Fiction

Somewhere, there is a book. It is old and well worn. Its pages are dog-eared, and there are little threads unraveling from its soft gray cover. It is not especially long, and it is not especially short, but it has a weight to it.

Sorry for chiming in so late. Here is my idea:

“Lieutenant! Lieutenant! Wake up!” A man screamed. 

    Hello,  my name is Allyssa. I turn 20 tomorrow. If I got 1 wish on my birthday it would be that I would get a cat because I really want a cat. I like how they are soft. Also how they purr and cuddle with you.

People have always said my mother was magical. I never truly believed them until her funeral. 

The artist sits in the middle of the naturally lit room. Paintbrush in hand and canvas on his lap. A small ceramic mug of water sits to his left while a line of colorful paints sits to his right.

It's been in my family a while, that farm. Old and rickety, falling apart and rotting away. Still in use by my aunt and uncle, however. 
I hate that farm.

The Wind.

“Ouch!” I landed at the bottom of the hill. My leg was throbbing! I must of hit on a rock on the way down. I looked up the hill, and there they were, sticking their tongues out at me, laughing to themselves. I turned to see what was behind me.

    My wish for tomorrow is that they will find a cure for all diseases. That everyone will be healed. No one will die from diseases anymore. My wish for my 25th birthday is that all of the world problems will be solved.

I am no longer in control of my body. My legs, strong and muscled, are not mine. My hands have memorized every action they must take, and no longer need me to guide them. My blood, my bones, they belong to someone else, and I watch from above.

"Everything is in place! All we need is people to come and yell 'Surprise!'"  The last piece of tape was holding the  Happy Birthday banner up and it swung over Holly's beaming face.