The Return of the Sea God

I’m not sure if you remember Poseidon, my gorgeous sea blue Rolings guitar, and his striking strap from Zeus himself.

I’m not sure if I remember him either.

It all started with his theatrical debut around the start of school. That was all fine and good, because he’s a great show stopper, but I’m afraid he couldn’t handle the heartless criticism.

He became withdrawn and listless.

I love Poseidon, so naturally, I couldn’t bear to see him like this and when he hid in his closet, I let him be.

Today, though, he has announced his return to the land of the loving, and as I’m sure we’re all very glad to have him back, maybe I should write a song to welcome him.

Do you think I should, or would that just embarrass him?



Robbie’s List

DISCLAIMER: Loosely based on an actual future occurrence.

It was a day for looking back, but we never imagined how many times we’d look back to it with varying emotions.

Although we didn’t know it at the time (and why should we? We were all between the ages of 13 and 18!) this was the last time we would ever be together.

Maybe that was why we were being so nostalgic.

We kept talking about things from our relatively long and expansive past, like the time we tried to start a club and the time we started a guild for the club’s survivors.

Eventually, we decided to start a game of dodgeball. It seemed like a major blast from the past, and we even played the No-Street, Stay-In-The-Yard version just for the memories it brought back.

Zan was It first, because he was always It first.

He was chasing Robbie with the ball, and no one was really surprised when Robbie ran into the street. We were laughing, keeping our distance from Zan, and yelling at Robbie to remind him that the street was off-limits this game.

Zan was yelling for Robbie to get out of the street too, but it wasn’t until we looked back and thought about it that we realized his tone was much more urgent than ours had been.

It was a matter of seconds between the moment Robbie stepped into the street and the moment we realized why Zan was being so insistent.

I’ll always remember those seconds. They were the last time I was truly happy.

A dark sedan with every indication of being a stereotypical “bad guy” car drove by without stopping. It shuddered slightly, and there was a sickening crunch. I’ve never let myself remember what I saw; it was too awful, but the sounds won’t go away.

By the time the immediate shock wore off enough to let us move, the sedan was gone.

We’d all been trained in first aid and CPR, but for some reason no one taught us to save a car crash victim.

I was dialing 9-1-1 and Spike ran inside for help. Zan crouched down next to Robbie, desperately looking for some way to save him.

“9-1-1, what is your address?” came the not-so-helpful dispatcher’s voice.

“I don’t know!” My shock-affected mind couldn’t process the question. “Just hurry! The car got away. He, he’s, he might not make it! Hurry up!”

“Calm down, ma’am. Is someone hurt?”

“I hope he isn’t hurt very bad. If you hurry, he might be okay, right?” Even in this state of desperation, I knew it was a far shot.

“What’s your name, hon?”

“Ariel,” I whispered. “But I’m okay. Robbie’s hurt. You’re coming, right? Please send an ambulance.”

“Okay, Ariel,” she was probably saying something important, but my attention was drawn to Zan.

“Ariel,” he was whispering through white lips, “Ariel, I don’t think we need an ambulance.”

I stared at him in horror, tears filling my eyes, and I felt my phone fall out of my hand. I dropped to my knees beside Zan.

“No,” I tried to say, but no sound came out. If I said no, it might not be true, so I tried again and again until all I could do was rock back and forth on my knees, crying over the badly mangled form of my friend in front of me.

It seemed like hours.

Whenever I remember that day, I remember how long everything seemed. In reality, a cop that happened to be on patrol drove by as I dropped my phone, and while I was realizing the truth, he was calling dispatch with our address. An ambulance was dispatched, Zan’s parents were running out with Spike, and a few neighbors were hurrying over to make sure everything was okay.

The ambulance came, a lot of pictures were taken, Robbie was taken away, and a few police officers were asking Spike, Zan, and me a lot of questions.

“I know this is hard for you,” was pretty much the only thing I remember hearing clearly. We heard it way too many times sitting on the front porch that afternoon.

“For the last time,” I heard my hollow voice say surprisingly clearly, “we were playing dodgeball in the yard. We decided the street was out of bounds. Robbie was running into the street. We were telling him he was out of bounds. The black car hit him, it didn’t stop, the windows were tinted,” my voice took on a little intensity and I heard myself start yelling, “there were no plates, I called 9-1-1 right away, Spike got Zan’s parents, Zan ran to help, there wasn’t anything we could do, that cop got here first, Robbie’s never coming back, and we’re all failures aren’t we?”

Tears blinded me as I jumped up and stalked into the house.

Behind me, I heard the officer giving Zan his card and saying “If you remember anything else,” before I slammed the door and ran to the toy room.

Zan and Spike must have followed me as fast as they could, but when they got there, I was standing frozen in the door, staring at the table we’d all been sitting at when we decided to play dodgeball.

They stood behind me in confusion until they saw what I saw.

“Oh, no. That’s not. Oh, Robbie,” Zan and Spike murmured behind me.

I moved toward the table. In a touch of foreshadowing, I guess, we’d all written bucket lists. When we walked in the room, Robbie’s list was staring us in the face.

We could hear our parents all talking upstairs about what they should do with us, but none of us wanted to leave each other just yet.

Zan reached for the list with a strange look in his eyes and grabbed his car keys with the other hand.

“Where are you going?” we asked.

“We can’t leave his list undone. I can’t leave his list undone. He deserves this, guys, and I’m giving it to him.”

I looked at Spike as Zan walked past us, and without having to say anything, we each knew what the other was thinking.

That’s how all three of us ended up in the cab of Zan’s pick-up truck, without even saying goodbye to a life we knew we’d never see again.

Here’s to Robbie. Here’s to closure. Here’s to the best friends a guy could have. And here’s how we’re gonna do it.

If you’d like to see more of this story, let me know in the comments below.

Window Seat

So here’s a short story I just thought up and wanted to share.

DISCLAIMER: The views and concepts portrayed are purely fictional and do not in any way express the views of the author.


Audrey and I have been best friends for eight years, and in that time, the only thing we’ve fought over was who’d get the window seat on the bus.

Now in tenth grade, we’d usually wake up and start snap chatting each other as soon as we looked presentable.

When I was ready to go, I’d text her and tell her I was leaving. Then I’d wait about five minutes to let her pack up the piles of homework she was checking for completion.

We usually left our houses at the same time, and we’d meet each other in the middle of the road and walk to the bus stop together.

Today was no exception.

I really love Audrey. Even if she’s the smart, hot, teachers pet and I was voted most likely to be a juvenile delinquent last year, we’re best friends.

We just understand each other. We might not understand what it all is, the way I don’t understand her OCD and she doesn’t understand my sloppiness, but we understand that those quirks make us who we are. We certainly won’t embrace those qualities (much to my mother’s disappointment) but we also couldn’t imagine the other without them.

When it comes to choosing an outstanding quality, I admire her brilliance as evidenced in her 4.0 GPA. She says she admires my capacity to love selflessly.

The most unique thing about me is my night visions. The most unique thing about her is that she doesn’t question them, and she even understands a few.

Those visions are always the meat of our morning conversation, although today I pretended to still be concerned with yesterday’s.

While we continued the conversation, I found myself contemplating our unique bond. The only times we really talked were before and after school, or school events.

Neither of us went to the other’s birthday parties. As soon as we got to school, she would be surrounded by a crowd of hopeful next boyfriends and I’d meet up with my own “bad boy” version of her crowd.

We’d never even been inside each other’s houses.

But somehow, she understood me.

I turned my attention back to the conversation.

“How hard do you think it would be to stop a prediction from coming true?” I asked, referencing the moment when a certain phrase or warning entered my vision.

“You can only delay it. It’s going to happen, and delaying it will probably only make it worse,” she answered thoughtfully.

I didn’t see how it could be worse. Then, as the bus pulled up and she turned to say her classic line, I understood.

“Let’s flip for the window seat. Heads I win, tails you lose.”

“Let’s not,” I threw back, a chill of fear settling down my spine as I saw the possibilities.

“Aw, come on, maybe you’ll win this time!”

“Audrey, you of all people should know that when it comes to cheating, I will always win,” I reminded her.

“Maybe you’re just rubbing off on me then,” she suggested.

Suddenly, the choice was mine, but it was an impossible choice. Or it was until I looked into her face through what she called my third eye. In that instant, my choice was made.

“How about Bear-Hunter-Ranger this time?” I suggested.

I knew that my idea could potentially destroy her trust and our long term friendship, but at this point, the only thing that mattered was getting the window seat.

“Sure,” she agreed, and a pang of bittersweet sadness went through my heart as I thought, street smart is something she’ll never be. I’d have to find someone new to protect her. If I had time, I would have.

The moment she turned her back, however, I ran past her to our seat. After three seconds, she turned around pointing an air gun at…nothing.

“Sal!” She yelled, following me angrily. “Do you just not care anymore? You held out on me all morning about what you saw last night, and now you’re lying to me just to get to a stupid seat?”

I could have pointed out that she never found it stupid when she won, but the bus started moving, and I was forced to force to renter my one true nightmare.

“I’m sorry, Audrey,” was all I had time to say before my third eye opened and last night’s vision returned.

This time, however, everyone else could see it too. Eighteen wheels of steel barreling toward the bus.

I turned to face the window and tuned out every thought except for “Save Audrey” as my nightmare came to life.

My friends helped me protect the bus, but they demanded payment.

So it was that the entire bus was protected except for my seat, the barrier between me and my best friend being a foreshadow of the days to come after I joined my friends forever.

At the impact, the past, present, and future all flashed through my mind. I saw Audrey live a good life. I saw the police puzzle over the complexity and impossibility of the accident, and the last thing I saw was the vision from last night.

Along with the scene in front of me was my warning:

Avoid the window seat at all costs.

And wuv…twoo wuv…will fowow woo…fawebuh

My feet hurt. My back is killing me. Basically my entire left hand has been jammed in the past week, the most recent being eight hours ago. My face got a little closer to the ball than I’d planned. I ran almost the entire game. My legs are dying on me.
There is not a muscle on me that is not complaining painfully.
The single reason I am in any pain at the moment is because of something I had to do for basketball.
I put absolutely 200% into our game and we still lost by thirty.

But tomorrow, you know where I’ll be?
And you know where I’ll be after that?
Study hall.
But do you know where I’ll be as soon as study hall is over?
I’ll be on that court pouring my energy into improving my game.

Our next game is Friday.

If we win, I will never lose my love for my sport, but if we lose, I will still always love this game.


Basketball happens to be my passion, the one thing I can do no matter what mood I’m in and feel better for it, and my first true love.

I absolutely have my brothers and coaches to thank for that, but a bad coach or a family problem can’t take it away.

So this post is for all the teams that have ever beat mine, all the players that ever trash talked my game, and all the boys that don’t think I’m good enough to play with them:


Caption This: Screenshot


There you go! Challenge. Excitement. Adventure. Contest. Caption.

Wait…this is the post, not the tags. My bad.

Question of the week: Can you get addicted to Wheaties and Cheerios?

For the past two or three weeks, I’ve had one of those two cereals for breakfast every morning. I eat something normal for lunch, and then I eat more cereal either for dinner or before bed.

Now I can’t get into a normal schedule without cereal. Seriously, my mom made waffles this morning, and I ate some, but I wasn’t ready to take on the day. I ate cereal, and now I’m more ready to be alive.

Next up, it would be too cliche to tell you about the dream I had, so we’ll gloss over that one.

In case you were wondering or have been looking into my life, you already know that something totally awesome is happening on Thursday.

I won’t say what. That would be cheating, and I’m pretty sure it’s also a song.

The moral of the story is, got a picture, want a caption, comment below, and extra points if you can name where it came from.

Ten Reasons to Love Steven Moffat

To all the whovians who want to strangle me right now, don’t worry. I’m making it up as I go.


Well then, down to business!

1. He keeps his promises.

Just this once, everybody lives!” (9th Doctor, S1 E10)

And everybody never lived again…

2. He didn’t write “Doomsday” (S2 E13).

Or Journey’s End (S4 E13). Or The End of Time (S4 E17). Or Last of the Time Lords (S3 E13).

3. Two words: River. Song.

Face it, people, without Moffat, the words “Hello, sweetie” would be meaningless to us (and not graffitied on the oldest cliff face in history). Granted, “D-d-do-do-don” would not be the shortest most heart-breaking phrase, but still!

4. He has excellent comic relief.

Every episode, no matter how frankly terrifying, has at least one very funny joke. He has written 32 episodes to date, so I won’t give specific examples of each, but here are a few to prove my point.

5. The Empty Child: Captain Jack Harkness is introduced.

6. The horse from The Girl in the Fireplace.

Time Crash was one big joke.

7. Ten meets River Song in Silence in the Library.

“Fish fingers and custard” from The Eleventh Hour.

8. The Time of Angels has:
“Do you trust this man, Dr. Song?”
“I absolutely trust him.”
“So he’s not just some madman then?”
“…I absolutely trust him.”

The Big Bang has Rory’s “Trust the plastic” line. Also the Drunk Giraffe, but that may have just been Matt being clumsy.

The Doctor has a hilarious line after he jumps down a chimney on Christmas Eve in “A Christmas Carol”.

9. “This is cold. Even by your standards, this is cold.”
“Or, ‘hello’ as people used to say.”
The best part about this scene from The Impossible Astronaut was a minute later when River smacks him.
This episode also includes my all-time favorite River Song quote: “They’re Americans!”

10. Sherlock

So back to my original statement, maybe I didn’t make it up, but I refer you to Rule #1. Not to imply that I’m…but you get the point.

My Sister Abby (Part 35)

I sat on the sofa totally confused. How on earth does this happen this badly? That wasn’t anywhere near right.
She heard me by accident, she was obviously already upset, there was nothing about that conversation that went well. At least it was over, though.
That was when mom came in. “Jessica,” she started very firmly, “did I just hear you yelling at your sister?”
So it was a bad time. A really bad time. I lost all control.
“Maybe you did, but do you know what else you would have heard if your selective hearing weren’t always aimed at attacking me? You would have heard her yelling back. You would have heard me try to take the high road and try to start over and try to keep in control of myself. And then you would have heard her tell me in no uncertain terms that she is not my sister. And you know what? She’s right. This isn’t working anymore, she’s back to being unreasonable, you’re back to defending her at every turn, and this little experiment is no longer working. We already hate each other, so back out before we hate you too. Or is that what you want? Because if it is you are doing a freakin awesome job if it. Are we clear?”
“Sit. Back. Down. Right. Now.” Every syllable was punctuated with a heavy footstep toward me. “Now it’s my turn. I fully understand that there is no love lost between us. I get that you think that I’ve replaced you with your sister. And I will keep calling her your sister. That’s absolutely not true, but if I weren’t your mother first, it would be hard to keep you two on a level plane. Every time I turn around, you are throwing a fit because you are being unfair and she won’t have it. I don’t want to hear it anymore!”
“You’re the one being unfair! I was in control for most of it!” I shot back.
“Oh yes, that reminds me! You have not nor will you ever be given control over Abby. That is my job, and I’m doing it, believe it of not!” With that, she got up and flounced out.
I grabbed my phone and dialed Nathan’s number, but just before I hit talk, I remembered how all this started. I was trying to be find without him. I’d have to hold on that phone call. I dialed a different number instead.
“Chad, it’s me. We really need to talk. Actually I really need to talk.”
“You want to go for a drive?”
I hesitated. “No, I want your full attention. Meet me at the curb?”
“Be out in five minutes,” he promised.