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Ok everybody, I've finished putting my first story, and now I want to know what you guys think! Do you guys like having stories and poems and stuff up here? Do you guys want to see more stories? I'd love to know what you guys want to see here on the blog.

Fantastic Reality Part 3

It's the last part of the scene!

I waited for Dad to respond, but his mouth just opened and closed as he searched for something to say. In the end he looked helplessly over his shoulder to where my mother stood slowly stirring a tall glass of ice tea. She looked up from her tea, and cocked one eyebrow at Dad. It appeared that they were doing that weird telepathy thing that parents sometimes do, and a heavy silence fell. I clutched at Dad’s hand and forced him to look at me.

“Dad, listen, I’m sorry that you haven’t met James yet. He just feels uncomfortable around…authority figures. But we can fix that! James is waiting for me, and we can go down to the duck pond, and you’ll finally get to met him. He’s so funny, Dad, and I just know that you’re going to love him.” I pulled at his arm, and he rose slowly from his chair. He looked helplessly at Mom again, and motioned toward the back door.

“Come on, Camille. We should at least just go down to the pond and check it out.” She looked at us for a moment before slamming her glass down on the counter. I was surprised the glass didn’t shatter from the force of impact. Iced tea sloshed over the edge of the glass, but for once she ignored it.

“Fine,” she said tersely. “We’ll go down to the pond.” She clicked over to the back door, swung it open, and walked out into the garden without looking back. I scampered after her, towing Dad along behind me. When we finally caught up with her, I babbled about the time James and I had found a robin’s nest in one of the trees, the time I tricked James into thinking that old lady Winters was actually a witch, the time James found a small bush of wild blackberries growing in the woods by our house. As we crested the hill and the pond with its small circle of trees became visible, I raced ahead, calling for James. There was the log that lay half in the water and half in the grass, and there was the crook in the tree where James always sat. There was the birdfeeder that we had made when we were ten, and there was sparkling quartz rock that we had found in Mr. Connors’ back yard and rolled down to the pond.

James didn’t answer because James wasn’t at the pond, waiting for me like he’d promised. My parents had finally come, and James was gone.

Fantastic Reality Part 2

“But James will be waiting for me. He promised that he would help me memorize all the battles in the Civil war.”

“Abby, having an imaginary friend was fine when you were four or five. We understood it back then; you were shy, and it was hard for you to make friends, so it was only natural that you would create your own best friend. But you’re seventeen now, you’re about to graduate from high school, and it’s time that you gave up this little fantasy. It’s not healthy, Abby.”

I stared at him for a moment, and then I just started laughing. They didn’t know James, so it was understandable that they thought he was still imaginary. I looked over Dad’s face and saw that he was completely serious, and he actually looked very worried. I swallowed the rest of my giggles and went to sit right next to him. I took his hand, and thought about how best to explain the situation with James.

“Dad, James may have been imaginary at one point, but he’s different now—he’s real now.”

“Honey, I know he might feel real—”

“He doesn’t feel real, he is real. He’s a real person who eats, sleeps, and breathes, just like every other person you’ve met. He has a pulse, I swear! I felt it once—remember that really hot day a couple of weeks ago? James passed out because he hadn’t had a drink of water all morning. It totally freaked me out, and I had to check his pulse to make sure he was alive. One time, he stepped on a broken Coke bottle, and a shard of glass went straight through his flip-flop. There was blood everywhere, and I tried to pull the glass out of his foot, but it was just too gross. No one was here at the house, so we had to walk down to the gas station to get some help. Well, I walked and James hopped. I still have the glass—with the blood stains and everything—if you still don’t believe me.”

Fantastic Reality

A couple of weeks ago, in my post "Spring," I lamented the fact that I didn't know how to post some of my awesome stories that I've written because they were just too long. Maddie made the comment that I should post them in sections, and I think that's a great idea. I'm going to start off with some of the stories I've written for my English classes.

This story is actually just a scene, not a full story. The assignment was to write a realistic scene that contained some fantastical element. I don't want to ruin the story, so I'm afraid that's all the background info that you get today. Enjoy!

My hand was on the doorknob when my dad came out of the kitchen, calling my name. I sighed and turned around to face him, but I left my fingers on the doorknob, just to show him that I had no real intention of staying for very long. He stood in the hallway with his shoulders hunched and his hands shoved in his pockets, and his uncomfortable stance made me shift in anticipation. Mom was breathing down his neck about something, that was for sure, and it was clear that that something had to do with me. I thought back over my recent grades, but the only thing I could think of was the B- that I had received on my last History test. I smiled and lifted my books encouragingly.

“Listen, Dad, I was just about to go study for History. I’ll be back in a couple of hours. Can this wait until then? I have a major test coming up.”

“Are you going down to the duck pond?”

“Well, yeah. James said he would help me.” When Dad wouldn’t look me in the eye, I knew it was really serious. Then Mom appeared in the kitchen doorway. She just stood there, leaning against the doorjamb, with her arms folded and staring at my dad. Dad and I looked over at her, and we both gave a little gulp. She nodded slowly to my dad, and he turned back to me.

“Your mother and I would like to talk with you in the kitchen.” I opened my mouth to protest, but my mother cut me off with a glance.

“Abigail, we need to speak to you in the kitchen. Now,” she snapped. She didn’t even wait to hear my response; she just turned on her shiny black heels and clicked her way back into the kitchen. Dad shrugged and slumped in after my mother. After a moment alone in the hallway, I finally gave up and went to join them. I considered slamming my books, or tossing my chair around, but soon gave up on the idea. Mom was ice cold today, and if I acted out it would only prolong the agony before I could get down to James and the duck pond. I just sat down and addressed Dad.

“So, what do we need to talk about? If this is about my History grades, I just want you to know that I’m working on it, and I promise that I’ll have an A by the end of the year.”

“This isn’t about your grades, sweetie. We actually wanted to discuss the duck pond and your friend James. We think…we think it’s time you stopped going down there.” He said this last in a rush, and he looked down at his fingers. I sat back, not really understanding what he was hinting at.