on the street, I cross to the other side.

[By Lindsay Ruais]

Now about those grudges. Some men seem to have this pre-conceived notion that all women hold grudges, my boyfriend included. I won’t deny that some women hold grudges until the end of time, but I happen to be one of the few who do not. I don’t really see the merit to holding a grudge; if the person apologized or showed to me in some way that they regretted what they had said or done, then I would forgive them and the grudge would be gone. Now, that isn’t to say that I’d entirely forget what the person did, as I obviously demonstrated above, but that doesn’t mean that I still feel anger because of that event. There was one grudge I held for a long time though; I just finally let it go like a year or two ago.

It was middle school. This kid, Sir-Gene had just joined our grade (He was like, the only kid I’ve ever met that had a hyphenated first name). Now my middle school was full of cliques, most of them having formed in elementary school because we had all been in the same class since first grade. I wasn’t in a clique, but I was never really bothered by the other kids because we all knew each other extraordinarily well.  And new kids were always treated like outsiders, even if they eventually became friends with the overall class. We were like a cult, or something. Anyway, Sir-Gene tried to pretend like he was cool (We were sixth graders, we were not cool at all), saying how he smoked weed and stuff like that. One day he said he smoked anit-freeze. That would kill you. Well the reason he got under my skin was because he thought if he picked on me, he’d make friends, since I wasn’t popular. At first, I didn’t really care, nothing he said really bothered me. Then one day, he was looking at my arms and said, “Damn, girl, you got some hairy arms! You have more hair on your arms than I’ve got!” I was so stunned and offended that I had nothing to respond with. Luckily for me, one of my friends told him off by saying I was more manly than he was if that was the case, but it didn’t help me feel much better.

I remembered that for a long time, and would seethe whenever something would remind me of it. Honestly, I’m seething now a little bit in writing this. The reason is because he never apologized, so I couldn’t forgive him. Eventually I just got tired of being angry all the time and tossed it out of my mind. Probably because I never shaved my arms, so the hair didn’t grow longer and darker, and you can’t see it too much anyway, so people never really seem to notice unless I bring it up.

I guess I’m not the angry, raving, kind of ranter— though if you catch me on the occasion that my temper has flared I will tell you that I can be scary, so I apologize if this wasn’t angry enough for you. This is just the way I am.

[By Lindsay Ruais]

Cold feet
send tingles down her spine
as he tickles hers with
his.

Strong legs,
which intertwine perfectly
with hers to form an
unbreakable bond.

Soft tummy,
easily accessible to the tickling fingers
of his companion, who relentlessly
attacks.

Sturdy chest,
makes for a comfy pillow
during those long midnight
movie marathons.

Supple limbs,
to help his short companion reach
her plastic ware on the top shelf,
and to carry her backpack on their way to class.

Warm hands,
glide effortlessly along
her body to give those
magnificent back massages.

Skillful fingers,
to serenade her with his
clarinet and baritone sax
concertos.

Sensuous lips,
to plant kisses
on her lips
and cheeks.

Shimmering eyes,
which recall the things they’ve shared;
broken laptops, imported gifts from Italy,
and promises of love.

By Lindsay Ruais

[Apparently when my laptop broke on my birthday, the 27th, this hadn't been posted.]

Suicide is not a thing
that one should dwell on,
However in this circumstance,
my brain seems gone.

All sense has been lost.
I only think of him.
He only matters now,
I am at his whim.

I awake to find him next
to me, a smile upon
his face. One creases mine,
as I greet the dawn.

By Lindsay Ruais

[Apparently it didn't post the first time for some reason, so I'm posting it again.]

Fresh air.
Green Hills.
All of it makes me want to run faster and faster
Wearing through another pair of Soap shoes.

But today,
I’m not running because it’s a nice day,
oh no. I’m running because Eggman’s up to no good again,
and that’s way past not cool.

I wonder what his plan to take over the world is today?
Another space station?
Mythological beast?
Or maybe even an interstellar amusement park.

Whatever it is doesn’t matter,
Same old Egghead, Same old plan.
I’ll take down whatever it is with my super sonic speed
because I’m Sonic.
Sonic the Hedgehog.

By Lindsay Ruais

[I'm a nerd. It's true. Comments/Criticism is greatly appreciated! Especially if you think I should make it longer! Thanks!]

A family friend from a past generation,
her age has left her with many dents,
one in particular caused by a sun-blinded child
bumping into her rather large rear.

Her leather is scratched and torn,
evidence of the many times she carried
the basketball team from game to game,
and never once did she complain when they left a mess on her floor.

Her legs are worn and tired,
having taught the only child the ways of the road,
taking every bump and curb in stride,
hoping that one day her girl could be a good driver.

She sits in the driveway,
waiting to be of use again,
but in her heart she knows that her time has past.
They must move on without her.

by Lindsay Ruais

[Criticism is greatly appreciated!]