My Name
Kelsey,
My name means from the ships island. I’m not really sure what that means but I guess it makes sense why I love the ocean. It also means brave. I don’t know where they got that idea but there's no way I fit that description.
My name means nerdy. I geek out when someone says robotics. I fangirl over anything Marvel. Science, Books, T.V, Movies, I LOVE THEM!! I want to learn new things. I want to be crazy smart. There's no better feeling than learning something new.
My name means distracted. My brain always seems to have a million tabs open and the server always seems to run slow. Daydreaming is a constant occurrence and zoning out is inevitable.
My name means ornery. A nickname given by my dad, I’m constantly reminded that I’ve got sass to spare and I’m salty like the ocean.
My names means awkward. I’m not great at talking to people and I hate going to social events. My ticks, like bouncing my leg or messing with my nails, keep me sane. I usually don’t know what to say and sitting by myself isn’t anything new. My comfort zone is a small, brick walled room on a island surrounded by an infinite ocean. Don’t worry, I’m not too lonely out here, my dog likes to visit me a lot.
My name means almost. I was almost Kaylie, I was almost Kylie. Kelsey was just the almost that became my label.
My name means tired. Tired physically. Tired mentally. Tired emotionally. Tired of always yawning. Tired of the way my eyes water when I do. Tired of people’s crap. Tired of everyone's talking. Tired of all the drama. Tired of fake people. Tired of picking sides. Tired of telling myself “I am so done with all of this.” But honestly who cares, cause isn’t everyone “tired?”
My name means positive. After all of that you might not think so, but nobody has to be just one thing right? I often look on the bright side and when things are going bad I’m experienced in attempting to boost team morale.
But most importantly, after everything my name could possibly mean, Kelsey means everything that makes me who I am.
My name means from the ships island. I’m not really sure what that means but I guess it makes sense why I love the ocean. It also means brave. I don’t know where they got that idea but there's no way I fit that description.
My name means nerdy. I geek out when someone says robotics. I fangirl over anything Marvel. Science, Books, T.V, Movies, I LOVE THEM!! I want to learn new things. I want to be crazy smart. There's no better feeling than learning something new.
My name means distracted. My brain always seems to have a million tabs open and the server always seems to run slow. Daydreaming is a constant occurrence and zoning out is inevitable.
My name means ornery. A nickname given by my dad, I’m constantly reminded that I’ve got sass to spare and I’m salty like the ocean.
My names means awkward. I’m not great at talking to people and I hate going to social events. My ticks, like bouncing my leg or messing with my nails, keep me sane. I usually don’t know what to say and sitting by myself isn’t anything new. My comfort zone is a small, brick walled room on a island surrounded by an infinite ocean. Don’t worry, I’m not too lonely out here, my dog likes to visit me a lot.
My name means almost. I was almost Kaylie, I was almost Kylie. Kelsey was just the almost that became my label.
My name means tired. Tired physically. Tired mentally. Tired emotionally. Tired of always yawning. Tired of the way my eyes water when I do. Tired of people’s crap. Tired of everyone's talking. Tired of all the drama. Tired of fake people. Tired of picking sides. Tired of telling myself “I am so done with all of this.” But honestly who cares, cause isn’t everyone “tired?”
My name means positive. After all of that you might not think so, but nobody has to be just one thing right? I often look on the bright side and when things are going bad I’m experienced in attempting to boost team morale.
But most importantly, after everything my name could possibly mean, Kelsey means everything that makes me who I am.
Character Sketch
It was October 27, 2018. I roll over and look at my alarm clock. 8:45 AM. Thank goodness it’s a Saturday. My hair is in a complete mess as I somehow will myself down the stairs of my loft bed and in the direction of the kitchen. When I arrive at my destination I notice something is off. There’s no coffee in the coffee pot, no pans on the stove cooking this mornings array of Mickey Mouse pancakes, no sticky spot on the counter from the syrup my brothers would have inevitably spilled. But most notably none of my family standing there, in the midst of this morning madness, wishing me some much too cheery, “Good Morning Natalie”s. Nope, none of it. The only thing I find is a note on the fridge that reads, ‘Natalie, Headed off to the airport. See you in a few days! - Love Mom and Dad.’ Next to that note I find another that reads, ‘Nat, Went out. Took Jax. Be back later. - Alex.’
While wondering why my family took the time to leave notes on the fridge instead of just sending me a text, I throw two Eggo waffles in the toaster and run upstairs to change. My favorite pair of jeans, still fresh from the dryer, are a perfect choice to pair with anything I have in my closet. I then grab a clean t-shirt from the pile on the floor next to my closet that I’ve been neglecting to put away. With a quick glance in the mirror I see my outfit is good, but my hair still looks like a birds nest. Next stop, the downstairs bathroom.
After brushing out the many knots in my dirty blonde hair, I mold it into the perfect messy bun. The hair tie wraps around once, twice, a third time, and then SNAP! The most heartbreaking sound in the world. The elastic breaks and the hair tie that I’ve been using for the last month or so is gone forever. Now I’m stuck using the one that sits in the bottom of the bathroom counter drawer that I never use because its too small to wrap around four times but if you only wrap it three times it’s not tight enough. With a not-as-tight-as-I-would-like-it bun I run back out to the kitchen to grab my forgotten waffles. Much to my surprise they haven’t popped out of the toaster yet, which is when I also notice the time dial is turned all the way to five. Who puts anything in the toaster for that long!? At this point the waffles are un-edible so they take a one-way trip to the trash can.
Disappointed by my lack of breakfast, I plop down on the couch and turn on the T.V. By then I notice a text from my best friend reading, ‘Hey Harps, what did you get on that science homework we got on Friday??’ I scoff at her stupid nickname for me and send her my hypothesis. With the name Natalie you’d think people would just call you ‘Nat’ but my best friend isn’t like that. Ever since we were little I’ve been ‘Harps’ after my last name, Harper. I really don’t know why that idea popped into her head but once a nickname sticks there’s no changing it. While flipping through every channel imaginable my day flips on its head. My day of broken hair ties and burnt waffles becomes instantly better. The reason being my stumbling upon an all day marathon of Friends. Need I say more? The rest of my Saturday was spent sitting on the couch watching the six best friends navigating life and relationships, only interrupted by breaks for some leftover pizza from the fridge, bathroom usage, and a few messages from our local station, then back to our regularly scheduled program. With that I’d like to end with these three words. Best. Day. Ever!
While wondering why my family took the time to leave notes on the fridge instead of just sending me a text, I throw two Eggo waffles in the toaster and run upstairs to change. My favorite pair of jeans, still fresh from the dryer, are a perfect choice to pair with anything I have in my closet. I then grab a clean t-shirt from the pile on the floor next to my closet that I’ve been neglecting to put away. With a quick glance in the mirror I see my outfit is good, but my hair still looks like a birds nest. Next stop, the downstairs bathroom.
After brushing out the many knots in my dirty blonde hair, I mold it into the perfect messy bun. The hair tie wraps around once, twice, a third time, and then SNAP! The most heartbreaking sound in the world. The elastic breaks and the hair tie that I’ve been using for the last month or so is gone forever. Now I’m stuck using the one that sits in the bottom of the bathroom counter drawer that I never use because its too small to wrap around four times but if you only wrap it three times it’s not tight enough. With a not-as-tight-as-I-would-like-it bun I run back out to the kitchen to grab my forgotten waffles. Much to my surprise they haven’t popped out of the toaster yet, which is when I also notice the time dial is turned all the way to five. Who puts anything in the toaster for that long!? At this point the waffles are un-edible so they take a one-way trip to the trash can.
Disappointed by my lack of breakfast, I plop down on the couch and turn on the T.V. By then I notice a text from my best friend reading, ‘Hey Harps, what did you get on that science homework we got on Friday??’ I scoff at her stupid nickname for me and send her my hypothesis. With the name Natalie you’d think people would just call you ‘Nat’ but my best friend isn’t like that. Ever since we were little I’ve been ‘Harps’ after my last name, Harper. I really don’t know why that idea popped into her head but once a nickname sticks there’s no changing it. While flipping through every channel imaginable my day flips on its head. My day of broken hair ties and burnt waffles becomes instantly better. The reason being my stumbling upon an all day marathon of Friends. Need I say more? The rest of my Saturday was spent sitting on the couch watching the six best friends navigating life and relationships, only interrupted by breaks for some leftover pizza from the fridge, bathroom usage, and a few messages from our local station, then back to our regularly scheduled program. With that I’d like to end with these three words. Best. Day. Ever!
4 Visitors
The office was buzzing today. New leads fly in by the second about the recent murder of Jack Harris. The mass hysteria has taken over everyone, claiming they saw the killer just down the block at the Washington Monument, or they swear whoever committed the crime just checked in to the Fairmont hotel. Most of it’s just noise, but it still makes for a long night of sifting through reports. I sit at my desk as my assistant, Jackie, piles more and more papers on top of it. “Please tell me this is the last of it,” I say knowing full well it isn't. “Not even close,” she responds. I sigh and check my watch. “Late again huh?,” she asks. “Isn’t he always?,” I reply. My new partner has become notorious for this now. Showing up, hours later than scheduled, with a half drank cup of coffee and a powdered donut. Personally I don’t know how he eats those things. I much rather prefer a chocolate frosted with sprinkles, but aside from his poor choice in deep fried confections, he’s supposed to be a great detective. Unfortunately I have yet to see any of these alluring qualities he’s rumored to have. I take a sip of my hot chocolate and begin sorting out the reports. As I always say, we have to start somewhere if we’re going to get anywhere.
As Jackie walks in for the 7th time this morning she informs me I have a visitor. “Who is it?,” I ask. “Matthew Johnson,” she states. “Since when do I have suspects visit me?” Jackie simply shrugs. “Shall I send him in?,” she questions. “Might as well,” I reply, “it’s not like I’m busy or anything,” I mumble when she’s out of earshot. Mr. Johnson enters. He’s a relatively tall man with a medium build, about 29. His short, brown hair lays in a mess on top of his head. He attempts to smooth out the wrinkles of his shirt as he sits down. “Good Morning Detective Blake,” he states, much too casually for my liking. “As far as I’m concerned we are not on a first name basis,” I say in my most snarky detective voice possible. “So what brings you too my office Mr. Johnson? I thought you were still in for questioning.” He gives me a confused look as if I’m already supposed to know why he’s here. “I came to discuss the case,” he says, “You said you wanted to speak to me so here I am.” I internally roll my eyes as I check my desk calendar for this unscheduled meeting that I may have forgotten about. Let’s see today’s Tuesday, the seventh...nope, nothing on my agenda. “Well I’m sorry Mr. Johnson but…”, “Matthew,” he interjects. I give him a sideways glance, but he clearly hasn’t gotten the message. “Well I’m sorry Matthew, but today doesn’t quite work for me as you can see,” I say gesturing towards the piles of papers surrounding my office. “But!” he tries to interrupt again. “If you could please let me do my job,” I state bluntly, “I’ll get to you as soon as I can.” Visibly annoyed, Matthew Johnson storms out of my office without another word. I think to myself, ‘Well that was weird.’
About two hours later Jackie enters my office again. She no more says, “Detective Evans, Mrs. Harris is here to see you,” when the bleach blonde woman waltz right through my door, blinding me with pearly white teeth. Lillia Harris, now turned Lillia Walker after he husband's death, was the wife of Jack Harris. She is a very… interesting...woman. She was incredibly tall, or everyone thought she was because she only ever wore six inch heels. She was always covered in way too much perfume and often overdid it with her makeup. Her lips were eternally outlined in her signature red that was sure to match her outfit. A black purse hung in the bend of her arm. “Mr. Blake!” she said, sending her southern accent propelling across the room. “Good Morning Ma'am,” I replied. “Oh please,” she said waving her hand, as if swatting away what I had just said out of the air like a fly, “Call me Lilly.” She sat down on the other side of my desk, looking like a high-schooler trying to fit in a chair they had used back in kindergarten. Crossing her left leg over her right she asks, “So how’s it going with my husbands case?” I felt conflicted, do I tell her how it’s really going? Do I give her false hope? I don’t want to send her into an emotional tailspin, but… then again… she’s having one of the most calm, cool, and collected reactions to a murder that I've ever seen. “Well,” I begin, “we’re getting a lot of information rolling in and…” She cuts me off abruptly. “That is just great! Oh I don’t want to take up any more of your time. Just be sure to keep me posted if you find out anything.” And just as quickly as she entered, Mrs. Harris/Walker was gone, but the lingering smell of her signature scent made sure her presence had been known.
Another hour passes, I’ve made it about a quarter of the way through these reports, and my partner still hasn’t shown up! I hear a small knock at my door. Without looking up I ask, “What is it Jackie?,” but there’s no response. I glance up from the report I’m reading to see a short old woman standing in the doorway. She has short, curly, grey hair pouring off of her head from underneath her small, lavender, floral print hat. She adorns an outfit to match, consisting of a dress, cardigan, simple heels, and a small handbag. “Good morning Mr. Evans,” she says in a shaky voice, almost unsure if she can even speak. “Please, you can call me Blake,” I tell her. “Mind if I sit down?,” she asks. “Of course not,” I respond. The woman wobbly walks to the chair in front of my desk and takes a seat. “So, what brings you to my office today, Mrs. Harris?” “Oh please,” she says in a most inviting tone, much different from that of the previous Mrs. Harris, “Call me Doris.” Doris Harris, if you haven’t figured out yet, is the mother of Jack Harris. She’s about 60 years old, lives on her own, and unfortunately this isn’t her first experience with homicide. About 13 years ago, when I had first gotten into detective work, my first case was about a man, Charles Harris, who had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time. That was when I first met Mrs. Harris. After a few years of investigation and keeping an eye out for anything suspicious in reports, I was devastated to conclude that the killer hadn’t been found. As much as it hurt Doris, she never lost hope in me. She was always very encouraging and still managed to keep a smile after all that had happened to her. “Do you know what today is?,” she asked. I didn’t realize till now, after I’d checked my calendar and everything, but today, the 7th of November, was the anniversary of Charles’ departure. “Of course I do,” I reply with a small shred of guilt. Doris gives me a knowing look, she knew I hadn’t remembered, but still she didn’t seem to mind. “I just wanted to check up on you. You’re not losing your brains over this case are you?” she inquired. “No Mrs. Harris.” she raised an eyebrow at me. “Doris,” I corrected. “Well, someone's gotta look after your mental health if you won’t,” she said with a laugh and I smiled.
We sat and talked for awhile longer until Doris realized it was 10:40 and she had an appointment downtown at 11:00. As of on cue my partner comes running into my office. “You’re almost 5 hours late, Owens!” I say to the man standing across from me, coffee and donut in hand, briefcase underarm, and sweat on his face. “I’m sorry,” he says panting, “but you gotta see this!” He opens his briefcase and hands me a police report. It’s the Charles Harris case. “What’s this all about?,” I question. “Well,” he says finally catching his breath, “I figured we need to start somewhere if we’re going to get anywhere, so I figured, why not start a little differently. So I brought up your file, compared it to Jack’s and I think they’re more similar than we thought.” He explains his theory and we get to work.
After some long hours and a few brilliant ideas, we’ve really got the makings of a successful case. Time sort of gets away from us and Detective Owens and I leave the office around midnight. As I walk home under streetlights and past buildings, I’m approached by a man, wearing all black, at the street corner just before my apartment building. “Excuse me,” he asks, “are you Blake Evans?” Without thinking I say yes, and that's when he pulls a gun.
As Jackie walks in for the 7th time this morning she informs me I have a visitor. “Who is it?,” I ask. “Matthew Johnson,” she states. “Since when do I have suspects visit me?” Jackie simply shrugs. “Shall I send him in?,” she questions. “Might as well,” I reply, “it’s not like I’m busy or anything,” I mumble when she’s out of earshot. Mr. Johnson enters. He’s a relatively tall man with a medium build, about 29. His short, brown hair lays in a mess on top of his head. He attempts to smooth out the wrinkles of his shirt as he sits down. “Good Morning Detective Blake,” he states, much too casually for my liking. “As far as I’m concerned we are not on a first name basis,” I say in my most snarky detective voice possible. “So what brings you too my office Mr. Johnson? I thought you were still in for questioning.” He gives me a confused look as if I’m already supposed to know why he’s here. “I came to discuss the case,” he says, “You said you wanted to speak to me so here I am.” I internally roll my eyes as I check my desk calendar for this unscheduled meeting that I may have forgotten about. Let’s see today’s Tuesday, the seventh...nope, nothing on my agenda. “Well I’m sorry Mr. Johnson but…”, “Matthew,” he interjects. I give him a sideways glance, but he clearly hasn’t gotten the message. “Well I’m sorry Matthew, but today doesn’t quite work for me as you can see,” I say gesturing towards the piles of papers surrounding my office. “But!” he tries to interrupt again. “If you could please let me do my job,” I state bluntly, “I’ll get to you as soon as I can.” Visibly annoyed, Matthew Johnson storms out of my office without another word. I think to myself, ‘Well that was weird.’
About two hours later Jackie enters my office again. She no more says, “Detective Evans, Mrs. Harris is here to see you,” when the bleach blonde woman waltz right through my door, blinding me with pearly white teeth. Lillia Harris, now turned Lillia Walker after he husband's death, was the wife of Jack Harris. She is a very… interesting...woman. She was incredibly tall, or everyone thought she was because she only ever wore six inch heels. She was always covered in way too much perfume and often overdid it with her makeup. Her lips were eternally outlined in her signature red that was sure to match her outfit. A black purse hung in the bend of her arm. “Mr. Blake!” she said, sending her southern accent propelling across the room. “Good Morning Ma'am,” I replied. “Oh please,” she said waving her hand, as if swatting away what I had just said out of the air like a fly, “Call me Lilly.” She sat down on the other side of my desk, looking like a high-schooler trying to fit in a chair they had used back in kindergarten. Crossing her left leg over her right she asks, “So how’s it going with my husbands case?” I felt conflicted, do I tell her how it’s really going? Do I give her false hope? I don’t want to send her into an emotional tailspin, but… then again… she’s having one of the most calm, cool, and collected reactions to a murder that I've ever seen. “Well,” I begin, “we’re getting a lot of information rolling in and…” She cuts me off abruptly. “That is just great! Oh I don’t want to take up any more of your time. Just be sure to keep me posted if you find out anything.” And just as quickly as she entered, Mrs. Harris/Walker was gone, but the lingering smell of her signature scent made sure her presence had been known.
Another hour passes, I’ve made it about a quarter of the way through these reports, and my partner still hasn’t shown up! I hear a small knock at my door. Without looking up I ask, “What is it Jackie?,” but there’s no response. I glance up from the report I’m reading to see a short old woman standing in the doorway. She has short, curly, grey hair pouring off of her head from underneath her small, lavender, floral print hat. She adorns an outfit to match, consisting of a dress, cardigan, simple heels, and a small handbag. “Good morning Mr. Evans,” she says in a shaky voice, almost unsure if she can even speak. “Please, you can call me Blake,” I tell her. “Mind if I sit down?,” she asks. “Of course not,” I respond. The woman wobbly walks to the chair in front of my desk and takes a seat. “So, what brings you to my office today, Mrs. Harris?” “Oh please,” she says in a most inviting tone, much different from that of the previous Mrs. Harris, “Call me Doris.” Doris Harris, if you haven’t figured out yet, is the mother of Jack Harris. She’s about 60 years old, lives on her own, and unfortunately this isn’t her first experience with homicide. About 13 years ago, when I had first gotten into detective work, my first case was about a man, Charles Harris, who had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time. That was when I first met Mrs. Harris. After a few years of investigation and keeping an eye out for anything suspicious in reports, I was devastated to conclude that the killer hadn’t been found. As much as it hurt Doris, she never lost hope in me. She was always very encouraging and still managed to keep a smile after all that had happened to her. “Do you know what today is?,” she asked. I didn’t realize till now, after I’d checked my calendar and everything, but today, the 7th of November, was the anniversary of Charles’ departure. “Of course I do,” I reply with a small shred of guilt. Doris gives me a knowing look, she knew I hadn’t remembered, but still she didn’t seem to mind. “I just wanted to check up on you. You’re not losing your brains over this case are you?” she inquired. “No Mrs. Harris.” she raised an eyebrow at me. “Doris,” I corrected. “Well, someone's gotta look after your mental health if you won’t,” she said with a laugh and I smiled.
We sat and talked for awhile longer until Doris realized it was 10:40 and she had an appointment downtown at 11:00. As of on cue my partner comes running into my office. “You’re almost 5 hours late, Owens!” I say to the man standing across from me, coffee and donut in hand, briefcase underarm, and sweat on his face. “I’m sorry,” he says panting, “but you gotta see this!” He opens his briefcase and hands me a police report. It’s the Charles Harris case. “What’s this all about?,” I question. “Well,” he says finally catching his breath, “I figured we need to start somewhere if we’re going to get anywhere, so I figured, why not start a little differently. So I brought up your file, compared it to Jack’s and I think they’re more similar than we thought.” He explains his theory and we get to work.
After some long hours and a few brilliant ideas, we’ve really got the makings of a successful case. Time sort of gets away from us and Detective Owens and I leave the office around midnight. As I walk home under streetlights and past buildings, I’m approached by a man, wearing all black, at the street corner just before my apartment building. “Excuse me,” he asks, “are you Blake Evans?” Without thinking I say yes, and that's when he pulls a gun.
Setting Story
The sudden drop in temperature shocks my senses. One of the many perks of this January weather. I wander down the length of the boarding bridge to the entrance of the plane as my daughter sprints ahead of me. Every passenger can tell this is her first time on a plane. “Hurry up Mom!” she yells as she almost trips over the drop in the floor. Who knew 8 year olds had this much energy? Phoebe races her way down the endless rows of denim colored seats to row 15 seat A. I make my way to her as she bounces in her seat, barley containing her excitement. This surprise trip has really got her thrilled. Our bags are thrown in the jam-packed overhead storage bin and the seatbelt light clicks on with a familiar ding. The air from the stuffy cabin cycles through my lungs and goes straight to my brain, triggering a headache. I look over to see Phoebe completely unaffected by the definite dullness of her surroundings. Her bright blue eyes search around in awe, noticing all of the different details of this flying death-trap. Barley reaching the floor, her disney princess light-up sneakers display their luminescence as she kicks her feet back and forth against the chair. “Where are we going Mom?” she asks for the upteenth time. I tell her, “That’s for me to know and you to find out.” Incontent with my answer, she suddenly takes notice of the overhead vents and lighting and begins messing with them. ON. OFF. ON. OFF. Hot. Cold. Hot. Cold. The flight attendants give her a slight glance, having already seen 5 other kids do this on the morning flight. She then struggles to get down her chairback tray, but when she does it’s almost instantly covered in her Finding Nemo Coloring Book and Goldfish. I look past her, out the small oval window, to find that we’ve started moving. “We’re going to take off soon,” I tell her as she shovels another handful of Goldfish in her mouth. Phoebe watches intently as the flight attendants display the seat belt, breathing mask, and life jacket procedures. Then we’re ready to take off. Gripping the arms of the seat with her tiny hands, Phoebe’s eyes are glued to the window as the outside world speeds by and we’re soon up in the air. The biggest smile appears on her face when we first make it off the ground. About an hour into the flight, Phoebe's knocked out, leaving Dory only half colored on the fifth page. She’s soon awoken by an unexpected jolt of the plane, which is passed off as “just some minor turbulence.” Looking out at the sky, Phoebe's eyes nearly pop out of her head in amazement. Who knew the world could look so small? As if on cue, the flight attendants make their way through the plane for a second round of snacks and drink refills. Phoebe is in complete bewilderment as the heavy metal box strolls down the aisle, carrying seemingly endless supplies of Diet Coke, Regular Coke, Grape Juice, Apple Juice, Orange juice, Sprite, Peanuts, Pretzels, Almond Cookies, and or course, her favorite, Goldfish. After about another hour filled with movie watching and a quick layover in Georgia we start to make our decent. The plane jumps as the wheels hit the runway. As we pull up to the loading gate the pilot announces, “Good afternoon everyone and welcome to Orlando, Florida. The time is 2:15 and it is a lovely 78 degrees today. From all of us on flight 478 we would like to wish you well as you enjoy your time here and we will be disembarking shortly.” Phoebe looks at me confused. “What’s in Orlando?” she asks. “Walt Disney World,” I tell her and the look on her face was priceless.
Writers Choice #1
Forward: This is a follow up of my 4 visitors story. We left off on Detective Blake Evans walking home alone at midnight after working on a case with his partner Detective Easton Owens. Just before he crosses the street to his apartment building a man in all black approaches him, asks his name, and pulls a gun. This is what happens after...
Prologue:
I glance down at my watch as I enter the office building. Wow, I think to myself, I’m actually on time for once. Adrenaline flows through me as I make my way up the stairs to our floor. I couldn’t believe the progress we had made on this case already and the excitement was thrilling. With a smile on my face I wave hi to Jackie before I meet with Detective Blake to set up today's game plan. Before I can enter his office Jackie stops me. Only now do I notice how red and tired her eyes are. A pit instantly forms in my stomach. I instinctively ask her what’s wrong, to which she answers, “He’s gone Easton.” I look at her bug-eyed for a moment, a million thoughts running through my head. What? No. How is this happening? Why is this happening? No. This can’t be real. I’m dreaming. That’s it, I’m dreaming. There’s no way this is actually, but I’m soon cut off. For some reason I’m now sitting at my desk in our shared office. How did I even get here? I look over and see Detective Blake’s desk, empty...something I don’t think I’ve ever seen in my entire time here. And that’s when it all hits me. Hard, right in the chest. Like a 2000 lb wrecking ball just threw me through a brick wall with ease. He’s gone…,I think, He’s really gone.
And Now Our Story Begins
I’ve never heard a room so silent. Being surrounded by people talking and somehow not hearing a single word. The air of the funeral home weighs on me like a ton of bricks. That terrible lingering smell of mothballs and depression is layered over the room like a blanket. Is anyone else feeling this? I think but of course there's no answer. It’s been three days since Blake Evans was murdered. Another team has taken up our previous case, leaving me with nothing but time to question. How did this happen? WHY did this happen? And most important Who would do this? I look across the room to see Blake's wife, Karla. Her attempt to whip away the streaks of mascara on her face go very much noticed. Their twelve-year-old daughter Lauren stands with her hands behind her back, looking at the ground, in front of an arrangement of white flowers, which is just one of many. Their recently turned 2 year old, Max, sits in Karla’s arms, completely confused by the situation. People stand around talking, just talking but I can’t hear them, I don’t want to. I don’t wanna hear all of the “Remember the time when Blake and blah blah blah,” “Oh Blake and I were best friends back in...,” “Blake was such a great…” When...were...was...I need to get out of here! I go out the doors and down the ramp that leads up to the funeral home. The brisk November air hits my already weak lungs like a bullet and I almost collapse. When I finally catch my breath, I find Doris Harris exiting the funeral home. The exact reminder I didn’t need. First her husband, then her son, now the one detective the could have solved it all is somewhere with them. She looks at me with sad eyes and a kind, but forced, smile. “I’m sorry about Detective Blake,” she says approaching me. I try to say something, Anything, but I can barely choke out something along the lines of it’s OK. “You’ll be alright Easton,” she says with a sigh. “I just know it,” she smiles and walks down the rest of the ramp to a car waiting for her.
From there I start walking. I’ve got no clue where I’m going, but here I am just walking down the sidewalk. I keep walking until I notice the sun has started to set. How far did I get? It’s now that I realize my car is still at the funeral home. I take a deep breath, sigh, and turn back the way I came, hoping I can make my way back. It’s dark now. The parking lot is empty, and the funeral home is as dead as the conversations previously occurring within. I lazily swing open the door of my car and sit in the driver's seat. After I put the key in the ignition, my phone starts ringing in the cup holder beside me. “Hello?” I say as I answer. “Detective Owens?” a female voice asks. “This is him,” I reply. “This is Officer Leah Dawson, we need you at the police station immediately.” “May I ask why?” There's a slight pause on the other end of the line. “Let’s just say we may have gotten a lead about your partner.” With that I hang up and race my way downtown.
I arrive at the police station 5 minutes later. Officer Dawson is waiting for me. “What’s this all about?” I demand. “Look it’s a bit of a long story but we have reason to believe that Dorris Harris may be involved in the murder of Blake Evans and that’s not all.” Now I’m really confused. “What? How is that even possible? Blake always said Dorris was like family to him,” I unknowingly state to Officer Dawson. “Well considering the state of the rest of her family, I don’t really think that’s something you wanna be.” She turns and beckons for me to follow. We walk down the hallway of the station and into a dark room. To my right I see the familiar two-way mirror that separates the interrogation room from this one. On the other side I see the familiar frail women sitting at the grey metal table that I’ve stood in front of so many times. “Can someone please explain to me what,” but before I can finish my sentence a detective enters the interrogation room. Quietly, he sits across from Mrs. Harris and places a file on the table. “Good evening Dorris,” the detective states, opening the conversation. “That's Mrs. Harris to you,” she says, her voice oozing with venom. “I’m not going to waste your time Mrs. Harris,” the detective continued, “You know what you’ve done and we know how you did it, so why not make this easy on the both of us.” Dorris looks the detective in the eye, and dare I say, if looks could kill. “Do you really want the highlight of your career to be putting an old woman in jail?” Dorris asks. The detective, his face still hard as a rock, replies “If she’s responsible for the murder of three people and has somehow managed to evade police custody for a majority of her life, then yes.” “How is that even possible?” I ask Officer Dawson but she just shushes me without taking her eyes off the glass. Dorris leans back in her chair and collects herself before she speaks. “I’m not saying another word until I’m given a lawyer.” The detective exhales through his nose sharply. “Well, considering your track record, I’d say you’ve got a pretty good one,” the detective says as he picks up the file and exits the room.
Officer Dawson instructs me to come with her to speak with the detective, who I’ve now been told is Chandler Regan. Detective Regan explains the whole situation. Apparently Mrs. Harris was not the sweet old lady everyone thought she was. “We’ve found multiple instances in her phone records of her calling this number around the time one of these cases have appeared,” he explains, “It’s been shown that she’s been calling quite often recently and the same number has also been found in her records back around the time of Charles Harris murder. We’ve tried calling it but whenever we do nobody picks up. Personally I think they’ve figured out we’re on to them and are now realizing the many holes in they’re operation.” “What exactly are they doing,” I ask. “That we don’t exactly know,” Officer Dawson answers. “But we do have some very compelling evidence to put her away,” Detective Regan adds, “I’m sorry I can’t tell you more. Most of this is highly classified.” My eyebrows knit together before I ask, “and why is that? I mean I am, or was apart of this case. Why can’t I know what’s going on.” Officer Dawson and Detective Regan share a look. “It’s a threat to your security,” he answers, “We’re not supposed to say, but there were multiple calls made tonight and we have reason to believe that you may have been the next victim of this whole scheme if we hadn’t been keeping an eye out.” I stand there shocked. I don’t know what to say. I could have died tonight...I think to myself. I could have… Oh my gosh! My unease has clearly filled the room when Officer Dawson informs me I will be under police surveillance. “There's nothing to worry about Easton,” Detective Regan says trying to ease my raging emotions, “This will go by fast, I promise. You won’t have to worry about this much longer.” With that I leave the police station and wait for Officer Dawson in my car, as she will be keeping an eye on me as this case progresses. With my time alone I can’t help but think. Why doesn’t this feel right? You could have died you idiot that’s why! But No! That's not it...something weird is going on here. How did they not see this before? How was she not a suspect?.... Why was that almost too easy...
Prologue:
I glance down at my watch as I enter the office building. Wow, I think to myself, I’m actually on time for once. Adrenaline flows through me as I make my way up the stairs to our floor. I couldn’t believe the progress we had made on this case already and the excitement was thrilling. With a smile on my face I wave hi to Jackie before I meet with Detective Blake to set up today's game plan. Before I can enter his office Jackie stops me. Only now do I notice how red and tired her eyes are. A pit instantly forms in my stomach. I instinctively ask her what’s wrong, to which she answers, “He’s gone Easton.” I look at her bug-eyed for a moment, a million thoughts running through my head. What? No. How is this happening? Why is this happening? No. This can’t be real. I’m dreaming. That’s it, I’m dreaming. There’s no way this is actually, but I’m soon cut off. For some reason I’m now sitting at my desk in our shared office. How did I even get here? I look over and see Detective Blake’s desk, empty...something I don’t think I’ve ever seen in my entire time here. And that’s when it all hits me. Hard, right in the chest. Like a 2000 lb wrecking ball just threw me through a brick wall with ease. He’s gone…,I think, He’s really gone.
And Now Our Story Begins
I’ve never heard a room so silent. Being surrounded by people talking and somehow not hearing a single word. The air of the funeral home weighs on me like a ton of bricks. That terrible lingering smell of mothballs and depression is layered over the room like a blanket. Is anyone else feeling this? I think but of course there's no answer. It’s been three days since Blake Evans was murdered. Another team has taken up our previous case, leaving me with nothing but time to question. How did this happen? WHY did this happen? And most important Who would do this? I look across the room to see Blake's wife, Karla. Her attempt to whip away the streaks of mascara on her face go very much noticed. Their twelve-year-old daughter Lauren stands with her hands behind her back, looking at the ground, in front of an arrangement of white flowers, which is just one of many. Their recently turned 2 year old, Max, sits in Karla’s arms, completely confused by the situation. People stand around talking, just talking but I can’t hear them, I don’t want to. I don’t wanna hear all of the “Remember the time when Blake and blah blah blah,” “Oh Blake and I were best friends back in...,” “Blake was such a great…” When...were...was...I need to get out of here! I go out the doors and down the ramp that leads up to the funeral home. The brisk November air hits my already weak lungs like a bullet and I almost collapse. When I finally catch my breath, I find Doris Harris exiting the funeral home. The exact reminder I didn’t need. First her husband, then her son, now the one detective the could have solved it all is somewhere with them. She looks at me with sad eyes and a kind, but forced, smile. “I’m sorry about Detective Blake,” she says approaching me. I try to say something, Anything, but I can barely choke out something along the lines of it’s OK. “You’ll be alright Easton,” she says with a sigh. “I just know it,” she smiles and walks down the rest of the ramp to a car waiting for her.
From there I start walking. I’ve got no clue where I’m going, but here I am just walking down the sidewalk. I keep walking until I notice the sun has started to set. How far did I get? It’s now that I realize my car is still at the funeral home. I take a deep breath, sigh, and turn back the way I came, hoping I can make my way back. It’s dark now. The parking lot is empty, and the funeral home is as dead as the conversations previously occurring within. I lazily swing open the door of my car and sit in the driver's seat. After I put the key in the ignition, my phone starts ringing in the cup holder beside me. “Hello?” I say as I answer. “Detective Owens?” a female voice asks. “This is him,” I reply. “This is Officer Leah Dawson, we need you at the police station immediately.” “May I ask why?” There's a slight pause on the other end of the line. “Let’s just say we may have gotten a lead about your partner.” With that I hang up and race my way downtown.
I arrive at the police station 5 minutes later. Officer Dawson is waiting for me. “What’s this all about?” I demand. “Look it’s a bit of a long story but we have reason to believe that Dorris Harris may be involved in the murder of Blake Evans and that’s not all.” Now I’m really confused. “What? How is that even possible? Blake always said Dorris was like family to him,” I unknowingly state to Officer Dawson. “Well considering the state of the rest of her family, I don’t really think that’s something you wanna be.” She turns and beckons for me to follow. We walk down the hallway of the station and into a dark room. To my right I see the familiar two-way mirror that separates the interrogation room from this one. On the other side I see the familiar frail women sitting at the grey metal table that I’ve stood in front of so many times. “Can someone please explain to me what,” but before I can finish my sentence a detective enters the interrogation room. Quietly, he sits across from Mrs. Harris and places a file on the table. “Good evening Dorris,” the detective states, opening the conversation. “That's Mrs. Harris to you,” she says, her voice oozing with venom. “I’m not going to waste your time Mrs. Harris,” the detective continued, “You know what you’ve done and we know how you did it, so why not make this easy on the both of us.” Dorris looks the detective in the eye, and dare I say, if looks could kill. “Do you really want the highlight of your career to be putting an old woman in jail?” Dorris asks. The detective, his face still hard as a rock, replies “If she’s responsible for the murder of three people and has somehow managed to evade police custody for a majority of her life, then yes.” “How is that even possible?” I ask Officer Dawson but she just shushes me without taking her eyes off the glass. Dorris leans back in her chair and collects herself before she speaks. “I’m not saying another word until I’m given a lawyer.” The detective exhales through his nose sharply. “Well, considering your track record, I’d say you’ve got a pretty good one,” the detective says as he picks up the file and exits the room.
Officer Dawson instructs me to come with her to speak with the detective, who I’ve now been told is Chandler Regan. Detective Regan explains the whole situation. Apparently Mrs. Harris was not the sweet old lady everyone thought she was. “We’ve found multiple instances in her phone records of her calling this number around the time one of these cases have appeared,” he explains, “It’s been shown that she’s been calling quite often recently and the same number has also been found in her records back around the time of Charles Harris murder. We’ve tried calling it but whenever we do nobody picks up. Personally I think they’ve figured out we’re on to them and are now realizing the many holes in they’re operation.” “What exactly are they doing,” I ask. “That we don’t exactly know,” Officer Dawson answers. “But we do have some very compelling evidence to put her away,” Detective Regan adds, “I’m sorry I can’t tell you more. Most of this is highly classified.” My eyebrows knit together before I ask, “and why is that? I mean I am, or was apart of this case. Why can’t I know what’s going on.” Officer Dawson and Detective Regan share a look. “It’s a threat to your security,” he answers, “We’re not supposed to say, but there were multiple calls made tonight and we have reason to believe that you may have been the next victim of this whole scheme if we hadn’t been keeping an eye out.” I stand there shocked. I don’t know what to say. I could have died tonight...I think to myself. I could have… Oh my gosh! My unease has clearly filled the room when Officer Dawson informs me I will be under police surveillance. “There's nothing to worry about Easton,” Detective Regan says trying to ease my raging emotions, “This will go by fast, I promise. You won’t have to worry about this much longer.” With that I leave the police station and wait for Officer Dawson in my car, as she will be keeping an eye on me as this case progresses. With my time alone I can’t help but think. Why doesn’t this feel right? You could have died you idiot that’s why! But No! That's not it...something weird is going on here. How did they not see this before? How was she not a suspect?.... Why was that almost too easy...
Dialogue Story
“On a journey of a lifetime, three friends travel through the backwoods of New Hampshire in hopes to find…wait that wasn’t very good, what are we hoping to find?” Colin questions as he tries to narrate a video opening.
“ATLANTA!!!,” he yells ahead, “WHAT ARE WE HOPING TO FIND?”
“I don’t know ya goof,” she yells back, “but whatever it is, would you quit yelling!! I’d rather not alert the whole state of where we are.”
“Yeah,” added Brooke, “and if we get killed out here it’s your fault.”
“We’re not gonna get killed out here,” responded Colin, “We’re just camping. You two are just paranoid ‘cause you’ve watched that blair witch movie too many times. It’s not like we’re living it.”
“With you and that camera it sure feels like it,” Atlanta mumbled under her breath.
As they continued walking down the trail through the forest, Colin continued recording.
“Would you quit that!” Atlanta yelled as Colin stuck the camera in her face. “That’s the fifth time in the last 10 minutes! You’re lucky I haven’t thrown that thing in the river yet!”
“Well sorry!” Colin said in a most unapologetic tone.
“Are we there yet?!” asked Brooke from behind.
“Not yet,” Atlanta replied, “We’ve still got about another 20 minutes.”
“Ya hear that?” Colin asked as he turns the camera to face him, “Sounds like we’ll see you in about 20 minutes or so.” With that, he stopped the recording with a slight ‘Click.’
About 2 hours later the red record light finally comes back on.
“That took longer than expected, but we’ve finally got camp set up!” Colin exclaimed, showing the change in scenery. “It is about 5:00 right now and it is definitely a lot darker than it was earlier. That time change is weird right?”
Brooke simply nodded as the camera came to face her. As the conversations dimmed like the fire in front of them, Atlanta finally spoke.
“Did you guys hear that?”
“Hear what?” Brooke questioned.
“I coulda' swore I heard something out in the woods,” Atlanta said.
“Oh quit trying to scare us,” Colin stated, “there’s nothing out there.”
“Alright then genius, go check it out!” Atlanta responded.
“Fine I will! Here,” he said handing the camera to Brooke.
“No you take it,” she replied.
“You girls are useless,” Colin jokingly said as he headed toward the area of the alleged sound.
As he walks through the bushes at the edge of their site the recording suddenly cuts out. About two minutes later on the tape the video comes back. It shows a park ranger examining the camera, behind him it’s clearly daylight. Upon seeing it mostly undamaged he sighs.
“Lets hope this baby can tell us something,” he says.
While lazily holding it in his hand as he continues to search the area, you can see another group of park rangers also searching as somebody begins to wrap black and yellow tape between the trees behind them.
“ATLANTA!!!,” he yells ahead, “WHAT ARE WE HOPING TO FIND?”
“I don’t know ya goof,” she yells back, “but whatever it is, would you quit yelling!! I’d rather not alert the whole state of where we are.”
“Yeah,” added Brooke, “and if we get killed out here it’s your fault.”
“We’re not gonna get killed out here,” responded Colin, “We’re just camping. You two are just paranoid ‘cause you’ve watched that blair witch movie too many times. It’s not like we’re living it.”
“With you and that camera it sure feels like it,” Atlanta mumbled under her breath.
As they continued walking down the trail through the forest, Colin continued recording.
“Would you quit that!” Atlanta yelled as Colin stuck the camera in her face. “That’s the fifth time in the last 10 minutes! You’re lucky I haven’t thrown that thing in the river yet!”
“Well sorry!” Colin said in a most unapologetic tone.
“Are we there yet?!” asked Brooke from behind.
“Not yet,” Atlanta replied, “We’ve still got about another 20 minutes.”
“Ya hear that?” Colin asked as he turns the camera to face him, “Sounds like we’ll see you in about 20 minutes or so.” With that, he stopped the recording with a slight ‘Click.’
About 2 hours later the red record light finally comes back on.
“That took longer than expected, but we’ve finally got camp set up!” Colin exclaimed, showing the change in scenery. “It is about 5:00 right now and it is definitely a lot darker than it was earlier. That time change is weird right?”
Brooke simply nodded as the camera came to face her. As the conversations dimmed like the fire in front of them, Atlanta finally spoke.
“Did you guys hear that?”
“Hear what?” Brooke questioned.
“I coulda' swore I heard something out in the woods,” Atlanta said.
“Oh quit trying to scare us,” Colin stated, “there’s nothing out there.”
“Alright then genius, go check it out!” Atlanta responded.
“Fine I will! Here,” he said handing the camera to Brooke.
“No you take it,” she replied.
“You girls are useless,” Colin jokingly said as he headed toward the area of the alleged sound.
As he walks through the bushes at the edge of their site the recording suddenly cuts out. About two minutes later on the tape the video comes back. It shows a park ranger examining the camera, behind him it’s clearly daylight. Upon seeing it mostly undamaged he sighs.
“Lets hope this baby can tell us something,” he says.
While lazily holding it in his hand as he continues to search the area, you can see another group of park rangers also searching as somebody begins to wrap black and yellow tape between the trees behind them.
He Said/She Said
Sister POV: Ava Marie Walker - Age 6
I’m just gonna tell you right now, little brothers are the worst! You’re not going to believe what Harrison did to me today! So there I was, just this morning, minding my own business eating my lucky charms. It was the most perfect bowl of breakfast, with the ideal ratio of milk to cereal and an overload of marshmallows. I was about to dive my strawberry shortcake spoon into the bowl, when WHOOSH! The entire tablecloth was GONE! And what do I find when I look to my left? Harrison, sitting there on the floor, covered in a wet tablecloth and marshmallows and all he could say was, “Oops.” And just like that, my perfect breakfast was gone.
After that I decided to go find Stacey. She was not going to believe this! I ran straight to my room to find her exactly where I left her, lying in her own little bed under mine, fast asleep. She’s kinda weird like that, she’ll fall asleep anywhere. Even when I’m in the middle of talking to her, her eyes just fall closed and bam! No more conversation. Luckily today I’ve got a really good story. After relaying the latest happenings of the day and discussing her crazy theory that Barbie is plotting against her, I notice she's not wearing nail polish. I’d never noticed she wasn’t before, but I decided she needed some. I thought to myself Good thing mom has a tone of it! I then run off to grab as many bottles of nail polish that my little arms can carry and race back to Stacey. I tell her, “These are gonna make you look soooooo pretty,” before I try my very hardest to take off the cap. I finally open up the bottle of blue and a glob of it falls on my carpet. Uh oh, I think to myself, Should I tell mom? Nah we’ve got a makeover to do.
About 15 minutes into painting Stacy's nails, I realize I gotta go. Like for real! So I sprint off to the bathroom without a second thought. That’s when the UNTHINKABLE happens. I walk back into my room to find Harrison next to Stacy. First of all that in itself is NOT ok! Mom said he’s not allowed near her. As I get closer though, I notice something off about her face, and that's when I see it’s covered in an unholy combination of purple, blue, and sparkle nail polish. My mouth drops open in shock as Harrison turns to face me. He doesn’t say a thing! I scream at the top of my lungs and mom comes sprinting into the room. Now, I expected her to start yelling at Harrison but NO! She starts asking me a bunch of questions; like “why are you using my nail polish,” “why didn’t you ask me,” “what made you think it was a good idea to paint your dolls nails?” She said a bunch of other stuff too but I didn’t hear her. I was too busy thinking about the real task at hand. Harrison’s the one who should be getting yelled at! He ruined Stacy’s face! But apparently pointing out the obvious is considered “backtalk” and I somehow earned myself a whole 30 minutes in the time out chair, while Harrison got to sit on the couch to watch Scooby Doo and eat Ninja Turtle Mac&Cheese. So like I said, little brothers are the WORST!
Brother POV: Harrison Henry Walker - Age 4
I’m gonna let you guys in on a little secret. Sisters are WEIRD, especially Ava. Earlier today I was just stumbling around the house, cause ya know I’m a four-year-old and I’d just gotten out of bed. I decided that breakfast sounded like a good idea, so I made my way to the kitchen. When I got there, I saw Ava sitting at the table eating cereal. It looked really good! All of those marshmallows and cereal stuff - that I’m supposed to eat, but usually don’t - swimming around in that beautiful bowl filled with Cow Juice. I had to get some, so I crept up to the side of the table, ya know, ninja style, to try and snag some for myself. As I was reaching up to grab a handful of that marshmallowy goodness, I underestimated the strength of that blanket thing we put on the table and ended up pulling it down, along with Ava’s cereal bowl. Which, by the way, landed on top of my head. By this point Ava was giving me the death glare and without thinking I said, “Oops,” really loud. That got mom’s attention. She came right over and scooped up me and the tabel blanket and walked out of the kitchen. Long story short that stupid cereal fiasco landed me a bath of the non-bubble variety. After about a century of cleaning marshmallow out of my hair, I went off to find Ava. I figured she was probably in her room playing with that extremely short girl that never talks. Honestly she really freaks me out. When I get to Ava’s room, she’s not there, but guess who is. Ugh, I wish this chick would go home already, her mom’s probably worried about her. I mean she’s had a sleepover at our house since two christmas’ ago. Can you believe they had the audacity to put her in a box! The horror! What’s even more horrifying is her face. I figured I could at least fix that. I grabbed those weird bottled color things that were on the floor next to her and got to work. A line of purple there, a dash of blue over here, and a whole lot of sparkle everywhere! I thought to myself Ava is going to love this. I was almost done with my masterpiece when Ava walked in. She took one look at the girls face and her jaw dropped to the floor. I tried to say something. I tried to explain that I was only trying to make her look better, but when I went to talk. Nothing. Nope. Just sat there silent like a goofball. That’s when Ava screamed and I thought, Oh man, I’m in big trouble now. Mom ran to Ava's room, took one look at the scene and yelled “Ava Marie Walker what do you think you’re doing?!”
Then there was a lot of yelling, I don’t know what anyone was saying. I was too busy being covered in glitter! All I know is now Ava’s in time out and I get to watch Scooby Doo. Mom even made me ninja turtle Mac&Cheese, that way I can heighten my ninja senses. You never know when you may need them. But yeah, Ava’s sitting over in the time out chair. I look over and there she goes with that death glare again. Honestly I don’t know what her problem is, but like I said, sisters are weird.
I’m just gonna tell you right now, little brothers are the worst! You’re not going to believe what Harrison did to me today! So there I was, just this morning, minding my own business eating my lucky charms. It was the most perfect bowl of breakfast, with the ideal ratio of milk to cereal and an overload of marshmallows. I was about to dive my strawberry shortcake spoon into the bowl, when WHOOSH! The entire tablecloth was GONE! And what do I find when I look to my left? Harrison, sitting there on the floor, covered in a wet tablecloth and marshmallows and all he could say was, “Oops.” And just like that, my perfect breakfast was gone.
After that I decided to go find Stacey. She was not going to believe this! I ran straight to my room to find her exactly where I left her, lying in her own little bed under mine, fast asleep. She’s kinda weird like that, she’ll fall asleep anywhere. Even when I’m in the middle of talking to her, her eyes just fall closed and bam! No more conversation. Luckily today I’ve got a really good story. After relaying the latest happenings of the day and discussing her crazy theory that Barbie is plotting against her, I notice she's not wearing nail polish. I’d never noticed she wasn’t before, but I decided she needed some. I thought to myself Good thing mom has a tone of it! I then run off to grab as many bottles of nail polish that my little arms can carry and race back to Stacey. I tell her, “These are gonna make you look soooooo pretty,” before I try my very hardest to take off the cap. I finally open up the bottle of blue and a glob of it falls on my carpet. Uh oh, I think to myself, Should I tell mom? Nah we’ve got a makeover to do.
About 15 minutes into painting Stacy's nails, I realize I gotta go. Like for real! So I sprint off to the bathroom without a second thought. That’s when the UNTHINKABLE happens. I walk back into my room to find Harrison next to Stacy. First of all that in itself is NOT ok! Mom said he’s not allowed near her. As I get closer though, I notice something off about her face, and that's when I see it’s covered in an unholy combination of purple, blue, and sparkle nail polish. My mouth drops open in shock as Harrison turns to face me. He doesn’t say a thing! I scream at the top of my lungs and mom comes sprinting into the room. Now, I expected her to start yelling at Harrison but NO! She starts asking me a bunch of questions; like “why are you using my nail polish,” “why didn’t you ask me,” “what made you think it was a good idea to paint your dolls nails?” She said a bunch of other stuff too but I didn’t hear her. I was too busy thinking about the real task at hand. Harrison’s the one who should be getting yelled at! He ruined Stacy’s face! But apparently pointing out the obvious is considered “backtalk” and I somehow earned myself a whole 30 minutes in the time out chair, while Harrison got to sit on the couch to watch Scooby Doo and eat Ninja Turtle Mac&Cheese. So like I said, little brothers are the WORST!
Brother POV: Harrison Henry Walker - Age 4
I’m gonna let you guys in on a little secret. Sisters are WEIRD, especially Ava. Earlier today I was just stumbling around the house, cause ya know I’m a four-year-old and I’d just gotten out of bed. I decided that breakfast sounded like a good idea, so I made my way to the kitchen. When I got there, I saw Ava sitting at the table eating cereal. It looked really good! All of those marshmallows and cereal stuff - that I’m supposed to eat, but usually don’t - swimming around in that beautiful bowl filled with Cow Juice. I had to get some, so I crept up to the side of the table, ya know, ninja style, to try and snag some for myself. As I was reaching up to grab a handful of that marshmallowy goodness, I underestimated the strength of that blanket thing we put on the table and ended up pulling it down, along with Ava’s cereal bowl. Which, by the way, landed on top of my head. By this point Ava was giving me the death glare and without thinking I said, “Oops,” really loud. That got mom’s attention. She came right over and scooped up me and the tabel blanket and walked out of the kitchen. Long story short that stupid cereal fiasco landed me a bath of the non-bubble variety. After about a century of cleaning marshmallow out of my hair, I went off to find Ava. I figured she was probably in her room playing with that extremely short girl that never talks. Honestly she really freaks me out. When I get to Ava’s room, she’s not there, but guess who is. Ugh, I wish this chick would go home already, her mom’s probably worried about her. I mean she’s had a sleepover at our house since two christmas’ ago. Can you believe they had the audacity to put her in a box! The horror! What’s even more horrifying is her face. I figured I could at least fix that. I grabbed those weird bottled color things that were on the floor next to her and got to work. A line of purple there, a dash of blue over here, and a whole lot of sparkle everywhere! I thought to myself Ava is going to love this. I was almost done with my masterpiece when Ava walked in. She took one look at the girls face and her jaw dropped to the floor. I tried to say something. I tried to explain that I was only trying to make her look better, but when I went to talk. Nothing. Nope. Just sat there silent like a goofball. That’s when Ava screamed and I thought, Oh man, I’m in big trouble now. Mom ran to Ava's room, took one look at the scene and yelled “Ava Marie Walker what do you think you’re doing?!”
Then there was a lot of yelling, I don’t know what anyone was saying. I was too busy being covered in glitter! All I know is now Ava’s in time out and I get to watch Scooby Doo. Mom even made me ninja turtle Mac&Cheese, that way I can heighten my ninja senses. You never know when you may need them. But yeah, Ava’s sitting over in the time out chair. I look over and there she goes with that death glare again. Honestly I don’t know what her problem is, but like I said, sisters are weird.