Chatterbox: Inkwell

New Fiction Story!

I haven't been on Cricket is SO LONG, like, maybe even a year, at least not since I was 13! I can't believe it! Anyway, so for an assignment in comp. we had to write a four-page (typed) fiction essay, and mine turned out just a taddddd longer than four pages...A tad longer meaning seven pages, even with size 12 font and NO double spacing... But luckily, my amazing comp. teacher is fine with me going over... So, I thought it turned out pretty good, so I decided to post it on here and see what you guys thought. Also, some of my family thought I should add more of an ending, so I have an optional ending that I can post later if you guys would like. Editing, revisions, and suggestions will for foreverrrrrr cherished. :) Thanks!!

Emma O.

Normal
0

false
false
false

EN-US
X-NONE
X-NONE

/* Style Definitions */
table.MsoNormalTable
{mso-style-name:"Table Normal";
mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0;
mso-tstyle-colband-size:0;
mso-style-noshow:yes;
mso-style-priority:99;
mso-style-qformat:yes;
mso-style-parent:"";
mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt;
mso-para-margin-top:0in;
mso-para-margin-right:0in;
mso-para-margin-bottom:10.0pt;
mso-para-margin-left:0in;
line-height:115%;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:11.0pt;
font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif";
mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri;
mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri;
mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;}

            The hunger gnawed away at my stomach
as the warm Californian spring sun peeked its head above the mountains that
cast their huge shadows over my town.  I
willed the line to move faster as my stomach emitted a loud growl.  The main street of my town was filled with
white vans, government workers inside, all handing out hunger tablets. Posters
covered the vans, boasting about how wonderful the tablets were and how
dangerous real food was. According the posters, our food had been genetically
altered and was the cause of autism, cancer, diabetes, and just about any other
incurable disease.   

            Although the eyes of each person in
line were sunken, their figures lean, it was nothing compared to a few months
before.  I shivered as I remembered the
sight of them, what I had seen every time I looked in the mirror: just
skeletons with skin.  That was before the
hunger tablets had come.

            In a matter of days, food prices had
skyrocketed.  A gallon of milk cost 120
dollars, and a loaf of bread cost 200. Who could afford that?  That was when the hunger had started, the
hunger that had been my constant companion for weeks on end.  Then the government had waltzed in with their
miracle pills, the hunger tablets, or, as they called them, Nutra-Good.  They tasted like nothing and dissolved in a
few seconds.  Not exciting, but they
filled you up instantly.  Most were
content to just eat them- if you could call it “eating”- but I was too
curious.  True to the journalist I was, I
had to start investigating these strange cures for hunger.

            I’d always had an easy time getting
information out of people.  Early on in
my career, I figured out that it’s all in my shockingly bright blue eyes.  Opened wide and innocent, I was found easy to
trust.  Bat my eyelashes and they were
distracted into telling me all I needed to know.  Give them an unwavering stare and they couldn’t
help but blurt it out as little beads of sweat broke out on their forehead. It
had all been easy, until now.  Every door
I’d tried had been shut, and none of my tricks had worked.  All I had found was that they had been
created by government scientists and were perfectly balanced, the right amount
of calories, vitamins, proteins, everything. 
The obscurity of it all had just made me that much more determined to
find out what was going on.

            Finally, I realized I was focusing
too much on the pill, how it was created, why they didn’t cost anything, why
the government was so eager to give them out. 
Instead of finding out about the pills, I needed to find out why they
were needed in the first place. Why had food prices been driven so high? After
an exhausting search and numerous dead-end interviews, I found out why: all
food-producing companies had suddenly been bought by eight monster-companies,
industries that must have been billionaires. 
My long fingers danced along the keyboard, furiously trying to find out
more about these companies. Just as I was about to click on the link I was
positive held what I needed, my computer let out a groan and crashed, oblivious
to my screech of rage and fists pounding on the ancient desk that sat in my
family’s office. The computer just wasn’t the same now that dad wasn’t here to
fix it. My sister, Claire who, at 18, was younger than me by three years called
me from the other room.

            “Aileen. What is it this time?” My
sister sounded unconcerned, as she was used to my temper.  Claire is as sweet and quiet as I am quick
tempered.  She has a sleek mane of golden
hair, eyes the color of green olives and is a sprinter through and through.  I, however, have waves of fierce auburn hair,
bright, intense, blue eyes, and have been dancing since I was four.

            “I- I just- Nothing.” I sighed as a
brought my knees up to my chest and laid my head on them.  After a few moments I uncurled myself,
stretched out my strong muscles, and slipped out of them room.  The cool metal of the phone felt good in my
hands as I picked it up and dialed the operator. I was going to find out about
those companies if it was the last thing I did.

            Two days later I sat in the office of
Glendale Inc, waiting for Ms. Bailey, who I had been told would meet me. The
door of the office opened and in stepped a woman dressed all in black with a
government logo on her jacket.

            “I hear you’re quite curious about
*name of company*,” she said. I gave her a quick appraisal. She had bleached
blonde hair, mean brown, nearly black, eyes, and a small mouth that, at the
moment, curled down with disdain.

            “Yes, I am.”

            “I’m sorry, but anything not on the
internet is not public information.” She looked anything but sorry as she
motioned for me to leave.

            “Thank you for your time.” I stood
and walked out of the room, trying to look disappointed.  In truth, I had found another piece to the
puzzle I was slowly assembling. The results of my investigation, however, made
no sense. Every single company that had purchased the food was government-run.
They were filled with government workers.

            My mind raced with a thousand
questions. Why would the government go to the trouble of buying all the food
and then just give out pills to stop the hunger? Why would they buy the food
and charge such high prices in the first place?

            I drove home and opened my stash of
chocolate that I had kept for years. It is my guilty pleasure. Sure, Nutra-Good
keeps you full, but nothing got me thinking like chocolate. I didn’t know what
I would do when I ran out, and that was why I only ate it when I really needed
to think. A sigh escaped my as lips it began melting in my mouth.  Out of my purse I grabbed my reporting
journal and filled it out as I enjoyed my treat. The small chunk was almost
completely dissolved and I had just finished recording all my current findings
when my idea came: infiltration. That was the only thing left, the only thing
that could get me what I wanted. The companies wouldn’t trust any but their
own. It couldn’t be that hard, could it?

            I stood up from the rickety chair
that sat in our dimly lit kitchen and hurried into my parent’s old bedroom. The bedroom was as cold and lifeless
as the day my parents had died. Claire and I had lost both of them about ten
years ago, in a freak plane crash. My father, a government computer analyst,
along with my mother, had been on the way to a computer tech convention when
the plane had gone down. They had specified no guardian for me and Claire so,
with a few well thought out lies, I had managed to avoid anyone invading our
home to care for us. We had managed an our own ever since.

                        The infiltration had
been easy. No one questioned the uniform I wore. They obviously felt completely
safe. So safe, in fact, one of the workers left their computer on with a file
displayed on the screen while he left for lunch. The file held the list of
countries that would soon face the same food shortage that we had and the dates
our government would arrive in their countries. The file held the plans, the
plans to take over the world. The government was planning to take over the
world. It sounded immature, childish, like a cheesy book you’d read in grade
school, but it was real. Determined not to let a single detail slip, once I
immediately opened my journal and scribbled down my findings. My head whirled
with all that I found. They wanted to take over the world. The government that
had ruled my country since before anyone could remember wanted to take over the
world and all with a simple pill.

            The plan was simple; they would be
heroes for saving the human population from starvation, obesity, and the
supposed danger of actual food. They would be the ones to end hunger forever.
The pill was easy and cheep to mass-produce and they were happy to give it
away. After all, who wouldn’t trust the people who had saved the starving of
the world? Once they had ended starvation in all the third world countries,
they were sure it would be easy to conquer the others. They planned on asking
the once-starving countries to do them a “small favor”: take over all other
countries. Once the defeat they were sure would be a piece of cake was over,
they would have all of humanity under their control. After buying all the food
and food-producing items, they would only need to threaten to withhold the
hunger tablets and they would be instantly obeyed. Those who didn’t obey would
starve to death. They would essentially become the masters of all others in the
world. One single government and all the citizens would be slaves.

            I couldn’t let this happen. I had to
do something. My frantic mind spouted ideas, but none of them I could do alone.
Then it hit me. I was a reporter. If I wrote it up in an article, I could
surely slip it to one of my publisher friends. It would be easy and then it
would be published for everyone to see!

            A sharp knock on the door startled
me out of my dreaming. I slipped the journal once again into my coat pocket,
just in case, and opened the door. My heart leapt into my throat at what I saw.
Two men dressed in government uniforms stood on my porch, glaring at me.

            “Miss Aileen?” the taller of the two
asked, his voice a growl.

            “Y-Yes.” I swallowed loudly.

            “You’ve asked too many questions,
questions to things you shouldn’t be asking about.”

            “What are you talking about?” I
tried my best to look innocent, but they weren’t buying it.

            “You’ll need to come with us.” The
shorter one flashed a shiny badge in my face to show his authority. “You can
choose to come peacefully, or we can end it here.” He slid his hand along his
throat as if cutting into it. They were going to kill me if I refused.

            It felt unreal, moments ago I had
been so close to saving humanity, and now I was being hauled away, maybe
killed, and no one knew. They were too big and I was cornered. My heart raced
as I stepped out the door and shut it softly behind me. The two men took a hold
of my arms, one on each side, holding right about my elbows. We walked toward
their car and were nearly there when I made my move. Glancing to the mountain
behind me and saying a prayer under my breath, I tensed my strong legs and then
leapt up. Using my years of dance training, I landed neatly on one of each
man’s feet, thrusting my elbows into their chests at the same time. As their
grip momentarily loosened, I ripped myself free and took off, adrenaline
pumping. I ran into the small patch of trees behind my house, their footsteps pounding
in my ears.

            I reached the foot of the mountain
and faltered in my steady run. A dark black hole loomed in front of me. With a
quick breath, I plunged into the darkness, not waiting for my eyes to adjust. I
trailed my right hand along the sharp side of the rock tunnel, praying for a
tunnel to open up that I could turn down.

            My heartbeat pounded in my ears, the
thundering drum my searing legs kept time to as I raced through the rocky
tunnels.  I heard their footsteps echoing
behind me, tapping closer and closer. My breath came in gasps as I thought
about how odd it was that I had no problem with a five hour tap show, but when
it came to running I was exhausted immediately. Raw and stinging from the constant
grind of rock as I felt for an exit, my hands finally felt the side of the
tunnel give way to the cool air of another passage.  I darted through the opening, sure that I had
at last found the tunnel out.  Instead,
after just a few long strides, I ran straight into a wall, a dead end.  Blood dripped slowly down from a cut above my
eyes, staining my auburn hair an even brighter red and landing on my tongue as
I gasped for breath, the metallic taste making me sick.  I spit and shoved my hands into my thin coat,
reaching for the cause of the terror that now overwhelmed my mind: my
journal.  Like every good journalist I
carried it with me everywhere, but I wasn’t here in search of a story.  I was here, being hunted, because of what I
knew, what I had discovered. The plans for the government’s world takeover
filled the pages of my journal. They were too close. I had nowhere to run. My
shaking fingers pulled out a pencil and I scrawled a last note onto the pages
of my journal. I felt along the wall for a big enough crack and, after several
desperate moments, I found one. I stuffed the journal into the crevice just as
the two men rounded the corner, the glaring flashlights they held in their hand
momentarily blinding me.

            “That’s it.” One of them snarled and
grabbed my arms, his nails cutting into my skin as he snapped handcuffs onto my
wrists. As they dragged me from the small cavern, a line of a poem by TS Eliot
I had memorized long ago came back to me. “This
is the way the world ends / Not with a bang, but with a whimper.” This was
how my life was to end. I wasn’t to be a great hero, the one who saved the
world; I was to die alone with no one knowing what I had discovered or why I
had died. A lone tear dripped down my face, mixing with the still-wet blood, as
I thought about poor Claire, completely alone in the world now.

            A small sliver of hope invaded my
mind as I thought about the journal that was hidden inside the cave. Perhaps
someone would find it, maybe Claire. Claire was brave. Claire could save them. I
watched as one of the men slid a silver dagger out of his belt, and with that,
my life ended.