Prance-E-Tron

Taking heed of the gray wizard's warning, I set out back to the fields of gold and green.  I made it just in time to see another gust of wind roll off from the mountains and over the stalks of grain, sending another violet cloud into the air.  This time, I looked for the flies.  I didn't see them at first, because I was looking too low.  I finally saw them after I tracked one of the wisps of pollen, watching it rise into the atmosphere, and then from above a black, winged shape darted down and snatched it away.  I watched the procedure several times, mesmerized by the proficiency of the flies and the endless tide of pollen.  And so, I didn't

I crept up on the corner that led around to the wizard's cave, training my ear hard enough to hear two different voices.  One was the wizard, speaking in calm and soothing tones.  The other was an alarming and harsh noise, as if someone was speaking through a very old and malfunctioning radio.  I peeked around the corner, and spied the wizard with his back turned to me.  Whoever was there seemed to be at the very door of the cave. "It's always been your job as well, young Sawyer," the wizard was saying.  "It's everyone's job.  What separates us from then but a twist of fate?  We're no better than them." "You don't even get it, after all the

I reached the very bottom of the hill and took a look around me.  I seemed to be surrounded by stone; the fields began to my right, and to my left there stretched an endless expanse of stony foothills, and farther that way rose mountains from those foothills, and even farther than that I wouldn't have been surprised if even higher mountains sprung from those mountains.  But the mountains, I decided, would have to wait for another day.  Right then, I had fields to run through. Just as I took a step into the waist-high grasses and grains of the fields, a powerful voice from behind me boomed forth. "Well!  It's about time you've shown up, youn

It would have been a much less eventful day if I'd been able to make it to the office, and sit in those uncomfortable metal you-are-here-because-you-are-guilty chairs in their lobby.  But all the commotion from Math class made me have to pee, so I went into the restroom first, still shaking badly. I put my books on the little alcove at the entrance to the restroom and went into one of the stalls.  The upright urinals always had made me feel uncomfortable, although that was the choice of most of my peers. I was about to unbuckle my belt when I noticed an irregularity on the wall in front of me.  If I had been in Middle School or High School

The air outside was still cool from winter, the snow was all gone for good, trees and things were starting to get green buds, Bush was the president after a very tiresome battle with some other gray haired guy named Kerry, and my math teacher Mrs. Scouressel was pure evil. It wasn't enough that I didn't get fractions, just as we were learning to turn them into decimals—decimals were easier than fractions, cause decimals were just like money—but she had to give out homework every day. Not even my Language Arts teacher, Mr. Wagner, gave out homework over the weekends, and all my classmates agreed he was the worst of all the fifth gra

Harry ran up the embankment, using his staff to climb up the mud.  Eric and Jeremy hurried after him.  When they made it to the top, Jeremy led them into the forest, not taking them on any particular pathway, but instead leaping over thorny entanglements and blowing their way past skinny poison berry bushes, following a completely straight path that Jeremy knew would take them to the cave.  He wondered if Croscar was watching him, knowing that he didn't have the last stone, that they were coming to fight, probably to the death.  The thought chilled him, and yet spurned him onward. Presently they arrived at the pit; the blue stone was still g

He ventured into the forest again, squishing his way over the swampy pond by the sycamore.  He tried to remember where the next gem was supposed to be, thinking of the flashes of color which had ran through his mind from Croscar's magic.  The images were fading fast, like the dream that Croscar had also apparently sent him.  He remembered—regretfully—the black swoosh over some rusted thing.  It reminded him of Batman, in a way, because the movie had frightened him—not just the spooky Scarecrow, but the dark representation of Batman himself had creeped him out in a fundamental way that he knew he would never be able to confide i