French Toast's Stories

The Wizard and the House, Cont.

2008-03-11T02:53:57Z

The room was small, with a rough looking wooden bed in the corner. A small dresser with a cloudy mirror and a pitcher of water was against one wall, and there was a thick braided rug on the floor. A small window near the top of the wall let in what little light filtered through the mist and forest around the house.

I splashed a bit of water from the pitcher on my face and wiped it off with the sleeve of my sweatshirt. I pulled back the covers on the bed and slid under the thick blankets with a sigh of relief. I pulled the covers up to my eyeballs and wiggled around until I was comfortable, and quickly fell asleep.

I woke up an instant later. Dammit. I thought. I just fell asleep. I sat up and looked around slowly. I was back in my own room, with my digital clock glaring at me and screaming to wake up. I slapped it quiet, and rolled out of bed. What a weird dream…

The Wall, Cont. "The Wizard and the House"

2008-03-11T02:42:12Z

Suddenly, the thick wooden door in the wall creaked open and a tiny, wizardish looking man shuffled out. With surprising speed, he moved to the hands and slapped it on the top. It instantly collapsed into a small black triangle with a picture of a fist on it.

“Sorry about that,” wheezed the little wizard. “They’re always escaping.” I nodded slowly, an awkward smile spreading across my face. The little wizard picked up the triangle and shuffled towards the door. “Come on then,” he said. “There’s all manner of creatures in these woods at night that you don’t want to meet.”

Obediently, the girl and I followed. What choice did we have? The little wizard led us through a courtyard into what looked like a small house.

“Let’s get you two to bed,” he said. “Lots to do tommorrow.” He led us down a dimly lit hall to two doors adjacent to one another. “Go ahead and choose,” he said. “They’re both the same.”

I chose the door on the left.

The Wall. Continued. (Sequel to "Dream.")

2007-06-21T04:21:30Z

“What be-” I was beginning to ask, when I saw something come out of the forest. It was like hands, floating in the air and constantly moving, opening and clenching into fists. It constantly made a soft, quick ticking noise as the hands moved towards me. I backed away slowly.

“Um, girl? What are those?”

“You’ll see.” She tugged forcefully on the tassel hanging from the overhang of the roof on the wall. A deep bell tone pealed through the forest. It hit me almost like a physical force, throwing me off balance and making leaves on the ground flitter about. The hands stopped moving for a moment, then continued towards me. I pressed myself against the wall and looked around fearfully, flipping my hair out of my eyes as I did so.

“What now?” I asked.

“We wait.”

“Okay.” I wasn’t okay. The hands were close now, about a two yards or so away. I looked closely at them, and the animated hands appeared to be something like pictures on black, triangular pieces of material connected by stiff black wires.

The Wall. (Sequel to "Dream.")

2007-06-21T04:01:19Z

“Follow me.” the girl said. I raised my eyebrows as she strolled off down the narrow, winding path, but when she turned out of sight, I sighed and jogged after her, ducking through the dark misty underbrush. Thorns scratched my legs and ankles as I caught up to her.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“You know.” she answered tersely.

“Um. No I don’t.”

“Hey, you’re the one controlling all this.”

“I am?”

“Some of it.”

It seemed like we had been walking for at least two hours. I kept seeing flickers of black on the edge of my vision, but when I turned to see what they were, all I saw was the forest.

“Are we there yet?” I groaned.

“Do you want to be?”

“No. I want to keep walking through this forest.” I said sarcastically. “Of course I want to be there!”

“We’re here.” the other girl said.

I saw a wide, short wooden door set in a thick brown doorframe against a light brown stucco wall. A small roof was on top of the wall, composed of orange-brown tiles.

“Go on then, ring the bell.”

The Boy who Cried wolf... But better!

2007-06-14T23:12:03Z

We all know the story of the boy who cried wolf, right? Okey dokey. Not particularly realistic, correct? Well, here’s a new version for you.

The wolves were eating the sheep, blah blah blah, so the villagers said that someone had to guard the sheep, and when the wolves were seen, they would be required to cry wolf. Okay. Simple. First night, a boy goes out to guard the sheep. Thinks to himself, oh wouldn’t it be funny if I pulled a funny prank. He (duh) cries wolf. The villagers come to the sheep field, and seeing that there is, in fact, no wolf, kick the boy’s ass. So then he decides that he isn’t gonna pull that shit again.

The End.

Dream. (Cont.)

2007-06-08T04:30:03Z

White doesn’t go with these shorts, I thought, trying my luck. The sweatshirt turned a deep blue color. I slipped it over my long arms and zipped it up to the middle of my bony chest, instantly feeling warmer. I flipped my bangs out of my eyes and kept walking. I whipped around when something crunched behind me.

“Sorry,” a girl who looked to be about my age whispered. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” I turned to face her. She was a short, solid girl, with short, dark brown hair and a splatter of freckles across her nose.

“Who are you?” I asked.

“Depends.” she answered.

“What kind of answer is that?” I snapped.

“Don’t know. Who are you?” she inquired.

“Alex.” I replied.

“Oh. So you’re the one, then.”

“Excuse me?” I said incredulously.

“You’re the one who’s going to save us all.”

Bubble Girl (Cont.)

2007-06-06T04:29:22Z

The girl’s interpalm communicator chimed. She held her hand up to face the sky. The bluish hologram of her mother’s head and shoulders projecting out of the tiny lens implanted in her palm was nearly invisible in the bright sun.

“Come on home, Jennie,” she said with a tired smile. Jennie closed her hand into a fist, picked up the pony’s reins and swung up onto its back. The pony’s pace picked up now that he knew they were heading toward his home and his food. Jennie put the pony in his small stall in the tractor shed and hung his bridle on a nail. She turned around to leave, and nearly ran into the slightly chubby girl standing behind her.

“Lookin’ for your brother again, Jennie?” she sneered.

“Come on, Eva.” she sighed. “Can we do this another time?”

“He ain’t comin’ back, Jennie. Them brush burners don’t )never come back.” Eva spat. Jennie tried to step around the stockier girl. Eva stayed in her way. Jennie’s interpalm chimed again.

“Eva, if you don’t want to get it, you’d better leave.”

Dream.

2007-06-06T04:16:31Z

I lay down in my small twin bed, my big feet hanging over the edge. I stared at the ceiling above me in the darkness. Turning my head to look at the clock, I groaned at the green digital numbers teasing me. My eyelids fluttered once, twice, and then closed. I began to dream.

I was in a forest. A dark forest of blues, browns, greys and blacks. I was still in my pajamas, and I shuddered as a wind blew through the trees. Goosebumps raised on my arms alnd legs, and I turned three-hundred-sixty degrees around. I saw nothing but the trees. I turned again. This time I saw a long, brown winding path stretching into the misty forest. I looked around and started walking. The mist sweeping across the path was cold, and I rubbed my arms.

“Dang I wish I had a sweatshirt.” I said. Something white appeared above the path. It looked like an article of clothing hanging on a branch. I went to it and pulled it down. I held it up, and saw a clean white fleece sweatshirt. I wish it had a zipper I thought. It had a zipper.

My Grandparents lake

2007-05-29T23:09:34Z

I miss the lake. I really, honestly do. My Grandparents used to live on a glorious lake, with inlets and marshes. Our uncle would bring up his speedboat from his farm, and our fathers would water ski, and the rest of the cousins would tube. The boat was an ancient mastercraft, with a wide sparkling blue stripe around the hull, interrupted by yellowing white stars. It broke down all the time. We swam in the lake, jumped off the docks, and sunned ourselves on the tethered raft. We paddled around the sandbars in the red canoe, and fished for bluegills and perch in the channel. Across the street was another lake that the channel was connected to.
In july, we would listen for the bang of firecrackers and wait for them to whistle through the trees on the other side of the lake. Turkey buzzards were constantly wheeling in the sky, and with a bit of sunscreen and life jacket, everything was great.

Bubble Girl

2007-05-24T23:40:44Z

The girl trotted on her scruffy spotted pony to the edge of the dome, the pony’s hooves stirring up a cloud of brown dust on the packed dirt road. The girl was about twelve years old, and her long blonde pigtails flopped against her back. She pulled back on the pony’s reins as they reached the end of the road, and the tiny animal gratefully halted. The girl walked slowly to the thick, bluish glass and pressed her face and hands against it. She could see a wide radius around the dome that was cracked and dry, and beyond that, an ominous forest. Behind her stretched the dirt road, with a field of wheat and a field of corn on either side. The pony idly switched his tail at invisible flies and chewed on the bit of his bridle as the girl stared out over the waste land, then turned away.

Stone that moves

2007-05-24T21:22:54Z

James, his parents and older sister, Susan had booked a small, fourth floor apartment for two weeks in a building across the cobbled street from a small church in Europe for the Christmas holiday. They took a cab from the airport to the building, where they got their key and sent them upstairs. The apartment was small, but the three bedrooms suited the family perfectly. Each was sparsely furnished, and Susan quickly began taping pictures of her friends on the walls in her room. James, tired from the long ride on the plane, took his suitcase to his tiny bedroom and sat down on the bed. He looked around. The wallpaper was dingy, but the bed was clean, and there were some drapes on the window above the radiator. James stepped to the window and looked out. He could easily see the front of the church across the way, and there were several gargoyles decorating the gothic windows and water spouts. He looked down to see people strolling by, and then looked back up. One of the gargoyles had moved.

A child among giants

2007-05-24T01:47:20Z

The first marching band marched by, perfectly in time with each beat of the drums’ cadence. The little girl watched rapt from the curb, longing to march along with the band. Her mother held her tightly by the hand, and the little girl idly sucked her other thumb. Suddenly, she broke away from her mother and stepped into the street. Her mother grabbed her hand again before she could get away, but the girl wriggled out of her grip. She stepped between the ranks of the band just as they were beginning their song, and first note washed over her. She stood among the marchers, gazing up at their gargantuan bodies and gleaming instruments. A few looked down at her from the corners of their eyes as they marched by as she darted between them.

Sequel to "Preaching at the corner of Clark and Waveland"

2007-05-22T21:45:46Z

But sometimes, even when it seems like there’s no chance it could happen to you, someone listens. Maybe it’s the outsider, maybe it’s the executive passing by. Sometimes they stop, sometimes it’s just a split second of eye contact when you know they heard you. Did they understand? You wonder. That’s not for you to judge. You answer to a higher power, one they have only begun to understand by hearing your words. At the end of the day, when the police come by and tell you to “Move along, sir” you know that what really matters is that you have brought a new thought into each person who listenedd to you’s life, no matter if they listened for two hours or two seconds before the light changed.