Day 22: Infant Thievery--Part One

            Everyone knows raising a child is an expensive business.  And that is why I don’t really blame my parents for making me into what I am today.

            My training began at an early age.  By early I mean early.  

            I was six months old when I first began.  I wasn’t even potty-trained yet, but my parents needed the money and what better way to get it through an innocent little baby like me.

            If you haven’t figured it out by now I am a thief and I have been since I was six months old.  My parents were clever.  Very clever indeed.  Who else have you heard of that teaches a six-month-old baby to steal and pickpocket before he could even walk? 

            It started with my dad teaching me to remove his wristwatch.  I got better and better at that until he only noticed because he knew it was coming.  Next, we moved on to pockets.  Within two weeks I could remove a handkerchief without them noticing, and in three I could swipe a wallet.

            After this my parents started going to rich people’s parties.  They weren’t ever invited, but because I was so cute we were just let inside.  Everyone just assumed someone else at the party had invited them when they really hadn’t been invited at all.  Once inside, they passed me around.  Most everyone was eager to hold cute little me and as they did I worked my magic.  Snatching wallets, expensive wristwatches, diamond earrings and necklaces, and anything else that would be worth any amount of money. 

            After the parties, they would wonder who had stolen from them, but by then my parents and I were gone with our loot.

            I quickly progressed in my stealing skills, and by the age of two I was robbing banks.  At such a low height, I could walk around without being noticed.  Even if I was noticed, the bank’s staff would just get confused looks on their faces, as they wondered how I had gotten into the safe.  They never suspected a toddler to be a thief, so things went very well for me. 

            By four I was cracking some of the hardest safes in the world and stealing millions of dollars. 

            We were quite well off by the time I turned five.  My parents decided it was time to stop with the stealing.  Unfortunately for them, my life didn’t seem fulfilled if I wasn’t stealing and robbing banks.  I had to wait until I was older though, because they would definitely notice if their five-year-old son wasn’t around. 

            So I bided my time.

                

Day 21: Some Old Poetry

Knights of intrepidity

Galloping through the city

On their steeds true

To the massive hullabaloo

(Caused by the evil crown

Named Atticus Brown).

The good king decreed

That he be keyed

Behind a lock

Of old great Bok.

And Atticus Brown

Lost his crown

And stayed in jail

And drank sour ale

For the rest of his long life.

------------------------------

The sky is blue.

The grass is green.

There are clouds too,

But that's not all I've seen.

The leaves are turning yellow.

It is getting cold.

It makes me want to bellow,

Because summer's getting old.

Day 20: The Baker's Partner--Part One

            “Definitely not how I was expecting the day to go.”

            “Nope.  Definitely not.”

Eighteen hours earlier…

            Gentle rain slithered down his car window.  The streetlights gleamed softly off the drops, as he slightly shifted his driving wheel to match the curve of the road.

            Stefan Turner was headed to his work.  It was too early to be working, but Stefan was a baker and his job and customers demanded the early hours.

            It was only a ten-minute drive to his bakery.  Normally Stefan would have ridden his bike, but along with the fact that it was raining, Fall was coming and the mornings were getting cooler. 

            Stefan pulled into the designated parking place for him and shut down his car.  After struggling to get his finicky driver’s side door open, he unlocked the front door to his bakery and stepped inside.  He rubbed his hands together to warm them and headed directly to the kitchen behind the counter.

            Soon after shrugging off his coat and pulling on his apron, he began preparing to make the dinner buns that he made first every morning.  He placed a container of flour on the counter and popped of the lid.  He began scooping flour out of the container and into the bowl.  With his second reach into the flour container, Stefan felt his scoop hit something hard.

            “What is that?” Stefan asked himself, his eyebrows furrowing.

            He brushed the white powder away and removed the object from the container.  It was a revolver.

            “Wha…what?” Stefan said out loud, thoroughly confused by the strange turn of events.

            He stood in a stunned silence trying to figure out how a revolver would have found its way into his bucket of flour.

            “Well, how did that get there?”

            Stefan swung around at the sound of this new voice.  A tall figure was leaning against the counter.  He had wavy dark hair with faint scruff on his jawline.  He wore a grey three-piece suit but without a tie.

            “Arty?  What are you doing here?” asked Stefan.

            “Well a case of course, old friend,” the newcomer said with a cocky smile.  Arty pushed himself away from the counter.  “My case has to do with that revolver you just pulled from that container.  And you, dear fellow, have just defiled my crime scene.  Don’t you remember any standard crime scene procedure?”

            “Wait,” said Stefan, “this is part of your case?  How in the world did you know this gun would be in my flour?  And since when have you cared about crime scene procedure?”

            “I will tell you over a hot bun right after you finish making them,” said Arty, promptly plopping himself onto the kitchen floor.  “And I still don’t care at all about crime scene procedure.  I was simply pulling your leg.”

Day 19: Pickles - Olivier's poetry

My thoughts on pickles are these:

Pickles are tasty with all kinds of cheese.

Their green warty skin

Is delicately thin

And encases the delicious insides.

Bread and butter pickles are sweet,

But dill pickles do better with meat.

As for hamburger pickles, they’re vile,

But I suppose I can handle them while
Eating with potatoes deep fried.  

My kimchi is:

Pickles can be eaten with a variety of cheeses.

Their green warts

Big

And wrapped in delicious internal organs.

Bread and butter kimchi is sweet,

But dill kimchi is better than meat.

As for the hamburger pickles, they are despicable,

But I think I can handle them

Eat potatoes fried

Day 18: The Death Chamber

            The first thing he noticed when he awoke was the stench.  He didn’t know what it was but he had to fight back the urge to vomit.  The next thing was the thick darkness.  After a few minutes, his eyes began to adjust to the black and he noticed a form lying next to him.

            “Hello,” he rasped, his voice cracking from lack of moisture. 

            He reached over and shook the figure.  There was no sign of movement or reply.  He pushed himself to his knees and crawled closer to the form.  He shook it once again.  The body fell apart.  It was a skeleton.

            He pushed himself away from the corpse, breathing heavily, only to find himself moving through a multitude of other skeletons and bones.  He didn’t know where he was or why he was there.  In fact, he couldn’t remember anything at all.  Nothing but something hitting the back of his head and him collapsing to the ground before drifting into unconsciousness.  He had no idea who he was.

            Slowly he crawled back to the first corpse he had encountered.  In one of the skeleton’s hands he found a thick leather-bound book.  In the other he found a candle.  Searching the body further, he found two more candles in one of the skeleton’s coat pocket and a box of matches in the other.   He sifted through the rest of the bones to no avail, finding nothing else of use.

            He quickly struck a match and lit one of the candles.  He opened up the book and found that it was a journal, presumably of the skeletons that lay around him.  He closed the journal and decided to search the room for an exit. 

            The room seemed to be a square.  The walls were made of stone brick and the floor of concrete.  There was nothing noteworthy or interesting about the room except for the fact that there was no door or any apparent exit.

            With nothing else to do, he sat with his back against one of the walls and began reading the journal.  The first ten or so entries, gave him no help or hint on his escape.  They were just the feelings and thoughts of the man trapped in the room.  But after a-ways into the journal, the handwriting changed as the next person trapped in the room began to write and he came across an entry of interest and might be some help.

           

Entry 13

 

I have found that I can feel a faint draft coming from one of the walls.  Surely this must be my way of escape.           

 

            It was the entirety of the entry, but for the first time since he had been in this room he felt a sense of hope.

            He sprung to his feet and began feeling the walls, trying to find the one that the journal spoke of.  It took him awhile, but he finally found the wall and felt a faint draft near the floor.  His level of hope soared high. 

            He went back to the journal and read more, seeing if the journal’s writer discovered any more about the wall or some way to escape.  The journal only spoke of the user’s frustration and fear of not being able to discover anymore about the wall.  Hours passed and he went through three more journal users and found no more help.  His eyes quivered as he tried to keep them open.  He was exhausted and he tried to stay awake, but eventually sleep won the battle. 

            He woke up a few hours later.  His stomach felt empty and his entire being ached.  His throat and mouth felt like sand paper.  He instantly struck a match and continued on with the journal, picking up where he had left off before he had fallen asleep. 

            Hours more passed and there was still no help.  The first candle died as he found something again interesting.  He quickly struck another match and lit the second candle.

 

Entry 98

 

I have discovered a loose stone in the same wall that has the draft.  You can press it in and after a certain amount of time it pops back out into its normal position.  This must be the way out.  I am going to search for other stones of this kind.

           

            This time he didn’t stop reading but continued until he found something that would help him.  Again, he found something useful from the same author as before.

 

Entry 110

 

I have searched the entire wall and found eight more bricks that push in the same way.  I have discovered that after pressing all nine of the bricks they instantly pop back out no matter how quick you do it.  I am convinced that pressing these in a certain order will open the wall.  I shall write all the combinations that I have tried.  If I don’t succeed and die as the others before me I hope those after me shall do the same.

           

            The entries following this one consisted only of the combinations tried on the wall.  He kept on reading until he reached one pessimistic fellow’s writing that was not helpful at all.

 

Entry 442

 

With the amount of possible combinations there are there is no chance of me getting out of here alive.  Three hundred, sixty-two thousand, and eight hundred and eighty combinations…not likely.  I’m going to spend the rest of my time trying to remember who I am.

 

            “Well you’re no help,” he muttered.

            He continued reading until he reached the end of the journal.  In all there were nineteen prisoners before him.  One hundred twenty-three thousand, two hundred and four combinations had been tried. 

            He instantly stood and went to the wall and found the nine bricks.  He began pushing in combinations that hadn’t been tried before. 

            Hours passed.  He needed a break.  He slowly slid to the floor and found his way into an  uncomfortable sleep.

            He awoke sometime later.  His stomach was hurting and his throat was dryer than ever.  He needed water.

            He struggled to his feet and he began trying combinations again.  He continued until he became to weak to stand and then he still continued.  But it was to no avail.  His body failed him and he sagged to the floor. 

            His eyes flickered attempting to close, but he knew if he fell asleep now he would die.  He struggled and reached for the journal and found the pen.  He began to write. 

 

Entry 1013

 

I’m am the twentieth victim of someone I don’t even know.  Although I may know him, I just can’t remember anything.  Who I am.  If I have a family.  Whether I’m married or not.  Do I have any children?  Who’s my best friend?

Somehow not knowing any of this makes death all the scarier.  I have no memories to hold onto in my last moments.  No happiness to console me.  I know I won’t escape.

            He continued to write and he reached the last page in the journal.  Words came to him and he scratched them onto the page.  But as he did this something strange began to happen.  Lines that he hadn’t written began to appear. 

            His muddled brain strained to understand what was happening.  And then he realized.

            He began coloring in the page in with his pen.  As he did so a sketch of the wall appeared.  There were the nine bricks.  Each labeled with a number from one to nine. 

            Could this be?  In that moment that he thought he would perish, he had found the map to his escape.  He struggled to his feet and propped himself up against the wall.  His heart raced and his breath came in quick bursts. 

            He reached forward with his hand and pushed the stones in the order that they appeared in the journal.  He pushed the last one in and they all popped back out just as they had with every previous combination.  He waited.  His hope began to fade. 

            He heard a click in the wall that echoed in the room he was trapped.  He stumbled back as the wall opened into the room.

            He smiled, he actually smiled his joy was so great.  He had escaped.  He rushed through the newly created doorway. 

            His smile slipped away.  He fell to his knees. 

            An empty room the identical to the one before greeted him.  His head dropped to his chest.  With all the strength he could muster he let out a cry.

            “WHY!”

            A bone chilling laugh bounced off the walls around him, as the wall behind him scraped shut.

           

Day 17: The Quest for the Unfortunate Fortune--Part Two

            “You fool!” the dragon roared, fire spewing from his mouth and nostrils.  “I shall kill you for that.”

            “I have a feeling you would have killed anyways, you foul beast,” responded Sir Pink.

            “You are correct in that.”

            The others now realized they had also been fooled by the dragon. 

            Sir Chronicle had envisioned the greatest of all story tellers, who was telling him that he, Sir Chronicle, would one day take his place.  Sir Cumference had seen a woman cooking a most delightful pie and he immediately fell in love with her.  Sir Cadence had been entranced by the image of a traveling salesman selling the most beautiful lute to accompany his most beautiful voice.  Sir Craven had seen a crowd of people surrounding him and applauding him for his courage and strength. 

            As Sir Pink’s sword pierced the dragon, all their visions faded into one true image, the cunning dragon.

            “Why do you do this?” asked Sir Pink.

            “Because I need to eat, and luring you into something in which you feel safe, makes it much easier to eat you,” answered the dragon.  At least the dragon was an honest creature.

            With that, the dragon swung its mighty tail into Sir Pink, sending him crashing into the cave wall. 

            The four other knights drew their swords and rushed forward.  On their own, they would have been easily defeated, but Sir Pink’s sword had already mortally wounded the dragon, and he was soon vanquished.

            The four knights raced to Sir Pink’s side.  Six puncture marks covered Sir Pink’s torso where the dragon’s tail spikes had struck him.

            “Sir Pink,” said Sir Cumference, “How did you perceive that your vision was not true?”

            “My vision was that of my mother,” said Sir Pink.  He coughed and blood dribbled down his chin.  “She loved the color pink, and I wear this armour in honor of her.  This mother laughed at the color of my armour.  If she were truly my mother, she would have seen the truth behind this rosy hue, but the dragon could not resist mocking my apparel just like the King and pretty much anyone else I have ever met.”

            “Never again shall the color of your armour be reviled!” said Sir Chronicle.  “We shall forever hold the color pink in high esteem, for it was this color that spared our lives.”

            Sir Pink smiled serenely, and then his already lacking breath ceased to exist entirely.

            The others pulled Sir Pink’s sword from the dragon’s corpse and placed it in Sir Pink’s lifeless hands.  They crafted a makeshift litter and placed Sir Pink upon it.  As they were leaving the cave, Sir Craven noticed a glimmer out of the corner of his eyes.

            “Wait, friends,” he said. 

            They placed the bier on the ground and went to the back of the cave.  Rounding a corner, they discovered that the once small cave suddenly opened into a cavernous room.  In the middle of the room sat a pile of gold and jewels hundreds of feet high.

            They stood in silence for a long time, staring with mouths gaping open at the great wealth before them.

            “I would rather it if that was a pile of pies,” Sir Cumference said after awhile, with a small sigh.

            After filling a couple of bags with treasure to take home for proof of their success, they turned together and began their journey home. 

            Before leaving, they buried Sir Pink outside the cave, piling a great amount of rocks over him.

            About two months later, the triumphant knights arrived back home. The city and the King welcomed them with open arms (once they showed the treasure they had collected, of course).  Sir Pink was given full honor for his sacrifice and his name is now written in the history books, to be told forever in every land and household.

            The four remaining knights, Sir Chronicle, Sir Cumference, Sir Cadence, and Sir Craven, went on to become the Knights of Pink, forever bearing the colors of their fallen friend. They didn’t really do anything else brave or noteworthy though.  They mostly stayed in the castle and had parties all the time.  The King loved them because of all the treasure they had brought him (he had sent them back to the cave, along with a large consort, to collect the rest of the treasure).

            Outside the cave there still lies the great mound of rocks, now painted pink, under which lies the most famous and noble Sir Pink.

Day 16: The Quest for the Unfortunate Fortune--Part One

            Legends have been told of the great Sir Pink, who armoured himself entirely in pink steel.  He was not great in the way that other knights were; fighting and other such endeavours were not his strong suit.  In fact, nothing about knighthood really seemed to suit him.  But somehow, he fought his way through training and became Sir Pink. 

            Sir Pink’s real name was Sylvester Baptismo.  But as I said before, his armour was bright pink, and so he was dubbed Sir Pink by the King.  The King did this as a joke to get some laughs (which it did), leaving Sir Pink embarrassed. 

            Soon after his knighting, Sir Pink, along with the other new knights, set out on his first quest.  Sir Pink was in the company of four fellow knights: Sir Chronicle, (known for his magnificent story telling), Sir Cumference (known for his immense girth), Sir Cadence (known for his angelic vocal capabilities) and Sir Craven (known for his cowardice, although he is quite a nice fellow).

            Together the five knights set out on The Quest for the Unfortunate Fortune.  Much legend surrounded this fortune.  All that was known about it was that whoever found this fortune never came back, and if they did, they were not the same person as before.  Their only desire was to find the Unfortunate Fortune again.

            The King didn’t think this fortune actually existed, so he sent these five knights on their quest knowing that they couldn’t return until they found it.  In other words, he considered the new knights useless and didn’t want to see them in his kingdom ever again.

            The knights were unaware of this, of course, and so off they went to seek something that probably didn’t exist. 

            The first couple of days passed mostly in silence, except for inquiries about direction or distance to their destination.  On the third day, the five knights began talking and telling each other about their early years.  That night, Sir Chronicle told them the story of the Unfortunate Fortune, which made everyone shiver (especially Sir Craven).  After that Sir Cadence decided it prudent to end the evening on a high note and sang them a song.

            Many days passed and they all became fast friends.  A month and a half into their quest, they reached the territory in which it was suspected that the Unfortunate Fortune lay.  It took another week before they found the treasure.

            “Behold,” said Sir Chronicle, “shrouded in mist is the cave wherein the treasure we seek lies.”

            “Am I the only one feeling a deep sense of foreboding?” asked Sir Craven.

            “Yes,” answered Sir Cumference (even though he was so afraid he had lost his great appetite altogether).

            They stood just outside the gate trying to find the courage to enter the unknown.

            Sir Pink was the first to enter, followed closely by the rest, with Sir Craven at the back.  It took a moment for Sir Pink’s eyes to adjust, but once they did he dropped to his knees.

            Before Sir Pink stood his mother.  His dead mother, or at least, he thought she had been dead.  

            “Mother?” Sir Pink asked, tears sliding down his cheeks.

            “My son,” the woman smiled.

            “Mother!”

            The two rushed into each others’ arms. 

            “I thought you were dead!” cried Sir Pink.

            “I know, and I’m sorry for the pain I have caused you,” his mother said.  “Please forgive me.”

            “I do, mother, I do.”

            “I am so proud of the man and knight you have become.”

            “Thank you, Mother.  I have always hoped you were.”

            Sir Pink’s mother then laughed in a way that Sir Pink had never heard before.  It sounded almost like a mocking laugh.

            “What is it, Mother?” Sir Pink asked.

            “Its just,” his mother fought through fits of laughter, “you chose the most horrendous color for your armour.  It is truly hideous.”

            It was in that moment that Sir Pink realized this woman could not be his mother. 

            “Who are you?” yelled Sir Pink.

            “Why, what do you mean?” asked the woman.  “I am your mother.”

            “You are not, for if you were my mother you would know why I wear this color, a color that you love.”

            “I don’t know what you mean,” the woman said, but the laughter was gone and was replaced by a frown.

            “Exactly.  That is why I know you are not my mother.”

            And with those words Sir Pink drew his sword and thrust it deep into the woman’s stomach.  She staggered back with the sword still in her.  As she hissed and writhed in front of the knights, she began transforming into something else.  In a few moments, the woman had completely transformed into a dragon.  

Day 15: The Man Behind the Desk--Part Two

-Entry 405-

I heard the most heart-wrenching sound this morning.  It was a cry unlike any I’ve heard before.  A cry of sheer agony and complete pain.  I saw someone who looked like a doctor rush by me a half hour later, followed closely by the maid who was speaking so fast it sounded like gibberish.  Yelling came from one of the rooms for about two hours and then all was dreadfully quiet.  Deathly quiet.  The imagination runs wild in situations like these.  I didn’t really know what had happened, but I had my suspicions.  They proved to be true.  A body was carried out on a stretcher.  Phillip was holding Freda as she sobbed uncontrollably.  Little Nora held one of her mother’s hands.  Neither of the twins were to be seen.  I realized the body had to be one of them.  I can tell the difference between the two, but the body was covered by a sheet.  I don’t know who has passed.

-Entry 406-

It was George the older of the twins.  I still don’t know what happened and I don’t know that I ever will.  I’ve head yelling coming from the twin’s room.  I still haven’t seen William.  My heart is heavy and my stomach is in knots.  I can’t imagine how he must feel.  

-Entry 410-

I saw William for the first time since George died.  He wore a black suit and tie.  Outwardly and at first glance he looked incredibly put together.  I can’t imagine the effort it must have taken to appear so.  It was the funeral day.  If you didn’t know him, you would have thought his expression to be at peace.  But I’ve watched him for over a year now.  I’ve never seen a sadder face.  Looking closely, it seemed he could barely walk.  Each step was agony.  His entire being suggested pain.  The family left.  The servants were all in the kitchen preparing food for when the Carltons got back.  I heard a sob and looked up.  There was the couple having a picnic in the painting across the way.  The girl was crying.  The man looked up at me.  I saw the tears in my eyes reflected in his.  We nodded at each other.  This wasn’t part of the job description.

-Entry 441-

William has taken to wandering the halls at night.  The hours are longer than ever.  He paces my hallways much of the time.  He has taken a liking to my painting.  He sits or stands for hours on end, with a flashlight on me, just staring.  I think he finds some form of comfort in my expression.  Maybe it reflects in some way how he feels.  It hurts every night now watching him in such pain unable to do anything to help.  I wish this job wasn’t mine.

-Entry 460-

I know how William feels.  I know because he tells me.   He is lonely and empty, as if a piece of him has been torn away.  He tells me this every night.  Every.  Single.  Night.  As he speaks, I feel myself wither.  It hurts more and more with each midnight confession.  I want to speak to him so badly, to tell him it will be alright.  To tell him he’s not alone.  But I can’t.  It would be breaking my vow of silence.  I despise this job.  I hope they can find me a replacement soon.  I don’t know how much more of this I can handle.  Every night I watch someone in the deepest pain imaginable and I am not allowed to do a single thing about it.  What is worse; to break a promise or to sit still in the midst of the darkest depths and do nothing?

-Entry 478-

Last night was the hardest night of my life.  He broke.  William finally broke.  And it wasn’t just a break.  It was as if a million pieces he had been trying to hold together finally fractured completely.  One moment he was telling me about a memory of his twin brother and the next he was sobbing, his head in his hands and his shoulders shaking.  He was sitting on the floor rocking back and forth.  My heart broke.  Maybe it shattered alongside his.  And I was not allowed to say a thing to this hurting young man.  But I did.

            “William this isn’t the end.  Things will get better.”

            He raised his head.  “Who said that?” he asked.

            “I can’t tell you,” I said.  “But I can guarantee things will get better.”

            “How can you?”

            “Can you imagine darker days than these?”

            He thought for a moment.  “No, I don’t think so.  I suppose not.”

            “Then that must mean there are brighter days ahead.  One of these days the sun will break through the clouds.  You will move on.  Not past the memory of your brother, but you’ll learn to live without him.  Wounds do heal.  The scars will remain and ache from time to time but the pain won’t be so overwhelming.  You will be thankful for the time you spent with him and not angry for the time you didn’t have.”

            William began crying again.  “I don’t see how,” he said.

            “William, you must speak with your family.  Tell them how you feel.  You are not the only one hurting.  You can make it through this with their help.”

            I saw a lamp light flicker on and slowly approach us.  As it got closer, Phillip appeared as the holder with Freda, his wife, by his side.  They sat on either side of their son.  Not a word was said.  They just enveloped him in a holy embrace and a love deeper even than death.  They cried together on the floor.  And in that moment, wounds began to close and scars began to form. 

-Entry 480-

I got fired.  I broke my vow of silence.  I don’t have an ounce of regret.  I didn’t know disgrace could taste so sweet.  Thankfully, they granted my wish to work for just one more day.  I took the opportunity and didn’t move from the Desk the whole day.  Twenty-four hours straight.  I watched the Carlton family, taking in everything I could.  In the morning I saw William walking by holding Nora’s hands.  They were laughing at a memory of one of George’s pranks.  They laughed and cried together.  I heard a lot of that; laughing and crying.  William walked down my hallway late in the night again.  He stopped and stood where he had been sitting the night before, where wounds began to close and scars began to form.

            “I don’t know who you are,” he said, “but thank you.” 

            Then he looked straight into my eyes.  I don’t know whether he knew or if he was just taking one last look at a face that had been his companion.  He stood there for a moment and then turned and walked away.  I listened to the heels of his shoes click down the hallway, knowing it would be the last time I heard that sound.  A peaceful quiet settled on the hallway.  And then I heard someone clap, rupturing the silence.  And then another pair of hands joined in and another, until the sound echoed and bounced off of the hallway walls and reverberated across the entirety of the house.  I knew the clapping was for me.  Every person in the other paintings, in my hallway, was clapping for me.  They knew I would get fired for breaking my vow of silence.  They knew they would be fired for applauding because they had made the very same vow.  But they clapped all the same.  It was their salute and farewell to me.

            All was once again quiet by the time the Carltons and their servants arrived in the hallway.  The paintings were still as they should be.

            “Freda, I think we might be haunted,” Phillip said.

            After thoroughly searching the house, they returned to their beds to what I assumed to be a rather restless night.  I looked across the way at the man having a picnic with his girlfriend.  He nodded at me.  I nodded at him.  And this was the end to my final day as “The Man Behind the Desk”.

Day 14: The Man Behind the Desk--Part One

-Entry 1-

This is it.  My first journal entry and my first day.  I’m both nervous and excited.  Giddy is too weak a word to describe how I feel.  Who would have thought I would be chosen to replace Dylan Dougherty?  My parents always said I had a very similar appearance to the Original, but never would I have thought I would actually become “The Man Behind the Desk”.  I’ll admit I’ve dreamt of it.  But now that dream has become a reality.  I think I’m going to throw up.

-Entry 2-

My first day was nothing short of amazing even though sitting still is already proving to be a difficult task.  I love watching the Carlton family going about their normal everyday life.  The father, Phillip, is very tall with a commanding yet gentle presence.  Freda is the mother and wears a friendly and pleasant expression.  She treats everyone with exceptional kindness, including the servants.  George and William are the eldest children and twins.  I’m not sure which is the older.  They’re always up to some form of mischief, playing pranks and jokes, all in good fun of course.  Nora is the youngest and is an absolutely lovely person.  She has such a bubbly personality and never seems to stop smiling.  I think she’s inherited her mother’s soft heart.  The maid is Sarah Thompson and she seems nice enough.  She goes about her duties quietly and efficiently.  I haven’t got a good look at any of the other servants yet.

-Entry 14-

Last night I had to sit through my first party.  There must have been upwards of a hundred people in attendance.  George and William showed many of the guests the paintings in my hallway, making up the most ridiculous history behind each one.  They told their stories so well and without laughing at all, so that many of the guests actually believed them.  One guest later commented to Phillip how knowledgeable his sons were.  Phillip soon discovered their shenanigan and reprimanded them sharply, but I could see the laughter in his eyes.  I believe the twins could as well as they didn’t look too crestfallen at the rebuke.  It was by far the hardest day yet.  There were a few moments I almost laughed out loud.  But I remembered Dylan Dougherty.  That was why he got fired and is in disgrace now.  Somehow, I managed to hold it all in, but I do understand Dylan Dougherty’s problem now. 

-Entry 32-

I’ve been working at the Desk for a month now and am beginning to realize how tough this job really is.  Yesterday I sat without moving for sixteen hours straight.  Freda had a fever so the maids were constantly moving up and down my hallway with wet cloths and soup and such.  A couple people had to help me stand when finally there was opportunity.  My hand was cramped in a claw-like shape from holding a quill for hours with no respite.  When I’m not working or sleeping, I have to work at keeping in the exact same physical shape which is quite difficult when you sit at a desk for hours on end.  But it must be done as even a slight altering in my appearance could be noticed by the Carltons or their servants.

-Entry 103-

I finally have my first break.  The Carlton family is going on vacation and so am I.  In the meantime, a temporary replacement will go through extensive makeup sessions to alter his appearance to look like me.  He will sit at the Desk while I am away.  I am much looking forward to this much needed vacation.         

-Entry 110-

Tomorrow I’ll be back behind the Desk. I wouldn’t say my vacation really felt like a vacation.  My name is known all over this world now.  I get spotted and someone wants an autograph or to shake my hand or to ask what it’s like to be “The Man Behind the Desk” or to say their friends always told them they looked like “The Man Behind the Desk” or to want a firsthand account of what the Carlton family is really like.  I didn’t get the rest I longed for.  In some ways my break was more tiring than my actual job.  I felt as if I was constantly talking to someone and didn’t have a spare moment to myself.  I did get to spend a few days with my family.  That was nice, but even they treated me differently.  Fame and fortune come with a cost.  I’m actually looking forward to being back at the desk in solitude.

-Entry 360-

Yesterday was Christmas.  I didn’t see the Carlton family much except for them running out of their rooms in the morning to get to their presents and Christmas tree as fast as they could.  I heard laughter and joy the whole day.  I’ve never felt so lonely and homesick my entire life.  I hope today will be better for me.

-Entry 366-

            Last night was another incredibly long evening.  It was New Year’s Day and the Carltons had another huge Carlton party.  The house was packed and noisy and my hallway was extremely busy.  I’ve never had so many people stop and study my painting.  It was a trying day for me, but everyone seems pleased with my performance and I must say I am as well.  My favourite part last night was the countdown and everyone yelling “Happy New Year!”.  No one was in the hallway and I, along with everyone in the other paintings, joined in with the cheer.

Day 13: My Favorite Film

            My favorite film is the 2013 version of “The Secret Life of Walter Mitty”.  If you haven’t yet seen this movie, I would recommend watching it before reading this as this may contain spoilers and I wouldn’t want to spoil a film as fantastic as this. 
            This movie follows the story of a man, Walter Mitty, working at the magazine Life.  His job; a negative asset manager.  Early on in the film you find out two things: One, he likes a girl name Cheryl Melhoff.  Two, he often zones out and goes into a different world inside his head (also known as daydreaming).
             Throughout the movie we see Walter fade from reality into his daydreams, escaping his life for brief amounts of time.  But as the film progresses we start seeing this change. Walter's daydreams begin fading into reality as he finds himself in situations that he would have thought possible only in his dreams.  Walter's story move forwards and he learns to speak what is on his mind.  He gets the girl he dreamed he would.  Along with the viewers, he discovers that the real world is just as exciting and fantastic as any fictional world could be.
            The real world is full of incredible things and amazing scenarios.  There’s a reason that things from real life are put into fiction.  Its because they make these fictional places and situations seem more realistic and somehow more magical than before.
            Its hard to put into words the reason I love this film so much.  It may have to do with the fact that its not really like any other film I’ve seen before.  It may have to do with the happy ending.  It may have to do with the humor dispersed amongst serious tones.  Or maybe it's that feeling at the end that makes me want to watch it all over again.
            Whatever it may be, I highly recommend this movie and to watch it more than once.  There is something new every time and you will notice little things that you didn’t before, adding a even more to its already great quality. 

Day 12: Why I Write

            Why do I write? 

            I write because I enjoy it.  I write because it lets me show the world a little piece of me.  It lets me express myself in a way that I couldn’t in everyday life.  I get to use big and ridiculous words, with just as big and ridiculous personalities.

            I love creating characters.  People are the center of almost every story ever written.  People are complex things.  They struggle.  They fail.  They succeed.  They live. They die.  It is a challenge to create these characters in a way that other people will relate with them.  I try to make characters that my readers will love.  I believe that the little things are what make a character.  Each character has his/her individual problems and quirks.  

            When I create a villain, I try to create him in a way that you will see into his head and understand why he does what he does.  

            There is a story behind each and every character that defines them and makes them the way they are. 

            My favorite part about writing though, is adding humor.  Even in a serious story, bits of humor here and there add greatly to its content.  I love to make people laugh and I hope that my writing does this.  My greatest hope for my writing, is that it will bring a little bit of joy into my readers' lives