American Turtles Page 4

  It spotted my conch shell, and it immediately reached out and grabbed it. I figured that after finding what it was looking for, it would leave my bedroom. Instead, it began to shake the shell vigorously above its face. What was left of the sand inside the shell began to fall into its mouth. Was he eating the sand? I couldn’t tell. When it finished, the creature ran over to my fish tank in the corner of my room. I could tell it was becoming very excited, as its legs and toes began to dance in excitement and anticipation. I wondered if it was going to finish off its meal with my two goldfish.

  To my surprise, it began digging through my fish tank and scooping handfuls of sand. It stuffed the handfuls one by one down its throat. It was quite a sight. By this time, I was so startled at what was happening in front of me I didn’t know what to do. I was tempted to grab the creature and throw him out of my room, but at the same time I wasn’t sure what it would do to me if I angered it. It seemed to be minding its own business, pretending as if I didn't even exist. When there was no more sand left in my fish tank, it started walking toward my bedroom door. I shouted, “Who are you? What are you doing here?” Slowly, the creature turned around. With its round penny eyes, it stared me down.

  In a deep voice, it told me, “How dare you question my identity. You do not recognize me? Must I identify myself to you?” The creature leaped onto my chair and seemed to prepare itself to jump on me if I said anything that didn’t please it.

  I fidgeted uncomfortably. There was no way I had ever seen this creature before in my life. I responded, “You can’t just come into my room and make a mess out of it! Who are you?”

  A slow smile crept upon his face. He roared in a menacing laughter that pierced my ears. “Me? Why, I am who you think I am child. I am the Sandman.” And with those words, he disappeared into a flash of light.

  Beep beep beep beep. I woke up in cold sweat to the sound of my alarm. I looked around my room. Everything was in its normal location. I spotted my conch shell in my closet, and my fish tank was full—with its two goldfish and sand. I sighed in relief that it was all a dream. I slowly got out of bed, ready to start my day—until I heard a soft, yet unmistakably present sound at my bedroom door: knock knock.

  * * * Author’s Note * * *

  The opening of this short story (the quotation) was inspired by Neil Gaiman. In many of his works, Gaiman begins with one or more quotations. In this particular short story, the quotation sets the mood by creating a sense of alarm and danger. The first paragraph of this story also echoes the element of mystery that is apparent in many of Gaiman’s works. Additionally, while reading Gaiman’s stories, the reader is sometimes confused as to what is going on. He often purposefully leaves out crucial details until the end to create this sense of confusion, and I attempted to match this idea in my work by not revealing the identity of the creature until the end. Another aspect of this short story that was inspired by Gaiman was the replacement of Sandman’s eyes with pennies. This idea of objects replacing eyes was apparent in Gaiman’s Sandman comic books and his novel, Coraline. As a whole, the story also matches Gaiman’s often shocking and repulsive descriptions in his short stories. The creature in this story is not something that anyone could relate to, and it is something the average reader would fear or be disgusted by. The last element inspired by Gaiman was the literalization of the name, Sandman. In this story, the Sandman is literally a man (creature) who eats sand.

  81 Verses

  Shuming Wang

  If we look at the world without thinking about our own desires, we can see how everything is connected and part of the same whole. If we only think about what we want for ourselves, we can only see things as separate and disconnected.

  —Lao Tzu, Verse 1

  Separated by a murky strip of water, two peninsulas stared into each other’s souls. The circular domes stood like massive hives, etched with numerous baying docks and launching pads where flying drones and helipods could attach themselves to the surface.

  From there, if given access, members of the crew were scanned, implanted with identity codes and then funneled into the superstructure. Mostly, the superstructure involved traders who were willing to put up with the pain of the time freezes, hoping that the strain on the body would be worth the large profits. It was rare that somebody from the East would cross over and of course those from the West were prevented from doing so, if they had not taken the Oath of Barrenness at sixteen.

  Tao stood staring at the row of trees that caressed the shoreline as she stepped off the pod. The Westland lay before her as it once had twenty years ago. Pushing past the traders she walked towards the path to the left of the docking bay.

  She was surprised how familiar the smell of the pine trees was, even this close to the pods you could still feel their call. She now stood on the edge of the forest. She knew what was beyond the pines…mortality, illness, decay, and death but she also knew she was being called home.

  The Tao is what eventually wears down the sharpness of a knife, untangles knots, and softens the glare of bright lights.

  —Lao Tzu, Verse 4

  Tao turned for the last time and looked deep into the heart of the East Bank; its row upon row of steel buildings pierced the skyline, sending a shiver through her. Bright lights flashed constantly, never a time for peace. Everyone just doing… doing… doing. The fog began to loom under the darkness of the sky, covering the tops of the city.

  Tao turned to face the narrow path before her and as she stepped onto the pebbles, she felt its familiar embrace beneath her feet. She had forgotten too much for too long. She stepped into the woods ready to journey home. Her mind was a mix of peace and questions. Were Mother and Father still alive? Was the cabin still standing? Would the people of the village take her back?

  The questions were endless. She walked on, busying her mind with what people back on the East Bank would be doing now. A laugh escaped her lips as she saw Sym playing thought chess. His mind was exceptional at producing the telepathic board. Not many could hold the image and move the pieces with enough concentration to find the winning combination. She looked at the setting sun and her mind shifted to the party life of the East, always a party. She could hear the streets buzz and lights flicker in her head, the hard concrete that hurt her feet and the nightlife that never ended. Noise, lights, laughter, screams all became unsettling memories.

  Tao peered under her left wrist to check the time. The deep blue liquid glowed through her transparent skin, catching her eye. A silicon vial ran map-like up her arm pumping the elixir of life into her body. She was surprised how quickly the direction had changed since she set foot back onto the West Bank and the color, once totally deep red, now was electric blue, moving in the opposite direction, it was almost to the middle of her arm where the mark of infinity was tattooed in deep emerald green.

  ∞

  Tao stopped and rested by the large maple. Its leaves now deep red as autumn drew near. She traced the green sideways eight on her arm and laughed at her immaturity and lack of understanding. She looked to the sky and screamed, “I was only sixteen; sixteen is too young to take the Oath!”…too young to know the consequences but the hum pods flying over the canopy drowned out her cry.

  The Oath of Barrenness was sworn through a public initiation before the Mayor of the East Bank. All sixteen year olds that wanted the buzz of the East, the promises it held, lined up and denounced ever having children for the ability to live forever. Tao had seen her grandmother’s beauty disappear before her eyes as her body weakened with age. Death was the only end here. Death had frightened her; she could not understand why anyone would choose death over immortality… so what if you could not have children, children would only overpopulate the East Bank.

  Her face sunk in sadness as she remembered looking around for her parents. They could not bring themselves to come to the initiation. They were too embedded in the old ways, the old religion. She remembered her mother’s voice just before the initiation. “This is your choice,
we know this, but we cannot pretend we are not saddened. Never forget your name Tao. Never forget you were named after the old ways, the great book of wisdom. Let it flow through your veins, no one knows where it comes from; it is the source of Nature and your name is our gift to you.”

  She then placed an old well-worn copy of the Tao in her hand. It was wrapped in cloth and tied with dried grass. “Remember,” her mother’s words were soft and warm, “the more the heart moves, the more blood it pumps, I quote the Tao, Verse 5, but you can never truly know its meaning until you live as a mortal.” After her mother left the room, Tao placed the book under the floorboards of her room before leaving. Why would she ever need the old ways in the East! This was the last time she saw her mother and father.

  Unity and separateness look like two very different ideas, but they really come from the same source. This is called mystery, because it is hard to understand. It is like something hidden inside something hidden. It is the beginning of all mysteries.

  —Verse 1

  She made her way into the clearing. There it stood. Her cabin. The wood had worn with age but it was hers. At the door, a tree was intricately carved around the eight. She knew her parents had returned to the Earth. They had returned to the soil.

  Without looking back, she silently walked to her room. She knew it was under the floorboard three steps forward, two steps to the right of the door. There lay the Book of Tao, 81 Verses, exactly as she left it.

  Sitting in her mother’s old rocking chair, she gently unwrapped the book with the grass roots disintegrating under her fingertips. She placed her left arm next to the eight and gently traced over it with her fingers. The monotonous drone of the helipods broke her train of thought. She closed her eyes as her arm throbbed with pain as the vial changed. She felt the swell of her stomach. Finally, she understood.

  The female spirit lives forever. It is the spirit of the mother.

  —Verse 6

  * * * Author’s Note * * *

  Throughout “81 Verses,” I drew inspiration from Neil Gaiman’s short story style by mimicking his use of quotes before the individual paragraphs and the use of short paragraphs in the body of the narrative. The quotes that I used are from an old Taoist book, 81 Verses of the Tao, that was written by a Chinese philosopher about our treatment of others throughout our own lives. Similar to Gaiman, I picked quotes that would give a preface or introduction about the story and tried to use quotes as a segue between different themes.

  Nightmare Fuel

  Ranger Saldivar

  The Dream was planted.

  Everyone has a dream. Some are short-lived. Some dreams are persistent creations, like a maddening mosquito who overstays its welcome and whose perturbing presence eventually administers a painful experience upon the psyche of those around it.

  Vlad Culicidae lives by the power of Dream.

  His appearance was dreamy, in a physical and spiritual sense. His black miniature compound eyes were captivating. He was a fortune teller and his eyes appeared so profound that many people felt strongly attached. He wore a bright velvet cape that elevated his status. His specialty was predicting the future of his clients based on the dreams they came and told him. His predictions were outstandingly accurate, and word of his power spread throughout the world. His business, which started small, soon boomed into an international success.

  The Dream started to grow, slowly.

  Vlad’s presence was infectious in many major countries in Asia, South and Central America, Europe, North America, and the Caribbean. However, his presence was most notable in Africa.

  He was quite a buzz, there.

  Vlad’s daily routine was going to a random warm spot in each town in different continents and setting up his fortune teller booth. He did not have to go looking for people as he knew they would come to him, eventually. The more people that came seeking predictions the easier his job.

  His dream job was reality.

  The Dream came to him one day and told him what he must do. “Follow your Dream, but do not follow your own,” Vlad remembered.

  An old Dream was turned to dust.

  People kept coming to him and disclosing all of their dreams to him. He showed them on his crystal white orb an image of a tall pale thin man with black starry eyes. “This is the image of your nightmare, the personification of Death,” he told his clients. Vlad’s response to the identity of the apparition was, “It’s the Sandman who will visit you in your dreams, grip your pillow tightly and remember to fear the entering of the night.”

  The nightmare fuel is full, at last.

  Vlad set upon the second half of his day visiting homes. He could see the alarm of fear present in the sleep-deprived eyes of the clients he had seen during the day. “Now it’s time to sleep,” he thought to himself as he landed stealthily on his victim. He injected them with his proboscis and soon they had the sleep he felt they needed. He was not designed to do so, but it did not hurt to get a little snack in return.

  The plant of Death was ready.

  Flying away from his latest victim, Vlad took delight in his dream job. He was glad to get rid of the nuisance that had prevented him from achieving his full potential. He was halfway in thought when a gothic black figure forced him to evade. Landing, Vlad took notice of a girlish figure who he knew all too well.

  A dream in danger of Death.

  Vlad knew the charming figure before him was Death personified even though the ankh around her neck contrasted with his knowledge. “You have been quite busy,” she said while staring down the adversary.

  “I can’t help it, I was made like this,” he responded.

  “You were made to inject nightmares into people, but that was not enough and you had to kill my Dream,” she exclaimed with a tone of sadness.

  “He was not fit to carry the burden of Dream, so turning him into a pile of dust was only appropriate, and now the power of Dream is where it belongs,” he boasted. “Besides, even if you could do something to stop me, my power will live on.”

  A dream match was soon to happen.

  Death did not hesitate to attack and Vlad did not think twice about running away. He knew all he had to do was keep running and he could escape her, there was no need for combat. He had the power of Dream and his own so there was no need to risk anything. He began to take notice that she had been keeping up for a long time. He decided it would be best to hide and conceal his energy and let her pass him by, as his size gave him the advantage. He looked down on the ground and noticed a patch of flowers. A single purple-tinted flower caught his attention immediately. He thought it would be best to hide inside that plant and wait out his pursuer. Vlad made a dash for the flower and he felt oddly connected to it.

  A powerful Dream consumed him.

  “Pay the price, I am your life, I am your pain, I am your Dream, made you real,” proclaimed a voice. The purple Venus flytrap began to grow larger and soon a tall figure began to tread the earth.

  “Nice to have you back Dream,” said Death as she watched Dream take his full form.

  “I thought I would never regain my full body again, after my own nightmare creation had smashed my dreams,” he explained.

  Two dreams had become one.

  “Well Vlad certainly did cause us to obtain quite a negative reputation,” Death explained, “You and me are now perceived as negative images.”

  “To think I created him with the hope he would help me spread dreams and make my dream job easier,” he sighed.

  Dream embraced Death and Death had a Dream.

  Following that day, Dream came to own a helm in the shape of Vlad’s facial features. Dream did so as a reminder that they were both one. He added the dust that was a part of his vanquished form to his bag. Finally, to avoid giving anyone more power than they should have, he locked most of his power in a ruby as a reminder for caution.

  Vlad’s presence had left a lasting impression on people’s dreams. Dream and Death were now seen as negative sym
bols. Vlad’s legacy extended beyond his death. From the day he died, the world was aware of a new flying menace. Vlad had recreated himself. Mosquito swarms infested all corners of the world. Some of them were as powerful as the original; others were not as feared and were captured for further examination. Eventually, the disease some carried was able to be neutralized, but it could never be eradicated.

  The dream of Vlad lives on.

  Nightmare fuel is in no short supply.

  * * * Author’s Note * * *

  Neil Gaiman’s Anansi Boys inspired me to develop a mosquito origin story. His novel is inspired by the Anansi of West African folklore. He stated that to develop a story it is best to begin with thinking about a folk tale and ascertain, “What does that mean? What does that mean for the rest of the world?” I took his advice and thought of a mosquito and the African folklore explanation for why mosquitoes buzz in people’s ears. In the folk tale, the mosquito kills an owl after spreading a chain reaction of panic. Found responsible, the mosquito now buzzes around people’s ears to find out if everyone is still angry at it. I also took Gaiman’s The Sandman: Overture and got the idea for an origin story based on the creation of a nightmare. Like the Corinthian, Vlad Culicidae, whose name comes from Vlad the Impaler and the Latin name for the mosquito, is a part of the nightmares I could see Dream creating (and not expecting to disobey him). Also, I realized that I could not talk about references to Gaiman’s work without specifically utilizing Dream and Death. I could create an interesting short story on the mosquito’s origin and subsequently show, “What does that mean for the rest of the world?” Clearly, my short story shows the implication of the existence of mosquitoes and what their purpose is in life.

  After Cinnamon

  Dalia Sherif

  Everything around them was green. Actually, not just green but many different colors. And oh she knew. She knew she was surrounded by color because she could now see.

  She saw the sunny and the shady trails, the tall and the short trees, the old and the young turtles, the big and the small leaves; and she saw him. She saw him in his black and orange vivid coat.