The Abby Report

Hi Reporters!! It has been a very long time, and for that I apologize. I started high school earlier this week and am enjoying it. For today’s three year post (has it really been that long???) I compiled a list of the top ten coolest birds I have seen, since I enjoy birdwatching. Here goes!

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1. BLUE JAY (cyanocitta cristata)
   These are my favorite animals and my favorite North American birds. I have only seen one blue jay in Chicago. The rest were at forest preserves and Washington DC.

2. EGYPTIAN GOOSE (alopochen aegyptiaca)
Egyptian geese pick one body of water to live in for their whole lives, unless drought occurs or predators become too abundant. When I was in Portugal this August, we went to the Lisboa Zoo. In the pelican enclosure, I saw an Egyptian goose with her chicks nesting alongside the pelicans. In addition to them not living in Chicago, they are considered rare in the Lisbon area.

3. PURPLE MARTIN (progne subis)
Purple martins are the largest species of swallow in North America. I was at the Montrose Point Bird Sanctuary when I saw a flock of them in a tree. They are rare in the Chicago area.

4. SNOWY EGRET (egretta thula)
Snowy egrets mate for life. I find them to be extremely elegant. I saw one of these in Orlando and a few on Wadmalaw Island in South Carolina. 

5. ROSEATE SPOONBILL (platalea ajaja)
Roseate spoonbills are the only spoonbills in North America. I have one of their feathers in my room. I saw several on Wadmalaw Island. 

6. PAINTED BUNTING (passerina ciris)
Painted buntings are some of the most rapidly declining songbirds in the eastern United States. I was lucky enough to see a few male painted buntings in their prime last summer. Wadmalaw Island was again where I recorded the sighting. 

7. BROWN THRASHER (toxostoma rufum)
Brown thrashers are named due to the thrashing sound they make digging through dry leaves, and have been known to attack dogs. I saw one of these at Humboldt Park on a routine birding trip this summer. They are considered rare in the Chicago area.

8. CASPIAN TERN (hydroprogne caspia)
Caspian terns are the largest terns in the world. This one was also spotted at Humboldt Park. I saw it in action, flying over the Humboldt Park Lagoon and diving. They are absolutely fascinating to watch. 

9. TURKEY VULTURE (cathartes aura)
Turkey vultures can travel up to 200 miles a day. I’ve seen many of these soaring above my head, but once on Wadmalaw Island, I saw one perching twenty feet in front of me. It was huge. Of course, I’ve read that their wingspan is six feet, but seeing such a massive bird in front of you is rather different.

10. SCARLET TANAGER (piranga olivacea)
Scarlet tanagers’ nests are often victimized by the parasitic brown-headed cowbirds. This summer, in Michigan, a male scarlet tanager in his vibrant, early-summer plumage landed on a fence just in front of me. I got a wonderful look at him and enjoyed a moment of peace. I saw him again a few days later.

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I hope you enjoyed this blog post that has been accumulated over two years! I really loved making this and I hope you liked reading it! Thanks so much for the support over the last three years, even despite my horrible posting habits.

Today’s quote: “There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit at a typewriter and bleed.” -Ernest Hemingway

Hey everyone! I hope you all had a wonderful Thanksgiving! Three things I’m most grateful for are the food in my stomach, the roof over my head, and this laptop that I’m typing on. Today’s poem is another historical poem because I had so much fun with the last one. We’re staying in the WW1 era with this poem about the Radium Girls.

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It glows like green fire
Magical paint
Shiny lipstick and glowing watches
A cure for cancer and a dancer’s costume
They call it radium, atomic number 88

Tiny brushes in the warehouse
I am very precise
We wear our ballgowns on Friday
They say it is very safe to paint our teeth
And still we shine like ghosts

My friend Mollie is dead
‘Syphilis’ they say
But she had a toothache
And then she bled to death

My friends are all dying around me
‘Syphilis’ they say
Does syphilis make your spine collapse?
Does syphilis give you cancer?
But what else could it be?

’88’, the dying girls whisper
‘It’s the radium’, they tell me
With their last breaths they still fight
The mystery has been solved at the cost of their lives
‘88′

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Have a good day!!

Here’s the quote, “The two most important days of your life are the day you are born and the day you find out why.” -Mark Twain

Hello everyone! So for a school assignment we had to pick a historical topic and write a poem on it. So I chose the opening day of the Battle of the Somme.

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“The [Somme] offensive began at 7.30am on 1 July 1916. Many of the infantry who went over the top were volunteers of 1914, including Pals battalions made up of friends, relatives and workmates serving side by side.” -IWM.com
“The first day of the Somme was the deadliest day in British military history – of the 57,470 British casualties, 19,240 men had been killed.” -IWM.com

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The heat presses down on our necks
We climb out of the trench

Lambs to the slaughter
I cannot see for the dirt in the air

They said it would be simple
They said it was honorable to die
They said
They said
They said

Fighting for the Crown
Yet as they die 
It is only ‘Mama’ that I hear around me

The bodies fall back down the moment they rise
Suddenly weighing tons

I cannot find my brother
I cannot find my friend
I cannot find the milkman

My ears are ringing
The machine guns go rat-tat-tat
Bringing down ten
Fifteen
Twenty
Fifty more men

And we are not human
Humans do not let each other
Crumble in the mud, 
forgotten by the faceless leaders
Humans do not blow each other
Apart like this 
Humans do not
Humans do not
Humans do not

And we are only pawns on this board
We are only players in this game
We are only lambs in this slaughterhouse

Pawns
Players
Lambs

Humans no more

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“I find that a duck’s opinion of me is very much influenced over whether or not I have bread.” -Mitch Hedburg

Hey guys! This poem is inspired by passing periods at my school 😬.

Funnily enough, I never struggled with claustrophobia before the pandemic. Maybe I just wasn’t exposed to the sheer number of people at my school before, or maybe it’s because I got used to having tons of my own space. Who knows?

***

Crowds

I push
Trying to go to another
Mindless class

They close in
My neck is so exposed
Tripping over my shoes

It’s hard to breathe
I cannot think
I need to get out

Staircases

I shove
Trying to escape
The tide of people

I am a mouse
Trapped in my hole
With the cat lurking above

Wishing for home
Warring with
The claustrophobia

People

Hey Reporters! Happy 2 year anniversary of the Abby Report.

This year has been hectic, and I only remembered that this event was coming up like five days ago. So I decided to go with something unique but special as a celebration!

Let’s face it; the sledding short story wasn’t great. I’ve decided to rewrite it, changing a few minor details, and it’ll be longer and I’ll hopefully do it better. 👍

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The waves crash against the shore and the sun is warm against my cheeks. Cuban music spills out from a restaurant on the street. I sit up, my eyes searching the cyan ocean for my children, Lily and Carter. I spot them splashing around a couple yards out.

I settle back down in my beach chair, resuming the horror novel I’ve become invested in. Suddenly, someone grabs my shoulders from behind and I jump, whirling around. It’s only Jessie, my twin, my best friend since the day we were born. She laughs as I furrow my eyebrows in anger, showing her the cover of my book. “Worst time ever.” I say.

She holds up a brown paper bag with the name of the Cuban restaurant on it. My kids run up and grab their food, sitting down on the warm sand to gobble it up. I slather them with sunscreen when they’re done eating before they can run away and finally sit down in my chair beside Jessie.

Jessie is an accountant, but she’s very fun-loving. She married her husband two years after we arrived in Miami together to go to college, and they’re still together. Coincidentally, I met my children’s dad at their wedding. We eat our beans and rice with plantains and suddenly I say, “Do you ever miss Pennsylvania?”

Jessie falls silent, looking into my eyes. “How long has it been since we were there?” she finally says softly

Now it’s my turn to go quiet. “It must be…what…”

“Ten years.” Jessie finishes.

“Ten years.” I echo.

Suddenly I’m overcome by a painful longing for my home town. The pine trees thick with snow. The smell of hot apple cider. Roaring fires. Deer silently picking their way through brush. “I want to go home.” I say softly, like a lost child.

I think about how Christmas is next week. How the sun is warm and bright like Pennsylvania in the summer, but I’ll be going home to my plastic Christmas tree piled with presents.

Jessie says my name and I’m jolted away from my thoughts. She holds up her cell phone and shows me the confirmation for six airplane tickets to Deer’s Crossing, Pennsylvania, our hometown. They leave on Sunday, December 20th, and Jessie says, “They fly back here on December 29th.”

Tears well up in my eyes and I fumble for words. Finally I settle on “Thank you, thank you so much.”

“Don’t thank me. Remember, it’s my home too.”

***

We step off the plane to the tiny airport of my hometown. Jessie and I lead our families to an empty bench and help them get outfitted for the brutal cold of the town. None of them have ever been outside of Miami before. Why would you, when you live in a vacation spot?

Jessie and I giggle at them encased in winter jackets, hats, scarves and gloves. It was their insistence that they keep as warm as possible. Lily suddenly gasps and runs to one of the windows looking out at the tarmac. Snow is swirling outside and it’s the best kind; thick white flakes that muffle the world.

We all watch the snow like Lily does, momentarily brought back to wide-eyed youth. A few passerby throw us amused looks, but for once I don’t care. This is my home, and everyone should appreciate their homes to the best of their abilities.

Jessie and I’s parents each take their own cars, and drive us to their large house. The living room has a roaring fire and the kids drop down on the carpet beside it. Our father sits beside them, showing them pictures he has taken of the winter. Carter is the only one paying attention, and he looks at them in awe.

Our mother comes back with a large sack and Jessie and I look on in interest. Our husbands are busy watching the snow with wonder in their eyes. She claps her hands, drawing everyone’s attention to her. Our father stands up and pours out the contents of the sack. I gasp, a smile filling up my face. They’re two wooden sleds that I recognize as mine and Jessie’s. I rush up to mine, dropping on my knees beside it. I run my fingers along the wood and smile at the word “Silver” painted in white.

It’s a rush of chaos as we put our winter gear back on, but soon all eight of us are marching towards the sledding hill behind our house.

The snow has built up, and is still falling thickly. The pine trees are drooping under the weight. Carter and Lily are losing their minds, giggling and shrieking as they run along, falling and throwing snow at each other. It makes an indescribable sound as we walk along in our boots, and soon we reach the top of the hill.

Jessie and I position ourselves on the sleds and I cry “Hi-ho, Silver, away!” before launching myself down the hill.

It’s the most exhilarating feeling in the world. The snow gathers on my clothes as I hurtle down the hill, gripping the rope like a lifeline. When I slow to a stop, I fall off of the sled, laughing harder than I have in years.

We drag the sleds back up the hill, where Lily and Carter are begging for a turn.

Three years later, Jessie, her husband, and her new toddler move to Deer’s Crossing. Me and my family do too.

But still, every single time my kids go sledding, they always whoop with joy. They always watch the snow.

Hello everyone! I hope you are all having a wonderful June. Today’s short story was inspired by the prompt, “Repeat the same line of dialogue, from the same character, three separate times.”

The story is called “Gloria”. Enjoy! 🙌

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“This is ridiculous,” Gloria said, staring at the cherry Jell-O box I had placed on the countertop with distaste.

Gloria was my outspoken, independent grandmother. According to family legend, she had once faced down a black bear fearlessly over a four layer wedding cake she had made for her sister and won.

Gloria loved to cook, but not because she was expected to, though she was, as she was growing up to be a housewife shortly before the Vietnam War. She loved it because she said she loved making people happy through her food.

So as it might be expected of a cook with 50 years of experience, she frowned upon all foods that could be made through ingredients in a box. This included cheese/gelatin/gravy/potato, etc. powders, instant noodles, and Pop-Tarts. For some reason, Gloria had a strong aversion to Pop-Tarts.

“But Melody loves Jell-O.” I protested, crossing my arms.

Sometimes you just had to argue with her, despite the societal expectations where you were supposed to treat your grandparents with the utmost respect. Either she just gave in or made an argument so convincing you couldn’t even remember why you hadn’t agreed with her in the first place.

So here I was advocating for my younger cousin. At the ripe old age of fifteen, I was the oldest of all the cousins in my family, therefore I had the most pull.

It was Melody’s birthday the following day, and we were smack in the middle of our annual summer two-week family gathering, held at Gloria’s massive lake house. The house was teeming with the eight kids (including me), who ran wild on the lake shore and in the surrounding forest, plus three sets of parents, who drank lemonade (sometimes spiked) and talked.

Gloria rolled her eyes. “It’s just jellied water. I could make her homemade Jell-O that’s much better.”

“As much as we all love your cooking, I promised her I would do my best to convince you to make Jell-O out of the box. She insisted on having you make anything else homemade you would like for her birthday celebration. Including, but not limited to, mac & cheese bites, pigs in a blanket, chocolate cake, potato salad, and fried chicken.” I said, recalling Melody’s exact words. She was a witty thing, smart for her age. She was turning ten.

Gloria put two casseroles in the oven, one of which was tuna and the other was a cheeseburger casserole. She began washing the dishes as I prepared my next argument.

This would be a hard battle to win. One who is unlearned in the Gloria Gathering procedures might argue that I could simply make the Jell-O myself, but that would be like a cat trying to enter a mouse society. It just doesn’t happen. Gloria had full reign of the kitchen. In fact, you were lucky if you were able to grab a can of Sprite on your own. No, if this Jell-O was to be made, it would have to be by Gloria’s hands. “Listen, Gloria, Melody wants this so bad. It’s her tenth birthday.”

Gloria scrubbed at a bowl silently. She appeared to be waiting for me to continue. I wasn’t sure whether this was a good sign.

“And she loves whipped cream with it.” I said. This was my final stand towards winning the argument.

Gloria looked at me, a smile playing on her lips. “Hmmm…I suppose we could make this boxed stuff together for her. But I can also make homemade whipped cream.”

I breathed a sigh of relief, and embraced my grandmother. “Thank you so much! She’s going to be really happy.”

Once we pulled away, Gloria inspected the red box. She squinted, attempting to read the tiny writing on the side. It was only at times like these that I remembered she wasn’t a young woman anymore, despite how spry she appeared to be. “Can you read this out for me?” she asked, and I knew it pained her to do so. Gloria hated asking for help.

“Of course.” I said, taking the box from her. I read out the directions.

She boiled the water and dissolved the powder in it, pouring the liquid into a large glass dish and placing it in the fridge to be eaten the following day. Sometimes I was just a hint jealous that the cousins who had summer birthdays were able to celebrate with family and Gloria’s delicious food, while I had to have my cake day in early December.

As Gloria made the Jell-O and whipped cream (whenever she said the two of you would be cooking together, she really meant that you would be allowed to talk to her while she made the food, instead of actually helping her), she told me about her escapades on a trip to Berlin in 1992. Gloria told stories in a passionate tone, keeping you on the edge of your seat.

Gloria measured out heavy whipping cream and powdered sugar, accidentally spilling some of the powdered sugar on the countertop. She sighed. “This is ridiculous. Why is the plastic so flimsy?” she questioned aimlessly, stopping abruptly in the middle of her story.

“I can clean it up for you, Gloria.” I offered, already just a few steps away from her.

“That’s alright, dear. Don’t worry.” Gloria reassured me, wiping away the mess with a wet rag. “Where was I? Oh yes, the bald man with the beagles.”

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The next day dawned hot and breezy. Melody organized a high-scale game of capture the flag, where it was four vs. four, for the morning. Our team won narrowly, and by the end all of us were soaked from using water guns to make the game more intense.

None of the kids were younger than eight and required only my supervision, so we then went on what we called “patrol”, which was where we formed a small fleet of kayaks and paddled up and down the coastline near Gloria’s lake house.

It soon became an eventful afternoon, as one of the eleven year old twins flipped his brother’s kayak over, sending the unfortunate kid into the murky lake water. I tried to keep a stern face on, knowing I had to be the model of responsibility, but soon found myself laughing along with everyone else. Even the cousin who had been flipped into the lake was laughing.

It was late in the day, around four thirty, by the time we reached the shore directly behind Gloria’s house, which was on the top of a steep hill.

Melody was buzzing with excitement over her birthday celebration. All of my family, minus Gloria (who was still inside) and my mother (who was helping her bring out the food), claimed lawn chairs. I popped open a cold can of Dr. Pepper, taking a sip. My hair was damp and my cheeks covered in greasy residue from leftover sunscreen that hadn’t washed away, but everything at that moment was perfect.

Soon, Gloria and my mom emerged from the house, laden with dishes of food. Gloria was holding a large plate of fried chicken, and my mother had a bowl of buttermilk biscuits.

Gloria returned to the house and came back with a large bowl of salad adorned with blackberries. We ate, talked, and laughed, and Melody downed three cans of Coke. I had decided to keep the Jell-O a surprise, and had simply told her that Gloria was hard to convince.

At around eight, when the sky was beginning to darken, and we’d finished up the cornhole trounament, Gloria and my mother stepped back into the house. I watched through the window as the kitchen light came on and the two women grabbed things from the fridge.

They both reappeared, my mom holding a glass bowl of fresh, homemade whipped cream, a small BIC lighter, and a box of birthday candles. Gloria had the piece de resistance, the clear casserole dish of deep red cherry Jell-O. Melody smiled so broadly I thought her face might split. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” she squealed, wrapping her thin arms around me.

“Of course!” I replied, basking in the phrase. “Cherry is your favorite, right?”

“Yeah!” The newly turned ten year old said excitedly, turning back to our approaching relatives.

Melody sat down in her small pink lawn chair, her bare feet just barely touching the grassy ground. Gloria set the Jell-O down on the foldout table, and my mother put her load down as well. Gloria began to cut up the Jell-O, serving Melody a large slice with a big scoop of whipped cream. My mother stuck a candle in the fluffy mound, and lit it.

We sang Melody ‘Happy Birthday’, and dug into our dessert, which was pretty good. Melody was ecstatic, eating two generous helpings. My youngest cousin came up with the idea of putting a dollop of whipped cream on the noses of all the kids as a testament to this perfect night, before Melody opened her gifts. The parents readied their cell phone cameras.

All the kids except me lined up, and I applied little mounds of whipped cream to each of my giggling cousin’s noses in turn. We posed and smiled, and the adults took our pictures. “This is ridiculous!” Gloria said, laughing.

Melody opened her gifts, and we told stories late into the night. The soft sound of the lake lulled me to sleep that night, and I thought, I’m lucky to have a Gloria.

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Today’s quote is “The measure of love is to love without measure.” -Attributed to Saint Augustine

Hello! I hope you have all had a wonderful day! Upon reflection, I decided to post a short narrative about the day of the Russian invasion of Ukraine and how I reacted to it. Maybe in fifty years when they’re writing a book about it, someone will find this and use it, who knows?

Disclaimer: This is intended to be taken as a symbol of respect for the Ukrainian people. This is as true to what actually happened for me that day as I can remember it.

***

I stepped off the school bus, turning my face to avoid the sharp blow of wind on my cheeks. The day seemed insignificant. I had no tests, and it was slated to be a mundane day. The February morning sky was grey as I walked towards the door of the school.

I entered the building, holding out my school ID to the security guard. They never paid attention, but after a gun scare a few months prior, I viewed it as a courtesy to my fellow students.

I looked around at the lobby, my daily ritual to ensure nothing out of the ordinary. Everything was in its place. The group of kids clumped by the grand piano as a tune drifted across the room. The Dunkin’ Donuts coffee-bearing girls wearing fleece pajama pants, tank tops, and Crocs, despite the cool weather outside. And the steady stream of students trickling in from outside and climbing up the stairs.

I began the grueling trek up to the third floor, lost in my thoughts. I swerved around a clump of sleazy guys and climbed one more set of stairs to reach my destination. I was out of breath, like I was every single time I climbed them in the mornings. I always felt as if my legs would give out if I went up one more step, but they never did.

I pushed back my hair, which had been messed up by the wind, and reached my locker. I spun the metal contraption, succeeding in opening it the first try. However, my glasses had fogged up, stealing my lock-combo triumph rush from me. I huffed and yanked them off, adjusting my mask as the condensation cleared away. I replaced my spectacles on my face, then took off my backpack and coat. I put the discarded garment in the locker along with my lunchbox, and then slid my bag back onto my back.

I closed my locker and then made my way down the hallway towards my first period class. I planned to read a book while I waited outside of the room for the teacher to start class. My eyes landed on my classmates sitting in their usual spots. The boys who sat on the right side of the hallway were talking instead of playing Clash Royale on their phones as they normally did. I strained my ears to hear their conversation as I approached.

I reached the area and looked down from the clock on the wall as someone said my name. “Abby,” a then-friend of mine, Brenda, exclaimed, “Are you ready for World War Three?”

“What?” I crinkled my eyebrows, stopping in my tracks.

“Russia invaded Ukraine.” Brenda declared matter-of-factly. “So basically World War Three has started.”

“What?” I repeated in disbelief. My stomach had dropped and I set down my backpack, but stayed on my feet. I had known that Russian soldiers had been gathered at the border from memes, but my father had told me that they weren’t going to invade.

“Russia invaded Ukraine this morning.” Brenda repeated again, more slowly.

“Oh,” I said. I didn’t know what to think. “And now we’re in World War Three?”

“Essentially.”

“Wait…are you sure?” I asked. My thoughts were scrambling and Brenda’s words repeated in my head. Russia invaded Ukraine this morning. Russia invaded Ukraine this morning. Russia invaded Ukraine this morning.

Brenda said, “Well, the U.S. is probably gonna send troops there, and that means that it’s gonna spark this whole big thing.”

As a friend of Brenda arrived, Jack, she stood up and grabbed his shoulders, shaking him. “World War Three is starting.” she said, and a string of colorful profanity followed. “We might get nuked…”

“That’s not necessarily true,” I said. “Russia invaded Ukraine, which is definitely a conflict. But there’s practically no chance of nuclear intervention.”

Jack and Brenda looked at me. “Modern warfare is really complicated.” I said, shrugging, by means of explanation.

At this point, I sincerely believed that World War Three was upon us. And it was the most terrifying realization that I’ve ever had. I tried to mask my fear with a smile and joined the posse of news-spreaders.

For the next twenty minutes before class, we roamed the hallways, uttering words of incredulity. We imagined what it could mean to be engaged in war. I started to explain my knowledge of modern warfare to a few people to help them calm down, citing the Vietnam War and my father’s reassurances about the very low chance of getting nuked.

As we entered our first period class, I looked out at the same grey sky. I had not taken my advice of not to be too concerned to heart. The sky looked different than it had when I had stepped off the bus thirty minutes prior. I half-expected bomber planes to appear on the horizon.

The teacher called the class to attention and Brenda called out the news. When we went on the Chromebooks for our assignment, the first thing I did was look up, ‘are we in world war 3’.

And the results were articles on the ‘special military operation’ that Russia had launched that morning. As I looked at those same three words on the half dozen articles I read, I felt a fear rising in the very depths of my heart. But I was also slightly relieved that it wasn’t WW3 yet. That was a little bit of goodness.

I spent that day binge-reading articles on the conflict, staring anxiously out the window, and restlessly tapping my nails or a pencil on my desk. I couldn’t concentrate. As I went to bed that night, it took me nearly an hour to fall asleep. My mind convinced me that every single noise meant we were getting attacked too, despite how ridiculous that was.

It’s still unreal thinking about it, even nearly three months after it happened. It meant that freedom was challenged by a cruel ruler. A free, sovereign nation was thrust into war.

And just as 9/11/2001 is permanently engraved in the minds of millions of people, I knew that 2/24/2022 was a date that I would always remember.

The day of the invasion.

***

I hope you enjoyed this narrative.

“If you think you are too small to make a difference, try sleeping with a mosquito.” -Dalai Lama

The author of this narrative stands with Ukraine. 💙💛

Hey everyone! I wrote this poem for my novel and I thought I would share it with you!

***

Dear Death

Dear, Death 

Do you sit down there

Biding your time

Polishing your scythe?

Or are you already hovering over 

My shoulder, waiting to take me

Away in some tragic accident

Anxiously waiting for my demise?

Are you cloaked in black?

Are you a skull wielding a weapon?

Are you vindictive of those people 

Who had lives as sweet as honey?

Your sweet arms embraced me

As I made the final plunge  

You came to me as a saviour

Cloaked in white and gold 

Taking away my pain. 

You don’t bide your time

Death is as long as eternity 

You do not wait upon it

Instead you watch us live our 

Short ugly lies

Waiting to show us the beautiful truth

Is that right, Death?

You wield no scythe

You welcome all to peace

You don’t stalk them 

Instead you’re a shepherd of souls 

***

Happy Mental Health Awareness Month!!!! 🥳

“A man who does not think for himself does not think at all.” -Oscar Wilde

Hey everyone!I hope you had a great Easter! So this story is a little older, and it’s not a WordPrompt one. I hope you enjoy!

***

Alina pulled her sheathed sword off the wall and strapped it to her side. She then put on her cloak; which was rich red and had gold trim on the hem, and tied back her hair into one long, dark braid. A few stray hairs were already escaping the tight binding of her hairdo. 

Alina then exited her small room in the army base, where she lived as a guard. She walked down the hallway, passing her favorite tapestry in the palace; which depicted the beautiful city they lived in, Brittlecliff. The city was placed upon a vast cliff that had a gushing waterfall running down its length. The fact that her parents had brought her here before they were executed, she had always considered good fortune. 

She reached the door to the room where her best friend, Theon, lived. Knocking a steady pounding pattern they’d made up when they’d become friends ten years ago, when they were just eight years old, she announced her presence. Theon opened the door, his face brightening when he saw her. His hair was styled in the pattern of an archer, who were held in much higher rank than sword fighters like herself. It was shaved on one side and the other side was grown down to his chin. 

“Hi.” said Theon.

“Hello. Did you get the note to appear in the queen’s court in an hour?” she asked, staring into Theon’s calming hazel eyes. Whenever she locked gazes with him, her heart skipped a beat.

“Yes. Shall we take a long walk on the way there? I hear the roses are beautiful this time of year at City Center.” 

“I’d love that.” Everytime they were together, it was always a bit formal and stuffy at first, but then they always dissolved into informality and laughter within minutes. Many said it was improper, seeing as they were proper marriage age and male and female.  

The pair exited the base, then slowly walked down the path. Theon had his bow slung over his shoulder, Alina released, along with his quiver and hunting daggers. Theon led them towards City Center, where the rose garden was located. They entered the garden. 

The summer breeze carried the sweet scent of the roses through the air, and Alina breathed in the wonderful aroma. The summer sky was clear and peaceful, and no clouds were in the sky. Alina was suddenly very aware of Theon’s presence next to her. “Do you know what the meeting with the queen is about?” Alina asked. 

“I heard someone say it’s about a threat that we got from the kingdom of Haran. I believe they’ve threatened to attack our borders, causing a catastrophic war.” Theon said. 

The air left Alina’s lungs. A war? “Oh.” she finally said in barely a whisper. She was an extremely well trained soldier and had been on many combative patrol jobs, but never a full scale battle.

They had both subconsciously stopped on the side of the trail, under the shade of a willow, its green leaves waving in the wind. Theon stared at her, his eyes a vast sea of yellow-green. “Trust me, it will be okay.” 

“But the warriors of Haran are excellent fighters, aren’t they?” she said worriedly. 

“Well yes, but you are one too. We’ll have a meeting with the queen and plan out our attack.” 

“Then promise me something. If anything happens, we will always be at each other’s sides. I’ve lived at your side, and I would like to die at your side, if it comes to that.” said Alina, her eyebrows furrowing. 

Theon nodded. “I promise.”

They walked through the rose garden for some more time, their hands intertwined. Soon they were expected at the palace and as they crossed the threshold of the castle, they were whisked away into a huge meeting chamber, where the queen sat. 

Alina had seen her before, but her beauty still struck her like a well placed punch. She was short and curvy, and her eyes were like obsidian. Her skin was the color of cocoa and her hair was black as midnight. “Welcome.” she spoke. 

Many soldiers were gathered in the room. They all saluted her, raising their fists to their chins and bowing their heads. 

“The army of Haran is currently marching towards our borders. They will be here tomorrow, according to our scout. Please be prepared to fight. They are armed and they are deadly. If you have any questions please talk to the commander, as he will be happy to answer.” She then explained which regiments would go where and how they would attack.

The commander was stationed next to the queen. 

Many people left the room, including Alina and Theon. As the two of them walked back towards the army base, they discussed in worried tones about where they were needed. Theon was in the Archery Regiment 14 and Alina was in the Foot Warrior Regiment 14, which meant they would be on the same section of the battlefield, but Theon would be on the wall and Alina on the ground. 

They reached the base, and Alina put her cloak next to her bed, as well as her sword, but she grabbed her dagger and laid in her bed. The sky outside her window was dark and dotted with bright stars. 

She tried to sleep, but her heart was pounding and her head hurt. After an hour of restlessness, she threw back her covers and got out of bed. Alina grabbed her weapons and armor, and dragged them to Theon’s room. She knocked on the door, and it opened almost immediately. “Couldn’t sleep?” He asked. 

Alina shook her head, “Me neither.” Theon said and wordlessly he let her in. He lit a candle and offered her the bed, laying on his couch. She got into the bed and fell asleep within minutes. 

The next thing she was aware of was a frantic pounding on the door, followed by yelling and feet stomping. Alina was jolted awake, and threw open the door, Theon mere inches behind her. A frazzled soldier stood, clutching his sword and wearing half put on armor. “Wake up! The Haran army is arriving! We were tricked by the scout! Go to your stations and prepare to fight! Hurry, we don’t have much time!” 

Alina immediately snapped awake, but by the time she opened her mouth to respond, the soldier had hurried to the next room. Theon had shoved her armor into her arms, already strapping on his own. She pulled on her chain link under piece, then strapped on the leather chestplate, making sure the straps were as tight as possible. Then she put on her helmet, but left the visor up so she could see better. 

Alina then put on her sword sheath along with her blade, then rushed down the hallway, Theon right behind her. 

The two of them hurried towards their section of the wall. As they stepped outside, soldiers rushed by them, yelling commands, strapping on weapons and armor. Alina and the rest of her regiment exited the city walls, preparing to fight. Many around her had messy hair and sleep lined faces. However, the dawn was approaching, and the glow of their kingdom’s torches and fires outmatched the Haran Army’s. 

The army, oh, the army. There were thousands, and Alina’s kingdom’s army was barely matched up to theirs. Alina risked a glance to the top of the wall and saw Theon there next to a brassier which was lighting up his face, which wore a stern expression. He had his bow in his hands and an arrow loosely poised in it. 

Haran’s army was advancing, and their army was completely stationed. The air was still. It was quiet, save the marching. Once the sun had cleared the horizon, the leader of Haran’s army was only about a quarter of a mile away from Brittlecliff’s army. He carried a large pike and wore a helmet with a peacock plume on it. 

A warhorn blew. “Loose!” a commander from Alina’s kingdom yelled. 

Several arrows flew through the air, many of them hitting their marks. Alina saw the archers prepare their escape ladders, rolled up ladders that they nailed to the top of the wall, prepared to drop down at any moment. 

The Haran commander lowered his pike, and the army charged. Alina lifted her sword, adrenaline pumping through her veins. She was on the third line, but those around her moved up, battling enemies. 

She fought, fought as hard as she could. Battle was terrible, but there was some twisted beauty about it, the soft, steady whistle of arrows, the triumphant clangs of the swords. Soon Alina’s sword; Eclipse, was coated in a layer of red blood. Suddenly she saw a warrior wearing no helmet, but had long white-blond hair, slice through some of her regiment. The fighter moved onto an emptier part of the battlefield, really a little bit off it, and was attempting to sneak up onto the wall. 

Alina knew what she had to do. She knew it was dangerous. She knew it would be scary. But she had no choice. Screaming a wordless cry, she ran towards the warrior, prodding him with her sword, trying to slice through his armor. He turned, his eyes livid and fierce, a warrior’s glare. 

Alina met his blade with hers, furiously trying to slice his throat. She was aware of Theon’s form above her, but soon she was only focused on preventing her opponent’s sword from impaling her. 

Suddenly, the warrior’s blade slipped past her defense and stuck it right in her stomach. Alina let out a surprised “Oh!” before crashing to the ground. Her head was underwater. Everything was muted. 

The soldier who’d stabbed her went silently down to the ground, an arrow in his chest. Alina’s eyes blurred. She could hear someone calling her name, but it was like she was hearing from the other side of a tunnel. 

Alina was vaguely aware of Theon grabbing her in his arms, rocking her back and forth. “Theon.” she said weakly. 

Something wet dripped onto her cheek. Theon’s tears. “Alina.” he said softly, kissing her forehead. She tried to smile. 

Trust me.

“Am I going to die?” Alina whispered, fighting to keep her eyes open, forcing the blurriness to go away. 

It will be okay.

“I don’t know.” Theon said, his grip growing tighter. She was looking into his eyes, which were full of tears. He was crying. 

Then promise me something.

“Why are you crying?” Alina asked.

If anything happens,

“I don’t know.” Theon said. 

We will always, 

“I’m bleeding, Theon.” Alina’s voice cracked on his name. A tear ran down her cheek. She pulled her hand away from her stomach, showing how it was covered in her blood. Theon looked at it for a second then met her eyes again. 

Be at each other’s sides. 

The edges of her eyes were going white. “I love you, Alina.” Theon said. 

I’ve lived at your side, 

“I love you too.” Alina mumbled. The blurriness was coming back. 

And I would like to die by your side, 

Theon was silent. He had stopped rocking her back and forth. The battle sounded so far away. Maybe she’d traveled farther to attack the warrior than she had thought. Alina didn’t know. Her thoughts were scrambled. 

If it comes to that. 

“Stay with me.” Alina said, breathe barely passing her lips to form the words. Alina’s eyes were closing. She hardly heard Theon’s next words as she passed between worlds, between life and death. 

“Of course I will. I promised.” 

***

Have a great week!

“What is to give light must endure burning.” -Victor Frankl

Hi everyone!! I hope you’ve had a wonderful March. Here in Chicago we had a few weeks where it reached 70+ degrees, but now it’s back in the mid-20s. Ah well. It’s Chicago. 🙄

I had my birthday on the 17th, and now I’m 13!! 🥳

So yeah, that’s basically my birthday announcement. Below I’ve added some of my favorite presents and why:

• Nirvana T-shirt (because Nirvana is one of my favorite bands) 🎸
• Lord of the Rings T-shirt (because I love Tolkien) 🧝‍♀️
• Stranger Things T-shirt (I JUST GOT INTO STRANGER THINGS A FEW MONTHS AGO AND I LOVE IT AND I CAN’T EVEN EXPRESS MY LOVE FOR IT ON A KEYBOARD WHICH IS UNFORTUNATE) 🧇
• Spy School Books 1-7 (I like this series, it’s funny and easy to follow, also it has good action and a good plot) 🕵️‍♀️

Onto Story of the Month. So basically, at the beginning of March, WordPress, the site that I post my blog on, started this thing. It’s where they send all the users on WordPress a one-word short story prompt every month. This month’s was “Bridge”. So here is my story for it. I hope you like it. I definitely had fun writing it. 🌉

***

Amelia shivered, despite the warmth of the late summer night. The sky was dark above her, and the pungent smell of honeysuckle perfumed the air. She was about to cross the Bridge of Death. The Bridge of Death, or simply The Bridge, was a rickety wooden thing over a deep valley. It was infamous in their small Midwestern town. 

Amelia took a deep breath. She could hear the gushing of the river down below, swollen because of last night’s rainstorm. Her friend, Darius, had dared her to cross the bridge for a thousand dollars straight from his pocket. Now she was questioning if it was the right choice. A sudden breeze lifted up Amelia’s short hair. Over the last seventy-five years, around twenty people had fallen off the bridge and died. 

Maybe I shouldn’t cross it, Amelia thought. Darius wouldn’t make fun of me. 

She took one step closer to the start of the bridge. She began thinking about all the books she would buy with the money. Maybe she could bring her little sister out to Culver’s for lunch sometime. Amelia had been working too hard lately to retain her cool older sister status to her ten year old sibling. If she got the money, it would be set in stone that she was the coolest sister ever, despite only being sixteen. 

Amelia took off her Converse. The extra weight and lowered mobility would hinder her bridge-crossing abilities. Darius was waiting on the other side of the fifteen yard bridge. It’s dumb that there’s no warning sign or anything. I mean, someone could get hurt.

Now she was ten steps away from the start of the bridge. How do I do this? Run across it in one go, or walk across slowly but surely? Amelia stared around at the thick green forest surrounding the whole area. The location of the bridge was really remote. She tried not to think of that

Nine. 

The rustling of the night breeze was calming. It’ll be okay. You’ll be fine. Darius will catch you if anything happens. He strung a rope out just in case. 

Eight. 

“Darius?” Amelia tentatively called out. “I’m about to cross. Just give me a second.” 

Darius’s crackly voice replied, “Take your time. I’ve got the cash right here.” 

Seven. 

Amelia ran a hand through her inky black hair, hair the color of night. She breathed in the delicious smell of summer. 

Six.

Amelia glanced back at her Converse shoes, sitting discarded in the moist dark dirt. I’ll see them again. Don’t worry. It’ll be okay. Her socks were shoved inside her shoes, and her bare feet made almost imperceptible sounds in the soil. 

Five. 

Amelia could practically smell the Culver’s fries she would share with her sister, could practically feel the hardcover of the new-ish Hunger Games prequel that had been out since 2020. She hadn’t been able to afford it and her mother wouldn’t buy it for her. 

Four. 

The rustling of the leaves and the rushing of the river began to fade as she focused simply on how to safely make it across the river. She decided to run across it in a mad dash. 

Three. 

Now or never. Now or never. Amelia took one last deep breath. She positioned herself to run. Her heart began pounding, pumping pure adrenaline. She sprinted the last three steps, then took one long stride. Amelia had her eyes on a landing spot, and for a moment she was suspended in mid-air. A thin gasp escaped her mouth as her feet landed on the wooden bridge. 

“Amelia, you can do it!” Darius screamed into the fresh night air, his words echoing across the still world. 

She raced across the bridge, as fast as she could. It creaked and groaned under her weight. Darius’s words of encouragement slowly drowned away as she sped across. The only thing that mattered, here and now, was not placing her foot in the wrong place and falling through the bridge. 

Until that’s exactly what happened. 

Amelia was three yards away from the edge of the bridge, and could see Darius’s red shirt. Suddenly she put her weight down on a rotted wooden board, and her foot fell through. The sudden halt of movement threw her forward and she landed on the bridge, with her leg still stuck in the bridge. Both Amelia and Darius screamed. 

Her knees were scraped up and she felt splinters enter her ankles, hands and knees. Amelia’s ankle was trapped in the wood and she felt the bridge weakening under her. “DARIUS, I’M STUCK!” she screeched. 

“I can come out there, just hold tight!” Darius yelled back. 

“NO! STAY THERE!” 

“What are you going to do then?!” 

“I’m going to crawl.” 

Amelia slowly pulled her ankle out of the whole and attempted to spread out her weight to different parts of her body. Slowly but surely, she inched her way to the end of the bridge. When her whole body was safely on the soil, she stood up and rushed into Darius’s arms, her heart still pounding from her near death experience. “You’re shaking.” Darius noticed. “Let’s go get your shoes and then we can go home.” 

Amelia simply nodded. They got into Darius’s car, and before Darius shifted the car into drive, he handed her a simple, unmarked envelope. She opened it and counted the cash inside. One thousand bucks, in crisp hundred dollar bills. 

Darius drove on the road for a bit, then turned into the woods and stopped, getting out of the car and grabbing her Converse, handing them to her. They rode the rest of the way home in silence. Amelia felt brave, but also really stupid. 

The next afternoon, she brought her little sister to Culver’s and bought her a burger, fries, a large soda, and a chocolate cone. Amelia got herself the same. 

Needless to say, the Hunger Games prequel was really good. 

***

I hope you enjoyed this post! Have a wonderful April! Here’s to spring. 🌻

“Courage is the power to let go of the familiar.” -Raymond Lindquist