The Thames Family

They're smart and they're witty, 

Bloodthirsty and broken, 
They're all together crazy, 
The Thames Family. 


(Fail.)

Abigal and Thomas Thames

Abigal Thames is the sort of person who gives an order and people follow it, no questions asked. She is about 5'8" with orange, curly hair and brown eyes. In 2018, she was 53.

Thomas is quieter than his wife and very smart. He is a weapons inventor for the military and his wife's partner. Thomas is a year older than Abigal with brown hair and the Thames's green eyes. 

Abigal and her future husband, Thomas, met in high school. At age 18, she and Thomas joined the army. Abigal worked as a nurse, but soon made her way into the ranks with her remarkable knowledge of military strategy. Abigal's father was a general in the army. After seven years of fighting alongside Thomas, Abigal married him. Abigal and Thomas had three children: Matthew and Phillip, born when Abi was 25; and Gail, born when Abi was 32, just after Matt and Phillip were kidnapped. In 2000, Abby was selected as the Strategist for Operation Light. She and two others (Noah’s Dad and a general) prepared a plan to protect the United States from the impending Alliance Attack. Operation Light was finished just months before the attack. Abigal was captured and taken. She was assumed to be dead.

Abigal and Thomas were scientists in the first versions of The Night Stalker when The Night Stalker revolved around DNA and super soldiers. Although the story is told from Gail's point of view, the plot revolves mostly around Abigal and her part in the war, but that's a huge post for another time. I chose Abigal mostly to connect Gail to the rest of the war and put Gail in the center of everything- almost accidentally. Also, Abigal has a really amazing backstory, and is a kick-butt 50 year old woman.

Matthew

Matthew is tall with brown hair and green eyes, like his father. He has a very strong survival instinct and is a natural leader, like Abigal, his mother.

Matthew was kidnapped at age 7, and thought to have been killed because he was weak. A nice soldier let him go, and Matt spent time in Europe traveling from family to family and trying to get back to the United States. He couldn’t go to an Embassy because Alliance had spies everywhere. Matt met up with the European Rebellion after war started. He also met Abigal, but didn’t realize it was his mom. However, Abigal knew it was him. Matthew rose through the Rebellion ranks and was kidnapped by Hamilton to be taken to the United States.

Philip

Philip is the son of Abigal and Thomas Thames. He is the older identical twin brother of Matthew. He has been mentally and physically abused for most of his life, so Philip is filled with rage and hate towards everyone in his life. 

Philip lived in Brownings City, PA until he was kidnapped at age 7 with Matthew. He was raised in Russia under the guidance of Alliance leader Alyxandr Romov. Philip hates his parents and Gail which was the main reason he attacked the United States. This hate was caused by Romov's psychological torture on Philip. Philip married an older woman named Eleanor at age 15. They had Hamilton same year. Eleanor was 18. Philip was forced to marry Eleanor because Romov wanted two heirs to the Alliance throne. Philip later killed Romov and took over the Alliance.

Hope you enjoyed another round of Things You Didn't Know But Know Not About The Night Stalker! Happy Holidays!

~Snowie

Why Them?

So far, you know the plot and the sides to the story. Now it's time to start meeting the characters and learn why I chose them.

Gail Thames

Gail is my main character. She narrates most of the novel in the first person ("I"). Gail is telling the story a few years after it happened, so it features other peoples' stories that Gail has heard. Physically, Gail has her mother's orange, very curly hair (Think Merida from Brave, but shoulder length), and she has the Thames's green eyes. She is twenty-one and loves martial arts, kickboxing, reading, knitting, and cooking. Her three best friends are Kayla, Jeff, and James (You'll hear more about them later). 

Gail and Jeff grew up together along with Kayla and Morganne. When the war started in 2012, Gail was removed from public school. In 2012, the US was invaded and Gail’s mom was taken. Gail grieved for a few years and then was inspired by Robin Hood. She started stealing from the Alliance and giving her spoils to the fugitives. Gail kept this a secret. Her secret was stumbled upon by Jeff and Lucy, an Alliant turn Rebel. Lucy and Gail were partners for about 1.5 years before the Black Carriages took Lucy. During this 1.5 years, Tom found out about Gail’s secret and started properly training her. In 2015, a storyteller came through who knew Gail’s secret. She told the Shelters about Gail- indirectly- calling her the Night Stalker. Gail stops stealing because the guard in the city went up. The storyteller goes on to spread the news of the Night Stalker. By 2018, nearly the whole world knows of the Night Stalker, but not one, not even Gail, knows who the Night Stalker is. After reuniting with Kayla, Morganne, and Jeff, Noah and James show up. And the story begins.

I can't really remember why I chose Gail exactly. A long, long time has passed since I came up with Gail Thames. If I were to chose Gail today, I would chose her to tell this story, because she's not your average soldier. She doesn't take orders from others well, and always wants to go off and do her own thing. Gail is constantly getting in the middle of the action without ever really trying to. Gail's main goal is to travel to Maine and find her mother, but at the same time she feels the need to fight the Alliance and fight for her freedom. Gail is very stubborn and set in her ways. She has a hard time connecting with people, and prefers to be alone, which is a downfall of hers.

Hamilton Romov

Hamilton Romov is the son of Philip and Eleanor Romov. For most of The Night Stalker, he is our resident "baddie". Hammy, as I like to call him, is a fresh fifteen. His most distinguishing features are his died white hair and blue eyes. For a fifteen year old, he's pretty tall- 6"2'. Imagine a mix of Chris Zylka, Matt Lanter, and Austin Butler with blond hair and blue eyes. 

As a child, Hammy was trained by Philip and Alyxandr Romov, the King of the Alliance up until 2010 when he mysteriously died. Hamilton was abused mentally and physically by daily whippings, beatings, and torture. On the upside, Hammy became very tough physically and mentally. On the other hand, he wouldn't mind seeing Philip dead. Hamilton hates his mother because she is weak, but at the same time, he loves her as his mother. Hammy took a liking to hunting, fishing, horse riding, and knife throwing. From a young age, he was the friend and the fiancé of Octavia Blackwelt. 

I chose Hamilton mainly for his background. Hammy hasn't had an easy life. He hates his father and has a love/hate relationship with his mother. He has taken mental and physical abuse daily for almost ten years of his life. The only love and support in his life comes from Octavia, his childhood friend and now assassin. I wanted a raw and violent, perhaps a little psychotic character, but at the same time, I wanted the reader to feel sorry for him. I wanted my readers to be able to connect with him. 

So, there you have it. Gail and Hammy are two of the biggest most influential characters in The Night Stalker. More to come!

~Snowie

P.S. Merry Christmas

P.P.S. Don't forget to comment down below! I would love to hear your opinion on the plot, the sides, Gail, and Hamilton.  

Now That You Know

So, how did you like the plot? (Psssst Leave a Comment. I'd love to hear your opinion of it.)

Now that you know the story, it's time to meet the two sides of it. 

The Alliance

Meet the Alliance. They are a Russian-based Mafia that was headed by Alyxandr Romov. Romov has held a grudge against the United States since they illegally captured his parents. When Romov died in 2010, he still had found them. In order to get back at the United States and a handful of other countries who interfered with his criminal web, Romov sent agents to a little house in Brownings, Pennsylvania. The agents kidnapped the twin sons of well-known Military Strategist Abigal Thames and her husband Thomas, a military weapons inventor. The seven year old boys were smuggled out of the country. 

On the way to Russia, one was deemed too weak for Romov and was killed. The boy, however, escaped. For 13 years, the twin that was still with the Alliance, named Philip, was heavily abused and trained by Romov. Plans to invade all six continents and kill Romov's enemies were put into place. Philip had plans of revenge of his own, but went along with Romov. Romov's death in 2010 is still suspicious. 

Philip took over after Romov's death and put the invasion steps into place instantly. The Alliance army was already in place in every country. Countries fell before any one knew what was happening. In less than 24 hours, bombs were falling. World War Three had begun. 

As a government, the Alliance is a Dictatorship, ruled by King Phillip. The next in line is Philip's son, Prince Hamilton. A majority of the major army positions and government positions are filled by old Russian, North Korean, and Chinese leaders. 

The Rebellion

The Rebellion was started as a part of Operation Light. OL was created by the President as a back up plan to the Alliance threat. 3 people (Abigal Thames, Alaric Cook, and General Crosley) worked together to create an army that would come together and fight the Alliance if the world powers were to fall. 

When the Alliance invaded and took over America, the operation was implemented and leaders gathered troops. 8 years into the war Newfoundland, Maine, New Hampshire, Vermont, and Connecticut have been won in the USA alone. The European army is gorging their way through the middle of Europe in an effort to cut off West Europe from the Alliance.

All over the world, there are ten Rebellion armies: one in Europe, four in Asia, two in Africa, one in Australia, one in South America, and one in North America. Some are lead by a single person, others, like the one in North America, are headed by a General and a counsil.

I hope you enjoyed this little break down of the Night Stalker's armies!

~Snowie

The Who, The What, The Where, The When, and The Why. Everything You Need To Know About The Night Stalker

What is The Night Stalker?
Why is it called that?
Who is in it? Why?
Where is it? Why?
Why? Why? Why?
Why?

Many of you may be wondering what in the world The Night Stalker even is. And, if you are a close friend, you probably can't ever remember. How supportive.

So, to clear up the confusion and put it down on paper, I now give you a short less than three hundred word summary of The Night Stalker's wonderful plot.

Two years after World War III began, Gail Thames's mother was captured by the Alliance, a Russian based mafia. Six years later, there still has been no word of Abigal's status. The Alliance now controls the world and the people in it. There is only one hope for freedom- the Rebellion. As Rebel and Alliance forces clash world wide, Gail is handed a paper proving her mother is still alive and well in the Freeland. Traveling with a Rebel battalion, Gail heads to Maine to search for her mother. But, a soldier's journey is never straight, and dark secrets never stay hidden long.

There you have it. The Night Stalker summary in less than 300 worlds.

~Snowie

The End of All Things (Or At Least a Few)

When something ends, another thing must begin.

NaNoWriMo ended. And the beginning of novelling after of NaNoWriMo began.

November ended. December began.

2012 is ending, and 2013 is about to begin.

And according to some people, the world is ending soon. The beginning of a universe without an Earth populated by people will begin. To you I say... Yeah... Sure.

And last, but not least, The Night Stalker will be ending soon. I will finally allow myself to begin editing, polishing, and looking for a wonderful and very talented agent/publisher.

If you ask me, this November was very successful. I (re)wrote a novel!! You wrote a novel!!! You sat back and laughed at our craziness! You only wrote half a page! What ever you did, I clap for you. We had fun, I think. I nearly made it to 60,000 words in a month. I am actually just over 59,000 words and counting.

Soon, I hope to be posting more both on here and on YouTube. I have a book picked out to start recording, and I have a ton of Night Stalker Q&A I am really excited about writing for Writing Thoughts. 

During the month of December I am doing a No T.V. Challenge. You can stay updated with all of that on AnAwfulLotOfRunning, my nerdy workout blog and tumblr. Feel free to check it out while listening to awesome music. 

In the mean time, get some sleep. You deserve it.

Happy writings,

~Snowie

Hitting the Mark

Just as planned, I hit 50,000 words yesterday!!!!! WHOOOOOO!

The only sad part is that I still have 7-ish chapters to write. I had fun, I really did. This NaNoWriMo was absolutely fantastic. There's still six days left, but the month went by so quickly.

This blog was started for me to talk about the things I've written, especially the Night Stalker. It's been an absolutely amazing journey from that point to here. I want to say thank you to the people who have been with me from "the beginning" and the people who have joined me along the way- M.L., Blake, The_Doctors_Assistant, and V... And the other one (You know who you are). Really, guys, I couldn't have written anything this year with out you (Well, I could have, but it would have been very, very hard and unsupported).

I am very excited to see the Night Stalker reach a point of 79.99999% done. I'm sure you guys are, too.

A little pre-December update. During the month of December, I will be writing all about The Night Stalker's characters, settings, plots, romance, why I wrote the story, and anything else you would ever need to know about the book. If you have any questions about the Night Stalker, feel free to comment down below.

~Snowie

Above and Beyond the Call of Writing Duty

Today, I sat down at my computer with a challenge set and the bar raised higher than ever before. I had challenge myself to write 25,000 in five days. Yes, I am insane. 25,000 words? In five days? That is half of a novel, thats half of a NaNoWriMo!

You are already where you are supposed to be for NaNoWriMo. Why are you writing more that you need to?

Oh, there is a reason. Believe me. There is a reason.

If you love personality types and the Meyers-Briggs test, then you will know what I mean when I say I am an INFP. INFP stands for Introvert iNtuitive Feeling Perceiving. Among lots of other things, it means that I am a perfectionist and a procrastinator. Everything I create artistically has to be perfect or the piece will not make it anywhere but a trash bin. If I don't have a deadline, nothing will get done.

Ah, deadlines. I love those sweet little dates. <3 p="p">
All five of my rough drafts would not exist if there was not deadline stapled to my head with a goal tied to it. 50,000 words in 30 days was a little piece of figurative heaven for me. Four of my rough drafts were written for NaNo (I've actually done NaNoWriMo 5 times, but I don't count last year's novel as a novel because it, well, sucked). The other draft (The Night Stalker) was written with sheer will power, a calendar, and a goal of 9 written pages per week.

I am afraid that if I don't get The Night Stalker draft 4.0 done before the 30th, then The Night Stalker will never be done and the multiple years of I have put into this novel will be wasted.

After a 9,000 word long Chapter 10, I am happy to move on to a very exciting Chapter Eleven.

I am so excited to tell you guys everything you have ever wanted to know about the Night Stalker in December!

Happy Writings!

~Snowie

P.S. 5,000 Words Down, 20,000 To Go! Nearly at 50,000!

  

Mid-NaNo RunDown Time.

Today is the 15th! I can't believe it. November goes by so quickly.

Currently, I am in the Eighth Chapter of The Night Stalker. Rewriting is going very well, and, so far, I am very pleased with how my ideas are turning out. The Night Stalker has taken some turns, but I feel that it still stays true to the first draft. That is what I really wanted all along.

Tonight I have just under 2000 words to write to reach the daily word count- 25,000 words. In the next month I hope to tackle another 35,000 words, eleven chapters, and about 200 more cups of tea.

Stats!

As you can see, I have a long ways to go to hit 60,000 words.

For those of you that read yesterday's post, I did in fact get that whole scene sorted out. Everything is great!

Allons-y!

~Snowie

MuseSober

Ever been MuseDrunk? If you are a hardcore artist, I am guessing that you probably have been. MuseDrunk is a term I just came up with about thirty seconds ago.

Ever heard of the term Love Drunk? MuseDrunk is basically the exact same thing. Love Drunk means you are completely and utterly consumed by love; whereas MuseDrunk means you are completely and utterly consumed by inspiration. When ever you write, draw, paint or sketch, all of the stars align. The picture is perfect, and the cat survives another day.

As it so happens, smack-dab in the middle of November, I am MuseSober. More accurately, I am LoveSober. I was doing fine, typing along at a fingers flying to Hell with no return speed when I hit a bump. That bump grew even larger when I realized the importance of that bump. The bump was my second of three subplots.

Dun... Dun... Dunnnn......

It was.... The love story. GROOOOAAAAANNN. In the eight chapter, Noah and Gail finally realized that they really like each other, and so they kiss. About halfway through this heartbreaking kiss, James (Who was punched by Noah just five minutes prior) interrupts, and Jeff gets really, really mad because he's loved Gail since kindergarden. Now, no one is happy, and Noah has a broken hand.

I've written this scene about three times, and the mood never feels quite perfect. I've run out of ideas and all of the feels.

How is your NaNoWriMo going?

~A MuseSober Snowie

P.S. My midterm NaNoWriMo report will still be coming on, well, tomorrow if you are interested in that. 

National Novel Youtube Reading & Writing Month

Yes, I did just make up NaNoYoReWriMo (National Novel Youtube Reading and Writing Month). I was actually just mashing the two things I wanted to talk about today- NaNoWriMo and my Youtube Project.

First things first- NaNoWriMo is coming up in just a few short days. (Yay!) I haven't touched The Night Stalker for weeks, but I have been working on Love By Text, or, as I now like to call it, Loving Amelia Perfect. It took me a while to find a name that fits. But, I had an epiphany and I realized that Loving Amelia Perfect is the best title I've found so far. I'm hoping that both novels will go far with in the next two to three years. I made a promise to myself that I would be published before I left high school. I intend to keep that promise.

Second and Last of all, I had an idea for a Youtube Project, which I believe is one of my goals on 43things.com. If it isn't, it is now. Anyway, my idea is this. I need to world on my speaking, reading aloud, and individual speech skills. In order to work on these things, I thought I would read from a book (That is in the Public Domain), record myself, and put it on Youtube. To make this exciting, I would preform each section that I read as if I were preforming a Prose piece in Speech. For those of you that have no idea what speech or prose even is, basically, I'm reading a story and acting out little pieces of it along with changing my voice to match the characters' voices. I wanted to know what you guys thought of this idea and what Public Domain books I should read. Feel free to post a comment, or vote in the voting box to the right.

I hope this project will not only help me, but also spread awareness about free literature and books in the Public Domain. If all goes well, more people will be inspired to read more.

Better Writings,

Snowie

Roast Beef

So, I'm sitting on the couch watching Step Up 2 when I decided that for the first time in days I actually want something to eat. Being sick sucks. No food and very little water for three days. I'm reaching into the fridge for the biscuits which, of course, is at the very back of the fridge. In the process, I end up knocking an entire roast to the floor. The juices spilt everywhere, and I'm surprised that my cat isn't around licking the entire kitchen (and my feet) to pieces.

Besides being sick and missing probably my last home volleyball game ever and a tournament, school's been really busy. With homework, volleyball, and band (Speaking of band, I am currently first chair, second clarinet- OHYEAH!). I've had no time for anything- reading, writing, blogging, vlogging, arting, or journalling. But life is what it is.

Many of you know that the ever so amazing NaNoWriMo is coming up in just a few weeks. So, to spare your eyes and my fingers, I'll just post a link that talks about NaNoWriMo for those of you that are a bit behind on the times.

This year, I'm not doing anything new. I am finishing the Night Stalker. I WILL DO IT!!!!!! Otherwise this might never get done and I have worked to hard for it to not be done. Yes! Motivation, plus a little procrastination. We'll see how this November goes.... See you then!


~Snowfire

The Importance of Being Public

If you are anything like me (unpublished and afraid to let ANYONE read what you have written), here is a little knowledge. You are probably doing the whole writing thing all wrong. I bet you keep a journal. It might be a writing journal, daily journal, or a when-ever-you-feel-like-it journal. Point is it is a journal. Journals are a GREAT thing to keep. I have been writing in one for nearly one year now. I have filled up two and a half journals with little musings and my day to day activities and encounters. Not only do they help someone with a terrible memory like mine, they also make you write something everyday wether you like it or not. Journals can also teach you a valuable lesson.

There are two types of writing- personal and public. Personal writing would count as the journal on you desk or the writing you never let anyone read.  Public writing would be published novels, newspaper articles, your English essay you should currently be writing, basically, anything you read that is not written by you.

If you are constantly writing personal writing, you are writing for yourself and only yourself. The only feedback you have to go on is the feedback you give yourself. That my friends can be a very bad thing indeed. You are one in seven billion. I am sorry to tell you this, but not everyone thinks like you and is entertained by the things that amuse you.

So, now is the time to stop writing for yourself and start writing for others. think about what they might like instead of what you might like. But, be sure to include things that you like. After all, this is your book and you should to love it. People want to hear what you have to say. They just don't want to be bored to death while reading it.

Let's say you do try to start writing for others. You pick up a pen or open a word document and start putting down the first words of what could be your best work yet. Everything is going fine until you realize, hey, I suck at this. A lot. Public writing won't come easy right away. Granted, there are a few talented people who might pick it up right away. You have heard it before, but I will tell you again. The only way to get better is to keep writing. Write, write, write!

Good writing!

~Snowie

According To A Calendar

According to my cute little white board calendar hanging over my bed, I am supposed to blog about something today. I hate calendars with a passion. Not only do they remind me of how much time I have wasted in my life, they also make be want to do things. Like run. But, if it were not for a calendar, I would get absolutely nothing done, and neither would the rest of the world. Tonight, my calendar reminded me that I was supposed to post something on one of my two blogs. Unfortunately, on my other blog, called AnAwfulLotOfRunning, I am also posting tomorrow for this friday thing that I like to do. So, I guess I am stuck with you guys. Just kidding! I love being stuck with you guys. Unluckily, or luckily, whatever way you view it, I have had a very long day, so I leave you with a short writing challenge. 

This is a challenge I heard about a while ago. By a while I mean 2010 Olympics a while ago. Back then I was a slightly but not really big member of the Behind the Name Writer's Lounge. The lounge was a whole different story back then. It wasn't all about writing games. Serious writers gave you serious answers to the serious questions you had about writing. It was all very Serious... Then Severus came along (HaHa Harry Potter Reference... Sorry). Behind the Name is also where I met M.L., my good internet writing friend. (View Her Figment and Buy Her Book! It's pretty amazing) Anyways, back to the 2010 Olympics. Way back when I was a BTN member, I held the Writing Olympics. Basically, everyday of the actual Olympics, I would post a prompt. People would post their story in the thread below and people could vote on a story by messaging me. For every prompt, there would be a winner. At the end of the Writing Olympics, I counted up all of the votes and declared an Overall Winner. I can't remember who won, I just remembered having so much fun and being so proud of actually putting on and managing this event that people from all over the world participated in. I think everyone was really happy, even if there were no real prizes. I actually thought about doing this on the blog or figment. Maybe I'll do it for the 2014 Winter Olympics.

Now for the moment you have been waiting for....

Write a story without using the letters Q, T, W, X, Y, Z.

It's harder than it seems. For example, you can't use the words Queen, It, Quiet, Zebra, Yell, Yellow, Wind, or White. This challenge is really helpful for identifying what words you use and what could possibly be a better word. You pay closer attention to what you are writing and you find new ways to describe things. 

I hope you have fun with the Writing Challenge!

~Snowie

Some of My Favorite Writing Resources Part Two

Why hello. Might I say that you look fabulous today.

Wasn't July Amazing? I had so much fun Writing Something Everyday in July that I almost decided to give August a try. Just kidding. That would be a lot of work.

So, today I went to volleyball, but after that I came home and sat down at my computer. I stared at the screen and told myself that I should probably do something productive. After checking my e-mail and Facebook, I rechecked my e-mail because I had an idea. Don't you love ideas? One e-mail had caught my eye. The message was from a blog that I follow called The Flourishing Abode. April Starr, the lady who writes the blog, titled the post 10 things you shouldn't miss. In the post, Starr writes about 10 websites. Two of these websites caught my eye and looking at the post also reminded me of a Part Two post I never did.

Some of you might remember my post titled Some of My Favorite Writing Resources Part One. If you don't, click the hyperlink and a new window will open with the post. All of the sites are really fun and helpful in writing.

I did promise a Part Two post with seven more sites. So, here they are.

Daily Writing Tips

This site does exactly what someone would think the site would do. It gives you writing tips on a near daily basis. The writers cover everything from Yiddish Words to using Artist or Artisan. Some of the posts require a higher than freshman level of english knowledge to understand, but all posts contain useful information as all posts should. 

The NaNoWriMo Young Writers Program, NaNoWriMo, and Script Frenzy

I know, I talk about these sites way too much. I find it hard to stop talking about awesome things. In a nutshell, the Young Writers Program and NaNoWriMo are the same thing. Both are about writing 50,000 words in one month and both are managed by The Office of Letters and Light. There is one big difference. NaNoWriMo is for people thirteen and older while YWP is for the youngsters. Cool right?Script Frenzy starts in April. Basically, you write a 100 page script in one month. I have yet to complete a single Script Frenzy. 

Writer's Digest

Writer's Digest is all about the writer's digestive system. I'm just kidding with you. A writer's digestive system is a very scary place full of adverbs, replacements for said like gasped and exclaimed, and tons upon tons of coffee. Or tea. Whatever floats your boat. If you are a subscriber, to Writer's Digest, then I envy you. Not only do you get great writing content, you get awesome advise on everything to do with writing. If you are running a little short on cash, you can always subscribe to the free weekly newsletter. The newsletter includes writing prompts, advise on getting published, news from the writing world, latest blogs from WD bloggers, and more. 

And finally, the last two sites are the eye catching sites from the Flourishing Abode post. 

Rainymood.com

If you are anything like me, nothing gets you more in the writing mood like a good rainy day. Rainymood.com does exactly that. Just plug in your nice comfy headphones, grab a cup of Joe or that tea you have been wanting to try, and type away to the sound of a never ending rainstorm. 

43 Things

Ever have trouble setting, remembering, and following through with goals? Just sign up on 43 Things and enter all of your goals. People using the website can cheer you on. If you have a goal that requires more than one person, a team can be created. 43 Things let you set reminders for goals and write a diary entry about the progress made on the goal.

To finish things off, I love hearing from the people who read what I write. Don't be afraid to comment. I have never been a fan of saying that, which is why I made this...

~Snowie

July 31st WSEIJM

A Short Excerpt From...

Savannah WWIII

Amy coughed. Once she started, she could not stop. The pain racked at her ribs, burning inside of her like fire. She cried out unable to stand the unbearable pain that radiated through her, but stopped at her legs. She spit out a metallic tasting liquid that came up with the coughs and started coughing again. The coughing fit died down and she relaxed, letting her head fall to the side. The light that surrounded her came from a fire that sat not five feet away. She could not see the fuel or where it might have come from. Then again her head hurt so bad and her eyes where watering so much that she could barely see the red liquid that seemed to be splattered around her.  She waited, trying to will herself to sit up, but her body screamed not to yet. “Help.” Amy’s voice came out raspy and dry. It hurt to speak. “Help.” Her voice cracked and she tried again. “Help me, please. Is there anyone there?” There was no reply. Amy slowly prepared herself to sit up. One of her hands wouldn’t move. Pain shot through the other when she tried to put weight on it. Amy growled and pulled herself up using her abs. She couldn’t help the tears, it was hard to take the pain, the kind of pain she imagined someone felt when they were shot. All around her she could see nothing but dirt and gravel and chunks of cement that trapped her feet, beyond that was darkness. She looked up and could barely see a pinprick of light hanging there. Twelve. The number popped into her mind, making her head hurt worse. She wondered what twelve had to do with anything then wondered if she had fallen from the pinprick of light. No, she decided, it was too far, she would have died. How did she get there then? Where ever there was? She tried to remember what had happened before she woke up. Where was she? Her head started to work again. 

Carefully, she started to wiggle her feet out from the broken pieces of cement and rock. The boulders tore at her skin, but she kept going wanting only her legs and feet to be free. With a cry, she yanked them out the rest of the way and watched the blood start to ooze down. Luckily, the jeans had protected most of her legs, and she still had shoes. Amy tested her knees and ankles. She gritted her teeth as she moved the right one. Okay, she had her body back, now where was she? She used the rocks to lean against and scoot up to stand straight. Amy limped over towards the fire. It seemed like it was coming through the wall, through a hole, maybe a gas fire, like the ones in science labs, only bigger. She looked up and down the wall and saw a bit of a painted letter hidden underneath a layer of rock dust and soot. With her good hand, she scraped off the film. Underneath, the words SCAB Phoenix, Arizona Elevator Shaft 3 appeared, undamaged by the whole scenario. Now she knew where she was.

“Why am I here? What’s SCAB?” She whispered. She looked down at the floor and realized it was metal, and saw the huge cable in laying in the middle. It didn’t seem long enough to reach the pinprick light, so she assumed the rest was still handing up there somewhere. On the other side of the words, opposite the fire, was a ladder that must have broken off and fallen to land and stay on the other side of the shaft. That wasn’t going to be a way out, so the only way to escape would be to go down.  She scanned the floor, looking for an escape hatch into the elevator cab. She found one, already open, but half blocked off about two feet from where she woke up. Amy put her back to the rock blocking it and shoved. The rock screeched as she pushed it across the metal and out of the way. She sat on the edge of the hole, unable to see down, knowing undoubtedly there were rocks under her and that it would hurt a lot when she landed. Amy put her feet through the hole and let herself fall through. She concentrated on landing on her unwounded ankle and hit the ground with a thud. She cried out, unable to cry quietly anymore and sat on the lumpy, slightly squishy floor. The pain faded away and she realized that the drop hadn’t been as long as she expected, or as rocky. A dreadful stench filled her lungs, making her cough. She reached out, trying to figure out what she had landed on. Her fingers tangled up with something... Hair like. She followed it to where it came from and reached out to touch it. Skin. Amy screamed and jumped away, but only landed or more lumpy, squishy human things. They weren’t things, though, she realized. They were actually humans. She screamed again, trying to find the wall, knowing that she wouldn’t be able to jump back through the hole. Her back hit the a wall and a hallow echoing thud filled the room. She screamed, scared by the wall, then realized what it was, a door. She screamed again, “Let me out. Let me out. Please, let me out!” Amy clawed at the door. “Let me out, let me out!” She cried, “Please.”

July 29th WSEIJM

The Science of Deduction

Chapter Two

Chapter One can be found on the Short Story of the Month Page

The cab slowed to a stop at the red light. Camie glanced at Sherlock who was staring out the window. 

"So you're on the forensics team?" Camie asked.

Sherlock glanced at her then back out the window. "I'm not. I am a Consulting Detective. When the police are out of their depth, the consult me."

"Hello, freak. Lestrade invite you?" Sally raised the yellow tape so Sherlock could walk under. She stopped Camie. "Who is this? A girlfriend of yours?"

"A colleague. Doctor Camie Greer."

Sally put her hand on her hip "Doctor of what exactly?"

"Deduction and psychology." She smiled. "I was invited, too."

Sherlock smirked as Sally let Camie through. Camie took a deep breath. "Have fun on your date last night?"

Sherlock laughed at took Camie's arm. He lead her to the doorway and nodded at the guard.

"That was quite good." They walked across the wide marble floor around the indoor fountain. 

"Really, you think so?"

"Course. It was brilliant." Sherlock lead Camie up the stairs of the abandoned hotel. Blue crime scene lights lined the steps. "What gave it away?"

"She smelled like man." Camie let go of his arm as they reached the top. Police men and investigators in blue containment suits hurried every which way. 

The man from Sherlock's apartment, Lestrade, was waiting. Sherlock pulled two pairs of while gloves out of his pockets and handed a pair to Camie. "Where is it?"

"In the ballroom. I can give you ten minutes before you are questioned." Lestrade started walking down the hall. 

"Good - wait, questioned?"

"Yes, the whole team seems to believe that you murdered her."

"I'll just have to proved them wrong." He glanced at Camie behind him who had taken off her coat and put her hair up. "Ever seen a dead body?"

"Yes."

"Would you like to see more?"

"Would I be here if I didn't?"

Lestrade opened the doors and let them in. A man laid in the middle of the room, sprawled out with a pool of watery blood around his head. "Victim's name is Mark Bitterpool, age twenty-three, works as a personal assistant at the national bank. Found this morning by two women and a retailer looking to buy this place."

"Why do you think I killed her?" Sherlock never took his eyes off the body. Lestrade sighed and went back to the doors. He shut them as Sherlock and Camie watched. Written across the door in red was SHERLOCK. "Hmm. Interesting. When was she killed?"

"About twenty-four hours ago."

"Good. I didn't do it. I was stuck inside all day bored. As Mrs. Hudson." Sherlock turned back to the body. "Now, Miss Greer, what do you think?"

Camie gave Sherlock her coat, who immediately gave it to Lestrade. She picked up both of the dead man's hands and looked them over. "Detective Inspector why did you think he was murdered?"

Sherlock smiled at her and Lestrade only stared blankly. "Sorry, what?"

"Do you think this man was murdered?" Camie stood up.

"Er... Yes, I do."

Camie peeled off her white gloves and took her coat from Lestrade. "Then you are partially correct. Bitterpool killed himself."

"What are you talking about?"

Camie pointed at the door. "Look, letters on the door written in blood. A cut on his wrist, his right wrist because he was left handed. How can I tell? There are ink smudges on the side of his palm. When he wrote, his hand dragged across the paper. Never see a lefty without it. But, if he's left handed, how come there's no blood on his hand from writing Sherlock? Conclusion. He was kidnapped on his way home from work, the murderer force Bitterpool to cut himself and write Sherlock on the door with a paint brush. As soon as bitter pool was done, the murderer slit Mar's throat, took the knife and the paint brush, and bathed Mark in bleach to kill any biological evidence."

"That's brilliant."

"I'm not done yet Detective Inspector. Now a man like this on his way home from work would have had a coat, a briefcase, and a smartphone at least. Look at the ground. It's covered in footprints. You told us not to contaminate evidence. I think your people should also take that advise. If people had been more careful, you might have noticed footsteps leading to the fire place. You will find all of Bitterpool's missing processions in there."

"Is there anything else you would like to tell me Doctor Greer?" Lestrade looked away from the fireplace. He couldn't hide the look of annoyance on his face. He had just realized that he had yet another Sherlock to deal with.

"Yes, there is one more thing. There will be more murders. More perfect murders. Why, you ask?" Camie looked straight at Sherlock. "Who ever did this wants Sherlock's attention. They're trying to send a message."

Lestrade turned to Sherlock also. "Is she serious?"

Sherlock cleared his throat, wiping the surprise off of his face. "Course she is. I think we're done here. Don't forget to check the fire place. 

When Camie came back from the restroom, she found her Sherlock laying on the couch, eyes closed, fingertips touching, and one sleeved rolled up. Three skin colored nicotine patches laid on his skin. She sat in a chair by the fire and picked up the violin laying on the ground. She glanced at Sherlock who seemed to be lost in thought then slowly started playing. Camie stared off into space thinking about Sherlock. Maybe it would work out and she wouldn't be so lonely anymore. He was just as smart as her. She's been craving for someone who could understand her, actually see the connections. All those nights, sitting in the dorm alone because her roommates thought she was a freak, studying a major that she invented. Professor Young was nice, he offered to pose as the Professor teaching her made up classes for almost eight whole years. He was handsome, but he could never quite keep up with her. Sherlock could. Camie could feel it. Maybe she found a friend. 

Camie's phone vibrated in her coat pocket. She abruptly came back down to Earth and stopped playing. She couldn't remember is she had kept playing that whole time. The text was from Rosalie, wondering where she was. Camie thought about running home, but then remembered she had no cash and her Oyster card was at home. 

"Sherlock, could I stay the night?"

His eyes flashed open. "Yes. I might need you. John's bedroom is down the hall."

Wow.

Long time since I wrote this. Hope you enjoyed some Sherlock fan fiction!

~Snowie

July 28th WSEIJM

Waiting For November

January 1st

The thing about politicians is that they can speak for hours without really saying anything. When I was younger, I was sure my grandpa was a politician in a former life. He could talk for hours to my grandma out on that old porch swing. My grandma would daze off every now and again, looking off into the ever expanding field of corn bright green against a rich blue sky. In the end, both of my grandparents would fall asleep in their chairs. Grandma did this because of boredom. Grandpa slept because he had run out of things to say about nothing in particular. 

I lived in a small town where everybody knew everybody and their business. There was one stop light, a courthouse, 3 churches, 1 grocery store, and one school split between three buildings. Entertainment came in the form of sports and television. If you lived in Harling, you were destined to stay there. I was desperate to leave. My grandfather was a Collins which made me a Collins by blood. We were probably the most famous people in Harling. The reason for that being that I was related to half of the town. The men of my family always ended up like my grandpa. They would farm for 80 years, have sons of their own, sit in rocking chairs watching corn grow, and make their wives fall asleep as they talk about nothing in particular for hours upon hours. If I stayed in Harling, I would end up like my mom: part time job at the green house, with an endless supply of cleaning and caring to do for the rest of my life. I can't cook, or do dishes, or even fold laundry. My three brothers can do it better than I can. I knew I had to get out. This wasn't the life for me. 

I tried to put this into coherent thought and make words come out of my mouth right when I told Grandpa. Everything still came out all jumbled up. 

Grandpa smiled. "You need to work on speaking your mind, Annie. I'll give you some advise."

I sat back in my chair by the fireplace, ready to zone out the moment he started talking about nothing. Out of the corner of my eye, Grandma smiled and started rocking back and forth in her rocking chair again. The fire spit little orange embers into the chimney. Grandpa cleared his throat. "Find yourself a project."

"A project?"

He nodded. "A project. Not a school project and it can't be easy. Pick any topic you like, analyze it, learn about it, then try and pick out something you dislike about it. Then try and change it."

Grandma laughed. "This was an assignment your Grandfather's sixth grade teacher gave him."

"It was the fifth grade."

"No, Honey, it was sixth. I have the proof." Grandma waved a knitting needle at him. I smiled at the two of them and sat back listening to Grandpa start up about local politics and who should have been state senator. After awhile, I heard him move on to complain about voting and the President. I tuned out. 

Grandpa stopped talking and he was watching me. It took a second before I realized he had asked me something. 

"Sorry, what?" I leaned towards him. 

"Have you thought about voting yet?" His voice lowered a little. 

I hesitated. " No, not really. I suppose that if there's someone I like who doesn't seem like a self-centered jerk then maybe."

Grandpa laughed. "You women are always so particular about your politics. Has to be the right one. Macy's the same way. How long since you voted?"

Grandma smiled her old kind smile as if she were remembering a dear memory. "I haven't voted in twenty years. Seems like they just got worse after Roosevelt."

"Why?"

"Well, why not?" She set down her knitting needles and reached for her coffee. "I haven't like anyone whose run for president for more than twenty years. It was a waste of effort filling out a ballot when I didn't want anyone of them takin' that vow."

"Why didn't you like any of them, Grandma?" I sat back in my chair and slouched down. 

"There are things that make a good man and a good politician. They are honest, humble, respectful, they keep their word, listen to the people, intelligent and caring, compassionate and trustworthy."

"Seems like women make much better politicians than men." I started rocking back and forth in my rocking chair. 

"I think you would be a great politician." Grandma sipped at her coffee then went back to knitting. 

"You'd have my vote." Grandpa bent over and picked up today's paper leaving me alone to get lost in though. I remember Grandpa muttering in the background, "She'd be a better politician than all of the crap they put out there today."

A bit on this piece...

Waiting For November is about a small town girl named Annie, who is looking to change the world. The way she plans to do it is though American Politics, only she's not running for president. In less than one year, Annie goes from small town girl to International Revolutionary. In this day by day novel, Annie and her team try to keep everyone in the U.S.A. from voting in November and change U.S. Politics forever. 

So.....

I know, I know, I know! For shame! I've missed "three days". Technically, I have only missed two. I did write one post, but I took it down for reasons to be explained later. Rather than beg for mercy and explain it away, I will do a challenge to make up for it. The challenge can either be a blog challenge or a video challenge. If there are no suggestions, then I guess I won't be doing a challenge. 

~Snowie

July 25th WSEIJM

The Infinite Universe

"Where are we?"

That was the first question I ever heard her ask. Those where the first words I ever hear her speak. It wasn't surprising that she spoke them. It was surprising that those were the words she chose. Not where am I? Not who are you? But where are we?

I didn't even know she was on the TARDIS. I turned around and stared at her. The young girl stared at me. She looked as if she came out of a C.S. Lewis Narnia book. A TARDIS blue bow sat in her hair. The girl's black hair contrasted sharply with her white nightgown. Her eyes wandered around the Control Room before settling on me as if she were more curious than lost. 

"Who are you?" I asked. 

The girl opened her mouth as if to say something before slowly closing her red lips. After a moment, she slowly opened them again. "Well, I don't know. Who are you?"

"I'm the Doctor."

"Where are we?" She walked down the stairs onto the main deck of the TARDIS room. Her pale feet were bare on the cold metal. 

I smiled. "Would you like to find out?"

The girl nodded eagerly. I reached out and took her hand. Together we ran for the door. I tossed the door opened and threw her out. Before she could float away out of the air bubble that surrounded the TARDIS, I caught her hand and let her float. She laughed as her raven hair floated and swirled around her head. 

"We're in the sky?" She asked. 

I nodded. "Well, technically we are in at the very edge of the universe near a soon to be super nova. But you see, that's the thing. The longer we stay here, the farther away we get from the edge of the universe because this universe is constantly expanding. Expanding into basically nothing. Here's another thing. The universe has no edge, really, because, well, there is no edge. So we can't be at the edge. You see the universe is like a bubble..." I noticed her face and saw it was only filled with fascination. "Never mind what I said."

"So what your trying to say is that we are basically floating in space next to a star that is about to become a super nova." The girl smiled and pulled herself back into the TARDIS. She didn't let go of my hand as we stood face to face, chest to chest. 

"Nova." She whispered.

"What about Nova?"

"That's my name." Nova kissed my cheek. "Nova."

"Hello, Nova." I looked in to her eyes and saw they were made from galaxies.

"Hello. I am so very pleased to meet you."

So, a little Doctor Who fanfic for today!

What can I say? I've been watching T.V. shows on physics. 

Thoughts on this fanfic...

• No, It's not an Eleventh, Tenth, or Ninth Doctor fanfic. It's a future doctor and future companion. 

Questions?

• Who is Nova? How did she get on the TARDIS? And why is she so mysterious?
• What is this new Doctor like? And is he cute?

~Snowie

July 24th WSEIJM

Raining Purple

The sky was dark, almost a purply-grey-black color. Rain poured down clanging against the glass of the bus stop. The street wasn’t very busy and anyone who did happen to drive by was paying attention to the road and nothing much of anything else. Way up in the grey sky scrapers that lined the street, the politicians, the lawyers, and the businessmen were complaining about having to run out in the rain to catch a cab home. At the corner a bus made a wide turn and barreled through the puddle. The red double decker showed as it reached the bus stop. The doors swung open with a hiss and the driver stared down in to the little glass shelter. Through the pouring rain ran a girl, her head partly hidden by a black hood and a soft purple scarf. With a white fleece gloved hand, she dropped her coins in to the slot and made her way down the aisle. She stumbled as the bus started forward again and sat down in the window seat. She put her large purple plaid book bag in the empty chair next to her. The girl folded her hands in her lap and bit her bottom lip. The chair squeaked a little every time she moved which under other circumstances, would have been fine, except for the fact that she never stopped moving. She leaned to the left as the bus pulled around the corner absentmindedly hanging onto her bag. The corners of her mouth moved up in a little grin, and the girl glanced around the nearly empty bus. The only other people on were an annoyed business woman who was texting angrily and two teenage girls that seemed to be off in their own little land. One was painting her nails and listening to the other talk about something quickly and quietly. They both burst into a short fit of giggles and started talking excitedly. The girl’s grin grew bigger when she heard their laughter. 

She held her bag as the bus slowed to a stop at the next bus stop. The doors opened with a hiss of steam. A grey fedora appeared and rose slowly. Below it was a man’s face. The collar of his dark grey wool coat was turned up against the rain and wind outside. He held the change for the fare in a black leather gloved hand. The driver waited for him to enter the change and took off right away when the man did. The man didn’t stumble like the girl had when the bus pulled forward. The girl noticed the black slacks and black shoes he wore under his knee length trench coat, how he walked with a slight limp and used his umbrella as a cain. The man stopped by the girl’s seat. He looked down at her and she up at him.

“Is this seat taken?” His voice was rich and deep. He looked just like the others who had come to her two months ago. The girl looked around at all of the other empty seats then back up at him. 

“No.” She took her bag off the seat and laid it on her lap. The man sat down where her bag had been. He put the point of his umbrella between his feet and positioned his hands on top. The man stared straight ahead not saying anymore. The girl looked out the window at the grey-purple-black sky watching the rain fall against the windowpanes of sky scrapers. 

The man cleared his throat. “Hello.”

She looked at him. “Hi.”

“My name is Mr. Thomas.”

“Alice Thorton.” She shifted to face him a little surprised that he didn’t know her name. The others had. Alice stuck out her hand. He shook it. 

“Pleasure to meet you, Miss Thorton.”

“And you, Mr. Thomas.” She waited for him to say more. 

“A young man came into my office this morning asking for me. He gave me a letter and told me that if I ever meet a Miss Alice Thorton. I was to give it to her. I asked him how I would know if it was the right Alice and he told me that I would know when I saw her. He didn’t say anymore, just walked out.” Mr. Thomas stood up as the bus came to a stop. He reached into his pocket and took out a crisp white envelope. Alice took it from him. “Have a good night, Miss Thorton.” He nodded and walked back to the front. He walked down the steps. At the bottom, his fedora fell out of sight. Alice watched him walk across the sidewalk to the shelter. He stood there waiting as the bus pulled away.

Alice looked down at the letter. The stationary was thick and creamy, very expensive stuff. On the front in blue ink written in cursive was Miss Alice Thorton. She looked around the bus again wondering if anyone had noticed Mr. Thomas talking to her. Nothing had changed. Alice carefully opened the letter knowing what it would contain and already hating it. 

July 23rd WSEIJM

The Running Begins

Mom and Dad are dead. James is dead. Ramen is also dead. Ramen killed them and I killed Ramen. Just last night I had given Ramen a bath, fed him, and petted him until he fell asleep in his kennel. Yesterday morning, he ran three miles with me. A week ago, he went hunting with me and my dad. What had happened? Did Ramen have rabies? It was unlike any rabies I had ever seen, and I’ve seen a lot of dogs with rabies. My dad was the only vet in Mason County, Alabama. I worked for him in the summer and I was planning to go to college and become a vet next fall. I was going to take over dad’s business. People around here always needed vets. 

Mikey clung to me, he had finished crying. Now, we both sat against the wall staring at Ramen. 

“Why can’t I go get Daddy?” Mikey asked. 

I felt a lump in my throat and almost couldn’t answer. “Daddy and Mommy are sleeping. Just like James. We can’t wake them up.”

“Is Wa-men sleeping, too, Jelly?” I smiled a little. At four years old, Mikey still couldn’t say Julie or Ramen. I ruffled his blond hair. 

“You know it.” I went back to staring at Ramen. It wasn’t rabies. I hadn’t seen any bites when I gave him a bath. If not rabies, then what? A mental disorder that suddenly appeared? What was new? What had been changed in Ramen’s life recently?

Nothing. 

I stood up and felt the drying blood crack on my skin. I needed to get this off. I needed a shower, desperately. This wasn’t deer blood or wild boar blood or fish blood. This blood was human and dog blood. I carried Mikey down the hall and into the kitchen. I tried to call the police again, but no one picked up. There was no way Ramen could have cut the lines. There was no way a dog was smart enough to do that. I wasn’t smart enough to do that. Something was seriously wrong. I set Mikey on the counter. “Wait right here. Don’t move.” I grabbed a box of cereal and handed it to him. “Eat this. I’m going to go talk to Mrs. Davis. I’ll be back in a minute.”

From behind me through the glass door, there was a high pitched whine. I turned around slowly. Mrs. Davis’s golden retriever, Boxy, stood at the door, his tail was wagging. And, everything would have been perfectly normal if there wasn’t blood trailing down his front.

This has to be a nightmare.

Boxy growled and barked at us. He back up and pounced at the window. The door rattled, but the glass held. I grabbed Mikey from the counter and he dropped his cereal. He started crying again. I ran downstairs to the basement and locked the door. Above us, I could hear Boxy howling and barking as he slammed himself against the glass over and over. 

I set Mikey down on the washer and turned on the lights. But, the lights wouldn’t turn on. I cussed dad’s fondness for cheap lightbulbs and ran to the boxes of camping gear. I found a solar lantern and turned it on. The light was flickering ever so slightly and I knew there wasn’t much power left. I opened the curtains on the windows to let more light in. 

Quickly, I ripped open boxes of camping and hunting gear. I changed quickly in to my green pants and hiking boots with a new shirt and my mom’s old army jacket. I helped Mikey change and found two duffle bags. I filled one with clothes and the other with freeze dried food and water. I had no idea what was going on. I just new that I needed to run. Upstairs, there was a crash like breaking glass. It was breaking glass. Boxy had finally broken through the window. Mikey had started crying again and asking me what was happening. I screamed shut up at him. Luckily, he did. 

I opened dad’s gun case, thanking god that Dad trusted me enough with the code. I pulled out my shotgun and put it in the carrying case. I stuffed as many boxes of bullets as I could in with it and slung it over my shoulder. Next to my father’s gun was my mothers and beside that was my bow and arrow set. I was better with those than I was with the gun. Number one in the county, and when you lived in a county of backwoods country folk who lived off of what they hunted, being number one was a huge bragging right. 

But, bragging rights didn’t matter when the world you know is falling apart.

At the top of the stairs, I heard Boxy scratching at the door. I strung my bow with a hunting arrow. I would only get one, maybe two shots off at Boxy before he tried to maul me, too. And, I would need Mikey’s help to do it. While I was thinking about it, I grabbed my multipurpose hunting knife and hooked it through a loop in my cargo pants. Sitting on the washer was dad’s old camo hat. I can’t remember a day where he had not worn that hat. Now, I had an itching feeling he would never wear the hat again. I put my hair up in a pony tail and put the hat on. I gave Mikey a hug. “I need you to be brave, Mickey.”

Mickey stood at the door, his hand around the door knob. He was trying to be brave, but his whole body was shaking. With a little hand, he pushed his orange hat out of his eyes. 

“Remember what I told you Mikey?” I asked him. Mikey nodded. I drew my arm back, pulling the string to my ear. Boxy barked and scratched at the door. “On three, Mikey. One... Two... Three.”

Mikey opened the door at hide behind it. Boxy jumped through coming down the stairs at me. I let an arrow go. There was a thud as it hit Boxy in the wrong shoulder. Boxy whimpered and slowed down. I pulled another arrow and shot Boxy again at just a few feet away. Boxy tumbled down the rest of the stairs, two of my arrows jutting out of his chest. Before I could feel sorry for the dog, I jumped on top if it, pulling a knife and cutting open it’s throat. 

Boxy whimpered one last time before finally dying. I wiggled my arrows out from Boxy’s chest and quickly cleaned them. I tried wiping some of the blood off of me, but figured it would take to long. I grabbed one duffle bags. I could carry two, but then it would be impossible to shoot anything. I would have to make three trips to the truck and back. I had no idea how many dogs were effected. If all of the dogs in Hanson were affected, chances were all of their families were dead.

Mikey was still hiding behind the door. I coaxed him out and told him to stay close to me. We walked quickly out the door to the garage. I threw the duffle bag of clothes in the back beside some fishing gear and opened the truck. Mikey climbed in the middle. “Wait here. Don’t get out of the truck Mikey. Okay?”

“Okay. Can I have Rufus?”

Rufus was Mikey’s stuffed cat. “Sure. You can have Rufus if  you stay in the truck. Where is he?”

“Bed.” Mikey smiled a seemed to calm down a little. In Mikey’s bed, above James and Ramen.

I took a deep breath. “Okay.”

I closed the truck door and ran back inside. I grabbed the duffle bag and managed to attach the gun safely to my bag. I ran back to the truck. Mikey was still sitting in the middle seat. I put the food bag in the passenger seat. “One more trip, buddy. I’ll get Rufus.”

I jogged back inside and grabbed my school bag. I dumped everything out. On the kitchen counter was my dad’s wallet. I grabbed it and his keys. I was about to go to the basement, but mom’s wedding ring caught my eye. I hesitated and grabbed that, too. What else? In the basement, I grabbed more camping things that I wasn’t able to fit in the clothes bag. All that was left now was Rufus. Better get it over quickly. I sprinted into the boys’ room and up the bunk bed ladder. Rufus was sitting there. I ran back out of the room without looking back. 

To my relief, Mikey was still sitting in the car. I opened the truck door and got ready to hit the garage door button and hop in the truck. With my luck today, there was bound to be a dog waiting outside the garage door. Four or five gas containers caught my attention before I hit the button. I threw them in the back of the truck. I slammed my hand against the button and jumped in the truck. No dog was waiting in the gravel driveway. I turned the truck on and backed out. 

Hanson consisted of one road an about forty houses. It was a small, unincorporated town. Everyone hunted and everyone farmed. It was about five minutes drive to Mason City, Mason County’s biggest city. And everyone had a dog or two. I drove slowly, checking each house for signs of life. There were, by the time I left Hanson, I had run over two bloody dogs and had about ten following me. I hit the highway and raced into town. I didn’t meet anyone on the way in. 

This is Part One of the Second "Chapter" in The Day The Dogs Went Wild. Hope you enjoyed it!

~Snowie