The first story is Fourteen Sixty Two written by Matthew L.
The three-story house was the last one on Aster, a street rarely busy with cars, but often with children. 1462—for that was what it was called by both the children and the adults—had the same trait that any old, run-down, and strange house on any street has; its black shingled roof and dead-yellow lawn was punctuated by the bright florescent gleam of children’s toys. Nerf balls overthrown, Frisbees aimed astray, and kites flown too high constituted the majority of the implements of fun forever lost to the grounds. The house was bordered by a high stone wall, the only entrance a wrought iron gate twenty feet wide and ten feet tall. It was before this gate that Archer stood, the night he would lose his life just beginning, dusk barely through.
Three days prior Archer accidentally overthrew his lucky football past the stone wall, and considerably further while playing with his best friend Tate. Tate now stood next to and slightly behind his friend since second grade, not getting a good vibe from the house nor Archer’s furrowed brow and thoughtful expression. Tate was trying to convince Archer it wasn’t worth it.
“You can get a new one.”
“I don’t want a new one, it’s my lucky football.”
Tate knew it was useless trying to reason with Archer. He was as sure in his decision as the stone wall was firm. He had always been this way.
The gate had a latch, but it was unlocked as it always had been; the only thing keeping children from collecting their playthings was the fear generated by the legend of 1462, but we all know that is just an old story. Read More...
This next story is called Slip, author unknown
So here I am, dead. Never thought it would be this… easy. Why me? Why did that young girl have to hit me? Why couldn’t she have waited just 5 minutes before making that left? Well what ever it means I know it now means nothing to me. I would’ve never in a million years injected the idea of my death being far less dramatic and inspiring than I always projected it would be. I envisioned it with my loved ones surrounding me at my death bed but I had the enjoyment of a petrified young girl, barely sixteen.
The last moments of my life lasted a millennia and I had the courtesy of staring at a young women realizing just as her life started it may be ending. The terror in her eyes as she took her first life. Of course she’s probably very sad and upset and though she may have never conceived the sequence of events to happen, she is a victim too.
Maybe just maybe if I had remembered my watch as I was leaving the house instead of running back in. Maybe if I had stopped to tie my shoes instead of being so concerned on what time I reached my destination. Maybe if Michelle had waited till the next light to tell her boyfriend how much she loved him.
But as destiny had chosen, the situation had turned at the very least to my demise. You know they say the last moments of your life are filled with memories of you entire life. I watched as I was born. I sat idly by like viewing a slidehow, as my entire life flashed before my eyes. I felt lucky as if I was of few who experience only the happy memories. I couldn’t understand why, but that feeling floated away shortly after. The blackness was beginning to take hold. Read More...
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