Tags:
Fiction
Children
1P
Script:
Every fear gets a special word, fear of heights, agoraphobia. Fear of the dark, nyctophobia. Fear of flying in an airplane or riding in a car, aerophobia and amaxophobia. These fears make sense since there might be danger involved, but some people fear non-dangerous things too, like the color white, leucophobia, or the number eight, octophobia. There are words for people who fear knees, flowers, or ferns, and for those who fear clocks, books, or beards. But even when a fear doesn't have a special word, it's easy to make one up, like lampophobia for fear of lampshades, or crinklephobia for fear of crinkly things. Me, I fear water, lakes, oceans, rivers, and rain. Especially rain, how can people clap for it, dance in it, or write cheery songs like singing in the rain and raindrops keep falling on my head? The sound of it pattering on the roof, the sheets of it running down the windows, the V-shaped waves formed by cars and flooded streets. These make my teeth clatter, my throat tighten, and my hands and feet go cold as my blood skedaddles from fear. And right now, it's raining. It's why I'm awake even though it's after midnight. I go down the hall, knock on Uncle Clem's door. It's just us, he's been taking care of me since I was a baby. Uncle Clem, I call softly because I don't want to startle him, I hear movement. Then he's at the door, rubbing sleep from his eyes. Can't sleep, Felice, he asks, and I don't have to admit that I'm afraid because he already knows. Follow me, he says, so I do, straight to the kitchen. He turns on the light and I squint in the sudden brightness. Now it's my turn to rub my eyes. I need to rest, I say. Big day tomorrow, but I can't stop worrying about the rain. He scratches his head, thinking, we'll just have to disguise it. How do we do that, I ask? By finding something that sounds like rain, but isn't. He thinks some more, tap dancing, drumming, shaking the maracas? We don't have tap dance shoes or drums, but the maracas are somewhere in this house. I start opening junk drawers, but then I catch Uncle Clem smiling. He goes to the pantry and takes out the jiffy pop. Of course, it's a great idea. He turns on the gas stove and holds the pan over the flame. First there's one pop, then two, then a rapid fire of pops. Louder than the rain and much more delicious. We eat the popcorn, and then we make more because it's still raining. But it's not so terrifying anymore, not with the buttery goodness of popcorn. The saltiness that's fast washed down with an ice cold Topo Chico.
Tags:
Fiction
Children
Horror
Suspense
3P
Script:
A mother, a father, and two daughters moved into a house. The house was new to them, but it was, in fact, very, very old. Neighbors warned the family that the house was haunted. A girl was murdered. They never found the culprit. But the father scoffed. There's no such thing as ghosts. The daughters were to share the upstairs bedroom of the new house, the one with the wide windows and the big closet. Their parents would sleep in the one that was downstairs. On the third night, the older sister woke to find someone shaking her arm. A strange girl was staring down at her. The girl had dark hair, and her eyes were wide and fearful. She was dressed in a white dress, and her skin reflected the bluish moonlight that slanted through the windows. The older sister flinched from the girl's cold touch, but the girl held a trembling finger to her lips, and then motioned quickly toward the dark gap under the bed. Without thinking, the older sister grabbed at the little sister. Blinking away sleep, the sisters followed the girl silently down into the slim space. Who are you? The little sister asked the girl. Why are we hiding? The strange girl waved for the sister to be quiet. Seconds later, the closet door swung open with a soft squeal. The sisters clenched their bodies and held their breath. Heavy footsteps knocked against the wooden floorboards. Closer and closer they came until finally a pair of black leather boots stopped beside their hiding spot. The leather stank of damp and sweat and gasoline. The older sister nearly yelped. Raspy breath came from overhead. At any moment, the intruder would reach out and grab them. But the person in the boots moved out to the hallway and down the stairs. The little sister's words echoed in the older sister's mind. Why are we hiding? What about mommy and daddy? Asked the little sister. From below, there came a blood clotting scream. The sisters ran to find their parents cowering in the kitchen. A big man they didn't recognize was standing next to the table where the family had eaten dinner. The man was tall and broad chested. There was a deep crease in his wrinkled forehead. On his feet were those black leather boots the sisters had seen while hiding under the bed. He wore a stained white t-shirt, dark pants, and a wide tooth filled smile. Who are you? Shouted the father, clenching his fists. What do you want? Yelled the mother, pulling a knife from the dish rack. Get out of here, screamed the little sister. The older sister clutched the younger's hand. This is our house, she said, her voice a shard of glass. Without a word, the man slipped out the back door and disappeared into the night. The police came, and the sisters told them everything they'd seen. Only then did they realize that the strange girl was gone.
Tags:
Nonfiction
History
3P
Script:
As Lincoln's vice president thrust into the presidency after Lincoln's assassination, Johnson earned the hatred and opprobrium of most Republicans, particularly those members of Lincoln's party in Congress, who initially hoped that he had become one of them. Although he had been a Democrat, he'd been Lincoln's runny mate after all. But just six weeks after the assassination, Johnson swerved away from what many considered to be Lincoln's program for reconstruction, and the fruits of a hard-fought, unthinkably brutal war. Still, impeachment. This was new territory even for a reviled president, and certainly other chief executives had been reviled. Franklin Pierce, old John Quincy Adams, and on occasion, Lincoln himself. Yet never before had Congress and the country been willing to grapple directly with impeachment, as defined in the Constitution. Then again, never before had the country been at war with itself, with more than 750,000 men dead, at the very least, during its Civil War. And countless men and women, black and white, still dying and murdered in Memphis, in New Orleans, in other cities and in the countryside. In Mississippi, Georgia, South Carolina, Florida, Texas, Alabama. So in 1868, Congress and the public would have to consider the definition of a high crime and the meaning of a misdemeanor. It was bewildering. The multitude of strangers were waiting for impeachment, Twain observed. They did not know what impeachment was exactly, but they had a general idea that it would come in the form of an avalanche, or a thunderclap, or that maybe the roof would fall in. For no one knew what the first ever impeachment of the President of the United States would look like, or what sufficient grounds, legal or otherwise, were necessary. No one knew partly because the US Constitution provides few guidelines about impeachment beyond stipulating, in Article II, Section 4, that a federal officer can be impeached for treason, bribery, or a high crime or misdemeanor. The House of Representatives shall have the sole power of impeachment, the Constitution says, and a simple majority of members can vote to impeach. The Senate shall then have the sole power to try all impeachments, and if there is a trial of the US President, the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court shall preside over it. No person shall be convicted without the concurrence of two-thirds of the members of the Senate present. A conviction requires the person be removed from office. As for further punishment, the convicted person may or may not be prosecuted by law. That's pretty much it.
Tags:
Nonfiction
Self Help
Health
3P
Script:
Above all, just get outside. Forest bathing is not a deep wilderness experience. It can really happen anywhere. If you live in or near the woods, just step out your front door. On the other hand, if you live in the concrete jungle, you can benefit from nature by walking in a park or next to a canal. Although it's easiest to feel a sense of awe when you are traipsing through a mossy old growth forest with 1,000 year old trees that create a thick canopy above you, you can cultivate that same sense of wonder in a city park or while caring for a plant in your home. All it takes is intention and a little practice. Unlike some other outdoor activities, nothing about forest bathing is meant to be physically extreme. There's no set distance for a forest bath. It can take place under a grove of trees or along a few miles. Here are a few guidelines about what to look for. Find a spot that's relatively easy to reach. Perhaps it's down the block. Maybe it's 20 minutes away. It's worth exploring places that are farther afield as well. But once you start looking, you'll see that nature is truly all around us, even in the middle of urban areas, so there may be no need to make a big trek. Look for open spaces. We're accustomed to hiking on trails, but forest bathing is about getting off the well-traveled path. With a more open area or a wider trail, it's easy to follow your whims. If you choose to walk along a trail, just remember that there's nowhere to go, no summit to reach. The journey is the destination.
Tags:
YA
Romance
Comedy
1P
Fiction
Script:
There are plenty of things I wouldn't expect Liam Harding to do when he enters the kitchen. For instance, he's unlikely to whip out castanets and flamenco his way around the island. To break into a Michael Bolton hit from the 80s. To sell me a leaf blower and recruit me into some gardening tools MLM venture. These are all very improbable events, and yet none of them would shock me as much as what he actually does. Which is to look at me and say, it's nice out today. It's been about two weeks since I first became aware that Liam is capable of human emotions. And as it turns out, being in a truce while living together means having significantly fewer shouting matches, but still doesn't make finding topics of conversation any easier. Which is fine, most of the time, it's a big house after all. But on the rare occasions in which our schedules overlap and we end up in the living room or in the kitchen together, awkward as fuck. Yeah, my nod is sprain your neck enthusiastic, overcompensating. It's nice to have good weather, I mean. Liam nods too, stiffly, but maybe I'm just projecting. And just like that, we're back to square one, silence, I bite my thumbnail. Apparently, I did not stop doing that when I turned 14, I need something to say. What do I say? Quick, Mara, think, so, no thoughts, head empty. I let my sentence dangle like an overcooked noodle and temporize by turning around to grab, what, a spatula, a toaster, a snack. Yes, I'll have a snack. I think I bought single servings of Cheez-Its, I'm trying to cut back on all that, there they are, high shelf, of course. I remember throwing them up there thinking it'd be a problem for future Mara. Future Mara tries, but cannot reach it. So she looks back to ask Liam to grab one for her, and her heart sinks. He's staring at where my shirt rode up on my lower back, i.e., my ass. Well, no, he isn't. William K Harding would never stoop so low, and the idea that he'd voluntarily glance at my scrawny ass is laughable. But he is looking at me, there, his lips slightly parted and his hand forgotten in midair, which likely means that he's horrified? By my eight-year-old sweatpants, I bet, or by the explosion of freckles on my skin, or by, God, what panties do I even have on? Please let it not be the ones with Jeff Goldblum's face Hannah got me last year. And how many holes do they have? He's going to report me to the underwear police. I will be executed by the Victoria's Secret mob, and he clears his throat. Here, he bravely overcomes his disgust and comes to stand behind me. He is just massive, so big that he completely blocks the overhead light. For a microsecond, I feel warm, oddly tingly. Then he drops a bag next to my hand without me even having to ask and says, should I move them to a lower shelf for you? His voice sounds a little gravelly. Maybe he's coming down with a cold. I hope I don't get it. That would be great, thanks. It takes him about half a second. Then we're both back to our original position, me with my coffee and Liam with his tea. And I realize that in the mildly mortifying adventures of the last minute, I forgot to think of a decent olive branch topic of conversation. Fantastic.
Tags:
Teens
Fiction
Thriller
Mystery
3P
Script:
Pip knew from her murder map that it would take Ravi about 18 minutes to walk from his house to Monroe. He was four minutes faster running when he spotted her. What is it, he said, out of breath and brushing the hair back off his face. It is a lot of things, Pip said quietly. I'm not quite sure where to start, so I just will. You're freaking me out. His eyes flicked over her face, searching. I'm freaking me out, too, she paused. Okay, you know how I was looking for the drug dealer for my lead at the Calamity Party. Well, he was there tonight, dealing in the parking lot, and I followed him home. He lives here, Ravi, the road where Andy's car was found. Ravi's eyes wandered up to trace the outline of the dark street. But how do you even know he's the guy that supplied her, he asked. I didn't for sure, she said. I do now. But wait, there's another thing I have to tell you first, and I don't want you to be mad. Why would I be mad? He looked down at her, his face hardening around the eyes. Because I lied to you, she said, her gaze down on her own feet. But she could feel Ravi's stare, and her stomach jumped up, blocking her throat. Why was this so hard? I told you that Sal's interview hadn't arrived yet. It did, over two weeks ago. What, he said quietly. A look of unconcealed hurt clouded his face. I'm sorry, Pip said. But when it arrived and I read through it, I thought you'd be better off not seeing it. Why? She swallowed. Because it looked really bad for Sal. He was evasive with the police and outright told them he didn't want to say why he and Andy were arguing on that Thursday and Friday. It looked like he was trying to hide his own motive. And I was scared that maybe he'd actually killed her, and I didn't want to upset you. She chanced to look up at his eyes. They were drawn and sad. You think Sal is guilty after all this? No, I don't. I just doubted it for a while, and I was scared what it would do to you. I was wrong, I'm sorry. It wasn't my place. But I was also wrong to ever doubt Sal. Ravi looked at her, scratching the back of his head. Okay, he said. It's okay, I get why you did it. So what's going on? I just found out exactly why Sal was so weird and evasive in his police interview, and why he and Andy were arguing. Come on. She beckoned him to follow and walked back over to Howie's bungalow. She pointed. This is the drug dealer's house, she said. Look at his car, Ravi. She watched Ravi's face as his eyes tracked up and down over the car, from windshield to bumper and headlight to headlight, until they dropped to the license plate. He said. Pip nodded, staring at the plate. 009, KKJ.
