Torn Apart

I hide under my bed, listening to the sounds of fighting in the streets. Ever since the Germans invaded our country, I have barely been anywhere else. I wish I could fight for myself- for my beloved Poland. But I can't. I am a twelve year old girl, and a twelve year old Polish Jew of any denomination is not allowed to join the army, at least not in 1940. But what else to do? Stay here under this bed, on the cold wooden floor, for the rest of my life? Or leave this house and go somewhere else? Finally, I manage to fall into a fitful sleep.

The next morning, I am just lying under the bed, wondering how long it will be until this cruel war will be over, when my Mother calls me into her bedroom. She shows me a letter, written in fancy script, from my aunt in America. The way she talks about it in the letter, it sounds like Heaven itself. The letter, however, is not the only thing in the package. She also sent food, and at the very bottom, a ticket. At first I don't realize what it is ........................ but then, I see it. It is a ship ticket ...  to America! But what should I do? Leave my beloved country for a 'better life'? Or stay, and face the possible consequences? I feel torn apart, helpless, like a treed cat being chased by bloodhounds. What on Earth should I do?

to be continued 

Here's mine . . . It might get a bit morbid. . .

You think I want to join you? I don't. Or maybe I do.  My mind is twisted--Why would you ever want me? The Æs in my mind fight for control of my mind and body, shredding my soul.  My soul is twisted as well, a mish-mash of human and monster. They tear me apart, ripping my soul into, then four, then eight. All my "friends" from the AUs try to help me, but make it all worse, and they never seem to help.

I listen as they fight against my slowly draining will, and I listen to them.  I watch as one steps out of the crowd. I've never made this Æ. What is she? How did she get inside my head? She says, "Sister, I come to help."

Suddenly I remember this Æ, whom I made long ago. "TwistedSifter. Why do you come now? I've been suffering for days."

"I can't sense like I could with your power, Sketch. I only feel faint tugs of pain. Join me, and I will help you." 

All this happens inside my twisted mind. 

Thanks for the awesome submissions so far!! And top!

I'll join. Just give some time to get my ideas togethor. When's the deadline?

Torn Apart

"Hey! Jem!"

A boy turns around at the sound of the voice.

The girl running to catch up to him wears a baggy, dark-washed denim shirt, rolled up at the elbows, with a pair of torn-up khakis. She finally skids to a stop, tossing her head so her straight black hair ripples in the pale-yellow flourescent glow emanating from the light fixtures above.

"Hi, Claire," Jem says noncommitally, sticking his hands into his pockets. He avoids her eyes, and instead stares down at his scuffed-up leather sandals. "What are you doing here?" 

"I could ask you that, too," Claire replies cooly, slinging an arm over his shoulder in an outwardly friendly gesture. Jem, however, is all too aware of the almost painful tightness with which her hand grips the side of his neck, just above the collar of his ripped green t-shirt. Blood-red painted fingernails dig into his skin.

A reminder.

Don't blow this. "Visiting Arrow," Jem shrugs, trying to keep his voice level.

Claire freezes suddenly, but doesn't release her hold on him, causing Jem to almost choke as he continues to try and walk forward.

Wrong answer.

He barely has time to register the thought before he's being shoved up against the tile wall. Claire's hands are steady against his forearms, iron vices. Her knee is digging tight into his stomach, sharp and strong. 

Jem's nearly panting in his panic, but her breaths come steadily as presses the entirety of her left arm across his chest like a safety bar, using her right to pull a knife from her leather belt.

It's silver and long and the fingers now move to his neck, not gripping hard enough to keep him from talking, but just so it makes him achingly aware that, if she so chose, Claire could tighten her digits and easily, surely, surgically remove his breath. 

The blade hovers right in front of his nose, leaving Jem almost cross-eyed as he tries to pinpoint its exact position.

"You were always too good at your job," he cracks, tone dry, allowing his face to rupture into a slanted scowl, twinges of amusement on the edge of his tone that attempt to betray the fact that his heart is beating manically.

He is proficient at playing expressions, and Claire has always been excellent at seeing through them.

"I happen to think the same of you," Claire says through gritted teeth. "And you won't for much longer if I have it my way."

"What a way with words."

"Don't dance around the issue, traitor." 

He involuntairily fliches at the word. Another mistake. 

"You don't like being called that?" Claire hisses. "It's the truth, you little—"

"Claire? Jem? What in the name of—" Another boy skids to an abrupt halt behind Claire, and promptly claps a hand to his mouth in shock.

Glenn Rhea, the de facto mastermind of the entire Revolution, Jem's brain supplies helpfully. While no less formidable than Claire, he lets his emotions rule him more effectively than her, and perhaps would be easier to manipulate—

"Breaking news, Glenn, I found the Government spy," Claire says.

In an instant, Glenn's whole demeanor changes, from puzzled to furious, normally serene eyes widening. He shoves Claire off of Jem, sending her knife clattering to the tile (Claire springs to snatch it back up), and takes her place.

Even sans a weapon, Glenn looks even more likely to murder him. His dark mane of corkscrew curls, usually tied back into a perfect pouf, are frizzed and messy. Jem mentally blanches as he notices dark bags under his comrade's (that's a stretch, now) eyes.

Jem knows the signs— Glenn hasn't slept in a while, he's frazzled, upset, emotional, and high-strung.  

In other words, immensely dangerous. Glenn loses much of his characteristic mercy when he's really, truly, angry.

"You," he says, a deep, primal hatred riding on his tone that Jem has heard only a handful of times before, and always directed at someone else. He isn't spitting, he doesn't yell. His voice is almost a whisper, and yet drowns out the sound of Jem's manic heartbeat.

"You are the reason," Glenn is carefully enunciating his words, chest heaving, obviously trying to tame a wave of temper. "You are the reason that my," —his voice breaks— "my best friend is dead."

Jem's throat goes dry. "Arrow is dead?"

"How could you not know?" Glenn shouts, throwing his hands up in the air, causing Jem's head to jerk backward, colliding hard with the wall. His vision swims.

"It was a setup," Glenn rants, beginning to pace, "That 'inside information' from Sam! It was a trap, it was all a setup— and I trusted— you helped me plan our doom!"

"You helped him?" Claire cuts in inredulously, moving to block Jem's any chance at escape, knife back in her hand. He probably wouldn't try to leave, now, anyway, his head is pounding so ferociously that he's sure that one step would send him toppling.

"I— I—" Jem stammers with mounting alarm. 

"You knew!" Glenn coutinues, hands shaking. "Because of you, Jem, I will never get to see Arrow smile ever again!"

And with that he collapses, positively turning to putty on the floor. His slender frame trembles with sobs, the sound muffled into his hands.

Claire seems torn between comforting Glenn and killing Jem, and chooses the former (but not before sending Jem a warning glare), crouching down beside her friend, lacing an arm around his shoulders, murmuring soft things.

Through his muddled, blurry, thoughts, still clouded due to the pain in his skull Jem catches a snippet— "You'll see him again, someday, I promise..."

It's only a matter of time, Jem thinks dully, before a sharp stab of pain pierces his conciousness and the world fades to black.

Claire stands, hauling Glenn to his feet. He stumbles a bit before regaining his balance, refusing her offer of a helpful arm. He's trying hard to piece himself together, she can tell, but failing epically.

"If I could see his face 'gain, just one last time..." Glenn slurs blearily, his Northcoast drawl coming out strong. The carefully masked accent only shows when he has utterly lost himself, and as far as Claire knows, this has only happened once before.

"—Make'm laugh, I'd be able remember it forever, you know? Just so's the last thing I said to him wa'nt what it was— it was our game, the musical quote one," Glenn chokes on a humorless laugh. "He said, this is what he said, 'the sky's gonna hurt when it falls', and I finished the line, right, like we do—did."

Glenn coughs, and sings the Heathers phrase, voice raspy, "'So you better start building some walls.'" He's honestly an amazing singer, even choked up, and Claire muses that he'd do well on Broadway. 

(If, of course, he can ever make it to New York.) 

She wonders how she didn't really notice, all the times he spun around the tent, slapping together sandwiches and belting out Defying Gravity.

He only truly ever sung for Arrow, though, who'd come up behind Glenn and wind his arms around his waist, singing along, matching in enthusiasm, but always slightly off key, emphasizing the words in the wrong places — "You're having deluuuuusions of grandeur!"

And Glenn'd grin fondly and slap him with a slice of bread, "You're throwing off my magic, 'Ro!"

Arrow would spend his extra money on soundtracks from musicals instead things he needed, pencils and paper and even food, once, just so he could watch Glenn's eyes light up when he switched on their ancient radio, see his best friend laugh and snap his fingers and dance.

Claire never missed how Arrow would flush pink and his face lose its tiredness whenever Glenn would dramatically fall into his arms at the climax of his spirited rendition of Tango: Maureen, tossing aside the broom he'd always shasay around with. 

They had a game, an understanding. They both learned all the words to all the songs and would toss them back and forth in conversations. Now and then, Arrow would, completely out of the blue, point to Glenn and intone, "In daylights, in sunsets,"

And Glenn would grin, wide and bright, and interrupt whatever conversation he was having to sing right back: "In midnights, in cups of coffee!"

Glenn is hanging off Claire's shoulder, babbling in grief-stricken delusion, and it's so hard to believe he's the same person as the young man with the watermelon-slice smile that dances across so many pages of her memories.

"—D'you know what I'd'a say, instead, if I could do it over?"

"What?" Claire asks gently.

"I'd tell him I love him," Glenn states, surprisingly matter-of-fact, and promptly passes out. 

Claire quickly moves to catch him before his head hits the tile. She glances from her comrade's finally-relaxed features, to Jem's still figure, slumped unmoving against the wall, tentatively visits the memory of Arrow's heaving, blood-spattered last breaths.

In another world, they could've been glorious. They would've all seen the day they were victorious.

They could've been happy, every single one— Arrow and Glenn, trading sung phrases. Maybe they could've figured themselves out in time. Maybe Glenn would have gotten to say, "I love you," and maybe Arrow would've been able to respond in turn. 

Claire herself might've had a pleasant end, too, could've gotten to be an artist like she'd wanted as a kid. Could've learned to play the ukulele. Could have seen Paris, London, Morocco. Those dreams of travel are dust, now— She has a duty, a country to rebuild, with fewer friends by her side then when they were taking it down.

Even Jem. If things had gone differently, if they had paid attention to him, if they had listened better, it wouldn't have been a vulnerable day, and Sam wouldn't have been so able to hit where it hurt but didn't show.

He might not have turned.

He had mentioned to her only one dream of the future, only once— that he wanted to be an architect. They had been watching the sunrise through the propped-open tent flap as she tried in vain to work the old toaster which seemed, inexplicably, to respond only to Glenn.

"I want to build something beautiful," he had said dreamily around the yogurt spoon tucked into the side of his mouth. "I want people to go see it, and look at it, and say, Jem Schauer made that. I want to make a monument about all we've given up, ten stories high, with brilliant stained glass the colors of autumn leaves."

Then he had turned red and hurriedly added, "But I guess that's kind of silly, isn't it?" and went back to his breakfast.

Claire closes her eyes.

They have not so much won the war as they have not lost— Technically, it is a victory, what they have worked and dreamed and bled and killed for, but Claire knows she would give it all up in an instant if it meant bringing back the original crew, the way they first were.

Seal the hairline-thin cracks that nobody noticed, the ones that eventually grew and tore apart their dream team, turned it into a living nightmare. 

Even if it meant losing. 

Wow guys, all these stories are amazing! I wonder if I can top any of them, they're all so good I bet I wont even get close! But you know, Ill try. ;) 

~~~~~~~~

Samantha walked into school with a smile on her face. Looking around, she spotted Riley, her best friend. Walking over, they started talking amiously, ignoring everything around them. Riley always seemed happy and entergetic. Samantha was always a little darker and sad. But they seemed strangley alike, like they could have been twins from another demention. "My dog passed yesterday." Riley admitted sadly. "But he's in a better place now, full of dog treats and bones." 

Samantha walked over and gave her a hug, a tear streaming down her face. She thought that was strange because her dog had passed the same night. Why was Riley so happy about it? She didnt mention her dog, she might tell Riley later, at lunch maybe, when it didnt really seem like she was taking away Riley's attention. "Im so sorry, Riley." She whispered into her friend's ear. 

The bell rang and they walked together to class. English was first. "Bla bla bla...grammer....bla bla....spelling...." the teacher ranted, before asking Samantha a question. She wasnt paying any attencion.

"What?" She whispered to Riley.

"How do you spell Consent?" Riley whispered back. The class murmmered amongst themselves as they exchanged their conversations, and the teacher gave the girls a look.

"Oh, um, sorry." Sam responded. "C-O um.... S, S-E-N-T. " 

"No, its spelt with one S, Sam." Riley whispered in her friendly know-it-all voice.

"Sure it is."

"It is!"

"Eh-um!" The teacher inturupted. "It's spelt with one s. Thanyou, Sam."

English went by boringly. Riley and Sam doodled on eachothers hands. The bell rang. Next was Math. Riley and Sam sat down next to eachother. "Ehum. Sam, could I ask you to move?" The teacher asked. "There isn't enough seets for that." 

"Oh, alright. I'll just stit with Riley then." I moved to squish into the same seet as Riley. More mummbling from the class.

Math went by boreingly. So did Science. Now it was lunch. The two friends walked to lunch together. "There, thats the guy I like!" Sam pointed to a tall looking kid wearing all black with one ear peorced with a golden hoop. Riley gave her a look.

"Really? I like that kid." She guestered to a blond haired, blue eyed friendly boy with a nice smile. "Can we go sit by him?"

"No, common, I want to go meet the gothic kid! He looks cool."

"But not friendly," Riley remarked as she saw him glaring at the two friends.

"Fine, well go sit by the blond-haired boy." They walked over to his table, ment for five or so people...but only holding one. He was a family friend of Sam's, and Riley became fond of him.

"How's it going?" Sam asked, sitting down. Riley sat down next to her.

"Could be better." He groaned, flexing a bruised arm.

"What happened?" Riley asked.

"Got in a fight with a kid again." He paused, reconizing the voice. "Is that Riley here?" He asked, squinting in their direction.

"Yep." Sam answered. "Why, did you not put in your contacts today?"

He looked at her funny. "I-don't wear....contacts." He responded.

"Well you should." Sam answered cooly. "Because she's clear as day beside me." 

"Oh, its fine. That happens sometimes." Riley answered shyly.

"No, its rude and unconsiderate." Sam answered, defending her friend.

"No-really, it's fine, Sam."

"NO ITS NOT!" The lunchroom went silent to turn and look at them. "If you cant see that, then be quiet and let me do the talking!"

Riley went silent, sinking down into the old wooden stool chairs. Sam shook her head. "What are you all looking at?!" She barked as she saw many beady eyes on her. The blong haired boy sunk down into his chair to avoid their gazes. They all looked away and started murmering amongst themselves. Sam fummed up, her insides hot and boiling, anger and missunderstanding and sadness raising inside. Her reddened face looked as if she was about to explode.

Suddenly the blond-haired boy spoke. "Sam," he said quietly, sitting back up in his chair, but still leaning away from her. "There's no one there."

"What do you mean there's no one there?!"

~~~~

I saw Sam walk into our private school with a smile on her face. She walked over to the wall and started talking like she was sourounded by friends. I sighed, feeling bad for her. If my disslexia and bipolar wasnt so bad, I might still be going to a real high school. Not sourounded by these stupid people! Idiots! Why was everyone so stupid or weird! You couldnt possibly make friends in a place like this!

English went by with the teacher talking amisly. Most of us had disslexia, so she wasnt allowed to gove out reading assignments. No one was listening when the teacher asked Sam a question. "What?" She whispered to herself. 

"How do you spell Consent?" She whispered back, with a different tone to her voice. The class murmmered amongst themselves as they exchanged their conversations, and the teacher gave Sam a look. I sighed. 

"Oh, um, sorry." Sam responded. "C-O um.... S, S-E-N-T. " 

"No, its spelt with one S, Sam." She whispered in a know-it-all voice. "Sure it is." "It is!" 

"Eh-um!" The teacher inturupted. "It's spelt with one s. Thanyou, Sam."

The class snickered arounf me. There was only likel maybe ten kids in this class, the main English class of the day. There werent many kids in this private school, and the classes were all wiledy split up, so some classes may have only like, three or two people. 

The next few classes went by quickly. I went to my lunch dorm, a small room each of us are put in with like, a few other people and a supervisor. I passed a dark looking boy with a golden earing and shuddered as he gave me a life sucking look. I sat down in my little room and wondered who was going to sit with me. Just as I thought this Sam walked in, talking amongst herself. 

"How's it going?" Sam asked, sitting down.

"Could be better." I groaned, flexing a bruised arm. 

"What happened?" Sam asked in a higher voice. 

"Got in a fight with a kid again." I paused, reconizing the voice. "Is that Riley here?" I asked, squinting in Sam's direction. 

"Yep." Sam answered. "Why, did you not put in your contacts today?" 

I looked at her funny. "I-don't wear....contacts." I responded slowly. 

"Well you should." Sam answered cooly. "Because she's clear as day beside me." 

"Oh, its fine. That happens sometimes." She said in a higher voice a little shyly. 

"No, its rude and unconsiderate." Sam siad in her normal voice. 

"No-really, it's fine, Sam." She said in her higher voice.

"NO ITS NOT!" Sam yelled. The supervisor turned to look at me. I shurged. "If you cant see that, then be quiet and let me do the talking!" Sam barked at herself. Suddenly she turned to the wall. "What are you looking at?!" She demanded the greying stone wall. 

I paused for a moment before whispering, "Sam, there's no one there. 

"What do you mean, there's no one there?!" She demanded, turning to me. 

There was nothing I could say. She was just torn apart inside, I guess. 

Agh, I don't know how good this is, but here goes. 

 Torn Apart

Theo was the runt. They said he was weak, small, worthless. And that's why Theo doubted if he could survive on his own out here. It was dark, cold, and Theo's pads hurt. His eyes dropped low, threatening to shut for the seventh time. But he knew if he fell asleep now, he wouldn't wake up. Morning would never come. Theo's entire body trembled with cold and exertion, and he wondered which would be better; going on with no idea where he would end up, or laying down his life for sweet relief. 

Theo's eyes widened just a bit when he spotted a cave. He quickened his pace as much as possible, desperately trying to get himself to shelter. He fairly flung himself onto the cold hard stone of the cave. It wasn't exactly his cushion at home, but it was shelter from the wind and freezing rain that had been mercilessly pelting his coat. Theo finally allowed himself some sleep, drifting off as soon as his head touched the ground. 

And there he lay, curled into a tight ball in an attempt to keep himself warm, when she found him. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Morning had been sleeping in the farthest reaches of the cave, when suddenly something awoke her. She stood and stretched, prepared to chase off a skunk or opossum that had most likely made its way into the cave which belonged to her and her alone. With a yawn, Morning lumbered over the cave entrance as only a bear might, but it wasn't a possum or skunk she found. It was a cub, someone else's cub, but it wasn't a bear cub. The sight sparked a memory deep in Morning's mind, but she couldn't quite place it. 

The cub was scrawny and bedraggled, with its floppy ears hanging limply over its face. Its chest rose and fell in shallow breath, and its entire body shivered. It brought to mind Morning's own cub, Starlily, and Morning teared up at the thought of her own sweet cub's death. How those dogs rushed at her, tore her apart before they'd let her get away. 

Morning sniffed at the cub. It was so small, so helpless. It would surely die by morning. She knew she couldn't watch another cub die, so she clenched her jaw gently around the scruff of the cub's neck and carried him toward the back of the cave, where she curled her body around him, and promised she'd never leave him. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Toni trudged through the woods, annoyed that his baseball had somehow gotten all the way out here. He kicked at the snow, sending it flying up into the air once again, as if it were still just some snowflakes. His feet ached, he'd been searching for hours, and he wished he could just plop down and have a cup of hot cocoa. And in fact, he would, if not for his little brother having thrown the ball out here. Toni scooped up some snow and formed it into a ball. He chucked it into the woods angrily, and then felt bad when he heard the angry chatter of a squirrel in the distance. 

Then, he heard something else. A whining sound, coming from a cave. He ran over to it, curious as ever, and walked to the back, where he saw a small beagle puppy, curled into a ball, shivering, eyes squeezed shut. It gave another whimper, and Toni bent down to pick it up. He tucked it into his coat to keep it warm, and trudged home with no other thoughts of his baseball. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Two Years Later~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Morning chuffed sadly, watching her breath rise into the cold winter air. Just two winters ago, she had lost her beloved cub. She didn't care if it wasn't a bear or not, she had already lost one cub before that. A tear slipped down Morning's snout, freezing in the process. She gave a moan of despair. She had almost given up all hope of ever finding her beloved Theo. She hoped he knew she hadn't ever given up on him. Still, Morning lumbered past the trees farther into human territory. 

According to the word of a very helpful squirrel, Morning had learned that many 'barkers' as he called them, lived with the humans. He had heard this from his cousin who lived in human territory, and who had had some very unpleasant experiences involving 'barkers.' 

Morning had little hope, but as her mother always said, little is more than none. And so she trudged on. She finally came to a white fence, and climbing over, saw what she'd thought she'd never see again: Theo. 

Morning chuffed joyfully as she ran over, and Theo caught her eye, but seemed a bit worried. Morning stopped short. Theo was so big now. He had grown so much. But she still loved him. She smiled, but Theo snarled at her. She chuffed in dismay, then groaned. There was a human playing with Theo. A human had done it. A human had stolen her baby, just like a human had used an unknowing dog to kill her last one. And Theo didn't recognize her! She snuffled at him, hoping he would find a glimmer of a memory somewhere. And then she'd just have to take care of that human. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Toni dropped the ball upon sight of the bear. Theo barked, and Toni backed away. He knew Theo would save him. Theo wouldn't let the nasty bear get him. But Toni was only worried about if Theo would let the bear get himself. Theo snarled at the bear, but then stopped. Toni didn't know why, and silently willed Theo to bark and ward off the angry beast. But Theo did no such thing, and Toni's fear grew ever stronger by the moment. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Theo barked and barked. He growled, he snarled, he bared his teeth. The bear continued to chuff and snuffle. But Theo would never let anything hurt his boy! Never ever! Not even an angry old bear! He give his life before- but then something clicked in Theo's mind. The bear was angry for a reason. Something had been stolen from her. And that something was him. 

Theo saw his life flash before his eyes. How he was abandoned for being the runt, how Morning, the bear, had saved him. How she had raised him until one day, when she went off to hunt, a boy had stumbled upon him, and took him home. He had lived with that boy ever since, and Morning had searched endlessly for him. And now she was back for him. Morning came. 

But before Theo had time to turn this over in his mind, he heard Toni shriek, saw the bear charging, and before he knew what had happened, he charged her. 

Running blindly, Theo realized that he had to choose. It was Toni or Morning. His adopted mother or his boy. His rescuer or his master. 

And Theo couldn't choose. He was torn. He stepped in front of the bear, and let her slam into him, flinging him across the yard. 

Theo lay there, every bone in his body aching, but somehow managed a bark. With one last mournful look at his dog's broken body, Toni ran inside his house. 

A tear glistened on Morning's cheek as she realized what she had done. 

But Theo was fine. He let his eyes close.

~~~~~~~~~~~~Epilogue~~~~~~~~~~~~

Two weeks later, Theo limped along beside Toni fairly well. At least, better than he had limped last week. His cast wouldn't come off for at least one more week, and the cone he wore around his neck was none too comfortable. But Theo didn't mind, because today they were going to his favorite place: The Wild Bear reserve.

Toppety top top top!!

Toppety top top top!!

Toppety top top top!!