Lola likes writing stories and poems. She lives in Brooklyn, New York with her parents, her sister, and her cat.
CHAPTER 1 “Hurry up, you slowpoke!” Beni cried. He flung his arms in the air and sailed high above to the gust of the warm wind that gave him that hearty boost. He stared […]
CHAPTER 1
“Hurry up, you slowpoke!” Beni cried. He flung his arms in the air and sailed high above to the gust of the warm wind that gave him that hearty boost.
He stared at the sky. The world, these powers, this ability…it almost felt cosmic, how a single step he could take could physically take him down a rabbit hole.
As I squinted in the November moonlight, I recognized Beni’s familiar figure soaring in the sky like a bird. One leap, and I was soaring too.
How could this have happened? Well, I used to feel like a goner, in those weary, grimey days that sucked the present out of me, and lost me in the past. Those flashes and pops of lightning and thunder tore me away from my family. All I have now is my annoying brother, Beni.
Sweat crawled up my spine as I wove beneath the tall trees.
It’s crazy to fly. It’s like saying it’s the end of the world if your pencil broke in half.
But crazy doesn’t have to be a bad thing. In fact, it’s not.
If you go back a good ten years, my adventure could start. But my past is not my present. My life now, in the present, is awesome. I go out to soar in the fluffy clouds that drift gently by the bright sky.
Fine, you want the story of my past? You got to be ready. You got to know it.
You’ve got to need the story of my past. Not just to want the past, but to need it. You have to need my past.
Why would you need such a grim thing?
I see. Because I am in the process of telling you this story, and by this story I mean the tall tale of my upsetting, dark past.
I trust you. I trust the press and the publishers and my fellow editor(s) to not make this more than it is, which stands in the category of being a piece of forlorn American literature.
Or not.
Look, I can’t be just plain old fiction. I exist. You’re going to think that this is just some rip-off book of kids’ fairy tales until you meet me. And when you look into the past, and change it, it affects your present and your future. So if you really are the reason I look into my real past in order to change the amazing present, you better be ready to see me flying across the sky when you crawl under your mom’s bed because you think there’s a thunder storm and it’s actually me soaring like a jet plane at two in the morning.
Well, here’s my past and you won’t like it.
It all started when Mom called me to the breakfast table after a long sleep that night. “Coming, Mom!” I yelled.
Mom raised her eyebrows and plunked a small pinch pot on the rusty table. My family used to be poor. In fact, they still are. My family is small, like really small. It only goes up about four generations, and there hasn’t been enough people in the family to make enough money to survive.
I sat in the chair.
Sorry…I mean I stood while eating. As you might have guessed, we couldn’t even afford a single chair. The table, however, was donated to us from a rich family called the Meyers that somehow believed that they had too many things in their house. But the table was rusty, so you could think that they had it for a long time. Like, really long. Crazy long.
When the Meyers had first bought the table, it was actually purchased by the head of the family, Lucia Josephine Meyer. She was an elderly lady who had just retired from her job as a salesman. Every day, she would make about 2,000 dollars! The money would gradually pass down throughout the family and would make them richer and richer until they could probably purchase 20 cars. They were millionaires, maybe billionaires! The family was cheerful and hopeful until Lucia Meyer died sadly of old age. Her husband, George Topaz Meyer lll, seemed to be affected the most out of all the family members from this big loss. Before George died, he insisted on being buried beside Lucia forever. Lucia and George’s son had become a wealthy salesman as well, and kept the big family going, generation after generation, salesman after salesman, rich houses were constantly being sold and purchased.
Anyway, the pinch pot had been made from dirty clay from the lake where we got our water. It was our only cup. But we barely used it. Oh, did I mention that I have no father?
My dad, John Schuyler Thompson, passed away when I was a toddler. Ever since, my mom has been going out with a man named Theodore Akler to fancy dinner parties and stuff. Theodore is not like my real dad at all. His grin is nothing compared to my dad’s friendly, toothy smile.
“So, why is everything so fancy? And how did you get those expensive lantern candles?”
“Well.” Mom smiled, “Mr. Theodore has asked me to marry him!”
I choked on my dirty water. I froze.
“What?” I squeaked.
“I’m going to marry Theodore!” Mom yelled excitedly.
“Ew!” My many siblings chimed in with disgust.
But I just gasped.
“Honey, are you all right?” Mom said, her mood switching to concern instantly. “How do you feel?”
The truth is, I didn’t know how I felt. “I’m…fine.” And without asking to be excused, I ran up to my bedroom and started to cry.
CHAPTER 2
“…Then we need to tell the caterer to buy good whipped cream, and I have to get my wedding dress, and we have to serve a million people, and on top of all that, we can barely afford a bouquet!” Mom yelled.
She was trying to plan a wedding with very little time (how is that even possible if you’re penniless?).
I rolled my eyes and sniggered mockingly. “Then just give him back the engagement ring and get un-married.” I joked casually.
“MORRIS MILTON SCHUYLER THOMPSON!” Mom shrieked furiously. “Go to your room now!”
I stormed up to my bedroom and slammed the door shut. I curled into a ball and wept until my pillow was soaked. Change was harsh. But I couldn’t control it. No one could.
“You can come out now.” My mom shouted up to me, like dad always would.
Mom patted a worn-out pillow, indicating that she clearly wanted me to sit there.
“Write down the names of people I tell you to invite.” Mom instructed. “Nana Bleeberg, Aunt Porsha, Rilenne Mackza-”
“Who’s Rilenne Mackza?” I asked.
“Just a kind French lady across the street. She met you when you were in kindergarten.” Mom said.
“Oh.” I replied. “Who else do we need to invite?”
“Let’s see…” Mom pondered. “George Fredrick Wisley, Roxanne Jenifers, Stanley Guatemungo, Madeline Raysyn, Choltiferr Jackobbs, Bostette Watsons, Margarette Lunston, and…”
You might think that that’s a small number of people to invite to a wedding. But the truth is, we couldn’t afford a crumb of Oreos if we tried. Our family was so poor, and we knew we were stuck that way. Living life to the fullest for us was only inviting about ten people to a wedding.
“Nimbosteen Colsteeronni…and that’s about it.” Mom sighed. “Go set the table, Morris.”
I tossed the napkins onto the table.
All of a sudden, there was a horrid rumbling that could make me deaf.
“EARTHQUAKE!” Mom screamed.
Mom and I huddled under the doorway. Beni and my grandfather did too. The last thing I heard before I blacked out was the frantic sobs of my mother and grandfather as they slowly died.
CHAPTER 3
Springfield, Illinois
Two years later, Beni and I moved into a house next to our friend Chloe’s. We built it out of mud and sticks and wood.
The roof was made of straw.
The forlorn massacre that had destroyed most of my beloved family had traveled to New Zealand – the atomic plates were still shaking. The world was still quaking.
One day, Chloe’s older sister, named Meradith, introduced me and Beni to her husband, Ralph. Ralph took me and Beni to the zoo.
Beni and I were fascinated by a mysterious silver hawk in a restricted room. Beni had trained in Karate for as long as I could remember, so I was not surprised when he blasted open the door to the locked restricted room titled “No Admittance”.
The bird had bit me and Beni. The glossy scar looked like a big deal. Ralph rushed us to the hospital immediately. We got several stitches. Let me tell you this, it wasn’t fun to get bit. But little did Beni and I know that it would end up being the reason we flew. One day when the stitches were removed, it was barely an injury anymore at all. I whooped with joy and sprung into the air. That was the day when I realized that I could fly.
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