Jordan the Werepenguin!

*insert theme music much like the Kids Next Door theme song*

Jordan slid down the snowdrift stealthily, hiding behind the glacier and glaring at his opponent. Slowly drawing his ice pick and loading several snowballs into his modified AK-97, he suddenly lunged at Warren the Walrus, who was robbing the local Mop-Ko.

"Stop! In the name of justice!" Jordan yelled as he fired frozen water at the pinniped thief.

"You'll never catch me, werepenguin! I can slide better than you can!" With that, Warren slipped into the water with his stolen goods.

"Yeah, right!" The hero dove into the frigid liquid and swam as fast as he could, chasing after the walrus like mad. As he slowly drew closer, he put on a final burst of speed, shoving the walrus through the ice above and tackling him.

"Give me the goods, Warren! Your life of crime is over!"

Oops

(The following conversation didn't actually exist.)

"You like to write?"

"Yeah. In fact, I blog a lot, too. I think it really helps me to keep to a regular writing schedule."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, my friends and I have this blog. Actually, it's not mine; I just write once a week. I have this column, sort of. I write short stories - really short stories - on Fridays. It's called Friday's Feature."

"Hey, today is Friday. What did you write for today?"

"..."

"What?"

"$@#!"

Sorry! Life got in the way, as well as forgetfulness. Elphaba.

Posting Issues

Posting issues? What posting issues?

*sigh*

Creativity

"Ugh!" Erica grunted as she smacked her keyboard and buried her head in her hands. "Why? Why can't I think of anything? My editor wants an idea by tomorrow and I have nothing. Nothing."

"You're trying too hard," her cousin (and biggest fan) Josh replied. "Just look around. Randomly open a dictionary or something. You're a good writer; you'll figure something out."

Erica sighed. She had published her first book six months ago, to fantastic reviews and books flying off the shelves. Her editor, Susan, had loved Land of the Free? from the beginning, and was expecting an idea of the same caliber for Erica's next book.

Unfortunately, her creative process seemed to be on strike.

"If I'm such a great writer, why am I having such difficulty with this?" she mumbled into her palms. "I should be able to get inspiration from all kinds of different things. Life in general. Orange highlighters, zebras, an insurance commercial, whatever."

"Just take a break," Josh advised. "It's not tomorrow for another four hours."

"Break. Hmm." The wheels of Erica's mind started to turn, gaining speed quickly. She started typing like a madwoman, smiling slightly to herself as she whispered her new idea into the air.

"Is it good or bad that the only story idea I can come up with is my utter lack of ideas right now?" Elphaba.

The Horror!

Courtney gasped for breath, fighting off the stitch in her side. She chanced a look backward, and regretted it--her pursuer had gained on her. I will fight, I will fight! she screamed in her head, and tried desperately to put on a burst of speed.

It was to no avail. She wasn't going anywhere, even though she was running at top speed. Her father ran ever closer, until he grabbed her around the waist. "Eat it!"

"No!" Never would she do the evil act again!

"Eat the sauerkraut, Courtney!"

"I won't!" She knew that the sauerkraut was evil! It was causing a beeping noise in the back of her brain! It became louder and louder, taking over her entire being...

"Courntey, wake up! We have to get to the potluck!"

"Huh?" She opened her eyes and looked around, suddenly relieved. "Oh. Yeah. Um, sorry."

"Didn't you hear your alarm?" her mom asked.

"Well, sorta..." That explains the beeping.

"Get going. We have to be at church in 15 minutes. Don't forget, you promised to try Mrs. Koepp's sauerkraut today."

No!

"Come to me in my dreams, and by day I will be well again." Matthew Arnold.

Forgiveness?

Eli stared out the door of the closet, hate pounding through his blood like poison. There was only one word in his mind, and such a hypnotizing word it was:

Revenge.

The man had taken Eli's wife Sarah, children, home, possessions... everything. The last time Eli saw Rabbi Solomon, he had told both Eli and Sarah about forgiveness. They had been fighting for months--years, even--and were thinking about divorce. God forgave you to set an example, the man had said. He forgives so that you may forgive each other, and others.

Eli had agreed with the rabbi then, but scorned the idea now. How could he--anyone--be expected to not only forget what this kidnapper and theif had done, but also care for him? Love him?

Rabbi Solomon had to be out of his mind. He was an old man, unmarried. How on earth could he know what it felt like to lose everything to live for?

Slowly pulling the knife out of its sheath and edging out of the closet door, Eli took aim. Some said that learning how to throw a knife was a waste of time, but they, obviously, were wrong.

As he stared at his brother, now the head of the house--Eli's ex-wife's husband, and his children's stepfather--he laughed inside at the ridiculous idea.

Forgiveness. Yeah, right.

"What the world needs is love, sweet love; that's the only thing there's just too little of." Burt Bacharach.

Pursuit

I had been rationalizing for weeks, telling myself that what I was about to do was necessary, even right. The man was an utter fool! I knew that the Knights of the Golden Circle needed to survive, and this was the only way to do it.

I had to kill him.

I would be one of the most famous men in history. How many people assasinate presidents, let alone successfully? I'd be honored as the man that took down the man that was responsible for our ruined land, economy, and livelihood!

I waited for the laughter to reach a crescendo--I'd heard the man's wife was a rather high-strung woman, and a gunshot would only cause her to panic and interrupt my escape.

*gunshot*

I had started out in pursuit of him, and now they were all in pursuit of me.

"Life, liberty, and the pursuit of those who threaten it." Billboard.

Mirror Image

As I walked down the highway with my thumb raised, yet another car passed me by. This time, I raised a different finger at the driver, but she didn't seem to see me. Which, granted, was probably a good thing--I'd been living on the streets for too long not to know that psychos were everywhere.

Speaking of which. I stared at the dark blue pickup parked a few miles ahead of where I stood. The driver got out and looked around, and I dodged behind a bush on the edge of the road. As I watched, he dragged a long, thin... something out of the back of his truck. He threw his blanket-wrapped package into the ditch, got into his car, and sped off.

I ran over to the bundle, a thrill of foreboding running through my veins. As I reached it, I swore. It was a body. I pulled the blanket back from where the face seemed like it should be, and gasped.

The woman was a mirror image of me. As I brought my left hand up to my face, so did she--and her eyes opened.

"Hello?" we said at the same time, and blinked in shock.

What on earth was going on?

Stupid plot idea... etc, Chapter Two

Ink cartridge in place, John took one of Leah's hands and started massaging it. "Quit it," she protested, ignoring how good it felt--as well as the return of those annoying butterflies.

"Quit what?"

"Massaging my hand. Yours are all inky."

"Yours are, too. What are you afraid of?"

She blushed. "I am not afraid of you."

"Your pupils just dilated."

"Did not." How did he get so close?

"Yeah, they did. You're either afraid or excited," he smiled, raising an eyebrow. "Which is it?"

"Neither."

"Yeah, right. You like it when we face off. There aren't enough people in your life you can debate with."

"I happen to like not getting annoyed to death," she breathed, suddenly hyperaware that John's face was only about three inches away from her own.

"You're not dead yet, are you?"

"I will be soon, the way you--" The rest of her sentence was cut off as John gently pressed his lips to hers...

"Hey, Mom wants to know what's taking so long," said a voice from across the room. It was Mrs. Brooke's six-year-old son, Jack.

As Leah stepped back from John in a daze, he answered without taking his eyes from hers, "Tell your mom it'll be five minutes, tops."

Leah averted her eyes and walked away, her thoughts in utter turmoil.

"When deep down in the core of your being you believe that your soul mate exists, there is no limit to the ways he or she can enter your life." Arielle Ford.

Stupid plot idea that absolutely WILL NOT leave me alone, Chapter One

(I also have no title for it. Sorry.)

Leah Avery shoved at the ink cartridge, trying to force it into the printer. "C'mon, fit," she muttered. "I've got to get this stupid newspaper printed or Mrs. Brooke is gonna kill me." After a few more minutes of struggling, Leah gave up. "Forget it. I'll just print the thing at home," she sighed to no one in particular. This had not been her day.

Oh, fantastic, she thought sarcastically as John Allen walked into the computer lab. John had been the bane of her existence since the beginning of their high school careers. He was arrogant, cocky, never seemed to date the same girl twice, was her only real competition for valedictorian, and worst of all, was the co-editor of their school's newspaper along with her. Which meant, naturally, that they spent excessive amounts of time together--and it made the whole ordeal all the more frustrating.

You can't deny it, commented an annoying little voice in Leah's head. You enjoy your little verbal sparring sessions with him.

Shut up, she replied to the voice.

Not only do you enjoy it, Journalism is the highlight of your day. You even look for him in the hallways, just to see if he'll talk to you.

Do not!

As John walked toward her, Leah did her best to ignore that voice that had seemingly cropped up out of nowhere. "What's up?"

"Did you get the paper printed yet? Mrs. Brooke wants to leave early, since it's Friday."

Leah sighed. "We ran out of ink, and I can't get the cartridge to fit. I'll just print it at home."

John winked, and Leah felt butterflies in her stomach--again, attempting to ignore them. "Let me try it. Fixing things is a man's job, after all."

She rolled her eyes and smacked the cartridge into his hand. "You can be a real pain sometimes, you know?"

"Kindness is a two-way street, Leah. Sure, I like getting you mad," he grinned, "but you take your snipes at me, too. Admit it--you totally love it."

"Maybe, she allowed, "but only when you're not acting like your sole purpose in life is to send me to a mental institution," she finished with a smirk, flexing her stiff fingers.

The Surprise Before Christmas

‘Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house

Not a creature was stirring—except for this mouse.

The mouse traps were laid by their small hole with care

In hopes that a mouse soon would be caught there.

The mousebabes were nestled all snug in their nests

While visions of cheese and stuff danced in their heads.

Mamma Mouse in her Kleenex, and I in my cap,

Had just settled down for a long winter’s nap

When outside the hole, there arose such a pong,

I sprang from my nest to see what was wrong.

Away to the mousehole I ran like a flash.

That horrible smell smelled a bit like burnt hash.

When what, to my small, beady eyes should appear

But a enormous rat—and eight tiny reindeer!

That fat, evil driver, not lively and quick,

I knew in a moment that it must be Rat Nick!

More rapid than cats, his coursers they came,

And he squeaked, and he squealed, and he called them by name;

“Now Slasher! Now Basher! Now Crasher and Witchy!

Now Bomber! Now Putrid! Now Evil and Bitchy!

To the bottom of the floor! Now the top of the tree!

Now run away, run away, run away, flee!”

As dry leaves that 'fore the wild tornado fly,

When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,

So up to the tree the coursers they flew,

With a sleigh, some dead mice, and Rat Nicholas too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard with great awe

The prancing and scurrying of each little paw.

As I drew in my head and was turning around

Through that small hole Rat Nick came with a bound.

He was dressed all in fur, from his tip to his tail

And all of the fur told the horrible tale

Of mice that had given their valuable lives

Yet so seemingly worthless, as written by scribes.

His eyes, oh so evil! His paws, oh so scary!

His face was a nightmare, his nose a black cherry.

His rotten black teeth all fell out one by one,

And the fur on his body gave off a bad pong.

The tail of a mouse he held tight in his teeth,

And the stink, it encircled his head like a wreath;

He had a thin face and an over-sized bulge,

That obviously, Rat Nick liked to indulge.

He was awful and bad, an evil old elf,

And I squeaked when I saw him, in spite of myself.

A glint in his eye and a twist of his head,

Made me feel so scared that I wished I had fled.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,

And filled all our stockings, then turned with a jerk,

And putting a paw on the side of his snout,

He gave a small nod, through the hole he was out.

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,

And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.

But I heard him squeak as he drove out of sight,

"Be glad that I spared you, mouse, now good night!"

"Miracles do not defy nature; rather, they defy what we know of nature." St. Augustine.

A Failure at Translation

Julia smiled as she saw the picture of the German ambassador with his daughter. "Ist sie Ihr eigenes Kind?"

The ambassador looked highly offended. Oh, no! What did I say? Julia wailed mentally. She quickly thought through what she had said, and gasped. "Nein, nein! Das ist nicht, was ich bedeutet habe!" she tried to reassure him, but he still seemed angry. "Ich wollte sagen, 'Ist sie Ihr Einzelkind?' Das tut mir sehr, sehr Leid!"

The ambassador laughed. "Forgiven. It is a common mistake. Might I suggest brushing up on your German?"

Julia blushed. "Yeah. I'm so sorry! I wanted to impress you by speaking your language, but it didn't exactly work," she laughed apologetically.

"Enough," he replied with a smile. "Now, shall we discuss what we came here to discuss?"

"Yes, sir," she said gratefully, and tried not to think about her embarrassing mistake.
Experience is a brutal teacher. But you learn--my God, do you learn--C.S. Lewis.

Of Fancy Feast and Younger Brothers

I stared at my five-year-old younger brother, trying to figure out why he was eating Smoky's Fancy Feast (Smoky was our cat), and crying--or, at least, trying to make himself cry. "Ben, what are you doing?" I asked cautiously.

"Trying to make Smoky come here! I don't know where she went, and I want to play!"

What the... "How is eating her food going to make her come here?"

"That's what Homer said last night!"

"Homer who? Simpson? Ben, why were you watching The Simpsons?" I inwardly squirmed at the thought of what my parents would say if they knew he was watching that.

"I just turned the TV on, and he was there. But then I changed the channel," Ben explained with the patience of a parent explaining something to a child. I smiled as that image came to mind. "Don't laugh at me!"

I quickly composed my face. "I'm not laughing at you, Ben; don't worry. But what did Homer say?"

"He said that eating a bunch of dog food and crying would make their dog come back, 'cause he ran away. I wanted to play with Smoky, so I'm eating her food and crying."

I sighed, and tried desperately not to laugh. "Ben, he wasn't really saying that eating pet food was a good idea. He was just explaining to his kids that they should go look for their dog."

"Oh." Ben looked at the can of Fancy Feast in his hand, and ran to the sink, spitting out the cat food. "Icky! Why didn't you tell me I didn't have to eat cat food?"

"I didn't know you were planning on it," I laughed. "Come on, let's brush your teeth to get the fish flavor out, okay?"

"Okay."

I rolled my eyes. Life lessons from The Simpsons... brilliant...

Well, crying isn't gonna bring him back... unless your tears smell like dog food. So you can either sit there eating can after can of dog food until your tears smell enough like dog food to make your dog come back, or you can go out there and find your dog--Homer Simpson.

New Story Series

I'm writing a new set of random stories, based on various quotes I've heard and liked. Just wanted to explain the new label. It's still a Friday's Feature, of course.




Um... that's it. Short post.

Elementary, My Dear Chloride, Part II

"I'm poisonous, Sodium. I'm no good for anyone."

With that sentence, Sodium knew he had met his soul mate. "Don't you see, Chlorine, I'm poisonous, too!" He half-smiled. "And hey, if I'm gonna combine with an element, I sure don't want to screw up another gas's life. It wouldn't be noble, right?"

Chlorine smiled through her tears. "I suppose..."

"Step closer. Let's make an octet."

So the two elements stepped toward each other, but neither of them was prepared for the magnitude of the reaction. The sparks flew immediately, and the two became one: NaCl.

"We're compatible. More than I would've imagined," Chloride (for that was now her name) smiled in surprise.

"Of course we are. We were made for each other."

"What makes you so sure?"

"Elementary, my dear Chloride. Together, we were incomplete and dangerous. But now," Sodium smiled blissfully, "we sustain life. We complete each other."

Elementary, My Dear Chloride

(Co-written with Reogan)



Sodium stared at the gorgeous halogen that was so close he could feel his single valence electron humming--longing to make an octet with her.



Chlorine.



Sodium had never seen a more perfect atom of chlorine! Those seven valence electrons, that perfect green coloring... The attraction was immediate, and strong.



As he stared, her gaze met his. "Can I help you?" she asked politely.



"I-I'm sorry," Sodium stammered. "It's just... I couldn't help but feel--"

"Attracted?" she interrupted, then looked down in embarrassment. "I mean, I did, but I certainly can't speak for you--"

"No, no, that's what I was going to say!" he reassured hastily. "I don't think I've ever felt this before. Please," he gulped nervously, "take my valence electron. Let me form a full octet with you."

"Sodium, I wish I could," Chlorine replied miserably, "but I'm no good for anyone. You shouldn't want to form an octet with me."

"But why?" Sodium gasped in anguish. "You're perfect! What could make you so wrong?"

"I'm poisonous, Sodium. I'm no good for anyone."

Notes

As the principal introduced the new boy at Rutherford B. Hayes High School, every female student in Mr. Brown's physics class stared at the Taylor Lautner clone currently standing in the front of the room.

Would you look at him!

Dibs! He is so mine!

Ugh, no way, loser! I want to date him!

There is no way he'd pick either of you!

You are all morons! You can't just claim him like a piece of meat!

You're just jealous because you'd never have a chance with him!

Shut up, Stacy!

You shut up, Michelle!

It was a huge silent conversation, the likes of which hadn't been seen since the school's inception over fifty years ago, and never would be seen again.

Consequences, Part 6

EPILOGUE, FIVE YEARS LATER:

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Christina asked her fiancee.

"Yeah. It's been five years. I mean, we were away at college and everything, but... I still need to make peace--let him know that I've forgiven him," John replied.

She smiled in understanding. "Do you want to be alone?"

"If you don't mind..."

"Go."

John walked down the path to his father's gravestone. As she watched, Christina thought back to the whole ordeal. It had barely lasted a day, but it had changed the both of them permanently.

Meanwhile, John had knelt at the gravestone. "Dad, I... I know that your problem wasn't all your fault. I mean, the kidnapping me and attempting to do the same to Christina... but you were sick. I understand that now. So..." John tried and failed to clear away the lump in his throat, "I forgive you. It took me a while, but I do. And I love you," he added as tears filled his eyes.

There was nothing more to say.

Consequences, Part 5

(Sorry it's late.)

"No, John!" Christina cried. Staring at Mr. Cordell, she spat, "Your excuse for a father is a rat, but don't kill him. Don't sink to his level."

"Aha!" yelled John's father. "You do love me, Christina! You don't want me to die!"

"No I don't! I never loved you! You're sick, disgusting, and weak!" She turned her gaze back to her boyfriend. "I love John."

John grinned. "I love you, too, Christina."

"NOOO!!!!!" his father screamed. Before either of them could react, he had thrown himself into the rushing river. Immediately, his head cracked on a rock, and his body caught on a branch dipping into the river.

He wasn't moving.

Consequences, Part 4

*Note: this one's a little disturbing. I checked with Reogan to see if some of the content was okay, but you might want to take that into consideration.*

Christina stepped apprehensively out of her parents' car. Slowly, she examined the area around her. It was a wooded area on the outskirts of town, about a forty-minute drive from her house. A deep, rushing river flowed next to where she was parked. Christina had almost fallen in, which would have spelled her doom--underneath the raging water were sharp rocks that she knew could crack her skull open.

She pulled out her cell phone. No reception--it figures, she thought bitterly.

A twig snapped behind her, and she whirled around. "Hello, Christina."

Christina almost gagged. It was John's father, dragging a bound and gagged John behind him. "Mr. Cordell? It was you?"

"Yes, Christina. I do apologize for scaring you, but I needed you out here. Where we could be alone," he emphazised.

The hair stood up on the back of Christina's neck. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh, Christina, let's not act dumb," Mr. Cordell chuckled evilly and pulling out a gun. "You know perfectly well what I mean."

Christina took an unthinking step backwards, and nearly fell into the river again. "You would kidnap and threaten to kill your own son just to get to me? What is wrong with you‽"

"Don't you understand? Now that we're here, we can be together! Spend the rest of our lives with each other!" Mr. Cornell kept ranting, unaware that his son had slipped his hands free of the ropes that bound him. Suddenly, John tackled his father and grabbed the gun.

"Don't move, Dad," John spat, utter contempt dripping from his voice.

"Oh, John, you wouldn't kill your own father, would you?" Mr. Cornell begged.

Christina stared in horror as John's finger moved closer to the trigger...