I write.

Kristen. Amateur author. Coffee addict.

[anchorthewaves]

Thieves of Bakkaj

Chapter One: The Water Sees and Understands – Ryker Chapter Two: The Moon’s an Arrant Thief – Rhia Chapter Three: The Death of Brannaw the Younger – Apata Chapter Four: The …

Hey all! I’ve moved my writing to other pastures... Check out the fantasy serial story a few friends and I have been writing! It’s got weird creatures and thieves and magic and some of the most interesting characters you’ll ever meet in a web serial! 

[anchorthewaves]

A Bank Robbery for the Books

When Heathcliff came to, he found himself slumped in a rusted grey folding chair, one of five arranged in a haphazard circle.  To his left was an older fellow with long white hair, a matching beard, and a stupid-looking beret sitting cross-legged and humming to himself.  Next to him a young woman with purple eyelids and gravity-defying hair lay across the seat of the chair.  The next two chairs were occupied by men of about the same age, one dressed in proper regency clothing and looking about with confusion and disdain, and the other looking, well, like a pirate.  He came complete with bedraggled dreadlocks, a questionable pistol, and a smell that could turn butter.  When he saw Heathcliff looking at him, he smiled wide, gold teeth drawing attention away from his wild but calculating eyes.  In the middle of the circle was a set of "HELLO MY NAME IS" stickers and a small blue caterpillar smoking a hookah.

"Whoooo are you looking at?" the caterpillar intoned.  He blew a smoke ring in the general direction of Heathcliff's face before waddling over to the girl and poking her with his hookah.  "Wake up, you stupid girl," he said.  When she finally awoke, he turned to address the rest of the group.  "I've brought you all here today to--"

"I'm sorry," the nicely dressed gentleman said, "you brought us here?" "Yes, Darcy, you stupid boy, I brought you here." "That's Mr. Darcy," he said stiffly.  "Why?" The caterpillar gave a long suffering sigh.  "Because I need you to rob a bank." The pirate started to laugh, the sound echoing through the otherwise empty room.  When he finally caught a breath, he looked around the room.  "You've got the wrong crew, mate." The caterpillar looked up at him, very much not amused.  "On the contrary, Jack, I've got exactly who I need."  He paused and looked at each person in turn.  "I'll leave you to figure out the plan.  The information is here."  He vaguely gestured toward the pile of stickers.  Enjoy."  With that, he waddled off and crawled out a crack in the foundation. They all stared after him.  Jack was the first to get up, staggering a few steps before reaching the pile.  "Anyone have a pen?" he said. The old man stopped humming.  "I should have one here somewhere," he mused, fumbling through his robe.  He pulled out a book, a few vials, a ring, and even a frog, before pulling out a quill pen and inkwell.  "Aha.  Here it is," he said, handing the tools to the pirate.  The frog hopped peacefully away, unaware of the confused tension in the room.  Ignoring the others, Jack began to write on one of the stickers: "CAPTAIN" (underlined twice) "Jack Sparrow."  He stuck it to the side of his hat.  When he set the quill down, the old man looked intently at the pile of stickers and started muttering.  The quill picked itself up and started spelling out "Dumbledore" in a flowing script on one of the other stickers.  Heathcliff and Mr. Darcy looked at each other with a mutual disdain, and the girl got up and started walking toward the door. "Where are you going?" Dumbledore asked, head cocked to one side, quill still embellishing the sticker. "Out," the girl said, purple dress swishing as she turned, one hand on her hip.  "I'm not robbing a bank." "Yes, you are," the caterpillar's voice said.  The girl walked toward the door defiantly, hips swaying with poorly contained attitude.  When she went to turn the handle, however, it wouldn't turn. "Who didn't see that coming," Mr. Darcy muttered.  Heathcliff chuckled. "It seems the only way out of this is to do what the nice, blue gentleman wishes us to," Dumbledore said. "Thank you, Captain Obvious," the girl said.  She sat down, arms crossed, hair sticking out a foot behind her head. Jack looked at her, one eye squinted.  "How do you not get a headache?"  She didn't deign to answer.  Jack shrugged.  "Who are you, anyway?" "Megara," she said.  "But most people call me Meg." "Do you have a last name, Miss?" Mr. Darcy asked. "Just Meg," she said, shooting him a look.  "So how are we gonna rob this bank?" "Which bank is it?" Heathcliff asked. Jack picked a sheet of paper up off the floor and read it.  "First National Bank.  Downtown." "Well," said Dumbledore, who's name tag had somehow ended up on the front of his robe, "We'll need a distraction, someone to hack in, someone to run away with the money."  He ticked each person off on his fingers as he spoke.  "Oh, and someone to drive." "That's only four," Mr. Darcy said. "I'll supervise, of course," Dumbledore said. "Meg can be the distraction," Jack said.  "She's pretty; they'll go for it." Meg narrowed her eyes.  "Excuse me?" "That was a compliment," Mr. Darcy said, confused.  "And maybe she should be left out of this.  It's not right for a woman to be committing such a crime." "If you didn't look genuinely concerned, I'd knock your teeth in," Meg said.  Jack laughed. "I can get the money," Heathcliff volunteered.  "Sparrow.  Do you think you could get us to the safe?" "Sure I could," Jack said, standing and dusting off his hands, "or my name's not Captain Jack Sparrow." "We have no idea what your name is," Heathcliff muttered. Ignoring him, Jack continued.  "But I think Darcy here," he said, laying his hands on Mr. Darcy's shoulders, "would be better suited for that job."  Mr. Darcy winced, but said nothing.  "I can be the distraction if the lovely Meg isn't so inclined."  He paused and cocked his head.  "So are you up for the job, mate?" he said, leaning his head over Mr. Darcy's shoulder. "I can do it," Mr. Darcy said though clenched teeth. Jack clapped him on the back.  "Great!"  He sauntered over to Meg.  "Darling?"

[anchorthewaves]

Road Trip

"Okay, so--if we take this road--past this road--and then turn on to 77--and then follow that until we hit the ocean--we'll be good, right?"  He pulled his finger down the route as he talked, map spread every which way on his lap, the straw from the fast food Coke making a small stain in the middle of a wildlife preserve.   

Zac set his phone in his lap and looked over.  "Hm?"    

"Road, road, 77, ocean."  He paused.  "Dude.  We live in the age of technology.  Why aren't we just using our smartphones to get there?"    

"Eric.  I told you.  We're going to do this right, or we're not doing it at all."    

"And right means maps and beef jerky and hickville directions, I know, I know."  He gave a long-suffering sigh.  "Fine.  But if we get eaten by some primitive in the mountains, I'm blaming you."    

"I can take that."    

"And, while we're on the topic, I think no smartphones should mean no smartphones.  If I have to do this without technology, then you have to stop texting Karen.  You can call and let her know you're alive every night.  If you're alive."  He hummed a banjo refrain and waggled his eyebrows to emphasize his point.    

"But--"    

"Come on.  When was the last time we did anything like this?  Wait.  No.  Don't answer that.  Before Karen."  Zac's face couldn't seem to decide between shame and anger.  "I'm not mad at you, dude.  And I'm not saying she doesn't exist.  I'm glad she exists.  I'm just saying that you don't have to text her for five minutes straight every time we stop for gas.  Or food.  Or a stoplight.  And I'm sick of being your ghostwriter.  No smartphones means no smartphones.  Either that or I get to navigate with Google maps and a global positioning system.  Your choice."    

"If it bothered you that much, you should've told me.  I would have--"    

"It doesn't bother me.  I said that.  At least I think I said that.  If not I'm saying now.  But I think this trip would be fun just the two of us.  Like old times.  No smartphones."

"I mean, I thought I was doing good-- It seemed like you two are friends--"    

"Dude."    

Zac looked up.  "Fine.  No smartphones.  And you're not mad."    

"I'm not mad."  Zac stared for a minute, and Eric tried to put on as un-angry of a face as possible.  He apparently succeeded.    

"Good.  Then let's blow this popsicle stand."    

"Dude, wait.  Do they sell popsicles here?"    

"I don't know.  Maybe?"    

"...Can we check?"    

"You go.  I'll pull this baby around to one of the parking spots."  Eric hopped out of the truck and set off toward the mini-mart.  "Hey Eric!  Get me one!"    

Eric raised one hand but didn't turn.  "Already planning on it."  He stopped suddenly and turned around.  "Hey.  While I'm in there.  See if you can figure out where we're going.  And, just so you know, the key thing is supposed to be in the bottom left-hand corner.  Not the top right.  So you know."

[anchorthewaves]

She has hair that goes on for miles and a faraway expression on her face.  Her blue eyes speak of mischief and careful calculations, flashing innocence when she catches you looking.  Her hands spin stories in the air, long, ink-stained fingers weaving in and out of imagination, seamlessly intertwining realism and idealism.  Her smile says, "trust me, this is a good idea," and deepens whenever some innocent soul does just that.

[anchorthewaves]

Peace of Mind

come to the sea those who are weary, come  see  the  waves, watch how they play how  they  fight how  they  tumble and crash and cavort toward  each  other ending  in  nothing.

come  see  the  gulls, see them flying and crying and crashing and diving in  a  fight  to  survive but  they  love  it.

[anchorthewaves]

Stars

When we danced I held her tight / Then I walked her home that night / 

And all the stars were shining bright / And then I kissed her.

She looked up at the night sky, Beach Boys lyrics running incessantly through her mind, but quietly, like they were pleasantly playing in the background.  And it was, really.  Music was always in her head, and she had learned to let it play on repeat without it interfering with any of her other thoughts.  She wandered aimlessly, not caring where she was going or where she would end up, for once trusting her feet to keep her from falling.  She stared, watching the clouds float past, only noticing their movement by the blinking stars.  She turned in a circle without noticing, her eyes trained only on the grey clouds passing faster, for once, than time.

 ***

Laying on their backs in the grass, she pointed out Orion.  That’s his belt, at least, she said.  I’ve never really been able to see the rest of him.  But that’s his bow.  She pointed again.  And that’s the deer he’s hunting.  Or the bear.  Or whatever.  She tried, as she had been trying since she was little, to see the lithe hunter smiling with the thrill of the hunt.  It’s just dots, she told him, sighing.  Just dots trying hard to make something of themselves.  A little like us, I suppose.  But maybe there’s a lesson in there somewhere.  There need to be a bunch of us working together to actually make something of ourselves.

Or not, he replied.  Since even working together they’re not successfully doing anything.

 ***

It’s a pity there aren’t stars out tonight.  He walked beside her, fingers itching to take her hand, trying hard to think of something he could say in response to that.  You’re prettier than the stars, he thought.  But she would misconstrue that.  He didn’t want to push his luck too far.  She tripped, and he caught her out of instinct.  He didn’t let go.  I really wish there were stars.  You can’t even see the moon.

I don’t have to, he said.  She, for the first time, didn’t resist.  She stayed in his arms.  She was stiller than death, but he didn’t notice.  He was happy.

 ***

The night embraced her, enveloped her.  She was always happiest when she was outside.  Nothing seemed to matter when the universe was on display just for you.  You could look up and see galaxies, worlds, infinity.  You could see into the past.  You could imagine the future.  She wrote story after story in her mind without using words.  She found constellations her father had pointed out when she was a child.  She saw aliens she had befriended in a novel or three.  She stared up and contemplated just how infinitesimal she was in comparison.  It didn’t matter what the rest of her life was going to be.  It didn’t matter if she had clear life goals.  What would happen would happen.  Que sera sera.  Tomorrow is a new day.

I didn't know just what to do / And so I whispered I love you /

And she said that she loved me too / And then I kissed her.

[anchorthewaves]

Insomnia

He stared at the wall at the end of his bed.  It was white, and unlike the rest of his room, completely blank.  See he was a collector--not a hoarder, a collector.  A hoarder can fall and be buried alive by the piles that he's hoarded, never knowing what exactly it was that killed him.  A collector is different.  A collector knows exactly what he has.  And each item he's collected has a certain place and a specific memory attached to it.  The collector remembers everything about what he has collected.  He's like a hoarder with mild OCD and a borderline eidetic memory.  And he cares.  He cares deeply for the people and places with which he's come in contact.  And he remembers, whether he wants to or not.

But the wall at the end of his bed was blank.  He had thought about putting a poster there once, but he was afraid he'd rip it off during a nightmare.  He had strong legs and an even stronger mind.  The curse of creativity is a vivid imagination.  It's one thing to imagine a chase scene for a comic or a novel--which he did all the time--it's another to believe it's actually happening.  He never dreamt in black and white.

It was three in the morning and he had given up trying to sleep.  He switched the lamp on next to his bed and sat, staring at the blank wall that reminded him why he slept with a light on.  He tried to write; the notebook sat on his lap staring at him, as blank as the wall at his feet.  He usually liked to collect written memories as well as physical ones.  His notebook was filled with triumphs and hurdles and people and people and people.  But there was nothing to write about tonight.  Nothing that he wanted to remember.  Just thoughts chasing themselves around and around his head until he thought he would explode from the pressure of them.  Nothing he wanted to remember.  It was mocking him, that blank page.

So he wrote.  He wrote and he wrote and he wrote until that page was filled.  Then he filled the next one.  And the next.  And the next.  When he was finished he ripped the pages out and tore them into little tiny pieces.  But it didn't matter.  It was down on paper.  He could picture it.  He would remember it.  He just hoped, if he couldn't come back to it, that in a few years it would be gone completely.  It would be replaced by new thoughts playing bumper cars with his brain, but that had to be better than this.  He switched off the light, laid down and closed his eyes.  If he fell asleep he could escape it all for a few hours.  He prayed to God for good dreams.  The sooner he fell asleep the sooner tomorrow would come.  And the sooner it would start all over again.

[anchorthewaves]

144 (Part 3)

3.

Walking to her car, Jessie pondered the Allosaurus.  She balanced it upright on her hand as she walked, looking at the infuriatingly simple letters of her name and simultaneously admiring the detail in the little plastic figurine.  It’s not like it was hand-painted—it probably came in one of those big plastic tubs at toy stores or party supply stores—but it was pretty intricate nonetheless.

“Everyone’s handwriting looks the same in sharpie,” she muttered to herself as she unlocked her car.  This wasn’t strictly true, but capital letters written by people without pretty handwriting do tend to look slightly similar.  This was the concept to which she was referring, although she didn’t really even believe it herself.

Sitting down, she tossed the dinosaur and her still message-less phone in her car’s cup holder.  With her key in the ignition, she finally tuned in to her surroundings.  Chloe was always scolding her for tuning out of reality—“You’ll miss all the interesting things happening around you!”—though there were generally no consequences and she rarely ran into things.  Still, occasionally Chloe had a point.  If Jessie had been paying attention, she would have noticed the little plastic Velociraptor taped to the hood ornament of her car and the piece of paper tied to one its feet and fluttering in the wind.  If she had been paying attention, she could have quickly grabbed it before getting into her car.  As it was, she had to get out of her car to get it, thus attracting Chloe’s attention and causing her to drive her car to the empty spot next to Jessie.

“What’s going on?” Chloe asked.  “Everything okay?”

“Yep,” Jessie replied.  Not wanting to lie, she leaned over and straightened the hood ornament.  “Just making old Joey here look pretty.  A handsome guy like him can’t afford to look sloppy.  You know how it is.”  She winked at Chloe—more specifically at Chloe’s car, whom she had named Rachel—and moved to get back in her car.

“What’d you just put in your pocket?”

Jessie reluctantly pulled the dinosaur out of her pocket, slipping the ribbon off his foot as she did.  She held her hand out to Chloe, who gasped.

“It’s not that exciting,” Jessie said, laughing despite herself.

“Do you know what this means?” Chloe asked, sounding, in Jessie’s mind, like a cartoon character who just solved the mystery of who turned the singing hedgehog’s hair white.  Jessie silently promised herself to stop watching so many kids’ shows.

“That someone knows I like dinosaurs?  That someone enjoys slightly creeping me out?  That I now have magic powers enabling me to fly?”  Jessie was quickly thinking of other options, but Chloe shot her a look warning her not to voice them.

“That someone likes you,” she stage-whispered, attempting conspiratorial but hitting closer toward teaching someone to lip-read. 

“Whoa now,” Jessie said, “this means nothing of the sort.  We don’t even know it’s a guy leaving them.  It could just be a practical joke, a wild goose chase.  Or it could be Chelsea’s idea of fun.  Or,” Jessie made her eyes wide with feigned surprise, “it could be you.  Who knows.  Anyway, I need to get home.  I’m tired.”

“It’s not me,” Chloe said.  “And Chelsea’s still at school.  But fine.  Meet me for coffee tomorrow?  I want to know who’s doing this.  And why.”  She waggled her eyebrows.  Jessie had always been jealous of that trait; she had been working at it for years and she could barely lift one eyebrow.  Some people just had the gift.

Jessie, not seeing a way out of it, agreed, and waited for Chloe to drive off before pulling the paper out of her pocket.  It wasn’t a note at all, but a ticket.  Specifically a ticket to a little kids’ soccer game at the local rec center the next morning.  She flipped it over, but nothing was written on the back.  That’s odd, she thought.  She hadn’t been to that rec center in years.  The last time she was there, they had turned it into an indoor skating rink for the winter.  She had gone with Rex, a friend from high school, because he told her he had never gone ice skating.  She spent the evening holding his hand to keep him upright and resisting the urge to laugh and call him Bambi.  She succeeded, no thanks to his antics, and it was quite the enjoyable evening.  But she hadn’t seen a soccer game there in, well, ever.

She threw the ticket and the Velociraptor in the cup holder with the first dinosaur and drove home.  Laying in bed, she pondered the pros and cons of going to the game.  They chased each other around her head until she started seeing dinosaurs flying over little kids kicking a soccer ball at her.  She decided she would decide in the morning whether or not to go to the game.  She set her alarm, though, just in case.

[anchorthewaves]

144 (Part 2)

2.

Before she knew it, six-thirty had rolled around.  She changed into something socially acceptable (her roommate had informed her freshman year that sweatpants did not constitute “real” clothing), checked to make sure she had her pepper spray, keys, and enough money to get her out of trouble, and headed toward the restaurant.  Assuming her mystery dinosaur man was someone she knew, she kept her phone close awaiting further instructions.  When she had locked her car and started to approach the front doors and her phone was still message-less, she started to worry a little.  She considered turning around and going home, but she had the gift card, after all.  If worse came to worst, she could eat and enjoy a meal alone.  This place really did have good burgers.

She walked through the doors with what she hoped looked like a purpose, but stopped just inside to get the lay of the land.  A girl she vaguely recognized from high school was working the hostess’ podium.

“Jessie!  Hey!”  Jessie felt slightly bad about not remembering the girl’s name, but no one needed to know that.  She mustered the warmest tone and friendliest smile she could.

“Hey!”  It fell slightly short of friendly, but landed comfortably somewhere between bemused and amicable.  “I’m meeting someone here, I think.”

The girl smiled.  “I know.  She’s here already.  Follow me.”

She?  Slightly disappointed, although not admitting it to herself, Jessie followed the girl to a booth in the back where her best friend from high school was sitting with a smile bigger than a burger place—even a gourmet burger place—warranted.

“Chloe?”

“Jessie!”  Chloe hopped out of the booth to give her friend a hug.  “How have you been?!”  Chloe always did have too much enthusiasm, Jessie thought, not unkindly.

When she finally let go, Jessie sat down and started looking at the menu.  “Pretty good!”  She tried to match Chloe’s enthusiasm, but couldn’t keep it up for long.  “A little bored out of my skull waiting for my internship to start, but otherwise happy as a clam.”  She paused, briefly pondering why clams were happy, and whether or not campers were happier, and which applied to her at the moment.  “And you?”  She finally looked up from her menu to see Chloe conspicuously scratching her nose with her left ring finger.  She had apparently been doing that for a while judging by the state of her nose.  There was also a diamond on that finger that definitely had not been there the last time the girls had seen each other.  Jessie decided to play it coy, just to be annoying.

She made a noise of sympathy and mustered her best look of pity.  “Your allergies came back?”

Chloe frowned and switched fingers.  Jessie laughed.  “So,” Jessie prompted, “tell me all about it.”  Without further ado, Chloe launched into the story of how her boyfriend of three years, Matt, proposed on the beach after taking her to their first-date restaurant and the park where they first kissed.  Jessie laughed, smiled, and cooed at all the right places, but engagement stories are interesting only due to the person telling them, not the story itself.  This one was particularly cliché, but their friendship made it as interesting as a good political scandal.

After the proper amount of ooh-ing and aah-ing over the ring, Chloe asked the question that inevitably follows (and generally subsequently ends) all discussions of relationships with a single person.  “So how’s your love life going?”

“It’s pretty great,” Jessie deadpanned.  “I’ve been seeing this really attractive guy for almost a year now.  It’s getting pretty serious.”  She considered adding something about how they chat online for two hours pretty much every day now, but figured that was probably overdoing it.  She contented herself with nodding seriously.

“Really?!”  Chloe practically squealed with excitement.

“No.”  Jessie laughed.  “You know me.  Tabula rasa.  Blank slate.  All day, erryday.”

Chloe frowned and thought about flipping her off again, but decided against it.  “Stop misusing philosophical ideas.”  She paused for emphasis.  “And don’t ever say that again.”

Chloe rolled her eyes.  “Guess.” 

At this point the server brought out the burgers they had ordered somewhere between the first-kiss park and the beach proposal, and the girls were silent for a few minutes as they savored their respective burgers.  Jessie wondered how she ever could have considered becoming a vegetarian and silently thanked dinosaur man—woman, she corrected herself—whom she had completely forgotten about until now.  Before she could say anything, however, Chloe decided she wasn’t done with their previous topic.

“What do you have against guys, anyway?”

Jessie smiled, somewhat sardonically.  “Really the better question is what do guys have against me?”

“You just need to talk to them!”  Sensing a lecture coming—nothing she hadn’t heard before—Jessie decided to change the subject before Chloe could really get going.  If that happened, Jessie was pretty sure she could walk away and Chloe would continue talking.  While tempted to test that theory, better safe than sorry, Jessie thought.

“I appreciated the dinosaur thing, by the way.  Very clever.”

Chloe looked confused.  “What?  I thought you did the dinosaur thing.  I found a plastic dinosaur on my front porch with a gift card to here and a note telling me to be here at six forty-five.  I figured it was from you.  What are you talking about?”

“I got the same thing!”  Jessie was so surprised, she didn’t have to fake the enthusiasm this time.  “There was a little stegosaurus on my porch with the same gift card and note.”  She knew better than to ask what kind of dinosaur Chloe had received, and she chose to omit the comment about being vegetarian.  “Except my note said seven, not six forty-five.  Weird.”

“Really weird.  Who do you think sent them?”

“Well until about two minutes ago, I thought it was you.  So I don’t know.”

The server set their respective checks on table while walking by, then stopped approximately three steps from their table, tilting her head back slightly as if she had just remembered something.  “Jessie!” she said, backing up, “I almost forgot.  This was found in the lobby—”  This place has a lobby? Jessie wondered.  “—and Louise figured it must be yours.”  The server pulled a two-inch tall plastic Allosaurus from her apron pocket and set it on the table, then walked away.  Jessie studied the plastic dinosaur as Chloe squealed in excitement.  Her name was written in sharpie on the dinosaur’s side, and on its belly was another message in smaller letters.

I knew you’d come around.

Followed by another stupid smiley face.  Jessie checked it over twice for another message, but that was it.  She was slightly disappointed that there wasn’t another clue.  Silence from the other side of the table indicated that Chloe had asked her a question.

“What?” she asked.

“I said, what does it say?”

“Nothing,” Jessie said, exasperated.  “Just my name and something about coming around.  No clues.”

“Coming around?  What does that mean?” Chloe asked.  “Isn’t that a clue?”

“Probably just to the restaurant,” Jessie lied.  No longer in the mood for socializing, Jessie saw her chance and took it.  “This place is getting busy again, let’s pay and get out of here.  Awesome news about Matt.”  She did her best to produce a genuine smile.

[anchorthewaves]

144 (Part 1)

1.        

Only three things were commonly known about Jessie Fields: she was smart, she was quiet, and she really loved dinosaurs.  So it should come as no surprise that when someone wanted her attention, the request came via miniature plastic dinosaur.  It had happened before—dinosaur stickers on her locker in junior high, a dinosaur topper on a cupcake for some birthday or other, a six-foot-tall T-Rex in a party hat painstakingly (and very poorly) cut out of paper and taped to the door of her college dorm room—but a three-inch-long plastic Stegosaurus playing ding-dong-ditch at the door of her parents’ house was a new one. 

It was common knowledge that she was home from college for the summer, so the little plastic figurine sitting on the front porch was obviously meant for her.  Why its owner didn’t just call her or send a text message her way, she had no idea.  But when she answered the door to find the dinosaur, a note, and nothing with opposable thumbs, she shrugged and let herself be captivated by the little mystery for the afternoon.  It’s not like she had anything better to do.

After making sure the little Stegosaurus wasn’t bugged (both literally and figuratively—she really hated spiders), the first matter of business was analyzing the note.  Upon unfolding it, she first noticed a gift card to the local gourmet hamburger joint.  She smiled, thinking how nice it was to have a mystery in which free things were given to her.  Usually her mysteries involved finding out who ate the last of her cereal, and the moral dilemma of whether or not to attach a passive-aggressive post-it note to the next box.  It was an ongoing struggle trying to balance not being a doormat with burning all her bridges.

The next thing she noticed about the note was the sloppy letters but overall neat handwriting.  She hated that sort of handwriting—she could never tell if it was a girl’s or a boy’s.  Plus she was all sorts of jealous.  Her own handwriting, while decent when she spent time on it, sloped all different directions at the best of times, and was barely legible at the worst. 

Heard you were thinking of becoming a vegetarian.  Don’t.

The words were followed by a cute but simple smiley face, probably to show that the sender wasn’t actually trying to give her life advice, but just offering a friendly suggestion.  While she thought the smiley face was overdoing it, it was good that it was there.  Otherwise she would have been offended at the assumption that the sender had any influence in her life whatsoever.  Since coming home from college, she hadn’t had anything good to rant about in weeks, so if a chance were offered, her brain would have taken it.  As it was, she was merely curious.  She thought about taking the note upstairs to compare to all the notes and cards she had saved over the years, but for now the mystery was more exciting than the answers.

A gust of wind from the open window blew the note off her lap and onto the floor.  It landed upside down and she noticed five more words written in the same irritating handwriting.

Today.  Seven o’clock.  Be there.

It was awfully presumptuous, she thought, for whoever left it there to assume she was home and had no plans.  He or she (Jessie assumed it was a he, if only for an imaginary face to put to her musings) was right, of course, but it rankled her that he knew that.

            It was four o’clock now, so she had approximately two and half hours to kill before she was supposed to meet whoever it was.  She assumed she was supposed to meet him at the restaurant to which he gave her a gift card, but still she worried that she was wrong, that he would be waiting for her somewhere else and she had just missed it.  She sat down at the piano in the living room that no one ever played and tried her hand at the sheet music that had been sitting there months, if not longer.  She had never taken proper lessons, but she got a few of her friends to teach her things here and there, so she could play passably if she really put her mind to it.  So she put her mind to it in order to escape obsessing over the note and the impending meeting, and lost herself in the music.

[anchorthewaves]

Chasing Freshman

The boy in blue flannel was leaning against a tree a short distance away from the orientation table.  He always liked to know what was going on, though he hated being asked to help.  So he carefully chose his spot in the shade, a few feet off the beaten path.  He had one hand in the pocket of his dark jeans; the other was holding a pipe somewhere near the vicinity of his face.  His eyes were half-closed in a purposeful look of nonchalance.

"Have you gone mad?"  He leaned his head back to look at the boy with pink hair lounging on the lowest branch of the tree.

"Only slightly."  The boy with pink hair grinned widely.  "Think about it, Khaz--"  He was interrupted from saying anything else by the boy in blue flannel turning to stare at a confused girl in a light blue sundress.

The pair had seen the girl a few hours earlier, when Khaz had pestered her and ultimately saved her from running into a herd of cheerleaders.  Khaz was thinking about saying something; the pink-haired boy decided to put a stop to it.

"Leave her alone, she'll come find you soon enough."

"Ches--"

"I said, leave her alone.  Remember the last one?"  Chester paused for emphasis.  "She'll come to you.  Let her."

Khaz sighed and took a long draw from his pipe.  He looked up and blew the smoke in a thin line directly at Chester's forehead.  It was just purposeful enough to be insulting, so Chester leaned down and flicked him in the nose, making him cough.  Letting gravity pull him the rest of the way down, Chester landed gracefully on his feet.

"Now, about what I was saying earlier..." he trailed off, letting Khaz fill in the blanks.

"You want to do that now?"  If Khaz were anyone else, he would have sounded slightly incredulous.  As it was, he simply sounded bored.

"Yes."  Chester grinned.  "Let's go bother some freshmen."  He paused, giving Khaz a chance to push himself off the tree.  "It is, after all, your favorite pastime."  His grin seemed to take up half his face as he disappeared around the nearest building.

He had a habit of doing that, Khaz thought, of disappearing.  Khaz walked slowly in the direction he thought Chester took, letting his feet guide him.  His subconscious was always better at keeping up with Ches than his mind was.  He let his mind wander over their plan, finally allowing himself to smile.

[anchorthewaves]

Maid of Honor

She sat on the edge of the bed, head in her hands.  The strung lights cast long shadows as she curled her perfectly manicured toes against the rough wood.  It was the first time in a long time her toenails had all been the same color.  She covered her eyes so she wouldn't have to see the stupid white painted flower.  Instead images from earlier flashed through her mind.  His smile, his bare feet, the way his skin looked against the white button-down.  His frown, the hurt in his eyes... She fell backwards with a groan.  This is not how this night is supposed to end.  Her fingers traced patterns in the white bedspread as she stared at the wooden ceiling and the impractical mosquito net.  This night was supposed to be perfect--for both of us.  A single tear dropped from her eye.  This is stupid, she thought.  Screw them.  Screw him.  He's worthless, anyway.  She didn't mean to say it out loud.  She hadn't heard the door open; but she heard it close.

[anchorthewaves]

Open Letter from an Anonymous Dead Poet

Would you all just stop      with those monotone mispronunciations           and unfortunate interpretations?    I've run out of room to roll over.

[anchorthewaves]

Ode to a Stereotypical White Girl

Can you just not?

I just got these Uggs and I don't want to spill my double tall  vanilla latte on them.

You know what I mean?

Like the other day my boyfriend bought me a dozen daisies. He said they reminded him of spring, like I remind him of happiness and new beginnings.

I don't even like daisies.

The tool was too cheap to buy roses.  So I dumped him and now I'm with Joe, who knows my order at Starbucks because he's a manager there.  I love a man who's going places in life.

[anchorthewaves]

Leadership

Dunkin Donuts sells donut holes in boxes of twenty-five or fifty.

The average coffee pot holds twelve cups and takes seven minutes to brew.

You just have to roll with the punches sometimes.  Pick your battles.

Have you ever threatened someone with a drumstick?

It's surprisingly effective for how used to the pain you get.

People do what they want.  So make them think they actually want it.

You can get anywhere if you just look confident enough.

[anchorthewaves]

Let's do the cha-cha of humanity.

That tree, darling, is six-hundred years old.

They showed me the rings (I even counted them

        myself) when they cut it down to preserve it here.

Isn't it wonderful the progress we've made

                                   in saving the environment?

[anchorthewaves]

I'd like a venti caramel macchiato, extra whipped cream. It's been a rough day.

I think that's the point, though. 

You can be in a strange city,

you can look out the window 

and recognize nothing you see,

but still you know where you are. 

With its bad jazz music and

its too clean cut corners,

its giant phony photography 

and its blatant merchandising,

you've been there before. 

You're home.