Chapter One: Nose Bleeds

Tim Adair

The room was an eruption of movement. Pens moved quickly scratching on paper, filling the stark white pages as they were being dictated to. At the front of the room stood an old man, large glasses filling his face of wisdom. Near the back of the room sat a young man, curly blonde hair creating wings from having a black hat perched on his head. He wore a black sweater rolled up to the elbow, a pair of cargo shorts and an aged, worn pair of Doc Martins, they were unlaced making the tongue flop forward from lack of support. A headphone wire dangled from his ear, music could faintly be heard from the tiny speaker inside. “Psst, Derek, iPod now, I’m bored.” The young man turned to face the speaker. This young man was called Adam, he and Derek had been friends since elementary school. “Krizzit, turn around, Derek that means you too keep writing; Headphones out gentlemen.” shouted a voice from the front of the room.

Derek turned around with a smirk playing on his lips. Krizzit was a nickname that Derek had received when he was in elementary school. He was quite young when he got the nickname; Adam had dared him to stick his finger into a power outlet for a piece of gum. Derek was a pretty brave kid at the time, so he did it. Krizzit is the sound people say he made as the electrical current jolted through his small body. Derek didn’t remember much from the accident but he survived with only a few faint scars on his right forearm. The scared were barely noticeable, only when you looked very closely did you see them.

…

Adam’s voice filled my hearing, in a hoarse whisper” Derek iPod now, I’m bored.” I turned to face him, and with a quick gesture I tossed him my iPod. “Krizzit, turn around, Derek that means you too keep writing; Headphones out gentlemen.” Spinning back forward I looked on the blank piece of paper sitting on my desk. Abstract lines were drawn on the corners, it’s just what I do, every piece of paper has these abstract lines, and I’ve been doing it since the accident. The soft ticking of the clock filled my senses. My hand sent a shiver up my whole body, “Damn it, Adam do you have any tissue?” I whispered. The sensation was the same every time. My arm would begin to go numb, the feint veiny scars became more prominent, and my nose would begin to bleed.

The soft feel of a balled up tissue brushed against my ear. Doctors weren’t sure why these odd symptoms occurred but they did, but that didn’t mater to me they told my parents I wouldn’t live after the accident. “Mr. Wilifred, Can I go? My nose is beleedin’ again.” Mr. Wilifred nodded me to leave. I quickly excused myself to from the classroom. Blood was beginning to fill the balled up tissue. I quickly jogged to the bathroom, my nose bleed shave been known to knock me out due to blood loss. I kicked the door of the bathroom as I hurried to the sink. Blood began to free flow the second I turned on the tap.

I looked at the mirror, and all that filled my vision was a serious boy staring at me over my shoulder. His violet eyes tore through my body making all the nerves in my body to be on edge. “Got a problem?” I mumbled with all of the force I could muster. No answer. I looked back to the blood that had stopped running down my face. I heard a faint click as I saw a long slender piece of moist wood that looked extremely sharp. “Give me your arm, Derek.” I reluctantly held out my right arm. “This will hurt.” I flinched as the tingling sensation numbed my arm. I looked down at my arm; he had scrawled some weird symbols on my forearm:

ᛈᚱᛟᛏᛖᚲᛏᛁᛟᚾ ᛒᚱᚨᚹᛖᚱᛇ ᛋᚹᛟᚱᛞᛈᚨᛚᛇ

“Here take these,” the boy said as he flourished three short blades towards me, “We have a fight to win my brother.” With that the boy kicked the bathroom door open, readying a blade in each hand as he did so. I cautiously followed him into the hall.

The Selik Weilders

Hey Folks!

So a while ago, like I promised I was going to try to get caught up on posting so I'm mass posting. Teach made us write a short story starting with "One dark and stormy night," And this is what I've come up with. Its not a short story but more or less a short chapter of the opening of a book. Enjoy!

One dark and stormy night, one you could hear the wolves high pitched yowl echo over the tree tops. The sound of crisp leaves crinkled under my footsteps. The sound of the forest kept all of my senses on edge even though this place had become common to me in the last few weeks. Tongiht though somthing was odd, I could feel a nose bleed coming on that was accompaning the feeling. I listened to the many sounds trying to pick out any sound that was out of place. I was so close to the fort, if I could just run for it. Tonight was supposed to be a night of tranquility, apparently it wasn't meant to be.

Adjusting the guitar case on my back I knelt on the ground. The sound of pulsing blood as it beat through my heart. I slid my Selik out of the neck of my guitar. The Selik was dagger like but instead of a metal blade it was replaced with wood from an elder tree, that looked like it was living. The wooden blade glinted like it was just cut from a tree, sap still moist on the surface. This Selik had secretly been in my family for generations and yet it was still as magnificent as the day that it was made. Leaving the guitar case behind I grabbed the guitar and ran towards the fort. I could hear the rustling of soming running after me.

Vaulting over a dead grarled tree, feet planted I drew out my Selik, poised to defend my self. "Daniliath! We've got friends! Bring Wynn!" I screamed over my shoulder. The pleas for help was followed from a strong confident voice, "I see you brother." I felt a body standing against me, the breathing from my comrade rejuvinated my vigor. We are the Selik Weilders and this is our story.

Jorry the Swimming Toy

Hey Folks!

Alrighty, So Teach brought in a "magical bag" it was loaded with random objects and stuff from her house and we had to write a story about the object. This is my story.

The boy had been swimming for days, his blue goggles framing his face surroundeed by golden blond hair. His green swim trunks with dual white race strippes down the side, saturated with water. Jorry swam and he swam when he got tired he swam some more. The waves splahsed against his white body, water on plastic. "Daddy look what I found!" screamed a boy as hepicked up Jorry the swimming toy, "It's a little swimming man that swims when you wind him up." Twisting the nob on Jorrys side and he began to swing his arms faster. The boy set him into the water and Jorry was off again, to swim towards shore. "Wind him up son, and let another little boy find him, Its time to head home." The boys father called. Jorry was wound up one more time and hurled into the water. "Bye Jorry, Swim carefully." the boy yelled wiping a tear off of his cheek. The little swimming toy swam towards the sun set.

Turbo Signing off!

The Change

Hey Folks!

Its been super long since I posted anything but its not like I haven't been writing. I have several pieces to upload and your going to get the biggest one I've written so far tonight. Bear with me. So Teach gave us an assignment to walk around the school and using sensory imagery write a story about some on coming for the first time or leaving for the last time. Deciding to try to think out side of the box, I wrote of a female perspective. I'm most definitely a male in real life so here is my story.

The bright sun was beating through the car window as we drove up to the great, large school. My name is Emma, I’m 14 years old. This is supposed to be my new high school because my father got transferred from the big city to this small town. I’m miserable; my friends are still back home. I slammed the car door and walked up to the school. Since we had just moved I wasn’t enrolled yet, and my Mom was going to do all the paper work as I explored the school.

Entering the big double doors to enter the foyer of the school, a place I would have to deal with for the next four years; against my own will. The air temperature change brushed against my bare forearms. The low buzz of the ventilation system droned out my thoughts about this place. Inside the front foyer was the doors to the main office and across from those were several memorial plaques from the different wars. In every direction long hallways stretched out around the building. In the center where most of the halls connected was a big room with rows and rows of tables, with huge windows above to let in natural light. Many students sat in a group huddled together doing homework or playing cards. Not one head lifted as a shuffled my feet while I was walking by them.

Every hallway was lined with lockers of bright colours; orange, blue, teal, green and red. Since the school was so large I could use them as land marks for getting around. I could hear the soft echo of my footsteps as I explored the school. A low rumble of an orchestra was coming from around the corner. I followed the sound of the excited melody; the room was filled with students curved around a teacher madly flailing his arms around to the beat of the music. Further down the hall; the familiar, repulsing smell of sweaty boys and testosterone grabbed my stomach. I quickly continued down the hall again to get away from the stench. Across from the gym was a huge hand painted mural that read “Home of the Green Team”. The smell of stagnant water and moist soil filled my senses; the feel of unease of being somewhere unfamiliar was replaced with comfort. Stepping into the green house the hot humid air punched me in the face, but after a few deep breaths I was embracing ever smell. A large leafed plant caught my attention as the light sparkled off of a puddle perched on one of its leaves. I steadily reached out to touch the plant, it felt like velvet. The leaf moved just enough to tip the balance sending ice cold water down my wrist. In the far corner of the room was a large medal washing tub and inside of it were several multicoloured fish.

I slipped out of the green house to go back to the front of the school where my mom would be meeting me. Glancing down at my watch, 11:25 I had spent over an hour in the green house. Walking back to the front doors the feeling of unease was completely replaced with a feeling of deep familiarity to a place I had never visited before. I could see myself going to this school, it just felt right.

Be my Valentine? Thank you, Thank you very much.

Hey Folks,

Every year approximately 100 valentines get sent to Elvis Presley to this day even though he died 36 years ago. She had us write a short story around the person who might write one of these valentines day cards. Enjoy

Mrs. Hallendale was sitting in her den the soft clicking of knitting needles filled the room. A musty smell of an older lady was wafting through the room. “Ma, you’re not sending another valentine to Elvis again this year are you?” A younger male said tossing a little white envelope with pink hearts down onto the table in front of Mrs. Hallendale. The man sifted his way through the rest of mail, piece by piece. “How do you know it’s a valentine dear, it could just be a normal everyday card?” Mrs. Hallendale replied in a nice motherly tone of voice.
“It’s covered in tiny pink hearts Ma, and it has Mr. Presley written on the front in your hand writing.”
“Johnny so what if I want to wish him a happy Valentines day? Old people like us like this kind of thing.”
“He’s dead Ma, he kicked the bucket in ’77, 36 years ago, when I was five.”
“He did not! They have no proof, he probably went into hiding.”
“They’ve got him on ice Ma.” The soft clicking noise stopped as Mrs. Hallendale laid down her knitting needles; a scornful look obvious on her wrinkled face. “Get OUT!” She screamed, “He’s alive and he will one day come here to marry me!” With a shrug Johnny turned on his heel, checked to make sure the stove was off and stepped out on to the sidewalk. Looking over his shoulder he noticed how beaten up his mother’s house was. Clicking open his cellphone he dialled a number.
“Hey Janice, … Hi … Ma’s Alzheimer’s is just getting worse, she kicked me out again, you might want to come up here for a few days. … Alright, Bye.” Starting up his truck with a roar of the engine Johnny drove away.

Turbo Signing Off

Trick or Treat!

Hey Folks,

Teach had us write a sensory imagery assignment about Rockets, with out using the word its self. Here is my Story. Enjoy.

“Trick or Treat!” we shouted as the door opened up to a little old lady dressed up as a black cat. The lady was talking to the kids all around me; I could have cared less about how cute we were. I wasn’t supposed to be cute; I was Dracula a blood sucking vampire with plastic teeth. The old lady dropped cylindrical packages in to our pillow cases. “Alright boys, its time to call it a night, I’ve got enough of your candy to haul home anyways. Dad’s tired” commented my father as he patted my brother and I on the shoulder.

Danny and I jolted to the front door bee-lining to the living room to get the best place on the floor with the most room. Dumping our pillow cases on to the floor in big piles, we began to sort. “You know Turbo, Vampires don’t eat candy, guess all of this candy is mine.” Dad joked.

“Nuh-Uh!” I yelped pulling out the plastic vampire teeth from my mouth and tossing them to the ground to be forgotten. “I’m not a vampire Daddy, I’m a little kid!” I yelled baring my teeth to show the fangs were gone. I dove towards the pile of candy and grabbed a cylindrical package from the top of the pile. Since I was far too young to read I had no idea of what they were called.

The cellophane crinkled in my hand as I twisted at the top and bottom of the package. The crinkling continued as I carefully pulled the top open so I didn’t spill any of the tiny bite sized goodies inside. There was numerous little hockey puck shaped candies in all different colours in pastel. Yellows, reds, blues, purples, whites and pinks. They smelled of a high concentration of sugar, an excitement for any little kid at least. I picked one up and popped it into my mouth; it was hard and slowly dissolved in my mouth with an explosion of sugar. I did this a few times quickly narrowing the number of candies down. I quickly learned that if you bit into one it would dissolve at a much higher rate. These tiny candies quickly became a favourite candy if my childhood.

Turbo Signing Off

Anyone but Turbo for Pope? Nope.

Hey folks,

As some of you know this year is my last official year of high school, but I intend to do a victory lap. Getting involved was rough for me a few years ago, I had a shell no one was allowed into. The next step of breaking out of this shell is taking on some responsibility and running for Student Council Co-President is what I intend to do. Starting a rough hashing of my speech and I figured I would post it for future reference.

This is not only my school but yours,
In the end anyone that ignores what is around them is lost.
Which they will pay at their own cost.

If I had known what I know now, then,
I would have joined every club I could even before I picked up this pen.

Life is like a game, you can not win if you do not try.
Next year I want you to learn how to reach the next level.
OSCVI can easily be the best local school given the right leadership,
A school with the right people to be prideful,
A breeding ground for friendship.

Electing me in as student council co president will make your next year a year to remember.
I am eager to get that chance to make this happen.
All of our parents have said high school is the most memorable years of their lives.
Ask your teachers they never left.

As a great canadian poet, Shane Koyczan wrote:

Its a game, you play, you win, you play, you loose, you PLAY
If you are playing to win the first thing you need to do is apply within.

And I play to win.

Turbo Signing Off