Wanderer of the old grey hills,
Be there more than hurt that kills?
Be there fixes to long broken souls?
Be there words for a broken heart?

Wanderer of the old blue seas,
How long does it take to become like thee?
Freshwater rots wood,
But salt doth preserve,
How did thee sail, how did thee learn?

Wanderer of the clouded sky,
Can thou ever teach me to fly?
To soar on the wings of raven or dove?
How i do long to learn from above.

Wanderer of the old grey hills,
Keeper of the love that kills,
You wander to and from my sleep,
And all my heart’s strings do you keep.

I’m gonna tell you a true story. It’s not very well written, but who cares? It’s true. I, D.H. Scott, swear it is.

Today I had a ‘playdate’ (as all homeschooling moms call it) at my house with SJ and Micah. We were playing a game of salamander (it’s like reverse hide-and-go-seek, expect when one finds the hider they have to hide with him/her). Sarah was the hider. So I, Rachel, SJ, and Micah were in my room, goofing around and counting half-heartedly. Then, SJ neared the window.

“Hey!” he said. “I think I see something!”

We crammed ourselves at the window, our little noses smearing the plastic. I turned the light out to see better.

“Hey, there is something.”

I snatched a flashlight from Micah’s hands; sure enough, there was a short, faded shadow outside.

Then, some idiot turned the light on again. I turned it back off.

It was gone.

“I think it was nothing,” I said. “It’s dark outside, it’s hard to see.”

“Yeah,” said Micah. “You’re probably right.”

We went out of my room, searching for Sarah. We convinced ourselves it was nothing.

Later, Rachel disappeared.

“Hey,” I said. “Where’s Rachel?”

“I don’t know?!” said SJ. “Where she go?”

It was a little creepy. Mom said no one went downstairs, but we checked every room upstairs…

…except the attic.

“The attic?” SJ squeaked. “I am not going in the attic.”

“Oh come on,” said Micah. “Don’t be such a baby.”

About roughly thirty seconds later, he was following me and Micah up the attic stairs.

“Guys, this is really creepy.” He shivered.

“I kinda agree.” I said.

“Oh come on! All you guys are bunch of sissies!”

“Are not!”

The three of slowly walked into the unlit darkness of the attic. Sometimes I wish we had more light bulbs for the empty sockets.

The air got colder as we plunged deeper (which was roughly about two feet). Boxes were scattered everywhere, along with some old, abandoned, toys. Lucky for us, Micah had a flashlight in hand.

“Okay,” said Micah, who was playing leader.  He shone his flashlight on a table we made a long time ago with and old blanket for a tablecloth. “They might be hiding under there. One of us should go check.”

“No, I have a better idea.” I said. I grabbed an old, heavy, bin, then shoved it. It slid across the floor and bumped the table, nudging it to move a few inches.

SJ jumped.

“Let’s get out of here.” he said, and ran.

Me and Micah followed him downstairs.

“Come on, let’s go back up.” Micah encouraged.

“No way!” SJ said. “I am not going back up there.”

“Oh come on!”

We went back up, only for me and SJ to freak out and run back down again, then for Micah to lead us back up.

We did this about five times.

“Seriously guys,” said Micah. “I’ve played jokes like this a million times! I don’t get why you guys are so scared. Come on!”

I have to admit, Micah had a point; I’ve play games like this a millions of times, too, it’s the classic trick: hide in the scariest place, and it will take forever for someone to find you because they’ll chicken out.

Then again, SJ had a point, too. There was a supernatural. Both he and his Mom believe they saw ghosts a few times; one of them was at a funeral. His mom says it’s an angel protecting them, but I’m not so sure….

I was still scared. I was afraid my sisters were going to pop out of nowhere and I scream and wet my pants.

We went back up.

“Hey,” I said. “What happens if they’re in the dark room of the attic?”

“Right,” said Micah. “I’ll go in there and-“

“No,” I interrupted. “Let’s get some heavy objects and throw them to either hurt them or scare them off.”

“Come on guys, I can-“

It was too late. I and SJ were throwing all sorts of things in there, and no matter how much Micah protested, I just kept throwing. I threw some pretty valuable stuff, such as my prized Nerf gun. I didn’t care, even if it would never return.

I threw in a tin can, then, a moment later, it came right back up. The three of us backed up and scrunched into balls.

“Oh my gosh!” SJ gasped. “It came back! It’s a ghost!”

“Relax,” Micah reassured. “There’s no such thing as ghosts.”

“Yes there are!”

“No, there isn’t.”

“I know guys,” I said, standing up. “How about we turn off the lights, lock the door, and wait to the girls beg mercy to come out?”

“But what happens if it’s a ghost?” asked SJ.

“It’s not, it’s the girls.”

We ran downstairs, turned out the light, and locked the door.

“Ha!” I shouted before I shut the door. “Hope you have fun now girls!”

I slammed the door.

“Hey!” Mom shouted from downstairs. “It’s almost time to go.”

“We know!” Micah shouted back. “But we can’t find the girls!”

Well, after a lot of shouting, we began to take this seriously. We shouted louder and louder, and when Mom called out, she threatened to take away privileges.

Then, when I was alone, upstairs, calling for them, and listening closely to some thumping in the attic, I heard their voices downstairs. I ran down, and there, Micah, SJ, Mom, and my sisters were laughing and talking.

“What happened?” I asked.

“We hid under the stairs!” said Sarah. “It was kinda crammed, but-“

Her voice was drowned by more talking. I was thinking. How the tin can came back? I thought. It probably hit some object.

What about the shadow outside?

Maybe it was animal.

What about the thumping in the attic?

Maybe it was our cats.

I wasn’t sure if I believed what I was telling myself. Rachel told me it might have been my cat, Cumin. I wasn’t sure.

Looking back, I think enjoy that experience. I was frightened, sure. But I was with people I knew. My friends. I did learn, after that, Rachel had to clean the attic for her chores, and she wasn’t happy with us.

I believe real life adventures, with plots and characters and everything, exist. That story happened. It was funny, scary, and awesome all at the same time.

Fiction is telling a truth with a lie. And the stories that tell the truth, last more in our world, even if they tell a lie.

–D.H. Scott, June 17, 2012

A standalone piece that was part of a 15 minute writing prompt exercise.

Lost.

It was the worst possible thing I could imagine. Lost, in the forest, with no stars to guide me. I could feel the darkness pushing in on me like a being, wrapping me in its folds, drawing me deeper and deeper in.

I had to get out.

Shadows leapt out from the darkest corners, jumping and darting like the flames in my lantern. I gazed around me. Was there no life in this wretched place? No living creatures scurried from my path, no moths ventured close to my light. Was I the only thing alive in this forest?

Dead branches cracked underfoot, but that was the only sound I could make out. No wind. No chirping bugs. No owl’s call. Just my ever-faltering steps, growing slower and louder in the night.

I drew my cloak around my shoulders. As if the flimsy fabric could protect me from the darkness. Cold seeped through the weave, sinking into my bones. My joints were growing sore. Every breath fogged my lantern’s glass.

I paused, standing as still as I could. Turning my gaze upward, I searched for something – anything – that could show me the way. My eyes were met with nothing but branches and blackness. No pinpricks of light, no twinkling stars.

I was alone.

Completely alone.

Blood pounded in my head; I could feel each heartbeat pump blood through my veins. I could hear it in my ears. Thump. Thump. Thump. Like the heartbeat of a hunted rabbit. Like the heartbeat of a frightened dove. Like the heartbeat of a child.

I struck out again, changing direction. Forests did not go on forever, and neither did the darkness of night. The sun would rise, the trees would end, and I would be free. But my treacherous thoughts whispered otherwise.

I was trapped.

My steps grew faster and longer, and I broke into a run, loping across the forest floor. It wasn’t long before my ragged breaths forced me to slow. Cold tendrils of pain spread across my chest. How far could I go, injured like this? Could I go on at all?

I sank to my knees, sucking in deep lungfuls of cold air. This was hopeless.

Injured.

Trapped.

Alone.

Lost.

I had to get out.

Sometimes I like to just sit and watch the world go by.

Not that there’s much of a world going by our front door. Nothing but a dirt road that only the neighbors drive on. We don’t use it cause we don’t have a car. Da says there’s no need for it out here. Never needed one before, and don’t need one now. When Da talks like that, Ma just sighs and rolls her eyes with a little smile. David frowns, cause he’s the one who’s got the iching to see the world. Me? I’m just fine where I am. There’s a little wooden sign in our kitchen that says ‘Bloom where you are planted’. The Lord God planted me right here, so’s I guess I’ll just bloom where He planted me.

Not sure what ‘blooming’ really refers to when talking about a person, but I go with it.

Anyway, my favorite place in the whole wide world is sitting on the porch swing, watching the world go by. I like to sit there ’round twilight time in the summer, when the sun’s saying goodbye and the moon is just peeking over the horizon. That’s when the crickets come out to sing, and when the firebugs come out to dance. It’s real peaceful, just sitting and watching the world go by.

At around harvest time, I like to sit out there in the morning time, before breakfast. The air kind of bites you at first on the way out the door, but it’s nice and refreshing once your body gets used to it. Sometimes I’m lucky enough to see someone along the dirt road. I like to think it’s a traveller, coming to our part of the world to see just how beautiful Creation really is. But David just laughs and tells me it’s Frank, a helping hand down at the Riker’s farm.

But David don’t know that I like to pretend anyways. Even if it is just old Frank.

In the winter time, it’s too chilly to sit on the front porch, so I just sit by the window to watch the world go by. I like it when I can’t even see the world, when those snowflakes swirl around like ballet dancers in the sky. Sometimes it seems so beautiful, but other times, it seems ominous.

That’s a good word, ominous. Kind of is that sort of feeling wrapped up into one little word. Isn’t it amazing how a little word can be a feeling?

Springtime’s busy, what with planting and all, so I don’t get much time to watch the world go by. But when I do, I sit on the front steps and watch the butterflies fly around like little lost things. Or watch the bees on their missions, never swerving from where they’re going. Sometimes I even can see a family of deer in the field across the road, and I wonder what it’s like, being a baby deer. If it’s scary, or boring, or just plain happy.

David wants to go see the world. But I’m happy to bloom where I’m planted, here among all the plants and birds and bugs and animals, just filled with joy at the Creation.

Even when other people don’t think there’s much to watch, I like watching the world go by.

Several days before all the people came for the cleansing ceremony, I heard a few men talking to my uncle. After I put my studies into my satchel, I snuck forward to listen.
“What are we going to do about this Jesus?” a man asked.
“This man certainly preforms miracles,” said another. “If we leave him alone, the whole nation will follow him, and then the Roman army will come and destroy both our Temple and our nation.”
“How can you be so stupid?!?” asked my uncle, Caiaphas. “Why should the whole nation be destroyed? Let this one man die for the people.”
I was very, very, surprised to hear this, (no doubt that had to do with the fact that I was expecting a theological discussion) but I kept quiet and tried to hear what my uncle was saying.
“Now this Jesus, do you…”
After that I could hear no more of the conversation.
I knew I held information within my head that endangered my freedom for the next fortnight.
I slowly backed up, and turned around. I tiptoed back a few steps and then came forward whistling to make sure they could hear me.
When I entered the room the men all fell silent.
“Hello, Uncle,” I said, as nonchalantly as possible. I just wanted to let you know I finished and I’m heading home.”
“Wonderful! I’ll see you tomorrow then?”
“Yes.”
I walked out of the Temple and started on a dead run for home.

Before I reached our house I saw Mother in the yard. She waved and I returned the gesture. I zoomed past her into the house, threw my satchel into the bedroom, turned around, and started racing back towards my tree.
It was my sanctuary. My place of rest. It also served as the place where my heaviest thinking was carried out.
Now was definitely time for some heavy thinking.
First, I listed three reasons I shouldn’t tell Mother about Uncle Caiaphas’ plot.
One, He is her older brother and she loves him very much.
Two, He would find out who ratted on him and lock me into an eternal apprenticeship. (Six months is quite enough if you ask me!)
Three, I didn’t like Uncle Caiaphas and he didn’t really like me either. So Mother would probably think I was making a story about him.
Then I thought maybe I could find out a little more about Jesus.
First I needed to know who he was.
I climbed down and sauntered into the house. Mother was preparing dinner.
“Mother?”
“Yes, Jonathan?”
“Do you know if there is a man who can make miracles? Jesus, is his name.”
She paused, as if preparing a speech.
“I have heard of such a man. I do not know for sure, but why do ask?”
“I heard Uncle Caiaphas talking about him.”

Next I tried our neighbors. They were a little more informative. They said that Jesus was said to be coming to Jerusalem in a week or so. They had seen him before, they said he was healing people left and right. They certainly believed in him. So I thanked them and started waiting. And waiting. And…

Then, five days before the Passover, I heard a couple people talking excitedly about the miracle maker, Jesus. I walked up to them and asked if they knew when Jesus was coming.
“I believe that he’s coming any minute now,” one of them said.
“Thanks!” I said and hurried off to the road.

When I got there I saw huge crowd of people gathered on both sides of the road. Many had palm branches in their hands. I scurried around the crowd in search of a break in the wall of people. I found a crack and squeezed through. I got to the front of the crowd and saw a man riding a donkey’s colt.
“Praise God! Bless the one who comes in the name of the lord! Hail to the king of Israel,” the crowd shouted.
There were men behind him but I was studying the man, who I assumed (correctly) was Jesus, too much notice anything about them. I looked at him and saw that he was of an average stature. He had normal clothes on. The only thing out of the ordinary was the way he smiled. It was not a distanced smile of a king looking down on his people, but a loving, understanding smile. He looked around at everyone and when he came to me, he looked directly at me. I couldn’t move. I wasn’t terrified, but I was scared in a somewhat healthy way. It was as if he knew what I struggled with and what I knew. I kept looking at him. And at the moment he rode out of sight I knew I had to tell the man of his plotted death.

I followed Jesus on the way to the house he was staying at. I kept behind walls and passing carts to stay out of view. When they got to the house they all entered, leaving the donkey outside.
I snuck over to the house and sat down. I hugged my knees and attempted to quiet my breath. When I settled down, I crept over to the front of the house and then ran back to my space on the side. I did this several times until I finally got up the courage to enter the house. I walked slowly up to the door and…

When I awoke, I was staring at the ceiling. I sat up and glanced over to my right. There was the man known as Jesus. I started to say something incoherent when he interrupted gently.
“The donkey kicked you, my son. You were asleep for awhile, and you had a large gash on your forehead.”
I reached up to rub my forehead and found that there were no marks like the ones he had described.
I sat up and found I had no ill affects. I stood quickly and asked him the time.
“It is well after noon.”
“I must hurry home! But wait! You need to know that–”
“I know,” he said.
I stared at him incredulously.
“I know,” he repeated, with a nod.
I continued to stare, then walked out of the house. I walked silently to my house.
Strangely unsatisfied, I fell into my bed that night. My curious nature told me I was going to be following this man.

On the first day of the Passover celebration I decided to stake out behind the house Jesus was staying at. I had noticed before that there was a window near a tree. And as a tree-climber I naturally put two and two together and had the perfect place to eavesdrop.
Once I got there I climbed the tree and found a nice branch that was comfortable. I could see directly into the house and soon heard men entering the room. It was already prepared for the Passover meal so they sat down. Jesus and the men were discussing things that I could not here but I did catch a glimpse of Jesus washing a man’s feet! I was so surprised I almost fell out of the tree!
I heard some more talking but could not make it out. But then I heard Jesus exclaim, “The truth is, one of you will betray me!”
All of the men whispered and glanced around as if trying to find out who it was. One of them asked Jesus.
He said, “It is the one to whom I give the bread dipped in sauce.”
When he dipped it he gave it to a man I had seen before. Judas Iscariot.
“Hurry. Do it now,” Jesus said.
After he ate the bread, Judas left.

I decided to follow Judas. To see what he was going to do. He went straight to the Temple and came out with a battalion of Roman soldiers and Temple guards. I heard them say that Jesus was at the grove of olives. I knew where the place was and I ran as fast as my little legs could carry me. I ran even faster up the hill until I sagged to my knees at the top. When I stood up I could see the men sleeping around the general entrance to the grove. Then I saw, by the light of the moon, Jesus, on his knees, praying.
Before I could run towards him I felt someone behind me. It was a man, robed in shining clothes! His whole being was shining. I tried to move but found I couldn’t. I nearly screamed.
The angel held a finger to his lips and shook his head.
“Do not fear me. I have come to stop you. Jesus has need of time to spend with his Father. It would be better for everyone if you let him continue praying.”
“But the Roman soldiers! There coming to ge–”
I suddenly found that I could not speak. The angel looked at me like, Really? You think God would let Jesus die, without a plan?
“Do you not think,” the angel said, “that if Jesus asked God would give him twelve legions of angels, at his disposal?”
Something about the way that he said it made me shake my head.
“The men are coming. I will give you the choice. You can either stay and watch, but you must promise not to interfere, or, go home.”
“I promise I will not interfere,” I said, as an answer.
The angel nodded.
“You see that bush over there? Go hide behind it.”

As I crouched behind the bush I saw soldiers carrying flaming torches. Others held lanterns and most were heavily armed. I was scared but, almost morbidly, I still wanted to watch. I kept my eyes on the large group of soldiers. One of them, unarmed, walked up to Jesus.
“Teacher!” he exclaimed.
Then he proceeded to kiss Jesus on both cheeks. Then Jesus stepped forward.
“Whom are you searching for?” he asked.
“Jesus of Nazareth,” said one.
“I am he.”
Inexplicably, all of the soldiers and Temple guards fell backwards when Jesus said this.
“Whom are you searching for,” Jesus asked once more.
“Jesus of Nazareth.”
“I told you that I am he.”

Then Jesus was seized and taken to Annas, Uncle Caiaphas’ father-in-law.
On the way, I heard a man, Simon Peter, saying, “No. I am not.”
I glanced over my shoulder and saw that they had a fire going. I shivered in the cold night. Then I stepped forward and continued following Jesus and the soldiers.
I snuck in a special back way, and hid behind a pillar.
Then I heard Annas ask Jesus about his followers and what he had taught them.
Jesus replied, “What I teach is widely known, because I have preached regularly in the synagogues and the Temple. I have been heard by the people everywhere, and I teach nothing in private that I have not said in public. Why are you asking me this question? Ask those who heard me. They know what I said.”
I winced as a Temple guard struck Jesus across the face and reprimanded him for speaking to the priest that way.
“If I said anything wrong you must give evidence for it. Should you hit a man for telling the truth?”
Then Annas, tired of trying to get Jesus to speak, told the soldiers and guards to take Jesus to Caiaphas.

I slipped out of the back way and ran to the Temple. I hid myself in the room they were sure to question Jesus in. Sure enough fifteen minutes later, they entered with my uncle, Caiaphas. Uncle Caiaphas tried for hours to get Jesus to say anything. But Jesus just stood there and stared at him with sad, pleading eyes. I could see he just wanted to be done with the trial. Finally, in the wee hours of the morning, Uncle Caiaphas gave in. The soldiers bound Jesus and they all, including my uncle, went to the house of the governor, Pilate.

When they arrived at the house Pilate asked, “What is your charge against this man?”
“We wouldn’t have brought him to you if he wasn’t a criminal,” they retorted.
“Then take him away and judge him by your own laws.”
“But only Romans can execute people.”
Then Pilate decided to take him inside, and as I had no way in I stood, silent, in the shadows.
“He is not guilty,” Pilate said, when he came out. “But you people have a custom of releasing a prisoner at this time of year, do you want me to release The King of the Jews?”
“No!” shouted everyone, rather hurriedly. “Not this man but Barabbas!”
That caught me completely off guard. Barabbas was a murderer. He was a hideous man, with scars all over his body from floggings he had received as punishment for his many crimes. All of the women hated him because he was unpredictable. He could (would) kidnap children at any time of day. Jesus, on the other hand would not hurt a flea, it seemed.

Nevertheless, the crowd kept shouting for Barabbas. So, Pilate had Jesus flogged and the soldiers made a crown of thorns that made me cringe. The thorns were three inches long, at least. As soldiers mocked Jesus they put a purple robe on him. That made me mad. It was all I could do to hold from yelling out and striking madly at the soldiers and priests. What had this man done, that he should die for the people? Nothing. And yet, he stood there. He took the beatings. He took the mockery. He said nothing.

It went on until noon the next day. Everyone stood outside of the Stone Pavement platform. Pilate had tried to set Jesus free but the wily priests said that Jesus was a rebel against Caesar because he called himself a king. Then Pilate stood to speak.
“Here is you king!”
“Away with him,” the crowd shouted back. “Crucify him!”
“What? Crucify your king?” asked Pilate.
“We have no king but Caesar!” the leading priests shouted.
Pilate looked distressed, and who wouldn’t be. I had seen Pilate handle an accusation before. He was a good, honest man. But the pressure from the people made him hand him over to be crucified.

They took Jesus away. When they came to the cross they made him carry it himself. His blood mixed with his sweat as he carried it to Golgotha. There they stretched him out on the cross and nailed his hands to the cross. I heard the cracking of his hands even though I tried not to. His flesh was easily penetrated by the steel spikes. Pilate nailed a sign above his head that said: Jesus of Nazareth, and King of the Jews.

Jesus asked for a drink after they had righted the cross. They gave him some wine, he tasted it and said, “It is finished!”
At that very moment the Temple curtain tore and the sky turned dark, though it was only mid-afternoon. I ran away, I couldn’t stand to see any more.

Tears streamed down my face. I ran over the hills to the cemetery. Over the next hill was my house. But soon I stopped and stared. My grandfather, my very alive grandfather was standing there. I tried to say something, I think. But no words came out. I so afraid that when I ran home I just cried on my bed. I didn’t eat anything. I didn’t say anything. I didn’t do anything the rest of the day.

The next day was much of the same. I don’t think anyone did anything. I was still trying to figure out how to tell Mother. But I could think of no way.

Finally, my mother was able to convince me to eat something. I then said I was going to take a walk. I ran to the my tree which was starting to bear edible figs. I munched on a few. Then I tried to feed one to a squirrel. But I missed. It hit a branch and fell toward the ground. But I didn’t hear the normal plop of the fruit falling and slamming against the hard ground.
“May I try?”
Jonathan, you’re just dreaming. There is no way that Jesus is down there, I thought.

But when I looked down, there he was! The squirrel was resting on his forearm and eating the fig out of his hand. I swung out of the tree and stared. I was too happy to say anything. I just ran up and embraced Jesus. I held on for all I was worth. There was no way I could let him go. I had known the man for less then an hour. Yet, I was held captive by him. Under the spell of his love and kindness.

Then, we just walked. We walked and talked. He told me many things that I later told Uncle Caiaphas. (Who later made me copy the words, I will not believe false prophets, over five hundred times) He told me of his kingdom. I learned many things that I had not even been allowed to think before. It was amazing to know things that Uncle Caiaphas hadn’t said anything to me about. I was excited to tell every one about this love and kingdom. And Before Jesus left that’s what he asked me to do. And so I do.

This is the story of Easter from a young boy’s perspective.

I hope you enjoyed it!

Most young writers have problems with their characters. They don’t look right, they don’t act normal, they’re not interesting… heck, how do you make good characters?

The key answer: flaws. What flaw does your character have? What sets him (or her) back? What makes them angry? What makes them sad? Why do they act this way? What happened in his past?

Who are your characters? Think about it.

Hi guys

We’re a tad ahead of schedule on this (at least, according to my schedule?) but it seems now is as good a time as any to get this part of the group up and running. I will not be posting here. This will be a place for you to publicly share things you’re writing; most likely shorter pieces, rather than the novel you are (mostly) all collaborating on.

You all will be able to post here, so when you have anything you’d like to share with the group (and here, with the world!) create a new Post and Publish!

Happy writing!
Mr. Campbell