"Oceanic" by Mercedes Benz

Neck-deep in homework, my energy had been drained entirely. Instead of soaking into the blueness of the situation, I decided to dive into a refreshing novel at the library. Completely swimming with knowledge, the library is full to the brim with students. Casts of crabby characters, shivers of sharkish souls, and a vast assortment of pretty birds float about the cool room. After coasting in along with the waves of teenagers, I find a fishy situation. Upon the coral reef shelves, there rests a lack of fictional troves. Utterly shipwrecked, I collapse into a soft bed of cushions. Nearby, the top predators of the school, the librarian and an administrator, whisper words of suspicion. The keeper of such treasures, had sandy blonde hair and dark blue eyes. The other was the king of our school. Nobody had ever even thought of attacking this marauder of criminals, let alone manta-raid his treasures. Feeling a tad out of my depth, I left the cavern, drowning in a whirlpool of disappointment. I sailed through the hallway, weaving between the teeming wildlife until I spotted a familiar face with a watery complexion. Floundering and as winded as a fish-out-of-water, he relayed to me a spectacular sight. The valley of sports had been torn apart by an aggressive lion fish. The pirates had lit the soft bed of land with a volcanic eruption, creating a murky blaze of light. 

"Awkward" by Mr. Ret S. Im

Note: This piece is based on Raymond Queneau's Exercises in Style. Writers were given a very basic plot and then asked to tell a story in a certain style. Marsha has chosen to write an awkward story.

Hi. You’re pretty. Umm, I didn’t mean to say that. Haha. He he. Oh. Umm, my name’s Heuuuurreghhhhh. It’s kind of weird to say. You have to roll your r’s. And some people can’t do that, so when you ask them to, they feel bad and the conversation stops and there’s a really long silence where we stare at each other. Haha. Isn’t that funny? No? Okay. Umm, so uh, thisiswhathappened last Wednesday. Sorry, sometimes I slu-, uh, never mind.

There was this really long corridor I was walking through, and there were other people walking in the hallway as well. I can’t tell you their names, because I don’t know them. I’m really bad with names,by the way. I once called a guy named Paul by the name of Steven. He got upset. Umm, so I was walking, and there were some people with me, and we were really quiet because we didn’t know each other.

I reached the end of the hallway, and then I walked down another hallway. Some of the same people also walked down the hallway. I couldn’t tell if they were following me or not. The thought made me uncomfortable.

The Cafeteria. Umm, that’s where I was going. Haha. That wasn’t funny, I don’t know why I did that. Maybe it’s because you’re pretty. I mean, oh never mind! I was going to the cafeteria. Because I wanted food. Yes. I got in a  line with some other people. Some of the people who were in the hallway with me also got in the line. I was almost sure they were following me. I felt uncomfortable and I started to sweat, which was really bad because I was really close to the other people in the line. They started to give me weird looks.

I wanted food. That’s why I was in the cafeteria. You probably already knew that. But the food was white that day. Isn’t that weird! Haha! I’m miserable right now. You’re not pretty. No, I mean you are, but I’m not noticing it. Yes. The food was white. Okay.

Everyone in the lunch line was staring at each other awkwardly. I really should stop saying the word awkwardly because that’s the title of this piece. You weren’t supposed to know that. Ah I gave it away. Well, this is awkward. Shoot!

So I wanted food, but it was white. Uncomfortably so. I didn’t know if I wanted to eat it or not. I mean, it’s not supposed to be white, but the lunch lady was staring at me expectantly. But I didn’t want to eat it. I didn’t want to buy something I wasn’t going to eat. Well, besides cars and other stuff, but that’s no the point. Umm, where was I? Yes. I bought the food anyway, because the lunch lady had worked so hard and no one was buying it. I walked out of the lunch line, and realized I was the only person in the cafeteria who had the white food. Everyone was staring at me. I started sweating more. I don’t like sweating. I tried to wipe the sweat off my brow, but accidently sent the tiny beads flying straight onto some poor girls pb and j. She looked at me disgusted. I felt bad.

I’m going to move forward to Thursday. I hope you don’t mind. Well, it’s my story. That sounded mean. I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant. Umm. Would you mind putting some kind of bag over your face for the rest of the story? I just get really nervous around pretty people. Not that I find you pretty. I mean, I do, but, uuuhhhhh, I’m miserable. Could you please put a bag over your head? No? Okay, you don’t have to if you don’t want to.

So I was looking at the school newspaper. I didn’t really want to do it, but I did it because the newspapers editor sat right next to me for Stinger and if I didn’t read it, he would give me angry looks. And I really not fan of tension. I mean, I’m really not a fan of fiction. Tension! Ohhh. So, I was reading the newspaper, and I saw that there were a lot of people writing to the editor. They were some pretty mean comments.  He leered over my shoulder and saw what I was reading and asked me if I agreed with any of the comments. I did, so I told him. I immediately regretted it. We sat in silence for a while after that.

That’s the end of my story. I hope it helped. Uhh, do you have a ride home? You do? When will it get here? A while. Okay, we can just sit here then. Umm, nevermind.

"Wonder" by Marsha Mellow

Note: This piece is based on Raymond Queneau's Exercises in Style. Writers were given a very basic plot and then asked to tell a story in a certain style. Marsha has chosen to write a  story based on wonder.

One day, you will walk into the fiction aisle of the little bookstore two blocks from your house or of your school library that always smells faintly of school food, only to find it empty.

Desolate

It might be absentminded or it might be pressing, but you will wonder why

Maybe you will find some greater meaning to the absence. You will sit in the noisy library of your school but everything will seem silent as you stare,

As you wonder.

You might come to the conclusion that nothing fiction is truly fiction, not really. You might believe in aliens and spaceships and you might believe in love. Either way, you will think on this, you will think that every story and every character was real through a pair of eyes that saw a whole different world.

You might ache for the peace they must have found in a world of their own but mostly you’ll ache for their ability to craft something ‘fiction’ from a world that sometimes seems all too real.  

You might deduce the impossibility of the word ‘fiction’ or you might just ponder the idea that the quietly efficient librarians are re-organizing the shelves. Maybe they’ve found a better way than ‘fiction’ and ‘nonfiction’ to categorize books because, after all, there's a little fiction in everything, isn’t there?

You’ll ponder the contradiction in your thoughts and you’ll chew on the idea that maybe fiction means something different to everyone. You’ll speculate if there’s more to the word, if feelings could be fiction. You’ll imagine that ‘enlightened’ must be.  

You will hear murmuring as you arrive at this pensament. One will wonder why you are staring and the other will wonder why you aren’t in class.

You will want to tell them that it does not matter, that both of their questions are missing the point. You might wonder what the point is, loosely, almost foreshadowing.

You’ll walk past them, leaving your aisle of wonder, choosing to ignore their probing eyes.

The same feet will carry you away, you will walk absentmindedly through the hallways, you might end up in the cafeteria but you’ll probably wander into the bathroom.

The mirror will stare at you.

You will see that you are a written sentence.

There will be things that you might notice, your hair, the slope of your mouth, and the curve of your cheek

It will puzzle you and you might wonder if you are fiction.  

Something will move behind you through the reflection. It’s your friend, a supporting character.

They’ll tell you something, urge you to follow.

You’ll be curious, so you will.

The book will end as the fire mesmerizes your eyes. The thoughts will burn slowly through your mind and you might wonder where you’ll be tomorrow. Maybe you’ll be in love or maybe you’ll secretly be an alien. The plot might change or maybe the underlying theme. You wonder what the author will do with you next.

It won’t matter

You sit, watch, and speculate,

You’ll wonder if you’re real

You’ll know that you are.

"The Argument" by William Shakespeare

            “I talked to Jack today.”

“C’mon Niki, Jack?  You never talk to Jack?  You haven’t liked Jack ever since he smashed that vanilla-frosted cupcake in your face.”

“Well, I did.”

“Really?  I thought you had sworn off ever acknowledging him because of that incident.”

 “I know, but he just came up and started talking.  He was telling me how he just bought himself the newest iPhone.”

“Oh please, Jack never uses his own money.  I bet he’s got his dad’s bank account wired to his debit card.”

“Anyways...”

“And, of course he has the newest iPhone; he always has to show off with the newest material items.”

“Anyways, he told me about something that happened in the science hallway.”

“Science hallway?  Jack?  In the science hallway?  He finished all his science courses, he would never step foot in the science hallway.”

“He said that…”

“Jack hates school too!  He always skips!”

“He was in school today though.”

“So?  There’s no way he would be in the science hallway with all the smart kids.”

“He said that when he was walking through, Mr. Graney and Ms. Smith were sprinting down towards the front office.”

“Mr. Graney?  Running?  Oh please, he probably hasn’t seen a day of physical education since his last high school gym class.  There’s no way he would be running.”

“But he was...”

“And Ms. Smith too!  Have you seen those ungodly six-inch heels she wears?  If she ran, she’d have two broken ankles by now.”

            “Well, according to Jack, they were running.”

            “Not possible, if anything they were probably walking, taking their sweet time.”

            “Apparently, they were yelling and pushing the students to get out of their way.”

            “Niki, listen to yourself.  Ms. Smith, the sweet, quiet woman yelling at kids to get out of her way.”

            “I know.  I know.  But, Jack told me when he walked further down and looked into Mr. Graney’s room, Kevin Huntsman was standing there looking like he just had a freak science accident.  Jack heard that he messed up on his experiment and it caused it to explode in his face.”

            “Kevin Huntsman won the science fair last year.”

            “...Okay… and?”

            “And... he wouldn’t mess up an experiment.  He’s way too smart to mess up a silly little high school lab test.  Ya know, he was in one of my lab groups last year and everything had to be perfect; he even made me re-do my ponytail!!”

            “Maybe this was just a tiny accident he made?”

            “Yeah, right.  The kid is literally a poster child for OCD.  He’s probably got pocket protectors for his pocket protectors.”

            “Well, according to Jack-”

            “Seriously?  You’re going to believe Jack?  On this whole thing?”

            “Well, no- I mean, I didn’t at first.  But, then when I was walking down the science hallway-”

            “Why were you walking down the science hallway?”

            “To go to my science class..?”

            “You don’t have science today, Niki.”

            “I was turning in late homework.”

            “You do not turn in late homework.  I have never seen you not turn in a homework assignment in on time.  Homework is basically your life.”

            “I had a dentist appointment yesterday.  But, as I was saying, when I was walking down the science hallway I passed by Mr. Graney’s room and, oh my goodness, it smelled awful.”

“Mmm... I don’t think it smelled that bad.”

“No, trust me.  It was like walking through a dumpster park filled with skunks.  Every single student and teacher that walked by was plugging their nose.”

“I was just walking through there and I didn’t smell anything out of the ordinary.”

“Probably because you’re sick with a stuffy nose so you can’t smell anything.”

“Um... no I don’t think so.”

“Ugh, you never listen.”

"Long-Winded" by Lavender Li

Note: This piece is based on Raymond Queneau's Exercises in Style. Writers were given a very basic plot and then asked to tell a story in a certain style. Lavender Lee has chosen to write a "long-winded" story.

Today started out the same as most days in that I got up, got dressed, and walked about a half a mile to my school, but on this particular day, I had completely forgotten to do my homework for History, which happens from time to time, but is not that big of a deal because I can just go over to the school library and complete it there, either on the tables or at one of the many computers sitting against up against a wall along the back of the room instead of reading quietly like I normally do everyday during my lunch time.  

When I got into the library, the nice librarians asked me to check in, which I, of course, completed because it is protocol whenever someone enters the library before they are able to pick out a book and  I was no exception to this rigid rule. Walking over to the first computer in the row to get started on the review chart, which is due next period, I notice a very particular sight located in the back corner of the library, where the various fiction books are normally are stored on the many rows of shelves. Every single one of the fiction books have been removed and stored elsewhere; in a location I did not know, even though I am practically a librarian myself with the amount of time I spend in the library day after day. The absence of the books worried me because libraries are typically full of books, but today, which is turing out to be a very unusual day indeed, it is not, therefore defeating the very idea behind a library, concerning both me and others around me, I determine as I watch the bustling activity of staff and students around me trying to figure out where the books have mysteriously disappeared off too. This situation worried me because fiction is normally popular, but not popular for all the books to be checked out at the same time, so the only possibility to the disappearance has to be a theft. Behind the checkout desk, the librarian and an administer are conversing about the outrageous situation, trying desperately to figure out who could have done the task and where the books went, as they are no where to be found, not even in boxes or anything, adding to the mystery and leaving everyone in disbelief. After asking one of the staff members, who also has little idea of the book mystery as well, I leave the library with my History homework in hand and a head full of questions left unanswered and the book mystery remained unsolved. 

Later that day, in History class, after I turned in my freshly printed homework, the teacher stood before us and started lecturing, but, much to the teachers dismay, a frantic student bursted through the door exclaiming there is a fire the size of an elephant on the football field and begs for help with the problem in which my teacher quickly springs into action, calling people on her telephone as the rest of her students, including me, dart out of the classroom and straight to the field to see what was happening outside.

Once outside, the student that burst into my History room was right, there is a massive fire in the middle of the field, and a strong smell of smoke filled the air accompanied by a billowing pillar of smoke flying up to the sky from the flames. The students from my History class and I stand on the bleachers, carefully observing the fire, which continues to grow because there are people, who I assume started the fire, standing around the it, throwing something, that looked like blocks or bricks into the flames. It suddenly occurred to me that the fire was being fueled by the missing books from the library and the people throwing the books into the flames have something against the fiction section, maybe something along the lines of they do not like the plots or characters, though that is not a reason to destroy the books, especially when other people would like to be enjoying the literature. As I stare into the flames, my mind starts to wander on how the fire might be put out, the first of which is a firefighter coming to the rescue, but at the rate the fire is growing, it will engulf the entire school before they are able to get to the there, or another end to the fire could be by if it started to suddenly rain, or even the students could run on to the field with fire extinguishers, also stopping the fire. I hope the fire stops.

"Paranoid" by Justin Turner

The world around me slows as I head down the path away from school at 10 in the morning.  Every bird chirp and gust of wind makes me jump.  Trying not to break in a nervous I continue.  It’s my first time skipping class.  My heart races as I continue.  What if I get caught?  Or my gym teacher actually decides to take attendance? My record would be in ruins! I shakily move on and as I round the corner of the aging brick building.  My heart stops.  Movement.  Human movement.  I run back inside and dash into the library, before noticing that a squirrel was just crossing the street.  Phew. Then I realize my fatal mistake.  I’m in the library…without a pass.  I begin to think.  A million thoughts flood in my head.  Do I head back out? No I’ll look suspicious.  Tell them the truth? No way!  My mind swirls, before I realize, no one has said anything to me, the kid just standing at the front desk freaking out.  In fact there is no librarian there.  I step in, ninja-like; a little worried as to where they might be.  At least one is always here.  Then I see the familiar green backpack of Ms. Loot, the head librarian.  Something must have happened.  I enter to investigate.  I crawl behind the safety of the front desk, second guessing my decision.  I dash behind the shelf of new releases and towards the back of the library.  The fiction section is strangely empty.  I head there, curiosity overriding my fear.  Dust outlines the absence of the books that were there.  Someone whispers.  I instinctively drop to the ground.  While army crawling I cautiously peer around the bookshelf to see where the noise was coming from.  Ms. Denes, the administrator, and Mr. Traps, my chemistry teacher, were in a heated conversation pointing at the bookshelf several times.  Or were they pointing at me? I wasn’t sure because the librarians came out of the back room and the two staff members turn to speak to them.  This was my chance to get out.  I tiptoe toward the exit, but let out a quick but bloodcurdling scream when the fire alarm sounds.   I cover my mouth and dash out as fast as I could.  I snuck into the crowd of puzzled students catching the attention of my good friend Nancy.  “There’s been a fire on the football field!” Nandy says.  My eyes widen as I begin to put together the puzzle pieces.  Good thing I didn’t leave because I most certainly don’t want to be a suspect.  I don’t think I’ll ever try to skip again; I just can’t take this stress.

"...Huh?" by Casanova

Note: This piece is based on Raymond Queneau's Exercises in Style. Writers were given a very basic plot and then asked to tell a story in a certain style. Casanova has chosen to write a "confused" story.

Jacob Marley was dead.

Wait. Stop. That is not the beginning of our story. It's not even Christmas, that was months ago. Why would Christmas Charol come to mind? Anyway...

Now, which way was the library again? Take a right, then a right, then a right, then a right, then a left, right? Right.

Ah the library, it smells like the cafeteria. No, that's the gym. The library smells like books, but also a bit like dirty feet.

Charles is here to check out a biography on... no not a biography, it was book on penguins. Or was it a fiction? Yes, that was it, a fiction.

Oh, this is Charles, by the way. He likes to narrate life in his head. Especially his own life. He's doing it right now in fact. He talks in the third person in his head, but first person when talking. Or is it the other way around? No that one was right. For once.

But what's this? The fiction section is half full! Or is it half empty? I suppose it depends on how you look at the glass. No, no, no. Looking at the other shelves the fiction section is surely empty. This isn't just the common daze that Charles usually falls into, the shelves were nothing but metal... wait that's the public library, this school library has wooden shelves. A very common mistake.

Two students were standing by the shelves, conversing in hushed tones. One had white hair, wore large very large fashionable glasses from the 80’s, and was balding a bit. Perhaps the stress had deteriorated him. Oh, wait. That could be Mr. Andrews, a school administrator. Charles thought perhaps it was Leonard, the elderly man who had returned to high school to finally finish his education. Though that could be a television character and not a student at this school. The other student was not a student at all, but the school librarian, who looked a bit like J.K. Rowling, but also a bit like Ernest Hemingway. Or was it Gwyneth Paltrow and Morgan Freeman? Charles wasn’t sure. He didn’t even know who those people were, or who the school librarian was. Perhaps there was more than one librarian.

Charles decided to stay in the library. No, that’s not right. Charles decided to leave the library. He had no purpose there if the biographical section was empty, or was it the fiction section? No matter, Charles was illiterate and didn’t intent to read anyhow. Or maybe he was lactose intolerant. Thick skull or weak bones? He’d find out later, there were more pressing matters to attend to like ice cream in the cafeteria. Charles knew they’d have milky fudge pops, the sign on the door said so.

But before Charles could get to the hot… no, frozen fudge goodness, his friend Matt had news for him. Or was it his friend Ken? Were Ken and Charles even friends? Yes, of course they were friends, otherwise Ken wouldn’t say “I hate you.” so often. But Charles was fairly sure this was Matt.

Matt told Charles of a pie eating contest on the football field. Mmm, delicious apple pie. Oh, wait there were no pies. It was very clearly an animal sacrifice. This week they had an old goat. Oh, no that was that horror movie that Charles had watched last month, or maybe it was a scarring memory from his childhood, but he was pretty sure it was a movie. The football field had a bonfire going on. They were burning the fiction section. Or was it the biographies? Darn, Charles had to do research on the school librarian for a project… or was it Ernest Hemingway?

The doctor stopped Charles in this retelling of his story. “Charles do you honestly believe they were burning the fiction section?”

Charles was confused. “Of course! What else could have happened?”

The doctor continued, “Charles you fell off the bleachers at the school bonfire. You suffered pretty severe head trauma. The books in the fiction section were removed due to water damage from the pipe in the bathroom above bursting.”

Charles looked down, he was in a hospital bed. “Are you sure, everything seems hazy.”

The doctor smiled, “I know Charles, but soon enough your memory will return and everything will be back to normal. We’re going to run a few more tests, but right now I’m sure your family wants to see you. Your brother Ken has been waiting outside for hours. I’ll send him in.”

“Thank you.” said Charles, relaxing in his bed as he stared up at the floor.

Or was it the ceiling?