God, Help Jordan

This is a story that I just got done writing...and editing.  I just edited it right after writing it, so hopefully it's still good.  I present to you the story, "God, Help Jordan."

            I had just opened the door of the ones’ room at the daycare I was working at.  Lisa had left, so she wouldn’t be seeing her mommy walking through the halls and start crying.  I looked down the hall and right outside the wide glass doors when I saw something that scared me.  I quickly shut the door and turned to my co-worker, Lana.

            “Lana, what do we do in case of a shooter?”  Walking up toward the doors was a boy who looked about nineteen, carrying a pistol…and he didn’t look happy.

            “Why?”

            “I think there is one.”  I shut the door quickly and locked it.

            Her eyes widened and her face froze into a mask of terror.  “I don’t know….  We haven’t had a class about that yet!”

            That was one of the curses of not being a lead teacher.  “Okay….um…take the kids in the bathroom and lock the door.  I’ll clean up and make it look like no one’s here and then I’ll come in the bathroom too.”

            She looked at me skeptically.  “Is that really a good idea?”

            “Yes.  No.  How am I supposed to know?  There could be more shooters outside!”  That scared her enough so she quickly gathered all the little ones and went into the bathroom.  I heard the click as the lock turned.  “When I need in, I’ll say…um, ‘Matthew, 7:7.’  Don’t let me in unless I say that.  Only that.”

            There was no reply, but I hoped she’d heard.  I was terrified as I unlocked the door and picked up the toys from off the floor.  What would I say if he came in and asked where the kids were?  I wasn’t a liar.  Would I be able to lie to protect all the children in the bathroom?  All the kids that I loved as though they were my own?  My hands shook as I picked up stuffed animals, toy xylophones, and foam blocks.  I screamed at myself in my mind, telling myself to calm down.  The door swung open and I spun around.  The shooter was there.

            “Where are the kids?”  He asked menacingly, holding his gun toward me.

            I shook as I stared at him, I was so scared.

            “I said, ‘where are the kids?!’”  He thrust the gun at me, his finger tightening on the trigger.

            I did the only thing I could think to do.  I stalled.  “Whoa, whoa…hold on.”  My voice cracked, squeaked, and shook.

            His eyes narrowed.  “What do you mean?”

            “I mean c-calm down.  Wh-why do you want to know where the kids are?”

            He laughed humorlessly.  “I would have thought that would be obvious.”

            “Okay, so you…you want to shoot them?  You want to…to….”  I couldn’t finish.

            “I want to kill them.”

            I was still scared, but even less than I was scared, I was confused.  “But why?  What did they ever do to you?”  My confusion took away the shaky stuttering of my voice.

            His eyes narrowed.  “You should thank me.  I’m keeping them from going through my childhood.”

            “Say what now?”

            “My childhood was rotten,” bitterness filled his voice, “but I’m going to keep them from having that kind of childhood.”

            It was strange and odd, but suddenly I didn’t so much see him as an evil murdering man, I saw him as a confused hurt child.  I saw it in his eyes.  He wanted to protect these children, but he wasn’t doing it the right way at all.  But as I looked at him, since I saw a child, I started acting like I would toward one of my daycare children.  “Here, put your gun down.”  I patted the table.  “Put it right here.”

            “You’re going to call the police.”

            I held up my hands.  “I don’t have my cell phone on me and there’s no buttons for me to press.  Just put your gun right here, and I want to talk to you.”

            His eyes narrowed suspiciously, but shockingly, wondrously, he put his gun down.

            “Tell me about your childhood.”

            He swallowed and I saw a myriad of emotions cross his face.  “My father beat me.  My teachers made fun of me.  I had no friends growing up.”

            “And is this how you plan to make friends?”

            “I know what will happen after this.  I’m going to go to prison.  And I’ll have to stay there for life.”

            “So why do it?”

            He looked straight in my eyes, his green ones piercing into my blue ones, “I told you.  I want to save them from a childhood like mine.”

            I reached over and slid his gun closer to me.  He bristled up, but didn’t try to pull it back toward him.  “But don’t you realize that by killing them, you’re taking away their entire childhood?”

            “But they’ll have had a good one.”

            “What about their siblings?  The ones who don’t come here?  You’ll give them a painful childhood by taking away their brother or sister.”

            He looked down.

            “What about their parents?”

            He swallowed hard.  “Their parents probably don’t really care about them.”

            “Oh yes they do.  I work here every day after school and every day from ten to five during the summer and breaks.  I see kids getting dropped off by their parents and I see kids getting picked up by their parents.  I can tell that their parents love them and that they love their parents.”

            “What if their parents change their mind?”

            I reached out and put my hand on his arm, “They won’t.”

            “Mine did.”

            I looked at the ground.  “But someone out there will love you and they won’t change their mind.”

            “No one has ever loved me.”  A tear welled up in his eye.  “And I’ve lost hope that anyone ever will.  The only ones who have ever loved me have been book and movie characters.”  He turned his arm so his forearm was facing upward.  It was covered in harsh scars and wounds.  “And my knife.”

            I gasped.  Without thinking I reached out to touch his arm.  He winced as my cold fingers touched his wounds and scars.  The daycare worker and motherer in me came out as I quickly wet a washcloth and gently stroked his wounds with it.  He looked at me confused.

            “Why?”

            “Why what?”  I looked at him confused.

            “Why this?”  He gestured toward his arm.

            “You’re hurt.  You need someone to take care of you.  Now let me see your other arm.”

            He showed me his other arm, also covered in wounds and scars and I repeated the process.

            “Th-thank you.”  He whispered.

            “You’re welcome.  Please don’t do this.”  I gestured toward the gun.  “Please.  These children don’t deserve this.  Their families don’t deserve this.  I’ll be your friend.”

            “You don’t know how many people have said that.  They all left me.  I’m too much work, too strange.  I have too much baggage.”

            My heart broke for this young stranger sitting across from me.  “Well, not all of them had Jesus on their side.  And he’ll be your friend and love you too.”

            He laughed bitterly.  “I’ve been told that.  But then the people who tell me that abandon me and treat me like I’m dirt under their feet.”

            “Well, I won’t.”

            “They’ve said that too.”

            “Give me a chance.”

            He was silent.

            “My name is Izzy.”

            “Jordan.”

            “It’s nice to meet you Jordan.”

            We sat in awkward silence for good while, each of us wondering what we were supposed to say.

            “Please don’t shoot them.  Please don’t hurt them.”

            “I won’t.  You’re right.  They don’t deserve it.  No one does.  And you don’t deserve to be burdened with a person like me.”

            “I chose to be your friend, so that’s not up to you to decide.”

            “There’s only one person who deserves death here.”  He went on as though he hadn’t heard me.

            A knot grew in my stomach.

            He looked right at me.

            My heart stopped.  Something bad was about to happen.

            “Me.”  He reached for the gun and put his finger on the trigger, then put it to his head.

            I grabbed it without thinking and pulled it downward just as he pulled the trigger.  Immediately I felt a sharp, burning pain enter my chest and a scream tore out of me.  Jordan looked at me, shocked and in dismay.  He looked at his hand that held the gun, but I wrenched it away from him, pointed it toward the ceiling and pulled the trigger over and over and over again until all I heard were empty clicks, then I threw it down on the ground and grabbed both of his hands with mine.  I was shaking and I leaned into him to keep me upright.

            “I killed you….”  He was shaking too.

            There was blood everywhere when the police walked in.  They stopped, surprised to see me in the arms of the person they assumed shot me, but I shook my head.

            “He didn’t shoot me!  He didn’t shoot me!”  I whimpered.  Things got blurrier, but I still saw the paramedics come in and felt them lift me onto the stretcher.  I still saw the police handcuff Jordan.  “He didn’t shoot me!”  I told them again, but I didn’t think they heard me.  And then I blacked out.

            When I came to I was lying on a hospital bed, extremely bandaged, and with a sharp pain in my chest.  I was still alive.  I was sure I was going to die that day, but I hadn’t.  I grabbed the hand of the nurse who had come in to check on me.

            “Where’s Jordan?”  I croaked out.

            “Jordan?”

            “The shooter who was at the daycare.”

            Her eyes darkened and I could tell she was already judging him in a bad light.  “He’s in a holding facility until the trial next week.”

            I nodded.

            “They’ll probably ask you to be a witness.”

            “And I will say that he is innocent of shooting me.”

            “What about coming in to shoot up the place?”

            “He intended to.”

            “And then?”

            “Then he tried to kill himself.”

            She gave me an odd look.  “So he went from trying to shoot up a daycare to trying to kill himself?  Why did you get shot?”

            “I yanked the gun away from him.”

            “Why couldn’t you just let that scum die?”  She scoffed.  “If I was in your place, I would have shot him myself.”  Then she walked away.

            I sighed and realized that this slight movement caused pain to my chest.  I wasn’t sure how I felt about Jordan.  I wanted to be his friend.  He needed a friend, someone to show him they cared.  He was right about having a lot of baggage though.  I didn’t think he needed to be locked up in a jail.  I thought he needed to get some therapy though.  And get a strong group of people that cared about him.  I’d never been involved in any kind of shooting before and now I wondered if I’d been misinterpreting other shooters.  Maybe they were all like Jordan and thought they were protecting children from having horrible childhoods like them.  I thought about it…and decided that I doubted it.  A lot of them were probably psychopaths or sociopaths.

            I felt myself falling asleep, but before I did, I prayed, Dear God, help Jordan.  And I was sound asleep

©Katie Holm 2014

Everything Changed

I present to you a fanfiction story, based from a dream I had.

            I groaned as I combed my long, black hair.  I was sick and tired of school, but I had to go.  Every.  Single.  Stinkin’.  Day.  Including today.  It was way too early for anyone to be up, including me.  It was nearly six-thirty.  Too early.

            I wove my hair into a braid and sat on my bed listening to the tree branches tapping against my window.  Then I remembered that there were no trees near my window.  Of course I began to freak out.  I was a sixteen year old girl, home alone, unarmed, in my second story bedroom, without my cell phone.  I felt my heart stop and surprisingly, so did the tapping.  I thought that was that, but as soon as I relaxed, the tapping began again.  Slowly, cautiously, I walked toward my bookshelves and reached for the heaviest dictionary I owned before tiptoeing toward my window and moving the curtain.

            Outside my window was a young boy, about ten years of age, peering in, green eyes twinkling and a wide, pearly white smile on his face.  When he saw me, his smile grew even wider and he waved frantically.  I took a startled step backward, dropping the curtain as I stepped back.  Then, just as quickly as I had stepped back, I stepped forward and peered out my window once more.  I felt the large dictionary fall from my hand.  The boy had nothing to stand on.  He was levitating right outside my window.  His smile grew a tad fainter when he saw I wasn’t opening the window and he tapped it again, mouthing the words, ‘let me in.’

            Nervously, I opened it a crack.  “Who are you?”

            He laughed merrily, as if it was the funniest joke he had heard, “Don’t you know?”

            I shook my head, wondering if I was supposed to know him.

            “I’m Peter!  Peter Pan!  Can I come in?”

            “He’s just a fictional character!”  I protested, sure I had lost my mind.

            “Evidently he’s not.”  The boy threw his head back and laughed.

            “Yes he is.  I just read about him in a book.”

            He gasped.  “You can read?  Oh, I wish I could read!  Come and read to me and the lost boys!”

            I shook my head.  “You’re crazy!  What do you take me for?  An idiot?  I have a 4.0 GPA and plenty of common sense to go with it.”

            “What’s a GPA?”

            I began to wonder if he was telling the truth.  I’d always loved Peter Pan.  “Are you really Peter?”

            The boy nodded.  “Yes and I want you to come with me!  Please, please, come with me!”

            “But I can’t fly!”  I protested sadly.

            “Of course you can’t right now.  Let me in and I’ll put the fairy dust on you.  Then you just think happy thoughts and you can fly!”

            I opened my window all the way and the boy graced in.  “Oh thank you so much!”  He reached in a little pouch held to his waist with a woven grass belt and brought out a fist.  He opened his fist and acted as though he was blowing a kiss to me.  Shimmering dust flew from his hand in tiny particles and settled over me like a glimmering film.  A little bit of it went up my nose and I sneezed it out onto my carpet.

            “Now think lovely thoughts….”  He whispered in a sing-song voice.

            I did think lovely thoughts.  In my mind.  To be a child again.  To be able to fly.  No school.  A million dollars.  To go to Neverland.  To have money for as many books as I want.

            “Out loud!”

            “Food!  Christmas!  No school!  Puppies!”  I shouted at the top of my lungs, jumping upward each time I did so…but to no avail.  I didn’t rise and soar through the air the way Peter did just above my head.  “Why isn’t it working?”  I looked up at him with sorrow in my eyes.

            “You need happier, lovelier thoughts!”

            “More sleep!  A mathless world!  Christmas!”  As if Christmas was the magic word, I rose into the air and promptly bumped my head on the ceiling.”

            Pan’s face lit up.  “Now you can come with me!”

~

            I’d never felt so free before in my life than I did in the moments I spent gliding alongside Peter Pan, and I never have since.  He didn’t seem to notice how much bigger I was than he, he only cared about the funny stories I told him of my classmates and my pets.  After a while, I didn’t even notice his youth.  I just felt at home with him.

            When we finally came to Neverland, I was amazed.  When people read Peter Pan and read about Neverland, they think it sounds great.  But it’s not as great as it sounds.  It’s even better.  It’s so small and so large all at the same time.  It’s small enough to take a trip around the perimeter in one day, but large enough that you could live there for 2,000 years and never explore the entirety.  It’s lush and green, while at the same time being dry and barren.  It’s a paradox in itself.  A beautiful, beautiful paradox.  I never wanted to leave.

            The lost boys were so sweet.  They weren’t, of course, the same lost boys from the book.  Those had gone home with Wendy, John and Michael.  But they were just as lovable I thought they would be, and I spent the next two weeks…maybe months, telling them stories, reading to them, exploring with them.  I was the oldest, but no one ever noticed and I had no problem being their mother.

            We had some adventures…but never with Hook.  Not until I’d been there for what felt like forever.

            “We’re going to visit Hook!”  Peter announced one day, after third breakfast.

            One of the lost boys, named Charlie, gasped.  “Captain Hook?  But, Peter, he’s dangerous!”

            “Ho hum!”  Peter scoffed, “Captain Hook?  Dangerous?  Ha!  He’s nothing but a codfish!  A despicable codfish.”

            Charlie’s eyes grew wide, “But, Peter, what if he kills you?”

            “He can’t kill me!  But even if he did, to die would be an awfully big adventure.”

            “Oh, Peter, don’t say such things.”  I admonished him, stepping into my mother role easily.

            “But it’s true, Mother.  Now we must be off!”

~

            We landed aboard the Jolly Roger and instantly were surrounded by pirates.

            “Well, well, if it isn’t Peter Pan….”  Spat Hook.

            He was different than I had imagined him.  He was tall, thin, and had a trustworthy looking face.  His black hair brushed across his forehead, and he didn’t look much older than twenty-five.  He didn’t look like the villain portrayed in the book and movies.  He looked…kind.  It startled me as I looked at him, how kind he seemed.

            “Why yes, Mr. Codfish, it is I!  Peter Pan!  And I have come to vanquish you, once and for all.”

            I watched as they battled.  And as I watched, it seemed as though Hook was being careful not to hurt Pan.  Almost as though he cared for the young boy.  Almost as though this was a game for him.

            Peter flew high above Hook, his dagger in his hand, then, right before he flew downward, he crowed.  I hadn’t yet heard him crow…and it was a glorious sound.  But it brought about the most shocked look on Hook’s face.  He fell to his knees and raked his fingers through the air moaning.

            Peter landed and looked at Hook strangely.  “Are we scared of defeat, little codfish?”

            Hook muttered inaudibly.

            “What did you say?”

            “There’s a tale I heard long ago…and it’s coming true.”

            I wondered what he meant by that.  But as I watched him, I noticed that I had made a mistake.  He looked closer to eighteen than twenty.  And Pan suddenly looked about twelve.

            “Oooh!  A story!”  The lost boys instantly plopped down on the deck, rested their heads in their hands and peered up at Hook, ready, as always, for a story.

            “A fairy once told me that a girl who wasn’t a woman, but wasn’t a child, would come to Neverland…and the first time Peter crowed after she arrived…Peter would grow old…and I would grow young.”

            My eyes widened.  The change was happening faster.  Or maybe it only seemed that way because I knew it was happening.  Peter stared down at his body, shocked as his legs shot up like trees.

            “No!”  He cried out.  “No!”  His second ‘no’ was lower than his first.  “I want to always be a little boy and to have fun!”  His voice was deeper, deeper.  “I’m a little boy!  A little boy!”

            And he didn’t lie.  He was a little boy….  But the body he was in was a teenager’s.  His nostrils flared as he sank to his knees and began to cry and rock himself.  “No, no, no.”

            Hook’s tall, slender figure became shorter, chunkier.  He looked about twelve now.  “I have something I need to say.”  His voice was high and girly compared to the voice I’d heard him talking in just moments ago.

            Peter’s twenty year old body was racked with sobs.  I was sure it had to be torture going through puberty as fast as he had.  “It hurts.”  He moaned.

            “I created this land, Peter.”

            “No, no you didn’t!  I did!  I created Neverland!”

            “No you didn’t!”  Hook screamed.  “I created it from the dreams I had, from the dreams my brothers and sisters had.”

            “You lie!”  Peter shouted.  “Stop lying, stop it!”

            “I’m your father, Peter.  I’m your father.”

            It seemed so strange to hear a nine year old telling a thirty year old that he was his father.  But it explained the gentleness of the duel.  I felt like everything was falling apart, but it had to have been worse for Peter.  His whole life was being changed, destroyed.  Their ages were changing more rapidly.  As soon as the words had come from Hook’s lips, he was a small child, barely able to walk, and Peter was nearing fifty.  None of it made sense to me.  None of it.

            “We have to fly home.”  I told the lost boys.  “I don’t think we can stay here.”

            “No!”  Peter cried out, “Don’t leave me here alone.”

            With his sweet, beautiful, confused green eyes looking at me, I knew I couldn’t leave him.  My mothering instinct was too strong.  Which is why I couldn’t leave the little baby alone.  I picked Hook up in my arms, and gently unscrewed his hook.  I could tell by his eyes that he was in a baby’s body, but was still a man.  He just couldn’t make his mouth form words.  Then, before I’d realized it was happening…he vanished.

            “Oh, Peter, I’m so sorry.”  I stroked his graying hair.  “I never should have come.  I should have told you I was too old for Neverland.”

            Peter shook his head weakly.  “You told us stories.”

            “But stories aren’t everything.”

            “I’m going to die, Mother.”

            I bit my lip and felt tears on the corner of my eyes.  “I’m so sorry.”

            “It’s okay.”  He held up a knarled, old hand, “To die will be an awfully big adventure.”  And he went to his adventure.

            I didn’t know how to explain what had happened to the lost boys, so I simply took them home with me.  I didn’t understand what had happened or why it had happened, but it changed me.  In a way, it showed me how short life is…and how sometimes people wait ‘til the last minute to tell others important things.  I felt different every time I read Peter Pan now.  I saw Hook the way he was when I was in Neverland.  I saw Peter the way he was outside my window.  I saw everything differently.  Because everything was different now.  Everything had changed.

Well, I was going through the things on this blog, including the unposted posts....and found this.  No clue where I was going with it...but if anyone has any ideas, go ahead and comment and let me know!!!

Once there was a little girl named Amanda. She was beautiful. Long black hair, and sparkling blue eyes.
She had an amazing voice, she could sing anything, and her drawings looked like they would leap off the page, the songs that she played on the piano sounded like angels were playing them. She never bragged about it though.
But she had a problem. The problem was her older sister.
Her sister, Julie, wasn't pretty, with her brown hair and sharp cold blue eyes, the scar on her chin from when she had gotten into a fight with a boy, and her atitude.
Julie was fifteen, and always made fun of her beautiful thirteen year old sister. She said things like, "You are SO ugly! You can't play piano near as good as ME! Your voice is WAY too flat! And your atitude, well, it's just NOT good!"
Amanda hurt at the things her sister said, and she believed them, but the critisim only made her get better. Instead of practicing piano for only an hour, she would play for hours, and hours, until her fingers bled.
She sang as much as she could without her voice disapearing completly. She was hurting so much inside.
Would her sister ever love her? At all?
As she walked home from school one day, books clasped tightly to her chest, blinking back tears as she remembered the words from the cruel cheerleaders. Why were all those cheerleaders so mean?
She heard footsteps behind her, and she picked up the pace, praying that no one would torment her again.
She was so realived when she found out that it was only her guy friend, Josh.
He was a very cute boy, and she liked him allot, but doubted that he would ever care anything about her. Well, nothing more than just friendship.
She smiled up at him, "Hi Josh."
Josh, with his sweet lopsided smile darted up to her, and said, "Hey Amanda, I have the most funny joke ever!"
Amanda smiled, and her eyes lit up, his jokes were allways funny!
"Tell me, tell me!"
Josh grinned again, and her heart skipped a beat, he had no idea what kind of affect he had on her!
He towered a good four or five inches above her, so he grinned down at her, and began the joke.
"Never say hi to your friend Jack on a plane," His eyes were twinkling with laughter, but Amanda was confused.
"I don't get it," Her eye brows were knit together with confusion, and her eyes were puzzled.
Joshes eyebrows shot up. "You don't?!" He said it like it was strange thing.
Amanda shook her head.
Josh sighed, he hated it when he had to explain them, yet he loved it. He loved the look of realzation that came up on her face.
"Okay, I'll explain it," his face took on a suffering look, but Amanda knew that he didn't mean it. "You see, you see your friend Jack, and what do you say to him?"
Amanda looked kinda still confused, and answered, "Hi Jack?"
Then a look of realzation came over her face, and she got a huge grin on her face, and burst out laughing.
The laughter died, when she realized she was at her house. She did NOT want to go in, but she had to.
"Bye Josh,"
"See ya 'Manda,"
Amanda felt like she was about to walk into the lions den, and she wasn't so sure she'd survive.

A Conversation With Myself

This is a story I wrote and posted on my other blog a looooong time ago....so here it is on this blog!  Although now it is improved and actually spell checked....

I stood face to face with 'it.'  It was not me.  It couldn't be me!  I was standing right here!  In front of...it.  It looked at shocked as me.

"Who are you?"  It asked.

"Katie."  I heard my voice rise and crack.  "Who are you?"

"K-Katie...."  Its voice was identical to mine.

"How old are you?"

"Fifteen...."  It looked me up and down.  "How old are YOU?"

"Sixteen."  So it wasn't me.  Well...it was...but it wasn't.  I looked it up and down from the very top of its head, which was he same copper shade as mine, to its feet, which, as usual, were bare.  It was wearing the shirt I got on top of Pike's Peak that boasted, 'It's illegal to get this high in most states!"  Her blue eyes and slightly flushed face made me feel like I was looking in a mirror and I wondered if it felt the same.

Finally, it spoke again.  "Are you me?"

"I don't know...are you me?"

"I don't know.  Do you like cats?"

"Yeah.  Do you?"

"Yeah...."

"Do you know what the word 'acrophobia' means?"

"Yeah...it's a morbid fear of heights."

We stood there, staring at each other.  Neither one of us knowing what to say or do.  Would this change anything in the fabric of time?  Us meeting like this?  Finally, I cleared my throat,

"So, were you homeschooled 'til the start of your freshman year of highschool?"

Her face lit up like mine had done when I was in her place.  "Yes!  But don't ask which I prefer, because I like both of them and I don't think I could choose between them."

"I know.  I think I'm you.  And it's weird."

"It IS weird."  She shivered.  "So, you know where you are, right?  If you're...you know...from the future."

"I'm at Indy camp, right?"  Indy camp was a general church camp that people and families of all shapes and sizes attended once a year.  I'd been going since before I was born.

She nodded.  "Right after my first year at the Bible school."

"So....how long has camp been going on?"

"Just started.  You've been through this before...anything I should know?"

"You mean about camp?"

"Or in general over the year...."

"Well, concerning camp, be prepared to run and pound on a camper door; it might save a life.  And when one of your younger friends says something that sounds strange; listen to them.  But don't worry, there's fun to be had as well."  I wiggled my eyebrows mysteriously.

She laughed.  "How did you get here?"

I shrugged.  "Beats me!  But it's kind of cool seeing my past self."

"It's kind of cool seeing my future self!"

We laughed together.  When the laughter had subsided, she looked at me with a look of worried concern.  "What about my mom...and her boyfriend?"

Of course...I should have expected that.  "Well...."

"He's not her boyfriend anymore, is he?"

I shook my head.  "But, he gave you his hat and a ton of sharp objects, knives, a hatchet, a double headed axe...."

"Yeah....but we moved again, didn't we?"

I nodded.

"Do I like it?"

"You mostly stay in your room."

"What's my room like?"

I started grinning, "You tell me."

She grinned in return.  "Well, the walls are probably blue or green...bookshelves...my desk...my bunk bed/loft thingy...and I'm sure there's tons of stuff on the walls!"

All I did was smile.  She was very, very accurate.  But not completely.  Of course, she didn't need to know that.

"Do you have any words of wisdom for me?"

"Wisdom?  Me?!"

"Oh come on, we both know you're wiser than you act!"

I cleared my throat awkwardly.  "Maybe we feel like it sometimes...but honestly, Past Me, we really aren't all that wise or smart."

She sighed, "But we can pretend, can't we?"

"Sure, why not!"  I laughed.

"Well, do you?  In as little wisdom as you have, do you have any for me?"

I thought long and hard.  "Remember to look for the good in others...like for example, two people in your class...."

Her lip curled up.  "Are you talking about...?"

I laughed.  "Yes.  They're not all that bad though.  Remember your field trip?  The rope swing?  The way they were the only people in your class to push you?  I mean, yeah, your class is small...but still...."

She gave me a lopsided smile.  "I should say thanks sometime."

"You do eventually."

"More wisdom?"

"Um...Stay strong.  DON'T DATE.  Read your Bible.  Don't give up on God.  Do crazy stuff.  Keep your knives sharp, listen to--"

"Knives?  Do I kill someone?"

"No, but it's a good idea to keep your knives sharp."

She laughed.  "Niiiice."

"Do you have anything you want me to always remember?"

She thought for a moment, then nodded.  "Always remember the way you and Kayden always hung out and sword fought.  And never forget Zena.  Always remember what Corgan and Travis did for you.  And of course never forget how Gavyn practically rescued you from a creep at the end of the school year."

My brow furrowed as I had a sudden thought.  "Do you think this is a dream?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, we're both here randomly...And I have no idea how I'm here."

"Ugh, I hate stories where it was all a dream!"

"Oh me too!"

"It's just one of those--We're the same person, Katie, of course you hate it too!  DUH!"

We laughed together

"But what if it is a dream?"  I asked again.  "Who would wake up?  You or me?"

"Or both of us?"

"Oh dear...this is starting to seem like an episode of Doctor Who."

"An episode of what?"

"Doctor Who.  You'll understand it all in December.  One more word of 'wisdom.'  Make the most of your life.  You know, actually WRITE something.  In a NOTEBOOK."

"As you wish."  She curtsied.  "Katie."

"Yeah?"

Her face went blank and she called out again, "Katie."

"I'm here!"

"Katie."  Her voice sounded far away.

Even though my eyes were open, I felt them open.  I blinked twice and there was my mom.

"Katie, it's time to get up!"

I stared at her stupidly for a moment before blurting, "Seriously, Mom?  I was having a great heart to heart with myself!"  Then despite having just woken up, I fell back to sleep.

The End.