Mystery Party

This month is my little sister's 14th birthday, and she wanted to have a mystery dinner where each person has a part to play to figure out who committed the murder. So instead of buying a $20 pack, I volunteered to write one for her. My plan was simple: find a mystery book I could plagiarize, preferably one by a classic author like Arthur Conan Doyle, and then adapt it for preteen girls. With just under 20 days until the planned date, I'm about half way through. I found a book by Agatha Christie that seems to fit a party configuration. I have the rounds planned out, and a vague idea of how I want it to flow. Now all that's left is to write up the character sheets.

Have you ever been part of a Murder Mystery Party? What parts did you like about it?

writing might start again

well, I did it: I graduated from high school. I already have a regular job (if you can call babysitting a job. I do because I have to wake up at 5:30, get there by 6 and then stay until 4 o'clock. That's 10 hours a day, everyday, Monday through Friday. It's a job.) But it is an easy job. So, I might be doing a lot more writing now that I will have more time. I'm pretty excited because I have been getting a lot of cool ideas. well that is my update for now; hopefully, there will be a lot more to come.
see ya later!

Jim

Jim stepped out into the mocking sunlight and blinked away at his watering eyes. He paused on the top step of the mill office, indecisive and hesitant. In a stupor he looked down at the square of paper in his hand, staring at it, willing it to change the words that were written on it. Those words sneered up at him; politely condemning his future. They ran through his head over and over until they were seared into his mind:

"We're sorry, but due to current circumstances, we are not able to continue to permit you to work in our facility. We thank you for your time and wish you well in future."

Jim reached into his pocket with his other hand and touched the money they'd given him for the three weeks he'd worked for them. He looked at the paper in his hand and his expression hardened. He crushed the paper between his fingers and threw the lifeless wad into the mud at the foot of the steps. Briskly he stepped over it, his feet sloshing in the fresh mud from the spring shower that morning. Now the sky was clear, with not a cloud to indicate that it had rained at all. The brightness of the day seemed to mock him with its cheerfulness, laughing at him with cleanly rinsed colors of paint on the wooden buildings. The green window shudders on the post office and the baubles in the shop displays watched him go by and he shrugged his shoulders uncomfortably. He trudged along down the street, not heading any direction in particular. He watched his feet and found sympathy in the brown-grey of the dirt road.

A sound broke through his haze and he looked up, not comprehending. He had found his way to the town hall and music and laughter floated out of the open door. He seemed drawn by the joviality of his fellow people. He walked up the steps and stood in the doorway.

Inside, couples twirled around each other, laughing and stumbling as they danced to the lively music. Jim watched them, feeling strange and apart.

"I don't belong here." He thought to himself and he turned away, shutting away out the sound of happiness by turning his back on it. In its place, almost as a sign of Providence, the sound of a train whistle shouted on the distance, announcing its arrival to the little country town.

Jim turned toward the sound, an idea forming in his mind. Hope lighted in his eyes and he almost smiled as he said aloud, "I don't belong here."

Death at the Infirmary

This is a short story that I've been working on for the past couple weeks and it's gotten me really excited about writing again! I wanted to share it here and to see what you guys think. Here goes….

 

Death walked through the doorway slowly, his dark eyes cold and unfeeling. On his way out of the infirmary Weariness swept past him, brushing his arm in silent greeting before entering the building. Although used to seeing Weariness around the dying, this particular meeting seemed to affect him more than usual. Death's usually sure step faltered. He stumbled and caught himself against one of the pillars that held up an arched walkway that surrounded the sick house, both hands on the column, arms outstretched. His head bowed in exhaustion and he turned to lean his back on the stone column. Death's hand lifted to his eyes, shielding those unfathomable depths with a few layers of cold living flesh. Visible beneath his hand, his mouth was a hard pale line. His jaw clenched, laboring to restrain some inner terror that was writhing just beneath the surface, pleading to be set free but unable to break through that impenetrable barricade. His breathing became labored and ragged, rattling, slow breaths, deep through the nose.

Death remained motionless, in that exhausted position brought on by more than Weariness. Meanwhile, Mortals were passing into the infirmary he had just left, not sensing how close Death was to the door. They simply passed him by, not interrupting, nor being interrupted by his presence. They went on with their lives and forgot about the things that could end it.

Yet all did not go unseeing. One person separated themselves from the tide of mortals and walked directly toward Death, but slowly, as if they were uncertain of what they were seeing. This person who could see Death was a rather short, sprightly-looking woman with reddish-brown hair and eyes that could never make up their minds on what color to be. If one were to pass a glance at this woman, they would say she were young, with her youthful grace and energetic demeanor. Only if you look her in the face and gaze into her ever-changing eyes will you get the sense that she has lived through more heartache that any one person can or should feel in a lifetime. Yet she will be the first to laugh it all away. She thinks only of others and that makes her smile. She often day-dreams and is very forgetful. She has no perception of Time, who merely shakes his head and smiles at her blatant disregard for the clock. She is called blind and yet sees more clearly than any. This woman is Love.

Love navigated her way toward Death; still not sure it was him. This man's posture bespoke a broken life, so different from Death's cold aloofness. Surely this could not be Unfeeling Death, not this man who seemed to be struggling merely to stand, who looked so….defeated.

A frown crossed its confused way onto Love's face, so uncharacteristic from her usual light-hearted smiles. She stood in front of this dark man who had not noticed her. She reached out, hesitated a moment, then seeming to make up her mind, placed her hand on his shoulder.

Death's head jerked up, staring open eyed into Love's face and for one terrifying moment Love could see directly into all the pain and suffering and guilt of Death, all his sadness. Then it was gone, back behind the many defenses and safeguards of his mind, buried as deep as any coffin. As Death regained control the anguish disappeared from his face and was replaced with a look of boredom.

That one moment had scared Love so much that she took a step back in fright, and jerked her hand away as if it had been scalded. The speed of his sudden change was no less terrifying and she did not at first hear his monotone greeting. She shook her head to clear it.

"I'm sorry, what did you say?"

Death rolled his eyes, "I asked you what you are doing here."

"Oh," she said distractedly, "I was…um…" She looked around as if she didn't know where she was. "I was…"
she saw the crowd of people moving near the door. "oh! I was going to help a few people."

Death scoffed and started moving away from the building at a fast clip. Love couldn't help herself, with a glance at the infirmary she decided it could wait. Then she ran to catch up with Death, who was already halfway down the long gravel driveway. Love fell into step with him.

"Why did you scoff at my job?" she asked, curious.

Death's answer was an eyeroll. He continued walking at the same quick pace, ignoring Love.

But Love is not a person who is easily ignored. She ran a few steps in front of Death and turned toward him, hands on hips and leaning on one leg.

"Oh, I see how it is," she said playfully as he came closer, "The Great Death is too important and much too busy to deign to answer a childish question from Silly Love." She smiled disarmingly, an action that would have made any other person smile back.

Death reached the spot directly in front of her and stopped. He looked down at her from his imposing height with a look that was devoid of life or emotion. When he spoke next it was with a quiet voice that whispered of cold lonely places in the dark.

"Love has no place in the houses of Death," he said with finality. He moved around Love in her stunned silence ad walked off down the lane.

Love stood where he left her long after Death was lost from sight. Occasionally she would shudder as if a cold wind had found her and stroked the back of her neck. The infirmary forgotten, she walked slowly away.

From what? Even she didn't know.

Wow.....

I am really horrible at being consistant, I find. Sorry that I haven't posted on here since January. I've been kind of preoccupied with other things, like homework. Don't worry, I have a feeling that I will be writing a lot more very soon....

Twenty-three Minutes

The Boardwalk wasn’t very crowded, yet to the young girl it seemed as if she couldn’t move without hurting someone. She tried sitting down on one of the wooden benches but was too restless to sit still. Now she paced back and forth along a certain stretch of the boardwalk, occasionally looking up furtively at passersby, only to quickly return her gaze to studying the ground. To anyone watching she looked as if she were waiting for something to happen. But nobody took any notice of this girl who was nervously twisting her red hair around her fingers. Everyone was too busy looking at the lovely view of the water gently lapping against the rocks, or was otherwise employed, as were a young couple standing at the end of the boardwalk, who didn’t seem to notice anything other than each other. No, to anyone looking she seemed like any other normal girl. Why take notice of a normal girl when your own life is so much more important?

The girl paused her pacing and looked up suddenly as a thought struck her. She looked around at the few faces around her, knowing each of their names as she saw them, though she had never met them. At the railing were Alice and Richard, the old pair holding hands that fit together in a way that only comes with familiarity and much practice. Sitting on a bench was Nicole, with an ipod and a thick book. Anthony and Ben laughed as they chased each other, born 10 minutes apart and were never to be found any farther away than that. By just looking, she knew them all. There was Tom, whistling and patiently pushing a broom across the wooden boards, just as he had for the past fifteen years. If any of them knew who she was, they would run for their lives. Not that it mattered; she wasn’t here for any of them. It wasn’t their time yet. She could see that too, the time when she would go to visit each of them. Kelly had 14 years, and 9 days. Alice had 5 years, 7 months and 3 days; Richard would be 3 months, 16 days after that. Ben, 13 years, 5 months. Anthony, 42 years later. A tear ran down her cheek, thinking about how much hurt she would cause them, how much she had already caused. She visited Nicole’s dad 3 years, 2 months and 11 days ago and Kelly’s grandma 7 years and 8 months ago.

A large group of teenagers walked past her, laughing and joking carelessly. A sullen looking teenage boy followed them at a distance, occasionally casting gloomy looks in their direction. The girl knew all of them. Three of them, Albert, Jen and Alicia, had 13 months and 17 days. She wouldn’t have to visit Tess for 83 years, but she would meet Adam’s mom in 7 months. Her eyes found all their faces and knew, and cried silently for them. They were all so different; 39 years and 24, 16 years and 73. That one had 47 years, 9 days or another had 54 years, 2 months. Each new face was more painful than the next. Amy had 3 months, Alex had 62 years.

And Bill had 11 minutes. She found him.

She stared at this boy and imagined she could hear his heart beating, pumping his body with vibrant life.

7 minutes.

She took a step back, shaking her head jerkily, still staring at the boy. She couldn’t do it. Not to this boy, not today. She would wait, meet him some other time.

6 minutes.

The girl took another silent step back, closing her eyes as she heard the splash of a body hitting the water.

3 minutes.

Amy screamed. There was a commotion over a boy who had jumped in the water and had not resurfaced yet. It seemed as if he wasn’t trying to. Someone called for help. The girl turned her back on the scene as Tom ran over to see what had happened.

2 minutes. There was another splash. Another boy from the group had jumped in to help.

She tried to leave, to run away just this once, but she was held in place by something stronger, by what she was.

The two boys resurfaced, the boy who had tried to commit suicide and his rescuer. They had drifted out quite far and both were getting tired. The one tried to help the other and together they swam toward the Boardwalk. The group on the pier started calling out their names for encouragement.

“Go Adam!”

“You got him Bill. Keep swimming!”

1 minute. She tried to take another step. She struggled to get away, to leave this one person for another day.

Tom reached out to the boys with his broom. The rescuer let the other boy grab it first, even as he felt his strength running out. Richard helped Tom pull the first boy up onto the planks. Adam fell back on the wood, dripping and coughing, as people crowded around to see if he was alright.

35 seconds. Bill slipped under the water.

The girl stopped fighting, just as Bill did the same. She bowed her head in defeat, tears streaming down her face.

10 seconds.

Why! Why did she have to do this? Every day, she hurt so many people. Even now, she could feel whose life she would destroy next. Why was she never strong enough to walk away and let them live?

Why did she have to be Death?

1second.

“I’m sorry Bill.”

prologue

this is the first part of a story that I started writing in 9th grade, I think... oh well, my memory never was very good.

Prologue

“Don’t drive so fast Follen!” Arrie yelled between sharp quick gasps.

The soon-to-be father lessoned the pressure he had been putting on the gas pedal, but only slightly.

“Which exit is it, Arrie? 34 or 32?”

“28” gasped Arrie, trying to remain outwardly calm so as not to make her already jumpy husband more excited. ”You’re still driving too fast”

“25…26…I’m going the speed limit?”

“No, Follen, you’re not,” Said the expectant mother, “You’re going 23 miles over.”

Follen glanced out the side window. “I’m going slower than that blue car over there. What exit was that?” He half twisted around in his seat to see the passing sign.

“Follen, watch the road! Ow!” Arrie cried out in pain.

Follen whipped around to the front. “Are you okay?!”

Arrie leaned back against the seat, “Yes, I’m fine. You scared me, that’s all”

“Sorry, I thought I missed the exit.”

“Don’t be sorry. You just need to calm down. Look, see? Exit 28, you didn’t miss it.”

Follen was breathing harder than his wife as he signaled to change lanes.

That was when the truck driver behind them fell asleep.