Young Writers Society

Monday 10•1•12

I’m in the middle of a line of people ten miles long. The line goes to a tunnel beneath the massive stone wall surrounding the Holy Land. The Holy Land is a shopping mall the size of Israel. In the center of the mall is an amusement park. A statue of Jesus stands at the entrance of a wooden rollercoaster. The Ferris wheel is a giant wheel of Dharma with a smiling bodhisattva seated in the center. There is a tavern built into the entrance of the mall where the locals sit, drinking whiskey and shaking their heads at the people in the line. Perhaps they think we are refugees.

Wednesday 10•10•12

Jared* and I were invited to a party at Professor Bloom’s* house. There is a cover charge to get in, but instead of money you have to give the doorman a book. When we get there Jared and I realize that neither of us had brought any books with us. Luckily the house next door belongs to an old woman who runs a book store out of her living room. She isn’t home right now, but Jared says she won’t mind us going inside. All of the lights are off in the old woman’s house. The ghost of the old woman’s husband hovers between the rows. We each snatch the first book we see and leave. Outside the sky is black and raining popcorn.

Tuesday 10•16•12

My family and I are having dinner at my Aunt Colleen’s house on their ranch in North Texas. My grandfather and my uncle are watching football in the living room. The sky goes dark. When I look outside I see that a swarm of funnel clouds has begun to form over the lake. They look like giant gray worms. I warn my family but they don’t leave the living room until half-time. We each go into a different bathroom, fill the bathtubs with six inches of water and lay down inside it. When the storm rips the roof away from the house and I look into the eye of the tornado I can see the stars and planets.

Saturday 10•20•12

I have been conversing with the night and she has given me a new assignment. I am to drive my service truck around this quiet suburban neighborhood and haul all of the furniture out of the apartments units. The units have layouts that twist around each other. Some even wrap themselves around the nearby houses. A few of the apartments still have people inside them. They let me inside anyway because they know how important my job is. At sunrise I park my truck in a garage under the Brooklyn Bridge and ride the El-train home. All of the other people on the train have their faces buried in their newspapers, all except for one. A young woman in a white dress is standing on the opposite end of the train. When the train pulls into the station the woman starts walking toward me. Everyone else gets off the train in slow-motion, but the woman and I move at the same speed.

Wednesday 10•24•12

The bus takes us up a cliff along the beach in Southern California. We are going to the grapefruit colored tower where the landlord has promised us each our own room. When we arrive we ride the service elevator to the top floor. The apartment is rundown. There are cracks in the paint and bits of paper lying around. When the landlord flips the light switch the crickets writhing in the kitchen sink vanish. Unfortunately there aren’t enough rooms on the floor for all of us, so I will have to stay in the basement. At least I don’t have to share an apartment with anyone else.

Thursday 10•25•12

The whole city is up in arms because of the thugs. They’ve been going around attacking citizens and smashing windows on storefronts. I saw it with my own eyes, the entire plaza was deserted and every window on every store, car and apartment building had been pulverized into sand. When I heard one of the thugs talking I left the street and ran to the park to hide. I saw a man crouching behind a bench. I went over to him with the intention of warning him about the thugs, but before I could get a word in he jumped on top of me and wrapped his hands around my throat.

The world flickered out like a fluorescent bulb that needs changing. When the world came back I saw that I had been transported to another huge city miles away. The buildings were spaced so far apart from each other that I can barely see the roof top of the city hall from across the street. There are more people here but they are all speaking Russian.

Wednesday 10•31•12

I’m riding a Greyhound bus to Chicago. It is raining by the time I get to the city, but that doesn’t deter me. As soon as I get off the bus I begin wandering the street, passing out free toys and trinkets to passersby. I’m not sure why I am doing this.I have to hitchhike when I leave town because there are no more busses running. Unfortunately nobody picks me up and my clothes get soaking wet. I’ll catch my death if I don’t find shelter soon. There is a big white house on the side of the road. I knock on the door but nobody answers. The door is unlocked so I let myself in and change my clothes. As I prepare to leave I see a trophy case in the hall by the front door. Apparently a pro-football player lives here. His name is on his jersey, which is on display above the fireplace, but when I try to read it the letters shift around like leaves on the surface of a pond. It looks like a distorted mess of Ds and Ms.

The front door opens while I am looking at the jersey. The football player is there with his family. They just came back from church. At first I thought they might be angry at me for letting myself into their home, but they are unusually friendly. They act as if it’s not strange for me to be here even though I have never met them before. The mother offers to cook me something for dinner while her son, the running back, helps me search his home for my missing suitcase.