Percy Jackson essay series
(This series of essays will focus on the characters of the Percy Jackson and Lost Hero series. As every avid fan, I have certain opinions and ideas about the characters that I would like to share. The series will focus on both the characters and the relationships. Enjoy.)

                                                               Chris Rodriguez

          When you start off with a series of essays based off of a character, one automatically assumes that you will start with the most popular character of them all, the main protagonist, in this case-Percy Jackson. You would also expect if not the protagonist, then the antagonist- one of the gods or even the demigods who played a great role. However, I'm going to change it up a bit. No, I won't start with the analysis (god only knows how long that will take...) of the gods of Roman and Greek origins, but rather a character who plays a role-albeit to some seemingly insignificant role: Chris Rodriguez.

        To those that are unfamiliar with the series, (Percy Jackson series in particular), will probably not recognize the name. For while a character in the books, he is not the series main protagonists and as a result is somewhat ignored. As an avid fan of the books, I have made that mistake myself. And as a writer, I am thoroughly ashamed. Now you may ask why that is. If the character doesn't play such a significant role, how come I am ashamed for almost ignoring him?

        As any writer will attest, all of their characters have a purpose in the works of an author. Some are created only to add more people to the crowd that is needed. This is considered an okay instance to disregard a character, because the only things that they really bring to the table are their presence. There is usually no substance to such a creation. However, there are other minor characters who may not have a great purpose, such as carrying the book, but they do hold importance to some of those that do help carry the story. In this case, Chris holds meaning to another-Clarisse La Rue.

       Clarisse is one of the daughters of Ares. Ares in his Greek form is the embodiment of violence, useless and otherwise. However there is a difference, unlike Phobos and Deimos- Ares's children with Aphrodite, she is part human. While she still carries Ares's love for violence in her blood, she also maintains a seemingly small shred of kindness. (more on that in her essay). The point of bringing this was to point out that one of her moments of kindness was when she found Chris in the Labyrinth. While this may not have been the first time she was kind to him, it was the first time mentioned.

        Percy acknowledged this-"And Clarisse's tenderness-- it had never occurred to me that she might like someone; but the way she said Chris's name.... She'd known him before he changed sides. She'd known him a lot better than I realized." Clarisse, as the  daughter of a madman, was not likely to shower love or affection easily. It took a special kind of person to worm their way into her heart.

       About the character himself there is not to much known. There are many suppositions based on how he acts when he is present, and why he does so a lot of what is said is a hypothesis. The only person who truly confirm any supposition is Rick Riordan himself. (However the way I talk should tell you rather quickly that I am quite the fan of his work.)

       Chris is the son of Hermes, the god of messengers, thieves and anyone in between. Many of Hermes's children inherit quite a few traits from their old man. They are quick on their feet, stealthy, and can sabotage a machine without it going noticed. They are also good friends, listeners, and if necessary-will steal the shirt off of someone's back to give it to you ;) . As any skill set in the world, it can also be used for nefarious purposes.

       Kronos was one of the big baddies that existed since ancient times. He wasn't so easy to put down. As a matter of fact it took quite a bit of trickery on part of the Olympians and certain Titans (ehem.. Rhea) to take the Titan King down. How ironic that Karma came back to bite him, I guess what they say is true- No one can beat the Fates, even the gods.
 
      Any-who... After the Olympians took over, they decided that since they were sentient beings, rules did not apply to them and they proceeded to sleep with whomever caught their fancy. It didn't matter if it was man or woman, once they had their eye on someone there was no stopping them. They would even turn into animals or inanimate objects to obtain what they wanted-lovers of all forms and eventual kindred. However, there was a quick policy made regarding these children: There would be no direct contact with them in regards to helping them in life. They would have to get by on their own with the occasional assistance. There were very few ways that the gods would talk to their children directly. Eventually that turned into completely disassociating themselves with the children, until they would have no idea who their godly parent was.

        Chris was one of the many demigods who were angry at the gods. They were ignored, abused and forgotten. This was a hard pill for many of them to swallow. Who could blame them? When Luke separated after being duped by Kronos, Chris was only happy to join. This changing of the sides only occurred for a while. After he was found by Clarisse and cured by Dionysus, he decided that even if the gods talk a bunch of hooey sometimes, it wasn't worth the anger that would kill the others and many innocent civilians. After all, Kronos was known to be in some ways a bit of a cannibal and people crusher (literally speaking).

        When he returned, he became the calm one of the bunch, and quite rational to boot. He always looked out for his friends and could even sometimes reign in his girl for the sake of moral or peace. He would rather peace than a war. It's ironic in a sweet way that he ended up with Clarisse. But then again, they weren't the only opposites to attract each-others company.

       When you look at the title of the essay, you may think that I have not covered much about Chris Rodriguez. After all, there wasn't much to cover. I guess there were two points that I wanted to bring in with writing this. A)  I wanted to be different. I wanted to change it up with such essays. I didn't want to start with the main characters-either good, nor bad, or even the misguided. I wanted to showcase someone who meant something to a great and tough characters. That brings me to my second point. B) I wanted to show those who aren't as big fans as many are, that even a small character can contribute to the story. Never forget the little guys.....
     

This is a poem that I wrote along time ago about the subject that i had the most trouble with in school.

MATH

Math is a subject I despise

But a few things I did realize

Adding and subtracting are important to do,

As well as multiplying and dividing too,

One part which really truly bugs me

Happens to be the parts of math like trigonometry,

SOH CAH TOA, is one of the parts that I really do not like,

That whole part of math can just go take a hike,

I could go on forever more,

But listening to me groan about math would soon become a bore

This is a cute little poem that i wrote when I was young. 

COLORED SOCKS

Black socks, red socks or blue

Whatever it takes to match the hue to your shoe

Orange socks, yellow socks or green

Just to make sure that you are seen

So many pairs to pick and choose

Which should I pick? Which should I use?

           Narrative Dialogue from my novel Hidden Truth 

          Hatred. Turmoil. Anger. These are emotions that I feel often. They are emotions that plague me. They make me feel that I cannot be around human life and that I have no interest in others because I would hear them fight. I sit here now, clicking on my keyboard with anger and as though I am on a mission. I used to be able to diffuse this rage that I felt by listening to music or by voicing my anger in the form of a story or even think about the possibility of the story that I would write because of the anger and self loathing that I felt. This time I must channel my rage into something more productive, instead of wanting to rip the responsible parties to shreds. 

         What they did to me is uncalled for. They hurt me in a way that they should never have. I hate people like that. People like that use agencies, organizations or other corporations to feed their greedy goal. They want people to suffer and to not have true freedom. These places attract flies to them, people who are willing to hurt others for a price, or simply because they like the idea. Those that do not really want it, do it because they have to. Because they have been coerced, or because they need to support their families. 

         People like that can either be brought into the fold, or they have so much self loathing that they try to leave or they eventually end themselves. This turmoil is what I hate about the world. This is what i want to change. People in my lives seem to think that big companies are good. That they have people's best interests at heart. That they love their employees because they are big and have money. BUT THIS IS ALL LIES!!! Big Corporations and other greedy seedy places only have it in for the bigwigs. They only want what is best for them.

         What they did, leaves me with no one to talk to. All I can do is sit in my room, and hope for the noises to stop. I WANT THEM TO STOP!! No one wants to listen to me. No one wants to see what I see, hear what I hear, live what I live. I maintain a sense of humor, or try to, and people see what they want. But I cannot take it anymore. I am DONE! I will take action and make everyone who follows organization and corporations suffer if they do not surrender and leave! No one will win, but me.

  This is the introduction to a story about a girl who has everything to lose, and a creature who is not all he appears to be........
  
                                                         THE DEMON

I feel as though the control that remains is slipping.
The darkness is surrounding me with its blanket, suffocating me, awaiting my appearance.
I feel nothing, and see nothing.
The few memories I possess are fading, the darkness laying its claim on me.
The little humanity that I possess is slipping away.
The chances at gaining freedom are becoming too far, too few.
There is no solace for what I have done, or where I will go.
The only choices left to me are to succumb.
I feel powerless to do anything to save myself.
I know that where I am going, there is no return.
I feel the abyss swallowing me whole, sending me into the shadows.
There is no hope, no return.
The humanity gone from me, I have become a shadow of my former self.
I am a demon, and I now hunt those who sent me here.
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           It is pitch black. I am a wandering getting nowhere, and yet I do not stop walking. I am surrounded by the suffocating darkness holding me in. There is no light, no exit. I am in the abyss of shadows, and there is no way out. What have I done to deserve this fate? What have I done to be brought here to wander aimlessly, wandering farther into the darkness, losing the little strand of hope that keeps me together. I must find my way out. I must learn why this has happened to me. Why did I have to suffer here? Was I a murderer? Was I a madman who haunted and hunted people, leaving them at night to wonder if they would be my next prey? This wandering, suffocation of hope, this darkness..... I would not wish this on my greatest enemy. I would prefer to give them a swift death compared to this torture and suffering.

           The darkness feels alive. It suffocates me, calls me, and wants me to enter its embrace, forever lost inside it. I refuse its call, but for how long can I hold on? How long until I succumb? I must leave! I must get out. To be stuck in this dreadful place is something I cannot continue to do. But how am I to leave if I do not remember how I got here? The darkness tries a new way to bring me to it. It begins to blind me, take what little sight I have left to guide myself away from its cold embrace. My will grows weaker and weaker. The memories that I once had are fading more so into the darkness. I cannot let it claim me. I must cling to those few memories, and hold them tight. I cannot let them leave, for if they do, I am lost forever. I will be sucked in to the dark.

          There is no humanity left in me. I have become a monster. I am a creature of the darkness now, no more am I a human. I do not think that I ever will be again. However, I do not remember my humanity much, so there is no love lost, or sadness now that it is gone. Perhaps I really was a monster as a human. To not care that my humanity is gone, must mean that there was never much humanity in me to begin with.

           I am beginning to get anxious. The ways to my freedom are closing off. I will soon be forced to remain an eternity in the shadows or summoned as a pathetic human being's slave.  I feel the little hope that I had left leave me as I sink into a depression knowing what is to come. There is no solace of comfort here, just loss, anguish, and helplessness. I will be drawn into the full depth of the abyss never to return to the light that is the outside world. I will never find out what happened to me or why I am here. I feel as though the only choice left for me is to succumb the call, to give in and just sink into the shadows.  Even though the power flows through me, there is no way that I can use it to help. What good is power if one cannot use it!? I cannot save myself, and I know that when I enter the abyss, there is no way out.

            I feel the abyss calling me to come. It tugs at my being, pulling me in. It cannot call my name, since I do not have one. If I did have one, it is long forgotten. It is said a name is a being's essence. Perhaps that is why the abyss wants me. Since I have no name, I have no essence, and have no use in the world above except to cause destruction, bring chaos, and revenge. There is nothing for me. I am slowly giving into the urge of the endless darkness.

        The tugging stops. Somehow, I am being summoned. I feel the spell being said as I am being brought up. It is fraught with revenge, which is to be expected. However, there are several other flavors in the spell which are usually not there when a demon is summoned. There is a tremendous sadness, a loneliness brought on by the loss of a loved one, and to my surprise, a hint of purity. What an interesting soul. They summon me, and yet there is a purity that cannot be erased. I wonder what kind of person this is. A person who summons a demon only has one thing in mind. Destruction and power. When I was summoned before, this was all that was asked of me. The will and power to destroy their enemies, and bring suffering to those who did not succumb to them. Their thirst for power was great, and was never quenched. People like them ended up in a place worse than hell. There they would continue to try and claw their way back, because even in death their thirst could not be quenched.

       However, to be summoned for a reason other than revenge? This was unheard of. I am sure, considering the feelings put in the spell that revenge was on the table; however, there was not enough strength in that alone for it to be the main purpose that I am being summoned now. I wonder what kind of human is summoning me? What other reason besides power and revenge could their possibly be? What awaits me when I am summoned? As I slowly leave the abyss I wonder. Will I finally find out who I am? Why I was sent to the abyss? Will this be the time I finally get answers?
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                                                         THE SUMMONING

The sadness, the silence, it's too much.
The loss that I suffer is crushing.
I don't know how I made it so far, all on my own.
Knowing that my end is near makes me despair.
I want to know why.
Why must this happen?
What can I do to stop this madness from continuing?
**********************************************************************************************
        It's hard to believe I am only sixteen years old. Only two years left. Then I will face the same fate as the other women in my clan. I will die. Thinking back on that day, on my mother's eighteenth birthday, I remember her face as it happened. How she grimaced in pain when she realized the end had come. How she collapsed to the floor, her eyes glassy, her life-force gone. One minute, she is there, full of life, the next she has dropped dead for no reason.

        Since this curse was placed on the women of our clan, we are betrothed at the young age of fifteen, in hopes that we will have enough children to pass on our legacy too before we die. It is a hard arrangement to accept, especially in this day and age, but one which must be done to insure our clan's survival. Some of the women are lucky. The men who they are betrothed with are men that they fall in love with.

       I keep asking the men in my clan to give me answers. They have none. All anyone can tell me is that many centuries ago; our family was put under a curse by a vengeful man. As to the rest of the story, it is lost in time. Well, not anymore. I am determined to recover that story, and stop these horrendous deaths. I have had enough! I only had two years to spend with my mother before she died. My father was heartbroken when she died, even knowing that it would eventually happen.

       I hate this so much!! I hate that there are no answers. I hate the tears, as those who die are mourned for. I hate the deaths, as those who have reached eighteen suffer an untimely demise. I hate losing those I care for, and knowing that I am next.  I hate that there is no choice or chance to fall in love on your own, seeing as those who are fifteen are forced into an arranged marriage.

     It is hard living in the 22nd century, and not feeling or being normal. We do mingle with society to a point, seeing as we cannot allow our fate or legacy be known to the public, or we would be ostracized. We are mostly located near the outskirts of Wiltshire, but there are those of us who live in the city. Several of our clan members maintain shops of various kinds, as well as acupuncture, and several kinds of medicinal clinics. This and the farm we have located on our compound support those who remain in the complex. Those who do remain are allowed to go into the city on occasion, and go shop, and if we are lucky enough, we could enjoy the day doing what we please.

      When I was lucky enough to go to the city for the first time, I couldn't believe my eyes. The noise, the sounds, the people, the lights and colors. To think this all exists in one place. Wow. In our family complex, it is so quiet. The only sounds are the birds chirping, the farmers farming our crops, and the occasional murmurings of spells and magics in the works. The differences between the two are overwhelming. I wanted to live long enough to explore these differences. I wanted to be able to plan my own life, not to be forced into a marriage because I am going to die in two years. I want a chance to fall in love, enjoy time with my spouse, and have children when I am ready, and grow old and grey with the man I love. I have not found that man yet, but I surely can be given the time.

        This is why I decided to do this. I decided for my sake, as well as those of the rest of the women in my clan to summon a demon. There is a particular demon that I had in mind. For you see, when you summon a demon, you have to make a contract with it. A contract is when a demon exchanges its services for a service rendered by the human, a favor or object requested, if you will. This particular demon is an old and powerful one. The one thing he asks for is answers to his past, so he can be at peace. He wants answers for a fate of which he does not recall or believe he deserves. He does not help those who cannot give him the answers he seeks, but I can change that. I believe I know a way for this demon to finally have peace. So I will summon him.

        So I traveled to the sacred circle, located inside of Stonehenge. I was filled with trepidation as I entered the inner circle of Stonehenge. I felt dirty and wrong for doing what I was about to do, but I had no choice. I didn't want to face a bleak future, with death around the corner. I wanted not just for myself, but the other women in my clan to live past the age of 18. That they should be able to live, and enjoy life, growing up and seeing what the world has to offer.

         Even if those who saw me said I was selfish for doing this, I did not care. Others like me wanted this to end, but they did not have what it takes to do what must be done. This is why I am here. To end a curse. To bring joy back into the eyes of my clan. To allow my fellow women to live for a change, rather than grow up and wait to die.

         I stepped to the altar in the center of the holy monument, closed my eyes, and began the spell. The stones that made up the monument began to glow, the mystical force that inhabited the place beginning to manifest, feeding of the ancient words that I was reciting. I continued, and put forth all my emotions, and feelings into the spell. I wanted this to work so badly. The desperation, the rolling pit of despair in my stomach caused tears to flow down my face as I said the ancient text. I needed to reach down into the abyss, and bring forth the demon who sought answers, same as I.

      As I finished the spell I opened my eyes. The mystical energy died down. However, there was nothing. No demon. No residual energy. Nothing. I failed. I sank to my knees as tears began to flow down my cheeks. How could this have happened? I had studied the ancient writings for many months, and was sure that I knew the spell inside and out. The pronunciation, the spelling, everything! What could have possibly gone wrong?

       Suddenly there was a hand on my shoulder. I turned to look at the body that was connected to hand, and was drawn to those stormy gray, green eyes.

       "You summoned?"

TO BE CONTINUED......................

HAPPY DAYS ARE COMING BACK

Clara stood in her flooded basement a day after her divorce was finalized. It was kind of ironic. He was the one who proposed to her. Promised to treat her like a gem, cherishing her and lavish her with gifts. He promised her the world and she believed him. It was one of those typical fairy tale stories. Boy meets girl and is automatically infatuated. Girl returns the affection, and they have a happy relationship. However the parents don't approve, so they elope after discovering she is pregnant. The story is supposed to end that they were so happy for the baby, and her parents came to their senses.

However, this was not to be the case. Instead of being happy about the baby, he tried to convince her to get rid of it. Clara would have none of that. He couldn’t deal so he turned alcohol. She soon found out that he was not a nice drunk. He didn’t hit her physically, but he hit her with verbal insults almost all the time.

After a while, she couldn’t take it anymore and decided to go home to her parents, hoping they would understand and help her. They not only understood, but they promised to stand by her and help raise the baby. Clara broke down and cried when she saw how much her parents were willing to do for her.  They of course were willing because they loved their daughter and knew she made a mistake, one they knew she wouldn’t be so quick to repeat in the future.

They told that no matter what happens they would always stand by her. However, she needed to get a divorce and arrange custody documents that gave her sole custody of their soon to be born child. Clara knowing she had to do this, drove with trepidation up to their house, hoping that he was sober. When she got there, she saw that the door was ajar, and she began to proceed with caution. She saw him packing bags, moving out. He looked up, seeing her, he turned away indifferently.

She pointed out the papers and explained what they were. Without a second glance he signed them. He finished packing, and walked out. As he was leaving he casually shouted that the basement of the house was flooded, got into the truck that was in the front, and left. Clara stood there in shock at how callous he was. She then shook it off, and walked into the house to assess the damage. When she got to the basement she noticed it wasn’t so bad. She called her parents who knew a contractor who could help and fix the house up, and that she should go to court to file the papers.

The next morning she went to court, filed the papers, and sighed in relief. She went home and enjoyed a good hearty lunch. After all, she was eating for two. After the lunch, she went to the house and down to the basement. She surveyed the work, and walked  right outside and basked in the sunshine. She had the right support, a good education, and a great job coming her way. She looked down at her protruding tummy, and rubbed it contentedly. And she could never forget the bundle of joy that was on the way. He may have left, but she would be fine. Everything was going to be alright.

*An excerpt from MARNIE'S LIFE

SPRAINING MY ANKLE

Hey, what’s up? Marnie here again, with another interesting anecdote. I was in the 2^nd grade when it happened. Apparently I remember this instance, but my folks told me I sprained my ankle and my wrists multiple times. Apparently I was a really clumsy girl. My eyesight isn’t 20/20, and I think this was some kind of warning for the future, seeing as soon after I got my first pair of awful bifocals. (I know; sounds atrocious. Believe me, they were.)

Anyway, this all started with me trying to help my mother make the house a bit neater. Since I was only seven, I decided to start small, basically with something that wouldn’t overwhelm me, (and in the off-chance that I got into trouble, that the consequences wouldn’t be so dire.) so I went into my brothers’ room. They had against the wall, (or part of it, I’ll never know….) an open closet with a series of drawers that on top had a series of shelves.

I decided that I was going to take the task of “neating” the drawers up, as I put it back then. I honestly think, I was bored, I needed something to do, and I was seven so of course the choice would have to be a stupid and dangerous one. But, being seven years old and not very logical, I went about fixing the shelves up. There were several drawer handles that I was able to climb, and they held me quite well. When I reached the fourth one, I was almost four feet off the ground, maybe more. Either way, what happened next happened just like in the movies. To slow and yet it happened all so fast.

For some odd reason I decided to look down, and I must have leaned too far, because I fell down those four feet; landing flat on my back with a major sounding crack once I got to the bottom. I totally freaked out, because for the first few seconds I couldn’t move, I think it was mostly because of fear of what my mom will do when she found out, and the other part was fear that I may have broken something big. I mean I was seven and rambunctious, but I'm no way that stupid not to think that something like this could have broken a bone or worse.

After landing on the floor with a huge CRACK, I waited with bated breath. Would my mother notice? Well, not as lucky as I thought since she asked me what happened. Like any child who did something wrong, I responded with the universal, “Nothing mommy.” My mother left it alone after that, but I had a feeling that it wasn’t over. I had no idea how right I was. Because sooner rather than later I had to make my way downstairs, (for what exactly, I don't remember) and my mother still suspicious, looks me up and down trying to figure out what I did wrong.

She looked me over and asked me why I was limping. To make a long story short, we went to the doctor, and I was instructed not to put too much pressure on that leg. We spoke to the school and arranged a system to make sure I had time to get up and down the stairs. The moral of the story, the lesson I learned, is to never make an attempt to “neat up” the shelves without a stool to back me up.

(This is the introduction to a journal style book Marnie's Life)

                              

                                       MARNIE'S LIFE

Dear People who find this journal interesting,

My name is Maurine, but my family and friends call me Marnie. I am currently in college with dreams and aspirations that I’m working on making come true. This includes working my sorry butt off, even though I can be super lazy. While I was in high school, I had a really random thought. Why not write the really interesting events in my life down and publish them for the world to see? When I expressed this idea to those close to me, they made a valid point. They told that no one is interested in hearing your story when you're not famous. So even though I wanted to share my stories, I had to wait until I was famous? Kind of ridiculous if you ask me. I know that while my interest lies in fantasy and science fiction, I would love to read one of those journal styled books about real girls and real stories.

So against all odds, this is what I decided to do. However, instead of just telling the story right off the bat I would try and change it up a bit. First I would start by making this a journal. There wouldn’t be chapters, but rather different entries hold different stories. Also, I would add my weird sense of humor to it. I've been told that I have a really random sense of humor, and can make people laugh at the most random moments. Lastly, all the stories would be told from the perspective of me, a girl in her 20’s. So that should definitely add a bit of fun, since I’ll be weighing in on my past actions.

There's also a more serious side to this journal. When I was younger, I was bullied. Throughout my elementary school years hurtful things were done to me by classmates and even some of my family. I’m choosing to share these memories with you to show that I was able to grow and change, becoming the hilarious quirky girl that writes this journal for all of you to read. Another thing before I get started, I will try my best to keep all the events in chronological order. There are some pieces that are from several different times, but because they are similar in nature, I put them together.

So I really hope that you all enjoy the true and quite random stories that I choose to share with you. So sit back, relax, and enjoy the ride.

UNLUCKY 13

PART 1

What is karma? How about luck, or fate; even fortune or chance? What exactly do they mean? They are opportunities to try and change what the fates have planned for you. During your life you usually have a bit of both, bad and good karma. There are some who are more lucky than others and have the good outweigh the bad. Others aren't as fortunate. But what if I told you about a third option? One which consist of people who have nothing but bad luck and misfortune, and every choice they make seem to be the wrong one. You would think that this isn't possible. That no matter how unlucky a person can be, that there is no way that there could be only wrong turns, mistake after mistake, no right choices.  Well, I guess that makes me a special exception. For you see, for quite a bit of my young life, everything that could go wrong did. While my life hasn’t completely sucked, most of it has.

    Before I continue, allow me to explain a bit about myself. My story. Not as melodramatic as my beginning, but it will allow me to explain why you probably think that I’m being such a drama queen. My name is Melody Weston. I live in New York. Thank the gods; I have a family who loves me. Now, I know what you're thinking. "Who does this girl think she is? She has a family that loves her, and she's ranting about how her life sucks!" Before those thoughts come to mind, let me continue. This family that loves me is not my biological family. Melody Weston is not even my real name.

    Before I met my parents, Lena and Jeremy Weston, I was in a rundown orphanage in Dublin, Ireland, with no name to speak of. This was the case for two reasons. One- whoever left me at the doorstep of the orphanage did not leave a note or a name. Secondly, the people at the orphanage didn't give enough of a crap to give me a name at all. So they decided instead to call me 923, since I was born September 23, 1993.

    After twelve years of what seemed like one misfortune after another, Lena and Jeremy walked into my life. They are quite the couple. Jeremy is a well known writer who works with several important magazines, and Lena was a model who now works in the fashion industry as a stylist, with the occasional walk down the runway when she can. They have two children, Jamie, a ten year old blond and blue eyed beauty, like her mother; and Eric, a six year old boy who has brown hair, with a dusting of blond, and the greenest eyes. He takes after his father.

   They were on a vacation as a family, and one of the stops on their way through the United Kingdom happened to be the orphanage that I lived at. They told me that they had been looking to adopt, but couldn't seem to find any children who they clicked with. So for them, this vacation had a twofold purpose. They wanted to go on a relaxing family vacation; and also to see if they could include a new addition to the family. So when they came into the orphanage playroom, all eyes were on them. The children as well as our caretakers. All wondering the same thing. Who would be lucky enough to go home with them? I on the other hand, backed into a corner hoping that they wouldn't see me. I would have run out of the room, but the policy was that when any potential parents came, all children had to be present in the room so our potential family could get to know us in an easygoing setting, and to see if we connected. After the last disaster I had with a potential family, I was determined not to let anyone else get hurt. Especially a family with kids that looked to be about my age. So I stayed in my corner in hopes that they wouldn't spot me. 

   At first, I was lucky (sort of), seeing as I was being ignored. However, it was not meant to be. Eric, who was looking around the room, seeing what was fun, as well as breakable, spotted me playing in my corner. He tugged on his mom's dress sleeve and pointed at me. When I picked up my head and saw them coming toward me, I froze in fear. For you see, I don't look all that normal. My hair is quite interesting. I have dark brown and white stripes instead of just one color. My eyes are a cloudy grey, and change according to my mood as well as the weather. I have a light sprinkling of freckles across my nose. So you see, I look odd. (I guess then i had no chance of hiding from a curious, wide eyed six year old.) As they all came over and crowded next to me, I expected the worst.

  "You have very cool hair. I wish I knew people who had hair like that."

  "Better than what other people say about my hair."

   "What do they say?"

I found myself opening up to this charming woman, looking into her crystal green eyes, my cloudy grey ones mirrored right back at me. She had the most melodious voice. I felt as though I had heard a voice similar to hers before, but I couldn't place it. I couldn't help myself, I had to talk more.

  "They say I'm a freak of nature, with weird hair, and funny eyes."

  "I actually think your eyes are marvelous, and your hair quite interesting."

I turned to look at this imposing, yet kind man. His voice had a deep baritone that almost made it sound musical. I found my mouth twitching into a smile, as I looked into his deep set chocolate brown eyes, realizing that he was just as nice as the beautiful woman. 

"Thanks. I guess that's another way you could put it."

"Hahaha. Did you hear this kid? Quick as a whip. How would you like to come home with us?"

At this point, her Eric, and Jaime, who were quietly listening to the exchange, turned to me and smiled.

"It would be nice to have a sister who is close to me in age. Someone to talk to. Plus I like your hair. I think it’s cool, and your eyes are awesome."

(What a kid! Eloquent with manners to spare....)

"Your hair is cool."

"Eric, you baby, don't tug it!"

"It's okay. I mean, he likes it, right? As long as he doesn't pull it out, we're cool."

"So", I turned to look at the man as he spoke up, “what do you think about my offer of coming with us?"

"I don't even know your names, or where you live. I mean, you don't sound like you’re from Ireland."

"True, true. My apologies. My name is Jeremy Weston. This is my lovely wife Lena. These are my two children, Jaime, who is ten years old, and Eric, who is six. We live in Manhattan, which is located in New York. What's your name?"

"I don't have one. They never bothered to name me."

The entire Weston family looked shocked at this proclamation. I just shrugged my shoulders. I didn't understand the big deal.

"Well, that won't do at all. What do they call you when they want you?"

I snorted, “Right, me wanted. If they need me to do something, like chores, they call me by my birth date, 923. Other than things like chores or meals, we are left to our own devices."

"What do you want to be named? I would think that if you were to come home with us that you would need to be called something."

"Well...."

"You can call me Lena sweetie."

"Well Lena, I honestly never thought about that. What do you think?"

"I always thought that if I were to ever have another child, that I would call her Melody."

"Melody....."

"You can have the name, even if you choose not to come with us."

"Well.... The truth is you aren't the first family who tried to take me home. Others have tried, and sent me back after only days."

"Why on earth would they do that?"

"I'm unlucky."

Lena, Jeremy, and Jaime all burst out laughing at my declaration. 

"I'M NOT KIDDING!" 

I closed my eyes, ready to burst into tears. Here I was thinking that I finally may have found a nice family, and they thought my curse was a JOKE! I was so mad.

"Why do you think that?"

I opened my eyes, and looked at Eric, the only one who wasn't at the present moment trying to stifle giggles.

"You believe me?"

At this point the other three had calmed down, and looked at me, somewhat apologetic. 

"Of course he does. He's a brat."

"Jaime, be nice."

"Sorry Mom."

"What my daughter is trying to say is that as a young child, his imagination is quite vivid. What makes you think that you're unlucky?"

"Let's start with the fact that someone ends up breaking a bone by the time the day is done. Dishes crack and break, people slip, and things fall. Liquids land places where they normally wouldn't, and people get stuck. Need I go on?"   

"No." They both looked at me and then at each other. It was as though they were having a silent conversation between themselves. (Great, I lost my self a chance to go home with a good family. However, they had a right to know what they were going to get themselves into if they choose to take me.)  So I waited until they were done with their silent talk to see what they would say.

"We'll take our chances."

"What? Why?"

"Believe it or not, sometimes finding the right home is all it takes for the unlucky ones to become lucky." 

Tears began to stream down my face. I could not believe it. 

"I... I guess I can give it a try." I shot them both a watery grin, nodding my head to show them I consented to this. 

"All right then. Jaime and Eric will stay with you here? Come on Lena, let's fill out the paperwork, and make the necessary arrangements to take our new daughter home."

"Well, sis... Can't wait to show you our home." Jaime looked at me with the biggest smile she had to offer. 

Sis. OUR home. I couldn't believe it. I stood there, shell-shocked, with my two new siblings, when it really hit me. I was going to have a new home. I was determined to make this one last.

 TO BE CONTINUED........ 

https://www.wattpad.com/user/aspiringwriter999

This is a link to a wattpad account. The stuff is not half bad, so I thought I would share.

     (This book was started as a class assignment. I liked the way it was going and kept it up. Tell me what you think)                         

      CONSPIRACIES EVERYWHERE

If you have opened this book, I suggest you close it right now. For if you decide to read this book, your world will be turned upside down. Everything you have ever come to know, every belief you hold dear, will be rocked to the core with what I’m about to share. So if you are faint of heart, stop reading. Turn away, and read something else. (Also, if you think I’m crazy, you can either read and be amazed, or turn away and continue to live on in blissful ignorance. Either way, I have no time or patience for unbelievers.) But if you choose to continue to read this, beware. Everything you thought you knew about events of history are about to be changed.

I know I may sound like a crazy person, but everything I say and am about to say is totally 100 percent true. So don't read this, find me, and tell me I need meds. (Actually, that’s kind of why I'm going nameless, since I've had more than my fare share of people telling me to institutionalize myself.) I know that this sounds like the ramblings of a crazy person, but I am completely sane. Neurotic, maybe. But totally and utterly sane.

It all began when I was young, and I expressed my interest in the unknown. For me, there always had to be an answer. The mysteries that plagued our unbelieving society. Were they really mysteries? Or were they something altogether extraordinary that they couldn’t be explained by the normal means, so they were just labeled mysteries. So as I got older and knew more, I began to do research. I swore to make it my life’s work to find the answers, no matter the cost or what I might find.

I tried to find those that were of like minds, but I had no luck. Those that I did find were completely bonkers. There were those creepy thirty year olds who still lived with their mothers, and spent all day in their pajamas. Others were so pale, that when they went outside in the sun, they would turn into huge flashlights. It was really gross. There were those that hid behind normal facades, and when they went home, they were surrounded by their space ship models, and posters of scantily clad space girls. Either way, compared to them, I am utterly and supremely normal. Just slightly neurotic.

Anyway, with my parents blessing, (surprisingly), I began to do some digging. I decided to start with the mysteries close to home. As time passes by I begin to publish my work and the findings I made to support my theories. There are those open minded people who are beginning to listen, and I only hope the feeling spreads. The pages you will read are my personal accounts of each journey. (My book holds more intricate details, as well as evidence.) Either way, if you're still reading, sit back, relax, and enjoy the show.

ROANOKE

I was first made aware of this mystery when I was just a brat. I learned in my fifth grade history class about the first settlement the English created, calling it Roanoke. In the long run, a group of the colonists had to return to England for supplies, since they didn’t have all the necessities there. When this group returned, they discovered that everyone that they left behind in the settlement was gone. There was no trace whatsoever about what happened. There was no sign of them being removed by force, and no indication of where they might have gone.

Even though the settlers sent out search parties, there was no luck in finding those who had gone missing. Eventually they moved on to create a new colony and called it Jamestown. While the mystery always lingered, history moved on. After I learned about this, I went home and ran as many searches as I could on the computer. I went to the libraries and tried to find as many books on the subject as possible. However, there was little to no information. I began to get really frustrated. I mean who in their right mind leaves a mystery of a missing town unsolved or over 200 years?! They may have been the first American settlers to settle down, but they were either a bunch of idiots, or really uncaring people.  I mean, there must have been somebody that they knew that went missing; why didn’t they bother to continue to look? Keep a record?! For Pete’s sake!!

Pretty ticked, I decided to go to the source. I booked the first ticket I could to Virginia. I was determined to find out exactly where the Roanoke colony was, and look around. I got there, after a freaking long and frustrating flight and ride, but no one was, or was even trying to be a help at all. It turns out that the island was turned into a thriving town, and no one could really tell me where the settlement once was.

I finally hit the library. I needed the quiet to sort through the frustrating feelings, and the quiet prevents me from blowing a gasket on the next innocent bystander. The Librarian seeing my frustration approached me and asked if she could be of any assistance. I asked her if there were any clear indicators of where the settlement once was. She informed me that there was no clear indication other than it was near a forest. I asked if she would be able to direct me to the quickest way there. She offered me a ride, telling me that it was a quiet day and the other librarian could handle it.

She went to the front to inform the other librarian that she would be escorting a history enthusiast to the Roanoke site. Afterwards as we walked to her car, my mind began to race. What would I find? Would I see any indications of the settlement? Would I finally get the answers that I seek?

When we arrived at the forest, the librarian dropped me off and said she had to go back. As much as she said she wanted to stick around, she had to get back to work. I don't think she was telling me the truth. I saw her face, and she was scared. From what I heard about this forest, I understand. From what I heard from the locals, they tell me that there are some weird vibes. However, honestly, the way they spoke when they told me, it sounds more like they were high as a kite then straight. But standing here now, I did feel the weird heebie-jeebies and weird vibes coming from the forest.

However, no matter the feeling of foreboding, I decided to head straight in. it felt like the forest was trying to greet me. Not in a bad way, but still a bit intimidating. I know I said it gave me the heebie-jeebies, but not the bad kind. This was the kind that made you realize that where you are, is ancient, magnificent, like those really old important people, (kind of like the Dahlia Lama), who when you see them, they still give off this fearsome aura even though they are quite old. Before you ask, I have nothing against old people. I know my statement says otherwise, but that is so not true!! I have grandparents who are in their 80’s, and are just like those 100 year olds who can bungee-jump off high bridges. So I don't have anything against them.

Anyway……. Getting back to what I was discussing before. As I entered the forest, it was as if it was coming in to greet me. As I walked through I had a sudden sense of serenity, and peace. Suddenly I came to the inner sanctum of the forest, and it took my breath away. The colors of the leaves and trees changed from browns and hunter greens to bright golds, purples, and the sky became a beautiful blue. I stopped here to take in the beauty of the scene before me, as well as the colors. Also, I kind of have to admit that continuing scared me a bit. It was as though the forest didn’t want me to progress. But I shouldered on, re-grew my backbone, and went further into the forest.

That’s when things got hinky. I mean really, really hinky. As I continued, the brightness from before dimmed. It became rather foggy, to the point where it was misty. Here came the creepy part. It felt like the mist was alive!! It was trying to surround me, guide me, and take me to wherever its source was. Ironically at this point, I was getting kind of scared.  But I shouldered on, rebuilt my already broken more than once backbone, and continued onward.

However, this is where the forest tried to fight back. Tree branches wacked my face, roots were there to trip me, acorns falling and bopping me on the head. But I shouldered on, cursing all the way. Why in heaven’s name is this happening?! I mean, one minute the forest is welcoming me in, guiding me to the source, and the next it’s trying to find ways to deter me, or even kill me?!?! And people call me neurotic! Well, I know how neurotic people work. If anything this is only making me go forward. I struggled to keep moving, cursing the forest out all the way through.

The exit seems to be never coming, and finally I’m feeling ready to give up. Then I remembered all the doubters, all the creeps I am always being compared to and how my parents gave their blessings; and so I wiped all the doubt from my mind and the forest exit finally came into view. So after what felt like an eternity, I finally got to the clearing. I finally reached the remnants of the village. When I got there, the scene before me blew my mind.

It was as though the village was in a time warp. Everything there was not just perfectly preserved, but it looked like it could have been made last week. It looked new. I ran into one of the homes, and saw the meal present. The food was fresh!! It was as though the scene from when the villagers were taken was frozen in time, and preserved until this day. I know it sounds crazy, but after they saw the villagers left, they abandoned the settlement, and moved on to Jamestown.

However, while the scene was intact, there was no sign of what happened to the people. Feeling a bit disheartened, but refusing to give up, I went outside to see if there were any remnants as to where the people went. I walked around the village, admiring the architecture, never having seen such a pure scene as this, looking all around for any clues whatsoever. While each of the houses and buildings were quite enlightening, none of them gave me what I was looking for. I needed some form of record that showed me what happened.

As I was making my rounds, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a journal underneath the well in the center of the village. It was hard to spot because the color blended in with the ground, but it was a start. I hoped it wasn’t empty. As I opened it, I gasped in shock. The pages were yellowed with age, and the writing was unmistakably 15^th century. I found a diary of one of the villagers! Maybe now I could get some answers!

I opened the pages quite slowly seeing as the journal was quite fragile from age. I actually thought this to be rather odd seeing how everything else looked rather new.

The only thing that would make sense is someone was here before me and found the journal. Whatever held this place together in some form of a time freeze must have been disturbed when the journal was removed…….. So because the journal was moved, that would make it age rather quickly. My head began spinning with questions.

If someone was here before me, what happened to them? Everyone who is said to have entered the forest to find Roanoke never comes out. Now there a quite a few questions that are presented in front of me. One- How many of those people made it here? Two-If they made it here, why couldn’t they get out? Three- If they did get out, where did they go? So many more questions swirled around my head. The only way to find out what happened is to find out where this journal came from.

I had to now search each house and building no matter the insignificance. Before it was just a cursory sweep, now I needed to know for sure. Was my hypothesis correct? Was I not the first? Did the others who came here ever get out? I whirled around, my skirt getting caught in some of the twigs surrounding the well. I pulled myself free, cursing all the way, and started from the beginning.

The homes themselves were really quite modest. They were simple in structure, made with the resources on hand, like wood. The wood itself looked to be freshly chopped, and the logs placed neatly one on top of the other. The roofs were made with the wood shaved down to be more flat. I’m assuming they didn’t want the roof falling on their heads and killing them if by some chance it came loose. Though I highly doubt making it lighter helped. It would have killed them either way. They were your average cabin, (I see where we get the idea from now), simple and inside was only what they needed to survive.

Inside was a wooden table for eating and preparing meals. (Not very sanitary if you ask me.) There were the kitchen utensils lined up above the fireplace on a special rack, and spices in bags leaning on the right side of the fire. On the left side of the fire was a small cabinet with the flour inside of it. To the far left of the cabinet were several beds. The amount of beds depended on the amount of people in the family I guess.

This was the same thing that I saw in every cabin. No luck finding anything inside. I guess I would turn to the main buildings next. The only way to tell the difference between them all were the sizes. On the outside, they all virtually look the same.

So I went for the first building, which I assume from the cross outside the door, was the church. I went inside and peeked around. All I saw were benches and a standing podium for the priest, and whoever chose to give a speech in the name of g-d.

As I stepped outside, it suddenly felt cold. The green grass turned brown, and the leaves began to fall. It was as though the seasons changed in one moment! I totally began to freak out. That’s when I felt it. That chill and goose-bumps feeling that makes you look at the last place you would think to, but also the one you're probably looking for. I looked straight across what would be considered the main square. I knew that’s where it happened. For suddenly there was a large structure there that appeared out of the fog. As though, this place was trying to show me the answers, but telling me I wouldn’t like what I saw. I had no idea how right it was going to be.

I slowly walked toward the building, the fear building as I walked closer. However, that wasn’t all that was building. I couldn’t help but feel anticipation. Finally, I would get some answers. Finally, I would find out what happened here. I couldn’t help but imagine scenarios of what could have happened. Could it have been a temporal shift, which froze everything in time and shifted the people to a different dimension? Was it a satanic cult that killed and destroyed all the bodies in a horrible ritual? Was in a rift in our space-time continuum? When I finally got to the front of the large community building, I had an extreme sense of foreboding. All the thoughts I had before flew out of my head, and I knew right away what this sensation was. Fear. I would not like what I saw behind these doors.

I slowly opened the two big heavy doors. They creaked and moaned, and it felt like they were fighting with me. But I finally pushed them open. Suddenly, from what apparently were torch holders on the wall, fire was lit, and I gasped in horror. Then I dropped to the ground and heaved everything I had for breakfast right back up. Once I finished retching and gathered myself together, I began to take in the terrible scene in front of me.

Terrible was not the only word I could use to describe it. Horrible. Disgusting. Inhumane. Shameful. I could make a whole freaking list of the horrors that I saw in that room that day. After I got over my initial shock, I began to cry. How these people must have suffered. So you could understand just a bit of what I was feeling, allow me to tell you what I saw in there.

On the wooden floor, there were bodies. Too many of them if you ask me. They were strewn all over the building. There were limbs missing from bodies, hearts cut out, and body parts strewn all over the place. Those that had their heads on had expressions of terror on their face. Once I saw that I knew. They were alive when this happened. I kept shaking my head, tears streaming downs my face. As I walked around, I kept searching for answers to the massacre that happened here. I stopped in front of a heartbreaking scene. A mother holding her child in an attempt to save her. Unfortunately, this was not to be. They were both missing their hearts.

This was too sad. I looked towards the center of the room, and saw the altar. There was blood all over it, old, and what looked possibly fresh. For some odd reason, the settlers blood looked old and dried, even though their bodies had been preserved, as though they had just been killed. I knew this because as I checked the bodies I saw the blood traces. My heart dropped when I realized, that someone, from my century, our century, was killed here. Probably recently as well.

I knew there had to be something I could do; at least if not anything else, I could at least give these poor people peace. It got quite dark, and I turned to find out why. The sun was setting. My eyes began to droop without my consent, and I dropped to the floor in a dreamless sleep.

I woke up with a start, as I felt the light from the sun streaming in through the window, hitting my body with intense heat and light. I shot up from my position, and suddenly realized that I was no longer in that structure, (which I called Horror hall), but rather in an uncomfortable bed, and the children surrounding it staring at me in wonder. They were picking at my clothes and pointing that I was wearing pants.

But what really shocked me was when I got a look at the mother, (I'm assuming), when she came to give me some kind of food. This was the same mother that I saw dead the night before holding her child in her arms. As she held out the stew, soup, whatever it was, I looked around at the children staring at me. They were all bodies that I saw last night. What in the world is going on!!!!!

I turned around to glance at what was happening to get a better idea of what time it was. It seemed to be either breakfast or lunch, considering there was still a huge amount of daylight outside. So that meant I still had time to find out, because something told me that once night hit, that’s when the terror begins........ TO BE CONTINUED

                                                  The adventures of the deadest chic in town

            

            Hi. My name is Laura, and as you can see from the title, I am a dead chic. I died around six months ago from a car accident. Some idiot got behind a wheel drunk, and decided to take a joyride. Not only did he kill me, he almost killed my best friend Trisha, who was walking with me at the time. Now you may wonder why she wasn't hit. Well to put it simply, I saved her keister. I pushed her out of the way, and did not have time to do the same myself. However, instead of going straight to heaven, I'm stuck here, wondering the earth, wondering what to do with all the time I have now apparently. While I was stewing my fate as a wondering spirit, I began to notice something.

          

            I began to manifest the ability to move objects. I guess I stuck around long enough for that change to manifest itself. After this occurred, I came up with the brilliant idea to take justice into my own hands. Now, while yes, I would try to take down creeps, but I mostly focused on taking down the creeps from high school a notch or two. (I know this kind of adventure sounds totally cliche, but I hope that mine will be different... I mean where do you think I got the idea from?) I wanted to see Buck Charermen, the football captain, (yeah, I know a very butch name) pee his pants for humiliating Trisha in front of everyone junior year, by refusing a date from her very loud and publicly calling her an attention seeking whore. 

           Trisha Maer, is the ultimate best friend, who I've known since childhood. She defends, defended me against anyone who insulted me, she poured water on Liam Nigeas during lunch in front of everyone when he publicly embarrassed me by by pantsing me when we were in the sixth grade. (Yes, I know it sounds silly, but Liam was and always is a child.) She always had my back and we had the ultimate trust in each other. So I guess my first stop would be to see her.

            I began to literally float over the streets until I hit Dreymont Avenue, her street. I went down the street until I found her home, 775 Dreymont. I went inside and up to her room. It was 4:00, so she would be home shortly. When I began to look around, tears began to form at the end of my eyes. I've been dead six months, and she still thinks of me. There's the picture that we took when we were six on her nightstand where it always is. On the wall opposite her bed, there's a huge cork-board covered with pictures of the two of us and other friends over the years. Her bed faces the opposite wall, with that chest that I bought her for her 13th birthday at the end of her bed. I wonder if she still has all the precious belongings that we collected over the years. As I float, (yes, float, I cannot believe I just said that!) over to bed, I suddenly hear footsteps.... I fade out as I see the door opening.......TO BE CONTINUED