Whateley Independent Fiction
Whateley Independent Fiction (WhatIF)
Hard Being Pure - Part 4
Friday afternoon, June 24th
Judith stepped into the MCO building for the nth time since Noa's incarceration two weeks ago. She had fought to see her daughter, to get her out of here despite her near rampage at school, but every time Judith had been refused. Every time, until today that is.
Lucky she had a good lawyer.
Dr. Evans was perched on her shoulder, dressed in doll-like pants and shirt as was appropriate of him outside of the hospital. His mere presence drew the stares of many in the lobby, with just as many scowls and frowns. Let them stare. Let them understand the rage of a mother denied the sight of her child for so long.
The secretary averted her eyes and visibly ignored Judith. Without any patience for this sort of play, she ordered the sitting woman back to attention. “Get Mr. Chandler down now.”
The secretary ignored her for several seconds longer in stubborn denial. “Name?”
“Oh, he knows who I am. He's expecting me.”
A few more minutes of wait and the man of the day stepped out from a corridor leading deep within the building. Not a smile, not a greeting. “Follow me,” was all he said.
Hard Being Pure - Part 3
20: The Two Sides of Optimism
Sunday afternoon, May 29th
The ringing of the phone echoed in the otherwise silent house. It had barely rung a second time before being picked up by Judith, sitting in front of her computer in the office.
“Hello?” she asked, already guessing who it might be.
“I'm at your door,” replied an aged male voice, confirming what she suspected.
“Hang on.” Stepping out of her chair, Judith walked to the front door and opened it to a little white rat standing upright and holding two fingers to his temple. When he lowered his arm away from his temple, the line on Judith's phone went dead. “Dr. Evans. Come on in.”
Dr. Evans stepped into the house, looking around to appreciate to elegant simplicity of the entrance. Space was minimal, but it was well used, the small corridor that extended forward kept devoid of obstacle for easy access.
“You came dressed?” remarked Judith as she closed the door, addressing the fact that the white lab rat was wearing a nicely cut doll-sized brown jacket and a similarly small set of jean pants. This was the first time she saw him wearing any kind of clothes.
“I keep to the white fur for when I'm in service,” he explained, following Judith inside while throwing glances around at the decorations. “The white makes me look more professional. I wear more casual clothing outside of work.”
Jeffrey: Morning Star (Part 1)
The headache was the worst. I’ve been a little nauseous, and a lot tired the past three days, but this headache was killing me. I’d taken everything up to and including Tylenol 3, and my stupid head just kept aching. It felt like I was being stabbed in the forehead.
So waking up after a three day headache to find that day four was no better was mostly expected and completely disheartening. I reached up to rub it and hissed when my hands found strange little lumps on my forehead. Touching them sent a bolt of pain and nausea through me and I jerked my hands away hurriedly. What the crap?
Hard Being Pure - Part 2
10: Friends’ Visit
Monday early morning, May 23rd
Being able to sit and play with your toes was a great feeling after having been stuck in the same position for so long. Being able to speak also made things a lot easier than writing on a piece of paper, yet Noa kept her notebook close to her. It contained precious thoughts and personal reflections, and although she no longer needed it to express herself, she had grown to like having the book next to her in the past few days. It had been her only way of communication, and it was filled up with her half of every discussion she had had with other people since. It contained memories that she was sure a few years down the line would remain meaningful. Wherever she could, she wrote down the other half of her exchanges as far as she remembered them. Some of them she had forgotten the lines, and for some she improvised based on the lingering feelings of the moment. The talks she had with Milton and Richard in the park, the coin-catcher discussion with Carol, her mother and brother’s words when they came visit. All of these were precious.
She turned her head around, looking through the window from a point of view that she had thought out of reach just yesterday. Her neck still pulled in places if she turned too far, but not having the collar was as much a relief as being able to sit in the bed. The sun was bright, the cars and pedestrians moving along with their day. Normalcy was slowly seeping back into her life.
A Whateley Academy Independent Fiction Anthology
by Centaur Prime
Friday, 12:33 PM MST
Homestake Paranormal Combat Training Academy, Lead, South Dakota
A casual visitor to Lead, South Dakota could be forgiven for overlooking Homestake Academy. On the surface, it appeared to be nothing more than a dozen camps of teepees on the bluffs surrounding the former Homestake Gold Mine. These structures provided lodging for the students of the school. However, this view of the academy barely scratched the surface. Located below the ground were the administrative and classroom areas. Scattered across the bluffs were various native-looking structures. These provided sunlight and passage to the underground areas.
Nestled in the basin that had been the mine proper were 6 giant hoops, perched on poles. They were divided into two clusters of three, with the space between them forming the academy's skyball field. Built into the sides on the basin were bleachers, taking advantage of the natural slope of the space. On one side of the field, a structure resembling a construction trailer could be found. On the other side was a hemispherical dome, with a trio of tunnels leading from the rear into the hillside.
Centered under the dome was a devisor campfire surrounded by a dozen seated students. Standing opposite the entrance were two older ladies, one in her late-20s and the other in her mid-30s. All present were clad in war paint and deerskin shirts and britches. While the beading on the outfits varied, the beads on the back of the students' shirts formed a number and a name above the number. The younger of the adults was clad in a war bonnet, with a medicine pouch on her hip. A couple students were finishing off drinks from gourd cups, while the rest had set their cup off to the side.
Hard Being Pure - Part 1
1: Lighthearted Fretting
Thursday at noon, May 19th
When Magnolia stared at her ripped out stomach floating about in the toilet bowl, drenched in blood and vomit and bits of her last meal, she refused to think. She stopped thinking about the screams of the other girls in the school's bathroom around her. She ignored the movements of the paramedics and teachers running around in panic as they tried in vain to keep the rest of the curious students outside the door, and she tried for the life of her to distract herself from the intense pain and void that grasped her very being, spreading from that one spot where said organ was missing.
She couldn't do anything but draw a blank. Otherwise, she would have to admit the inevitable reality of facing death at the age of fourteen.
If only it had been a simple cold like Magnolia first thought.
A Matter of Fact
July 10, 2007. Ottawa
Cameron was dragged out of bed ... in a very literal term, Ken pulled the mattress off the bed frame, dumping the sleeping boy onto the floor, his RCMP guard then kneeled down beside him with his drawn piston pointing at the door.
"What!!! It's like - two in the morning?" moaned the groggy youth.
A Matter of Fact
March 27, 2007. Prince George, BC
Who might be so bold or crass to believe that they have the competence to decide what somebody else's life will be?
While a person may have a basic notion as to what is good and proper ... at least for themselves, encumbering someone else with the results of a poor choice; not a task to be taken lightly, or one for the faint of heart to attempt.
A Matter of Fact
The nondescript black sedan appeared to be nothing more than your typical passenger car; that is only if you consider the style of vehicle used by most every police department as looking like a normal vehicle. Upon a second look you might notice the 3 antennae and specialty wheels sticking out like a sore thumb, but the inside’s are where the differences really become obvious, the comprehensive communications package included eavesdropping onto local law enforcement, a satellite linked computer station, the back seat partitioned into a prisoner holding cell including restraints for the type of cargo MCO field agents often had to contend with, but the show stopper was the state of the art onboard 360 surround surveillance recording system. This car was the new MCO prototype undergoing field try-outs from Goodkind Industries Research and Development Labs.
Twisted Triplets (Part 1)
"Ow, my head hurts and I feel funny." Putting a hand to her aching head Stacy sat up. She seemed to be sitting on golden yellow bamboo, each shoot as big around as her cupped hands. Looking up she saw they were stored in a humongous warehouse, a metal roof far, far above her head. "Ah ... guys. We must be in China or somewhere. I don't think we grow bamboo like this in Australia," Stacy looked around in stunned amazement, turning slowly to take in the amazing scene. A poke to her bottom caused her to look down in puzzlement. "Lexi!" she screamed. "Where are my clothes!"
"Who is Lexi?" A red haired girl with pointed ears and nearly transparent wings as big as herself asked sitting up.
"You are. Alexis. Lexi. No clothes!" Stacy screeched pointing down. Hands, arms and legs pulled close attempting to shield her body from view.
"And still a pixie," Lexi sighed looking at her wings sadly.
"Well, at least you're our size again," Stacy suggested encouragingly, causing Lexi to stare at her in amazement.
"Um Stacy…," she started.
Seeing is Believing
Let us go
"Lady Astarte, welcome. I see we've all assembled."
"All?" Lady Astarte questioned, eyebrow raised. Night black skin-tight costume surrounded by a blue aura, Lady Astarte waved her sceptre at those assembled. Along with the man before her, wearing swimming trunks, a sky blue polo shirt and seated on a sun lounge beside the hotel pool, there were only three others present.
Lying on the sun lounge asleep, was a girl. She had on a one-piece swimsuit and her head resting on the lap of the man who had welcomed Lady Astarte. To the left and right of the sun lounge where two 'government types' in black suits, black ties, black shoes, black sunglasses. Both trying real hard to project Men in Black 'We are here for your protection' auras while glaring hard at each. Occasionally, furtively, frankly with more then a touch of trepidation, one or the other of the men would glance at the girl asleep on the sun lounge.
Lady Astarte floated down to stand at the foot of the lounge, her staff held theatrically out to her side. She gave the younger, sweating, MiB wannabe a hard glare, before turning back to the man sitting calmly on the lounge.
"Very few will run towards an 'End of the World' level event," he remarked with wry smile. "Even amongst those who have the skills to know its coming," he finished with a laugh, shifting absently to reposition the girl more comfortably in his lap.
by Polk Kitsune
It's the bottom of the ninth, bases empty, tied score, one out, two strikes, two balls. Pitcher winds up, curve ball-OOH! Batter took the bait, and missed. Strike three, second out. I swung my bat one more time in practice, letting the excitement rise in my veins. Looks like it's up to young Kyle Yates to keep this game going.
That was me, walking up to the plate, a young teenager, not too bad-looking in the school team's uniform, if I said so myself. I could almost hear the crowds cheering as I got myself in the best moment of the the game. Oh yes, it was fun to be out in the field, chasing the fly balls, and getting the catch, but there was always something about holding the bat in your hands, swinging hard, and scoring. This was the spotlight moment, my moment to make a difference, and I was looking forward to it.
I shivered when a hand fondled my ass on the crowded subway. The short skirt of the school uniform barely covered my panties, and the blouse was too tight, but they insisted I wear it, and this was the result. A large hand caressing me, as I tried not to blush in shame or bring attention to what was happening.
“Don't say a word, or everyone will know exactly what you are,” the man whispered in my ear, his hot breath reeked of garlic. I cringed as his lips touched my ear, tickling me, making me shiver. I prayed that no one in the crowded subway would see my humiliation, the blood rushing to my cheeks as my body and mind fought each other, one filled with lust, the other with shame. My knees grew weak, I gasped as his fingers slipped under my panties. A business man looked up from his paper when I leaned forward, accidentally rubbing my breasts against his arm.
He looked around nervously, but no one was paying attention, I might as well have been invisible. The business man folded his paper and put it under his arm, the frown turning into a small smile. His hand reached out, carefully unbuttoning my blouse watching me carefully to see what I would do. A gasp of horror made its way past my lips.
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