Chapter 3
Her friend, who had loved the library as well, agreed readily to her plan and they made plans that night to recruit others. They agreed to meet early the next day as she was leaving.
The next day the two friends went out to all of their friends who had loved the library and its contents. They explained her idea about teens fifteen and under being librarians instead of the older teens with more, well, "potential." Most were willing to take shifts and by the next week the library was running again.
On her shifts, she would often design flyers to get more help at the desk when she wasn't checking books in or out. One day, as the bell rang when someone came in, she looked up and saw a girl, who looked about seventeen, walk in with a slightly swollen abdomen. She smiled as she walked up to the counter.
"Wow, you really like the library, don't you? I mean, you'd have to, to open it back up after we're all so busy. But you know, we probably could take some shifts now, most of us. So what's up?"
"Not much. You really think your plan to repopulate will work?"
"It's all we've got. But, I've got to say, you should feel lucky not to have to do it yet." At this the older girl rubbed her distended stomach. And the normal transaction went on.
22.5.08
21.5.08
New story
i've been working on a new story. actually, 2-ish, but one isn't so new. i was writing it at school for a journal project and i got it back today.(i got year book today 2, yeah!) I thought i'd be nice and share the new one. =)
Chapter 1
She has the perfect life. Or she did. That was before the Plague.
Her dad was a lawyer. Her mom was a music teacher. She was their only child, That was fine with her. She had been annoyed by her friend's little brothers and sisters.
She had friends and books to keep her busy .She was always in the middle of at least two books, the one she was writing and the one she was reading. Often, when one of her parents checked on her she was sitting up in her bed, furiously writing or rapturously reading. But, they just laughed and told her not to stay up too late. Just as frequently she would fall asleep thinking how lucky she was to have easygoing parents like them.
But then it happened. The day before her thirteenth birthday. The day before Christmas.That cursed day, smallpox escaped. It's absence for so many years was both a blessing and a curse. The curse: No one on Earth had had a vaccination for generations. The blessing: it had mutated. It no longer killed nearly everyone in it's path. Only those twelve and under; or those twenty and older; died. Somehow, for a reason no one knew, those in their teens survived while the rest of the world didn't. Men and women who had seemed perfectly healthy came home from the office, ate dinner, went to bed , wake up with a fever, and, within two weeks, died . Doctors all over the world tried to help victims, only to catch the disease themselves. Teens helped their parents and little siblings, despite protests by the wasting. Finally, someone realized that adolescents just weren't getting sick. Somehow, during the six years they had been born, there was something that saved them from smallpox. Then, the day after her birthday, they caught it. Her parents, her protecters and friends, caught the pox.During those two weeks, she cried herself to sleep, when she could. School was out for the holidays, and it never opened the next year. The adults didn't want the Plague to spread any farther, as if they could stop it. It ignored their wishes and prayers and wrecked havoc around the world. Then, on January 12, death took her parents. She went next door where the college students lived. She had them help her remove them from their home and place them in one of their cars, drive to the stinking harbor, and leave them there, to decompose under the water. Then, with tears in her eyes, she rode home with the students. When she got home, she ran to her room and wept all the tears that she had held back in her waking hours, caring for her parents.
She woke up face down in a damp spot, still there from all the tears. More escaped as she sat up. She looked around the once perfect room. It seemed empty. Her parents had rarely been in her room, but the knowledge that they were gone brought both a monolithic wave of loneliness and more tears. She walked over to her desk. Her notebook and her copy of The Revelation were sitting there, still untouched from the day before Christmas, from the day it happened. She walked over, picked them up and thumbed through them. In the notebook, exactly fifty-seven pages of smooth, neat handwriting about a mouse named Diane. She smoothed the pages, rereading what she had written, inspired by the author of her reading book. After reading all fifty-seven, she set it down and turned to page eleven of her book and read . Finally, she realized she was famished. Carrying her notebook she fixed herself some Cap'n Crunch, dry. All the milk had gone bad when she was caring for her parents. She sat down at the oak breakfast table and read Muse as she ate her cereal. When the cup was gone, she was still hungary, so she searched the cupboards for more to eat. She found some cookie-dough mix, prepared it, and sat at the table, eating it with her bare hands.
When she finished the cookie-dough, she went back to bed. Despite her many naps she had taken earlier, she slept soundly.
Chapter 2
The days passed, one after the other, in a never-ending correlational monotony, for about two weeks. She wasn't actually sure of the time, because she didn't feel like marking days off the calendar in the kitchen. It hung there, same as the day they died.But she didn't want to think about that now. She had decided that she was going ride her bike togo visit her friend, who lived a few blocks away, and then head to the library, where she would checkout as many books as they'd let her. Or as many as she could cram into her backpack. After a good visit, she arrived at the library. To her surprise, there was actually someone at the library. They told her twenty-four books was the current limit. She foraged the shelves and brought a basketful back to the counter. Among them were all seven Harry Potter books, Hoot, and Island of the Blue Dolphins. The person at the counter wrote down the number on her card the authors and titles of the books she had chosen, scrawled a receipt, and helped her jam-pack her books into her backpack.
The next fortnight passed in a world of characters in faraway places, magic, and historical adventure. When she returned to the library, there was a new teen at the counter. She gave her books to them and went to go look for more. She returned lugging the basket with precisely twenty-four books. Again, the librarian took all the numbers and letters, wrote a receipt, and aided her in cramming novels into her bag, and returned to whatever they were doing before she came in.
This went on for exactly seventeen weeks and thirteen days, according the dates on the eight receipts she was given. Then, on the eighteenth week, as she pulled up to the library on her bike, she noticed no one in the library. She left her helmet on as walked cautiously up to the doors and pulled. They were locked. She raced back to her bike and pedaled as fast as she could home, parked her bike, dropped her bag and helmet, and ran over to the college students condo, where she knew one of the librarians lived.
It just so happened, the librarian answered the door. He told her it had been closed for almost two weeks now, that she could keep the books, that he had the key if she wanted more, that the librarians got busy. He gave her the key and then closed the door. As she trudged back to her house, she wondered what they could be busy with. She picked up her bag and helmet as she passed them. Carrying them inside, she saw her baby picture on the wall. Oh course! she thought. They're trying to repopulate! After figuring out this insight, two more problems popped up in her mind. Wait, if the pox is still around, will the babies catch it and die, or will they survive? as well as this: I wonder if we can reopen the library? She wryly remembered the wise man who said: "One solved problem creates two unanswered problems. Hence, live life answering as few problems as you can comfortably live with."
As she prepared that night's dinner, if you could call some cold cereal and stale bread dinner, she realized that she was running low on substance to fill her stomach, shrunken as it was. Oh, dear, she mused, another problem! I'm running low on eatables! Well. I'll just have to make do. So, she had her dinner and decided to visit her friend again and announce her plan that had formed as she took her repast.
Chapter 1
She has the perfect life. Or she did. That was before the Plague.
Her dad was a lawyer. Her mom was a music teacher. She was their only child, That was fine with her. She had been annoyed by her friend's little brothers and sisters.
She had friends and books to keep her busy .She was always in the middle of at least two books, the one she was writing and the one she was reading. Often, when one of her parents checked on her she was sitting up in her bed, furiously writing or rapturously reading. But, they just laughed and told her not to stay up too late. Just as frequently she would fall asleep thinking how lucky she was to have easygoing parents like them.
But then it happened. The day before her thirteenth birthday. The day before Christmas.That cursed day, smallpox escaped. It's absence for so many years was both a blessing and a curse. The curse: No one on Earth had had a vaccination for generations. The blessing: it had mutated. It no longer killed nearly everyone in it's path. Only those twelve and under; or those twenty and older; died. Somehow, for a reason no one knew, those in their teens survived while the rest of the world didn't. Men and women who had seemed perfectly healthy came home from the office, ate dinner, went to bed , wake up with a fever, and, within two weeks, died . Doctors all over the world tried to help victims, only to catch the disease themselves. Teens helped their parents and little siblings, despite protests by the wasting. Finally, someone realized that adolescents just weren't getting sick. Somehow, during the six years they had been born, there was something that saved them from smallpox. Then, the day after her birthday, they caught it. Her parents, her protecters and friends, caught the pox.During those two weeks, she cried herself to sleep, when she could. School was out for the holidays, and it never opened the next year. The adults didn't want the Plague to spread any farther, as if they could stop it. It ignored their wishes and prayers and wrecked havoc around the world. Then, on January 12, death took her parents. She went next door where the college students lived. She had them help her remove them from their home and place them in one of their cars, drive to the stinking harbor, and leave them there, to decompose under the water. Then, with tears in her eyes, she rode home with the students. When she got home, she ran to her room and wept all the tears that she had held back in her waking hours, caring for her parents.
She woke up face down in a damp spot, still there from all the tears. More escaped as she sat up. She looked around the once perfect room. It seemed empty. Her parents had rarely been in her room, but the knowledge that they were gone brought both a monolithic wave of loneliness and more tears. She walked over to her desk. Her notebook and her copy of The Revelation were sitting there, still untouched from the day before Christmas, from the day it happened. She walked over, picked them up and thumbed through them. In the notebook, exactly fifty-seven pages of smooth, neat handwriting about a mouse named Diane. She smoothed the pages, rereading what she had written, inspired by the author of her reading book. After reading all fifty-seven, she set it down and turned to page eleven of her book and read . Finally, she realized she was famished. Carrying her notebook she fixed herself some Cap'n Crunch, dry. All the milk had gone bad when she was caring for her parents. She sat down at the oak breakfast table and read Muse as she ate her cereal. When the cup was gone, she was still hungary, so she searched the cupboards for more to eat. She found some cookie-dough mix, prepared it, and sat at the table, eating it with her bare hands.
When she finished the cookie-dough, she went back to bed. Despite her many naps she had taken earlier, she slept soundly.
Chapter 2
The days passed, one after the other, in a never-ending correlational monotony, for about two weeks. She wasn't actually sure of the time, because she didn't feel like marking days off the calendar in the kitchen. It hung there, same as the day they died.But she didn't want to think about that now. She had decided that she was going ride her bike togo visit her friend, who lived a few blocks away, and then head to the library, where she would checkout as many books as they'd let her. Or as many as she could cram into her backpack. After a good visit, she arrived at the library. To her surprise, there was actually someone at the library. They told her twenty-four books was the current limit. She foraged the shelves and brought a basketful back to the counter. Among them were all seven Harry Potter books, Hoot, and Island of the Blue Dolphins. The person at the counter wrote down the number on her card the authors and titles of the books she had chosen, scrawled a receipt, and helped her jam-pack her books into her backpack.
The next fortnight passed in a world of characters in faraway places, magic, and historical adventure. When she returned to the library, there was a new teen at the counter. She gave her books to them and went to go look for more. She returned lugging the basket with precisely twenty-four books. Again, the librarian took all the numbers and letters, wrote a receipt, and aided her in cramming novels into her bag, and returned to whatever they were doing before she came in.
This went on for exactly seventeen weeks and thirteen days, according the dates on the eight receipts she was given. Then, on the eighteenth week, as she pulled up to the library on her bike, she noticed no one in the library. She left her helmet on as walked cautiously up to the doors and pulled. They were locked. She raced back to her bike and pedaled as fast as she could home, parked her bike, dropped her bag and helmet, and ran over to the college students condo, where she knew one of the librarians lived.
It just so happened, the librarian answered the door. He told her it had been closed for almost two weeks now, that she could keep the books, that he had the key if she wanted more, that the librarians got busy. He gave her the key and then closed the door. As she trudged back to her house, she wondered what they could be busy with. She picked up her bag and helmet as she passed them. Carrying them inside, she saw her baby picture on the wall. Oh course! she thought. They're trying to repopulate! After figuring out this insight, two more problems popped up in her mind. Wait, if the pox is still around, will the babies catch it and die, or will they survive? as well as this: I wonder if we can reopen the library? She wryly remembered the wise man who said: "One solved problem creates two unanswered problems. Hence, live life answering as few problems as you can comfortably live with."
As she prepared that night's dinner, if you could call some cold cereal and stale bread dinner, she realized that she was running low on substance to fill her stomach, shrunken as it was. Oh, dear, she mused, another problem! I'm running low on eatables! Well. I'll just have to make do. So, she had her dinner and decided to visit her friend again and announce her plan that had formed as she took her repast.
10.5.08
Anastasia
WARNING: THIS WILL BE A VERY RANDOM POST!
i love the movie Anastasia. yes, it's not true, but it's still awesome! i'm listening to right now! (YouTube rocks.) my favorite song is At the Beginning.
the reason i'm talking a bout this is Social Studies. i had a hard time keeping my lunch in yesterday. now that we're studying WWII, we're also studying the torture that went on in concentration camps. you don't want to know.
does anyone have a good idea for a story? i want to start one but i don't know what to write.
i love the movie Anastasia. yes, it's not true, but it's still awesome! i'm listening to right now! (YouTube rocks.) my favorite song is At the Beginning.
the reason i'm talking a bout this is Social Studies. i had a hard time keeping my lunch in yesterday. now that we're studying WWII, we're also studying the torture that went on in concentration camps. you don't want to know.
does anyone have a good idea for a story? i want to start one but i don't know what to write.
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