Theatre Introduction

In a small town, surrounded on all sides by woods, an old couple lived. Their names were Cyrus and Evangeline Anastasie.They were together longer than any other couple. Most were divorced, broken up, or separated by death. The two had known each other since their childhood and were great friends even then. It came as no surprise when Cyrus proposed his love for Evangeline on her 20th birthday. When they were younger their parents would joke around with them saying that they would get married someday. Of course Cyrus, being a typical boy, would then state how repulsive girls are and would state how they were never getting married. But, he was wrong. On April 16th he proposed to Evangeline and they got married on May 30th. They were both twenty on their wedding day, and for the rest of their lives, they were to remain together until death do them part. It seems as though, Death had came up sooner than hoped.

The Oak Tree

He looked up at the very top of the hill. There it was. That old oak tree. For his entire life it was there, just sitting. For his entire life, it was the main point from which he would meet his friends when they were going to head off to the park. For his entire life, that tree was the center of everything he did. If he ever went anywhere, it would always take him to that tree.

His first kiss, was under that tree. He asked a boy, James Richardson, to meet him at that oak tree on top of the hill after school. James did so. The two boys sat there and talked and all of a sudden, James leaned forward, and kissed him on the lips. The most pleasing sensation the boy has ever felt had happened in less than a second. The two boys sat there, talked, and held hands.

For years, the two boys were together. For so long, that it seemed like they were going to stay together until the end of time. The two boys have reached their mid 40’s at this time. They we...re happy together. Nothing seemed like it would ever go wrong….

Until that fateful day… James was driving home from work and took a little longer path than usual. To pass by the old oak tree that stood on top of that hill. When he was rounding the corner in his car, a drunk driver smashed into his car, head on. Both died.

The boy had never forgotten that day. He always went to the old oak tree, the hill, and even the corner where it happened. The old oak, however, was the only thing that has not changed. The hilltop was much differant, with a headstone dug into it under the oak. The stone, had many meanings. One in particular, was where is was. It was laying directly under the tree, where the boy had his first kiss. And on that stone read ‘James Richardson.’

Paper Pareidolia

Here is a little about this poem. I know it's not a short story, but it's a poem I wrote that I really love. Pareidolia is a word that describes how sometimes we see/hear things that look/sound like something else (Example: seeing a cloud that's shaped like a boat, or when playing a part of song backwords, it sounds like a legitamate phrase.) So, please enjoy this poem I wrote :)

I have friends with paper smiles,
They sit there waiting all the while,
They stare at me, don't look away,
Come here now, let us go play.
Hear the music? Hear the notes?
Hear the screaming from their throats?
Come here now, let us go play,
My paper friends are here to stay.
They sit there waiting with their smiles,
They laugh at me with all my trials,
I play the music so they can't tell,
It's pareidolia straight from Hell.
I need your help, don't be late,
I have to be saved from this horrible fate,
My paper friends are after me,
Its up to you to help me flee.
I have friends with paper smiles,
They stare at me all the while,
I beg for help, but nobody comes,
Looks like game time is finally done.

The Rose

The village of Gates was a small town set between two mountain ranges. It was completely secluded from the world. The only way out, was through the eastern forest. A treacherous wooded area full of goblins and witches. The side of the mountains facing the town were the only spots where roses would grow. Beautiful red roses of all shapes and sizes. It is said, that only a single white rose would grow when somebody was truely in love. Not just any love, however. A love where feelings for the two were not mutual. A love where one would feel but the other would not. The white rose would grow to prove that the love was true. The other would then see this, and be compelled to love them back.

A man came into the village seeking refuge and food. He entered a tavern and sat down and ordered some home-brewed whiskey. As he finished it, a women walked in the tavern. He saw her and instantly fell in love. The other men warned him that she would break his heart. She was nothing more than a call-girl they told him. He responded saying it was nonsense. He asked her to become his wife. The girl thought about it. And said yes. Thinking she could get whatever she wanted out of him and that he was just drunk and wanted sex. But this wasn’t so. He did anything she asked of him. Including cooking and cleaning. She was amazed at how loyal he was. But she wanted nothing to do with him.

One day, in an effort to get rid of him, she asked him to go into the mountains and pick out a single, white rose. The man didn’t know about the sacred story behind the roses thought and thought she was joking. It was the dead of winter. No flower could grow. But she insisted. “As you want it so shall it be” he said to her. He packed up and got ready for his journey. As he trudged up the mountain, he kept thinking that very last sentance he said to her. “As you want it so shall it be.” He didn’t dare stop. Not even to look at the beautiful scenary. He continued up the mountain, searching for any white rose, until he reached the top.

There, he began to cry. He had failed her. No rose was on the mountain. He had been gone for god-knows-how-long and still, no rose. His tears fell from his freezing face and onto the snow top mountain. His warm tears, full of nothing but love, melted the snow and gave water to a single seed. A rose seed. And from there, like magic right before his eyes, a single white rose grew. He looked in awe then snatched it up and ran down the hill. He was halfway to the bottom when he tripped. Falling down the mountain side and off a rocky cliff, to his death. All the townspeople gathered around his dead body. Including the girl. They all looked in absolute awe when they saw, in his hand, the white rose. The girl began to cry. The towns people knew what it meant and could do nothing. They comforted the girl, and left.

The girl, later that day, climbed up the mountain. She had seen that the man truely did love her and she was going to prove that she loved him. She climbed up to the top of the highest cliff, and dove off. She landed right by the man, who was holding that beloved white rose.

First Written Murder Scene

Cyrus began walking back up the same road he took to get to the theatre. The back way, that him and Evangeline had taken so many times before. The old oaks and elms had bare branches at this time of year, and the rusty orange and brown leaves on the ground left a dry moldy smell. The sunlight barely reaching over the hilltops as it was setting, leaving golden, red, orange, and pink arches across the sky. Cyrus with adrenaline pumping through his old, beaten heart, was practically running through the old path to get to his home.

He began nearing the top, when he heard shouting near the Theatre, he began to panic. “Surely, they wouldn’t know I came all the way through here... would they?”  he said to himself. He continued running towards the top and when he finally made it, he stopped. His house was just one mile down the road to the left. But that’s not what stopped him. It’s what he had to pass by that stopped him. Good ol’ Joseph, the man who was madly in love with his wife, Evangeline. The man who, even to this day, tried to ruin Cyrus and his life all in the name of love. The very man whom of which he had quarreled with all of his life. “I think I should pay my good ol’ pal a visit.”

Cyrus walked towards Joseph’s house and noticed how eerily quiet it was now. The yelling had stopped, and the wind was beginning to give a slight and cold breeze, giving Cyrus a small chill. He looked out past the massive cliff line that Joseph and his house both sat on. His ancient eyes searching the open seas. When nothing caught his eye, he continued walking again.

He finally reached Joseph’s house and came up to the door. The thought of whether or not he should knock came into question. When he decided to, Joseph opened the door to see Cyrus standing there.

“Oddly enough,” Joseph began, “I had a hunch you’d come to see me. What is it you want?”

Cyrus looked him up and down before he spoke. His voice raspy and worn, “I came to pay you back, for everything.”

Joseph looked on confused, “What do you-”

Cyrus then flicked his wrist at Joseph, forcing him to be thrown back into the hallway. He sat up with his hand on his head as it throbbed in pain. Cyrus then stepped in the doorway and closed it. He looked on at Joseph, his face stone hard and his eyes as cold and grey as a winter’s night.

“So, Cyrus, tell me what it’s like to kill people,” Joseph mocked him, “what’s it like, to know that all those people you killed down there tonight won’t be able to go home to their families or friends anymore. What’s it like huh?”

Cyrus continued to stare at him, appalled at what was just said. He took a step towards Joseph, who then crawled back words a ways.

“That’s right,” Joseph began again, “I know all about it. Two policemen came here informing me there’s been an incident, so I wasn’t aloud to leave my house. I asked into it and they told me the theatre was burnt down and flooded. I knew it was you. I knew you used dark magic!” Joseph practically spit out those words at Cyrus, “So, I ask again, what is it like?”

Cyrus took a deep breath. Stared right into Joseph’s eyes and cleared his throat, “So, you wanna know what it’s like? I’ll tell you then.” Cyrus gave an evil smile and quicker than one could blink, he was kneeling down face to face with Joseph. His grey eyes looking directly into Joseph’s blue ones. Freezing them in one spot, like freezing water into ice, “It’s the most horrible thing in the world,” Cyrus whispered.

Joseph scooted back. His face was replaced by the face of a scared child. It reminded Cyrus of someone, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on who.
“Please, have mercy on me!” Joseph begged, “I’ll do anything! Anything, I tell you! I swear on my life!”

“And I believe you,” Cyrus smiled. He raised his arm towards Joseph and flicked his hand so only his pointer and middle finger stuck out. While doing so, a white flash of light burst out of his fingertips in a lightning bolt fashion and struck Joseph right in the chest. He now laid on the floor, dead.

Sunrise, Sunset

Every night, the boy looked up in the sky and directly out the window. He waited for the sun to set and the moon to rise. And he would always wake up early to wait for the sun to rise over the hilltops. Nobody knew why he did this, but they all knew that he never needed a clock to wake him up, somebody to come get him, or anything. He would just wake up and be compelled to watch the sunrise. And for the sun set? He was physically incapable of sleeping until he watched the sun set and the moon rise. Some say it’s a disorder, but him? He says it’s magic. He believes that if he misses ONE night of watching the sunset and moonrise, or ONE morning of the sunrise, he wouldn’t be granted inner peace. He continued to do this from childhood to adulthood. He had a wife and three kids. Each one of the kids did what he did. Even his wife took great pleasure in doing this. He never forced them to. He never even asked. They just did.

And something magical happened when the boy, now an old man, was dying. He smiled. Everyone around him was crying and he just smiled. His children saw this and smiled with him. His wife, too, saw this and did the same. They all turned their heads and looked out the window and surely enough, was the moon rising over the treetops. He can now, finally, fall asleep… in peace.

Theatre.

The old theatre sat on the road that went way back into the woods. A road that had no name. It stopped at the water’s edge and you would have to cross a small river either by boat or by dock. The theatre is where the ventriloquists and famous singers show up and strut their stuff. The most favored of them was without a doubt the old man. A story teller. He came only once a month to tell a new, usually horrifying story. Stories that would make the skin crawl and the bones chill. Stories that define a whole new meaning for everything scary.

One day, on the last night of the theatre’s showings before it would forever close down, the old man returned for one last, horrific story. As he walked onto stage, everyone went quiet. In his hand was a match. In the other, a candle. He set the candle in the center of the stage and lit the match. “Fire. A great source of evil. A great source of good,” he said. He lit the candle and put out the match. He looked at the crowd and cleared his throat. “You see,” he began, “fire is much like you and me. It can cause pain. It can cause joy. It spreads out across the land taking whatever it wants, and yet it has weaknesses.” He pulled out a cup of water from the side of the stage and stood by the candle. He raised his arm and the room went dark. Only the candle was lit. “Water. A great source of power. A great source of calmness.” He threw the water on the candle and the room went pitch black.

A baby started crying. “Don’t be afraid. Much like fire, humans are always capable of bringing light, even in the most darkest of time.” Even though nobody could see it, he raised his hand over the candle and the fire restarted. People looked on in awe. “But much like fire, we bring darkness in the most lightest of times.” And with that, he raised his arm and the theatre began on fire. Doors locked. Windows closed. The building began to burn down. People were running about and screaming and with another arm raising, the fire blew out. Doors swung open. Glass windows shattered. “And much like water, we can always be there to stop the darkness.” And water then flooded in the theatre.

People were trying to escape but were swept away from the theatre, into the river just outside. Most drowned in the water. When the police arrived, the old man was gone. All that was left, was the candle. Light flickering in the dark theatre.