allegories-astray

[allegories-astray]

The Thought of Having You

by Markus Enns

The sun was setting beautifully upon her face.

The constellation of stars in her pupils perfectly complemented the universe within her irises and took me to a different planet-- one far away from anxiety, stress, and sadness. I was held captive by her beauty with an incomprehensible ransom. I was never to be set free.

She had been slowly drinking her medium cup of vanilla iced coffee which her lips retained after every sip. She held the beverage in her mouth for a second before swallowing to completely indulge in the flavour of her favourite drink; I didn’t mind, though, it made her lips taste like coffee. Lips that I would one day have the honour of kissing. 

As we sat on my family’s typical ‘beach blanket,’ with our backs leaned up against the old log behind us, my mind was thrown into oblivion. I had too many thoughts running through my head and didn’t have the capability to fully entertain any of them due to the continued, and rather vigorous, crashing of the waves. They drowned out my thoughts before I could 

Who sat in this spot before us?

Who will sit in this spot after us?

What kind of memories were made in this spot?

What kind of memories will be made in this spot?

What is she thinking about?

How do I savour this moment forever?

She took another sip of her coffee with her eyes still locked onto the ocean in front of us though mine did not diverge from her sunlit face. She looked so beautiful that perfect would be an understatement. She subtly and softly squinted her eyes as the sun moved from behind the thin, layered cloud. Its rays piercing her face. Her lips formed a slight grin with a trail of her coffee running between them for the second before she swallowed. That second passed and I was now smiling with her, however, I doubt she saw it. I gently moved my head towards the ocean, and eyes, simultaneously, to face the same direction she was. I wished to gaze upon the same sight she was looking at. Adjusting my position on the blanket, I loosened up and moved closer to her. 

My heart raced, running a thousand laps around my chest. I could hear the sound of my beating heart reverberating in my ears as it competed against the sound of the crashing waves. Eventually, it won. I couldn’t even hear the same thoughts in my mind which I pondered earlier.

I was close enough now to smell her perfume.

It was vanilla-- the perfect scent to match a perfect girl.

We sat now, looking at the same sight, and nothing else mattered. My heart was beginning to lose its race and return to its regular tempo. She said something to me but I didn’t know what it was. The words she spoke didn’t register, though I could hear her voice like a love song sung by a symphony of angels. Perfectly harmonized too.

I looked at her. She was already looking at me. Her grin had expanded and her cheeks were rosy. Her lips moved again. The same heavenly phenomenon from before was recreated. A gust of light wind followed that ran through her hair to mine. Rustling like the leaves of a sprouting tree, her hair covered her face causing her to laugh. Like a domino, I fell into laughter in response to her purity at this moment.

We paused for a second, staring into each other’s eyes as the laughter concluded and our lips closed into a smile. That was yet another moment shared between us, one of many that I know will be made with her.

The sun continued to set and now only remained halfway above the ocean’s surface. I didn’t want to sun to set. I didn’t want the day to end. I didn’t want to experience a second without her. A second that would plunge my happiness into an abyss. The happiness that she alone has given me.

Our eyes remained locked as our smiles began to fade with the sunlight. 

My mind began to think once more, and an obscene feeling of urgency fell upon me with a fire burning under me that pressured me to speak. I had to tell her what was on my mind before the night was over. I didn’t know when the next time I would see her would come, thus, there was only one way to end this night. 

“Wow,” I spoke in a near whisper in fear that I would cry. “Despite all my flaws and all you know, you’re here with me tonight. Above all things, it’s just the thought of having you that keeps me awake at night and distracted at work. I just can’t believe I have you.”

My voice quivered slightly and my eyes held a delicate sheet of tears in place at its surface. Her eyes resembled mine as her facial appearance began to change. The tension holding her cheeks, lips, and eyebrows in position slipped and her face fell into an unimaginable bliss. She looked even more beautiful than before. The feeling of devoted love for her was developing in me as quick as the sun was setting.

I chuckled as I thought of what I was going to say next. I knew the next phrase would make her laugh too, something that I was really looking forward to seeing and hearing.

“You’re drop-dead gorgeous, so, dare I say,” I paused, biting my bottom lip for I knew what was to come. My eyes tightened and I could feel myself laughing before even delivering the statement.

I chuckled again, “So dare I say, If looks could kill, I’d be dead.”

...

[Extend and finish the story by considering one (or more) the following idea(s):]

1. What happens next?

-Does she say anything?

-Does she do anything?

2. What happens when the night ends?

3. Is there any specific, or general, event that occurs to ruin the moment?

-Does the wind pick up?

-Does something, or someone, unexpectedly take her (or her attention) away from you?

-If so, how will you handle the situation?

[Or extend and finish the story by using one (or more) of your own idea(s):]

[allegories-astray]

The Method Behind the Madness [Part 2]

In the previous post, I stated the ways in which I tap into my creative mind and prepare myself to write. In Part 2, I will discuss how I start writing and techniques I use that amplify my art and creative ability. On a side note, though considerably important to understand how my writing style is influenced, I am heavily intrigued by film production. As the director, editor, writer, and actor in my own, award-winning short film called “Ace,” I believe that the way I write is the same to the way I make films. I want to immerse the reader, like the watcher, into the story and really make them feel like they’re connected to the plot. By fully describing characters, I allow my audience the ability to like, dislike, and/or relate to the people they’re reading or watching. The same is true about detailing the location and environment around the action. By implementing this notion, I have developed what I think is a unique writing style and dynamic take on regular stories and films. Listed below are some of the films I have produced in my Grade 11 Theatre Performance and Acting class.

1. “Ace mad film” Winner of MAD Film’s “Best Use of Genre” Award https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3stnbRBJZYQ

2. “russo enns acting” Grade 11 Theatre Performance and Acting Final Movie https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DLyQRxc6FBg

3. “enns benedict 5.1″ Grade 11 Theatre Performance and Acting In-Class Film https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HwWa9ifRC6A

Step Three: Know your setting!

When you begin writing your story, whether you start it in the middle of the action with dialogue or something likewise, you need to establish a clear sense of the location for the reader. Though I may overindulge in this aspect when I write, I find it supremely important to teleport the reader to the location of the story-- make them physically see the location you are creating. Though it is important to allow their imagination to some conclusions, it’s still very important you aim them in the right direction so the world you see if manifested in the actual world. A good, key idea to incorporate is what I call the “Five-Sense Story.” In essence, keep these in mind, as I do, when establishing the location: How does the location (this could be the weather, a door, their own body) feel? What does the location smell like? What sounds can be heard? Does the atmosphere taste (metaphorically/literally) like anything? What does the character see and what is unknown to them? I find it important to include these to allow your reader to be part of the story and by implementing this method, I believe it can strongly enhance your art.

Step Four: Let the words flow!

Contrary to popular belief, I believe that you do not need to have your whole story all planned out before you start writing. To me, it’ s very important to just write all your thoughts down and keep on writing until your mind can fully comprehend the world in your mind and your fingers have typed all the details and essential dialogue. If you hold off on this, it becomes easy to forget the main aspects of your plot, specific characteristics of your characters, and creative phrases. Don’t just take this advice from me, like Louis L’Amour said, “Start writing, no matter what. The water does not flow until the faucet is turned on.” In other words, make your mind the faucet and your words the water. Let the creativity flow from your mind and the words you write generate the world you conjured; then share this beautiful piece of art with your audience. You can determine your ending as you write, like I oftentimes, if not always, do. I just write the thoughts in my brain and let them manifest into a story. After this, I establish the creative ending I find fitting and, just like before, just allow my creativity to work. I advise that you take the time afterwards to edit and perfect the sentences and paragraphs but just get into writing everything first and allow your stoessentiallytially finish itself.

In the next “The Method Behind The Madness” post, I will cover some post-writing tips of mine and flesh out my personal, effective writing style. In the meantime, though, I will continue to work on some short stories to share with you all.

Thank you all for reading my blog and stopping by.

Remember, the power is in your hands. Write the future.

[allegories-astray]

The Method Behind The Madness

Creative writing is deeper than putting words into sentences, those sentences into paragraphs, and those paragraphs into a story. Writing is a unique, dynamic, and expressive form of art. As the sole author and editor of everything published on this blog, I pour my heart out in every post to ensure peak levels of quality. On a personal note, though, this post in specific will outline the basic steps I take when writing and how I produce my own literary art. Please remember that what works for me may not work for you and everyone’s mind is different; mine happens to find order where others would chaos, yet there still is a method behind the madness.

Step One: Music is everything!

Before I even write a single word, I listen to (and reflect upon) diverse, rather ‘weird,’ music for inspiration. I typically tend to stray away from mainstream pop or rap songs when searching for inspiration as I believe the most effective way to tap into my creative mind is through understanding somebody else's. Listening to music also helps me imagine scenes, characters, and storylines based on the beat (upbeat or sad), words (vulgar or selective), and tone (sombre or ravaging). Listed below are a couple of songs in my personal “writing playlist” that help me write with ease.

1. Digital Farm Animals – Didn't Know (feat. Yasmin)

2. Middle School – How To Say Sorry. (w/ ÊMIA)

3. Jakubi - Couch Potato

4. Milky Chance - Stolen Dance

5. IDK - Pizza Shop Extended (with Yung Gleesh, MF Doom & Del The Funky Homosapien) INSPIRATION BEHIND “In the Silent Stillness”

6. IDK - Pizza Shop Extended (with Yung Gleesh, MF Doom & Del The Funky Homosapien) INSPIRATION BEHIND “Young Gunnin’”

Step Two: Be in your element!

Another pre-writing step that must be considered before starting your work of art is where you are. I find it essential to write in a place that allows you to be comfortable and free from distractions. I struggle writing at school as there are just so many distractions-- friends, teachers, time restrictions, and other unrelated, school-induced drama. By working at home, for example, or a coffee shop/library (like I am right now at the time of writing this), you are more prone to WANT to write. The environment definitely has a strong influence on your attention to the story and, from experience, can help me tap into my creativity, and overall encourage me to explore unique aspects are perspectives. If I choose to stay home, though, I really make a sublime effort to make myself as relaxed, calm, collected, and comfortable as possible. Personally, I enjoy turning on my essential oil diffuser alongside my strong, LED lamp to light up my room entirely. I keep the lights off, aside from the lamp, and wrap myself in blankets over my hoodie with the hood covering my head. With music playing from my headphones, the energy just flows into me and allows me to produce great work. Warmth, good smells, and inspiring music help me get into my element and facilitates an environment where I can produce great art and quality stories.

The next post will discuss my writing process itself and will explore the steps I take when making my creative art.

Thank you for reading my blog and stopping by. Remember, the power is in your hands. Write the Future.

[allegories-astray]

The One

by Markus Enns

“I’ve fished this ocean all my life and I still haven’t caught the one.”

“The one?” I asked my uncle, “what do you mean?”

My uncle had been facing towards the ocean, sitting practically motionless in his seat.  He let the line from his red fishing rod remain idle in the water, being gently swayed by the calm waves of the ocean. He had been a fisherman all his life, in fact, he retired twenty years ago as a fisherman where he caught cod and salmon for his brother’s business-- my father’s business. 

My uncle, uncle Hans, stuttered as he began to speak again.

“Y-y-you don’t know about the one?”

“Nope, no idea,” I replied.   

“Yup, just like your father,” he said disappointingly. “Y’all ain’t even know your own roots. Our family was formed and flourished here, out in the ocean. One day your father decided to move out to the city with his girlfriend and never return home.”   

He didn’t move his head to face me, though he did fix his position in the seat. I stared down the back of his head in silence. I had just asked a simple question but I was being lambasted by the actions of my father. I started to wonder why my uncle was so frustrated, that’s when I started to question why I was even on this boat in the first place.

“Uncle Hans, I chose to come on this boat with you today, what’s your problem?”

Uncle Hans did not appreciate my delayed response, granted I did have an attitude.  I know he’s my elder and family, but he was disrespecting my father and his well being. I could not allow it to persistent and I needed to make that clear to him. In an instant, following my reply, he darted his head towards me.

“Your father doesn’t know a thing about the natural world or catching fish. He’s just some economic slave who’s bent on making the most money.”

“That’s not true!” I rebutted back in anger.

Uncle Hans released the tension in his hands and let his fishing rod rest on the boat’s head. 

“See, kid, people like me are ecologically aware. We appreciate the natural world and every aspect of it.” His voice started to raid and his eyebrows furrowed as he stared down my eyes. “I use a paddle boat as opposed to a motor-powered one to reduce pollution. I always catch just enough fish to sustain myself. Your father knows nothing about that!”

I was paralyzed by fear. I’d never seen my uncle react like this before.

“Where is this all coming from?” I naively asked, “why don’t you talk to your brother instead of delivering your anger to me. I’m not my dad!”

“And your dad sure is not our dad either.” He turned his head away and quickly retrieved his fishing rod, putting it back in the tight grasp of his hands. I lowered my head and faced the water. 

In due time, I began to hear the stifled sound of my uncle’s sniffling. I couldn't see his face but I pictured it. I imagined my uncle, this old man’s face, full of deep wrinkles and acne scars, with tears running down his cheeks.

With the intention to call out to him in a calm manner, a sudden surge of passion overtook my uncle as the line of his fishing rod was deliberately and viciously pulled. There was a force lurking in the ocean water with such distinct effects it created a dichotomy with the weather-- it was a calm day with sunny skies yet this creature in the water caused me and my uncle to turn all attention to the task at hand.

“Uncle Hans!” I shouted out of instinct, “what is that?”

There was only grunting sounds and soft moans of attrition from my uncle. I received no verbal acknowledgement of my inquiry. Despite this, I understood that this might be the one. My uncle’s tears became a distant memory, though only being heard moments ago. There was no concept of reality-- everything was surreal and a feeling of transcendence occurred on that boat. 

As my uncle continued to fight for the eventual capture of the monster creature in the water, I dwelled on a very different thought. I began to ponder the words my uncle spoke to me. It was painful to admit, but he was right. My father had no sensible care for the environment. He intended to use the fish for his own financial gain and didn’t care if every single fish was caught-- because that way he could make the most amount of money. My uncle, on the contrary, wished to balance multiple uses of the ocean and the species that inhabited it. 

The grunting remained yet grew louder and more frequent. The creature on the opposite end of my uncle’s red fishing rod was taking a toll on him. That is when I decided to help.

...

[Extend and finish the story by considering one (or more) the following idea(s):]

1. How do you help Uncle Hans?

-Do you help balance the boat?

-Do you give him physical help on bringing in the line?

2. What is on the other end of the rod?

-Is it “the One”?

-Is it something sinister or malicious?

3. What happens if Uncle Hans can’t bring in the creature on the other side of his rod?

-Do you help him back aboard the boat?

[Or extend and finish the story by using one (or more) of your own idea(s):]

[allegories-astray]

In the Silent Stillness

by Markus Enns

The brim of his gun gently swayed before going rigid as he entered the pizza shop.  A complete and sudden feeling of overwhelming bliss entered us and we stood in solidarity with space and time.  We were calm.

In a whisper, Michael addressed me in a demonstrative tone. “Go check the washrooms, I’ll head on to the back.” He had been staring down the sightline from the front cashier desk of the store before moving his eyes and turning his head towards me.  “If I yell ‘CLAP’, we converge back here and get the hell out of here.”

Michael returned his focus to the back of the pizza shop once more and began on his way.  I abided and took his order with a nod of my head, though he did not see it. Carefully advanced towards the washrooms, the calmness the consumed my being persisted and the sound of my black, pointy dress shoes stepping on the concrete floor made my mind race. Every step seemed to be equally timed apart from the last and covered the same amount of distance. The walking sound was like a metronome-- so precise, consistent, and mesmerizing.  Caught in the daze facilitated by this phenomenon, I thought about Michael, or Mike, as I know him, and engaged in deep meditation. 

Mike had been involved with this sort of high-risk crime before, in fact, he had been incarcerated for armed robbery many years prior.  Released early due to good behaviour, he was struggling to return back to the free life.  For the first time in over a decade, he was out of prison, though, struggling to afford the cost of living.  He needed money.

My thoughts were interrupted as I moved my right arm up to open the washroom door. My black suit jacket, that I had just purchased hours earlier at the local thrift store, was tight and slightly restricted my motion. It was by no means a struggle or monumental task, however, it was enough to make me think about it for a split second. Maybe this is what brought me back to reality. I placed my open hand, with my fingers softly extended, on the door and pushed the door open with subtle effort.  The door creaked, gradually getting louder as the door opening widened. Pushing open the door wide enough for my body to enter, the atmosphere in the pizza shop shifted.  As the noise being produced by the door came to a diminishing end, so did the calm feeling from before.  

In a drastic and unprecedented manner, I was now overcome with supreme panic.  Through the panic and stress-induced anxiety that was transpiring, I quickly scanned the bright, white room and moved my pupils to look under the washroom stalls, attempting to see someone standing.  It would have still been quiet, even amidst the soft buzz of the light above me, if it wasn’t for my fast, heavy breathing. 

My mind wandered once more and under the thrift store suit jacket and classic, old white button-up shirt, my body broke into a cold sweat. For all I know, I could have seen somebody in the washroom, but I was far too panicky and nervous to know.  My eyes were open yet I could not see. I staggered backwards in a sudden faint but remained conscience as I stood just before the door I had just opened. It was this moment that brought back thoughts and my compulsion to think.  It all came racing back to my mind-- ‘it’  being all of my mother’s stories. 

I thought to myself, with the demon on my shoulder, or my bad conscious, vigorously fighting my sense of morality and reason.  My bad conscious kept arguing that we’ve come this far and had to follow through for Mike, but my morality, majorly formed by my mother’s lesson-bearing stories, prevailed. 

My eyes, like before, remained open, though I was still unable to see the physical world. Now, in a contrary fashion, I visualized my mother.

I was now a little child again, standing before my mother in my childhood living room, being scolded after my detention at school. 

“Don’t you ever do that again, young man! I did not raise my son to be an inconsiderate, little delinquent.” I was only an adolescent and youthful yet I knew that getting into a playfight with your childhood best friend wasn’t something to get all worked up about.  “Look at your Uncle Hugh, for example, he’s in prison because he made very poor choices.  You will NOT be like your Uncle Hugh, do you hear me?” She always emphasized the ‘NOT’ and it became something that you’d wait for every time you got in trouble.  More than this, though, was how often she emphasized not being like Uncle Hugh, her eldest brother.

“He’s been in and out of ‘the system’ since he arrived at the juvenile detention block back when he was your age.”  Another thing mom always did, that is, the unreliable statement that, no matter how old I was, Uncle Hugh was always ‘my age.’  This didn’t discredit her point or deduct any merits from the lesson she was trying to teach me. 

 “It starts off simple,” she would always say, “like getting into a fight at school or experimenting with drugs, but then it spirals out of control and you start to lose a lot of important things in life.  Your Uncle never thought it would catch up to him, and frankly, neither did Grandma, but it’s when you least expect it the most that it happens. Do NOT let me down, son.”

This vision of mother that I was having came to an abrupt conclusion as I heard Mike’s gun go off. It shattered my vision and ripped through the pizza shop.  My eyes began to function again. In my panic, I left the washroom in a hurry and accelerated back to the convergence point that Mike established earlier. I looked in the general direction Mike would have gone towards and considered my mother’s story once more.

...

[Extend and finish the story by considering one (or more) the following idea(s):]

1. What caused Mike to fire his weapon?

-Did someone get in his way?

2. Elaborate upon your “mother’s stories”

3. If the police were called and show up, what will you and Mike do?

-Do you try to escape?

-Do you try to fight the police?

[Or extend and finish the story by using one (or more) of your own idea(s):]

[allegories-astray]

About allegories-astray

allegory= “a story, poem; or picture that can be interpreted to reveal a hidden meaning, typically a moral or political one”

astray= “into error or morally questionable behaviour”

I am a Canadian High School student with a developed interest in creative writing and I have taken to Tumblr, as part of my English Studies 12 course requirement, to share my passion of writing with you.  This blog is intended to be viewed by students and writers akin to me who will see my work as a creative source for inspiration and/or complete the unfinished stories I have posted.  This blog is for creative purposes and I do not wish to profit off any ad revenue.  The language and themes expressed in the my blog do not aim to discriminate against any person nor are they intended to promote hate/violence-- as stated, they’re for creative and entertainment purposes only.

Thank you for reading my blog and stopping by. 

Remember, the power is in your hands.  Write the future.

[allegories-astray]

Young Gunnin’

by Markus Enns

The voice on the answering machine broke the silence in the room.

“Mrs Hall, this is Principal Devon speaking.  Please give us a call back when you can, Orlando has been suspended once again from school for fighting.  We’re starting to get worried about the safety threat he poses on the other students.  We can only do so much.” --beep--

The message ended as abruptly as it started.  Seated in the refurbished recliner beside the machine sat Diamond.  She had been raising Orlando as a single mother since his biological father deserted them due to “disappearing dad syndrome” as she called it.  She had heard similar sounding messages for the better part of Orlando’s adolescence no matter what school he was enrolled in.  She appeared unfazed at Principal Devon’s words.

She exhaled a sigh of disappointment.

“C’mon baby,” she said breaking the silence, “when are ya gonna start doing things right?  You know ya can’t be fightin’ at school”

Orlando rose his head that had been idly staring down at his feet.  He had been sprawled out over the love seat adjacent from his mother with his arms fully stretching across the top part of the sofa and legs extended with his feet crossed.  Fixing his posture on the sofa, now leaning over his knees with his feet planted, he addressed his mom.

“Man, who the f*** cares? Nobody ever wants to see my side.  They just see me pop a kid and I’m instantly the f*****g villain.  Does anybody ever wonder what the dumbass said to me in the first place?”

“Orlando, that’s not an excuse to start fightin’ baby!”  Diamond had been numb to any use of profanity and the situations Orlando got himself in.  “Listen, if you can’t keep yo ass in check at school maybe you gots to get yourself a job or something.  You’ll learn consequences real quick there!”

“Well s***,” Orlando started, “maybe you ‘ought to get yourself a job too then and stop living off f*****g food stamps and welfare cheques every month.”  He quickly raised himself up and stared down his mother’s soul through her eyes.  She did not stare back.  This was typical behaviour from her son.

Orlando stormed out of the room and out the front door.  His residence was no more than just that; a building he slept in.  Section 8 was no home, it was just a house at best.  Just a bunch of metal slapped together by some dime-a-dozen construction workers being slaved by the city who doesn’t do s*** for the poor.  With a distinct and purposeful shut of the door behind him and a swift step onto the street, Orlando became conscious of his breathing and forcefully took in a full breath.  

It was cold but that didn’t matter.  Everyone in Canada, particularly in Toronto, had grown accustomed to the frigid weather, this included Orlando.  He stuffed his hands habitually into his black Champions hoodie.  He spoke quietly to himself, seeing his breath in the cold air as the water vapour condensed into a fog.  As he began on his way, he already subconsciously knew where he was headed.  He knew where everyone was headed.  Everyone referring to all his boys who were the only people he had rooting for him. Orlando’s pace was steady. He didn’t need to lift his head, in fact, he let it hang idle as he proceeded on his way.  It got colder the longer he walked yet, inside Orlando developed a burning vendetta and anger.

... 

[Extend and finish the story by considering one (or more) the following idea(s):]

1. What is Orlando developing anger against?

-Who does Orlando meet when he arrives at his destination?

2. What does that person(s) do?

-Does Orlando make it to his destination safely?

3. What/who does he encounter on his way?

[Or extend and finish the story by using one (or more) of your own idea(s):]

[allegories-astray]

On the Roundtable

by Markus Enns

The room was dimly lit and the walls were surrounded with moderately expensive canvas paintings with family memorabilia and nostalgic paraphernalia spread appropriately in the spaces between the murals.  The Moosehead above the baroque fireplace caught the attention of many but the few who appreciated the sentimental value of the objects in the room instead of the sheer ostentatious appeal of the house noticed the small 8x11 portrait on the couchside roundtable.  It was simply framed and had nothing around it that would otherwise bring attention to it.  It was a just picture in a frame-- the picture, or portrait to be specific, black and white and the edges seemingly wrinkling and folding inwards.

Under the focal point of the portrait read a sentence written typewriter-esque letters above two more segments of texts.

Major Kennedy J. Hemsworth

Royal Canadian Air Force

7 December 1941

It was certainly dark in the room but there was enough light that allowed Henry to read these sentences.  Just then, he heard a familiar creek coming down the stairs.  It was past bedtime and Henry knew he was to be sleeping by now.  He wasn’t even supposed to be downstairs at this time.  Henry diverted his complete attention to the staircase on his left just slightly behind him.  His eyes locked on and widened when he saw a shadow advance down the steps.  

“Henry?” the voice whispered. “What are you doing down here? You know you should be sleeping.”

Henry heard his father’s voice cleary but the fear of getting in trouble paralyzed him in his steps.

“Let’s go, son, come here,” his father continued. “I’m not mad at you but it’s just time you come to bed, okay?”

“Dada, can I ask you something really important?”

“Of course, son, but can we talk about it upstairs?  It’s past your bedtime now.”  His father now made his way further down the stairs, just far enough that he was able to peek his head around the corner and observe his son.  Henry saw him through the darkness and made eye contact with his father. 

“No, Dada, come here.  It’s about that.”  Henry cranked his bead back at the picture on the round table and his eyes focused on the eyes belonging to the photographed man.  “Who is this man, Dada?”

Henry’s father hesitated before commenting.  He didn’t know it at the time but his jaw had instinctively dropped as his eyes widened like his son’s eyes did moments ago.  It dawned on him that he had never explained the picture to his son yet.  It wasn’t so much that he didn’t want to tell his song, it was that Henry never asked.

“O-okay, son, I-I’ll come down if you really want to know.”

He finished coming down the steps yet walking in the same slow pace as before.  Henry was still staring at the picture when his father met and embraced him.  Tears formed in his father’s eyes as he invoked a subtle sob from his inner heart.  He crouched down to Henry’s height and tightened his arms around him.  Looking at the picture of his father situated on the roundtable usually didn’t give him chill but when Henry, his only son, brought it up wanting to know more, emotions were the least to be contained as tears rolled down his cheeks.

“Dada, what’s wrong? You don’t have to cry.”

Through his tears, Henry’s father let out a faint smile and chuckle, assumed by his child’s innocence.

“Listen, Henry, the man in that picture is Dada’s dad.  He’s my father, but unfortunately, he was deployed to fight in the second world war while grandma was pregnant with me and he was never able to come back home after I was born.”

“Why not?”

“B-because, Henry,” his father stuttered and began to tighten his grip on his son again.  “Because things happen during wartime and it’s not very nice.”

“Like what, Dada?”

Swiftly inhaling a deep breath and holding it his lungs before patiently letting it out, Henry’s father opened his mouth and began to explain his father’s death.

... 

[Extend and finish the story by considering one (or more) of the following idea(s):]

1. What kind of emotions are felt by Henry’s father?

-How does he control them?

2. Does Henry have further questions about his grandfather?

-What are these questions about?

3. How is Henry impacted by hearing the story of his grandfather?

-What does Henry do after? (Long-term and/or Short-term) 

[Or extend and finish the story by using one (or more) of your own idea(s):]

[allegories-astray]

First One’s on Me

by Markus Enns

Starting on my way back home after a night out with friends, I could tell I wasn’t the only person who had walked this path tonight.  I’m not sure what it was but my intuition was telling me that this pavement would lead me to an unfortunate end; could it be a dead-end?  But I’ve walked this way before and never felt scared or intimidated. I’ve never felt anything like this, nor could I explain what this was.

“Whatever,” I thought trying to convince myself my doubts weren’t valid, “it’s nothing.” 

Being as fearful as I was even my conscious spoke in a shaky voice. I couldn’t even believe myself.  This felt like straight out of a movie.  Something like this doesn’t happen in real life, they’re only real in dramatized horror films, however, it felt like I was the unfortunate protagonist, if you could even call it that, in some cheap thriller movie that was about to meet his lack-lustre doom.

I kept walking. The sound of every step echoing in the silence of the night. With every step I grew fearful.  Every alley entrance I walked by I would coast closer to the edge of the road to give myself that extra split second of reaction in the case of an attempted abduction. I’ve always been reliant on my intuition and it’s always directed me in the right direction.  Why was I extra anxious now?  Why was I doubting my intuition on this night?  Perhaps it was the silence or the slight breeze of the ominous winds in the atmosphere that stimulated my senses.  I continued on my way until a raspy voice ravished my senses coming from a nearby alley entrance.

“Hey man, what can I get for ya?”

Shattering the silence, my heart dropped to the very soles of my feet.  I wasn’t entirely sure where I was at this moment as my cognitive competency was first clouded by the unexplained feeling of fear and now eradicated by this traumatizing encounter.  Consumed by the darkness of the night, I could barely make out the lanky figure standing in the alley to my left.  Like straight out of a movie, the figure was perched up against the building behind him with his left foot on the wall and right leg supporting his posture.  Erecting himself, he slowly stood on his two feet keeping his head down and hands stuffed into his baggy black jean pockets.  

I had been halted in my tracks for too long trying to grasp what was to transpire.  It was at that moment when I became slightly aware of the situation and my idleness came to an abrupt end.  This whole movie-esque situation I had felt earlier had manifested right in front of me.  The eerie figure took a step forward and lurked petulantly.  He was like a vulture towering over his cowardly prey -- I was his cowardly prey.  The fear of speaking, or reaction for that matter, paralyzed me.  Feeling defenceless and in disbelief, though being conscious of what was happening, I tried to advance myself a few steps forward, but I had been still for too long.

“Ya got a staring problem, boy?” the man said with a slight tone of anger in his voice. “I asked ya a question! Speak when spoken to, got it?”

“Umm, n-no sir. I-I don’t need anything,” I stuttered

The figure adjusted himself slightly and, with a slight crinkle of his face, lifted his head slightly.  Chuckling with apparent amusement, he took a step towards me.  Then another until his beat black high-top shoes made contact with the sidewalk I was standing on.  Now parallel to him, his face was dimly lit by the street light only kept barely anonymous by the shadow created by the hood of his dirty ripped hoodie.  Smelling of narcotics, he inched forward and slowly removed his hand from his jean pocket -- or maybe he moved at a normal pace.  Time was but a figment of my imagination at that moment.  Time didn’t exist, nothing was real, nothing but this crippling fear.

As if hearing the man’s raspy voice wasn’t my first cue to leave, the man could have been excavating a weapon from his pocket but I was stopped in my tracks.  With my mind racing to conclusions and thinking of the worst possible outcome I couldn’t diverge my eyes anywhere from his hands.  My eyes locked onto the object in front of me and, like a statue, I stood without reaction.  Though not pulling out a concealed weapon, the man pulled out a marijuana filled blunt instead as he suggested for me to “take a hit.”

“Listen, kid, you’re super freaked out right now.  Just take it and you’ll chill out.” He motioned the blunt towards me in that same slow speed as before.  “The first one’s on me.”

… 

[Extend and finish the story by considering one (or more) the following idea(s):]

1. Do you accept the blunt? Why or why not

-What happens next?

2. Does somebody show up to help you?

-Who shows up to help you

-What does that person do?

3. Is there more than just one person hiding in the shadows?

[Or extend and finish the story by using one (or more) of your own idea(s):]

[allegories-astray]

Flee-getful

by Markus Enns

“C’mon, Jay, just do it already!  Don’t be a bitch!”

“Sara, please, you got us into this s*** with your big-ass mouth so, right now, I think it would be best if you just shut up and let me do my thing.”

Sara laughed and, blowing another bubble from the pink gum she always seems to be chewing, replied sarcastically.

 “Uh-huh, say what you want about my ‘big-ass mouth’ but you know deep down that you need me more than I need you.”

Sara winked at Jay as he so carelessly stared back at her.  In his defence, however, he definitely wasn’t in the most comfortable position.  How fun must it be to hang upside down on a rope dangling a meter above an encased and heavily protected piece of art.  Renaissance art to be precise.

Jay struggled to keep his balance and the skin-tight black suit he was wearing, which matched Sara’s, was starting to take a toll on his family jewels.  Life for Jay at that moment was not exactly the best.  As Sara gave the rope slack, Jay was lowered inch by inch until he was finally within arm’s reach of the art.

“Well, go on. Grab it!”

“Sara, are you serious? What did I just tell you? Shut up and let me work”  

“I’ve been letting you do your work this whole night!” Sara said obviously annoyed and frustrated. “Maybe next time remember to tell me that you take just about all freaking night to descend a damn rope.”

Jay was getting fed up with Sara at this point and, wanting to silence her, he extended his hands out for the artwork, however, Sara had been so caught up in proving her point to Jay that she had significantly loosened her grip on the rope.  She looked down at him as he came propelling downwards to the floor face first.  Staring at him from above in the air ventilation duct that they snuck into from the outside roof entrance, her heart sank when the blaring alarm of the art gallery sounded.  The world collapsed at that moment for Sara as she thought to herself “Ah, s***, how am I going to get myself out of this one?”

The rope had fallen with Jay to the floor and it was too tight in the air ventilation duct for her to simply turn around and leave from the entrance they made.  Sara didn’t know what to do.  That was until the memory of Jay’s instruction returned to her mind in some bizarre coincidence and rather unruly timing. The exact, meticulous plan of what to do in case of this happening was clearly laid out to her by Jay and now, the man she had been annoyed with earlier was consuming her mind as she tried to recite to herself the instructions Jay gave her before their mission to no avail.  She just couldn’t remember. 

It is no denying how smart Jay really was.  He always outlined everything that could go wrong and how to deal with them before he operated his missions.  With Sara, however, he forgot to plan for one thing,  What if she forgot the plans?

 She cursed Jay for bringing her into this mess when, in reality, it was quite the contrary.  Sara needed a substantial amount of money to pay off a huge loan and she actively went searching for quick ways to earn lots of cash.  Jay, a guy who she dated in high school only to reconnect with by chance on Tinder, didn’t even need her help or anyone for that matter.  Sara just wouldn’t leave him alone so, for the sake of his sanity, gave in to Sara’s requests.  When Sara realized that blaming Jay for something that was out of his control wouldn’t do anything, she was brought back to reality and once more, looking down at Jay from the air ventilation duct, knew she had to escape now.

...

[Extend and finish the story by considering one (or more) the following idea(s):]

1. Will Sara act instinctively to escape the art gallery?

-Does she succeed? Why or why not?

2. What happens to Jay?

-Does he get caught by security?

-Does Sara save him?

3. Is the whole mission a set-up/practice run?

[Or extend and finish the story by using one (or more) of your own idea(s):]

[allegories-astray]

Condescending

by Markus Enns 

Josh and Thomas weren’t exactly a couple of friends that you’d expect.  Not only did Josh’s professional attire and rather serious demeanour contrast that of Thomas’ nonchalant tendencies, the two of them just never saw eye to eye on anything.  That is except for their unified love for sex, money, of drugs; though the pair really only saw interest in the latter two.  

“Are you f****** kiddin’ me, man?” Josh addressed Thomas, as he opened the car door and took a strong step in. “I’m outside doing all the damn work and you’re sittin’ your ass in here listenin’ to this s***?”  

Thomas had been singing along to the song on the radio playing his air guitar at a concert in front of the raging audience he had been imagining.  It was one of those 90’s old-school hip-hop song that everyone knows but can never remember the name. 

“Umm, eh...”  Thomas stuttered as he fixed himself on the car seat and pulled down his floral Hawaiian button-up shirt.  He had been rudely interrupted and his imaginative concert was ruined.

Josh, being the more formal of the two, interjected again in the same annoyed tone as before.

“And what the hell are you wearin’, man? We’re supposed to be professionals, ya? You look more like a fun uncle than a f****** drug dealer.”

The two have been partners for just about a year and Thomas believed that Josh would just get over how informal he is.  Thomas wasn’t going to alter the way he expresses himself through clothes or music preference just because of Josh, a man who he had been literally appointed with through the governorship of the boss, didn’t like it.

“Okay, mate, listen to me, ya? It’s been not even ten seconds since you brought your ass into this car and you haven’t stopped to catch a f****** breath. Just chill man! And why are ya callin’ this song trash? This s*** is fire!”

Josh looked in the rear-view mirror and put the car into reverse as he settled down.  Though not completely content, he partially conceded his initial anger and asked Thomas in a more calm voice.

“Just do something right and do me a solid by putting on some ACDC or something. Something a little more,” he paused until he finished backing up the car.  “A little more engaging than whatever the hell this is,” he finished.

Thomas abided with a cheap grin on his face and fired up Josh’s mixtape that they kept on the side door.  The first song was always ACDC’s Thunderstruck.  The song started playing. 

“AC- Deez nuts.”

“Ya, real mature, Tom. Just change the damn song.”

“Ya, ya, if it will shut your dumb ass up for a damn second I’ll be right on it Mr Joshua “Man of the Year” Lee. But I ain’t puttin’ on any ACDC bull-”

“For the love of God, Tom, just turn off this f****** radio!” Josh interrupted Tom again.  

Maybe that was Josh’s vendetta against Tom.  He hated his style so much that interrupting him every time he wanted to express himself was like therapy for him.

An extended period of silence emerged while the pair continued down the road.  They eventually made it onto the highway where Thomas interrupted Josh.  Payback, perhaps.

“What do you call a snobby criminal?” Tom asked with a smile and jolly tone

“Oh for the love of God just shut the f-”

“What do you call a snobby criminal?” Tom now deliberately shouted towards Josh before he could finish his sentence.

Josh exhaled before, utilizing his self-diagnosed genius mind, he replied confidently. 

“I don’t know. Condescending or something?”

Tom burst into uncontrollable laughter.  It sounded more like a pack of hyenas crying rather than an Aussie man laughing in hysterics.  Tom slightly glanced over at his partner and answered his rhetorical joke with “Joshua Lee, dumbass.”

Josh truly hadn’t expected that answer. He’s a logic and rational type of guy; joking never really appealed to him but this joke seemed to make him crack

“Alright, that was a good one, wise guy, but if ya want a real joke just look in the mirror.”

... 

[Extend and finish the story by considering one (or more) the following idea(s):]

1. Who is the boss?

-Why has he hired the two men?

2. What is the purpose of Josh and Thomas’s vocation/job?

-Is it justified or outright wrong?

3. Do the two men develop a friendship?

-Why or why not?

[Or extend and finish the story by using one (or more) of your own idea(s):]