Sentani Literary and Carrot-Cake-With-Cream-Cheese-Frosting-Made-From-American-Ingredients Society

The bell tinkled in the doorway as I pulled open the glass door to Lulu’s, the local hangout. At the end of the line to order her usual Cherry coke, hamburger, and banana split, stood Lydia Tarry, her hands on her hips. I had known Lydia would be there on time. That was how she was.

I joined her in line and immediately she started talking, telling me how she went to the mall last weekend and bought the cutest shirt at Forever 21 to go with her skinny jeans and boots. After her order was taken, Lydia asked me, “What do you want to get? I’ll pay.” She didn’t have to pay for my chocolate sundae, but she wanted to. Quickly, the cashier counted out Lydia’s change, her eyes darting to the impatient customers now waiting in line. Even though math wasn’t one of Lydia’s strongest points academically, she recounted the change and found that the cashier had given her back too much. Always honest, Lydia returned the right amount of money to the grateful cashier.

Balancing our food on a pink tray, I followed my 5’7” friend through the crowded room to the corner, where we found a booth where we could sit and talk. As I sat across from her at the booth, I smelled Lydia’s flowery perfume. Her brown hair was parted far on the left, with red highlighted bangs sweeping across her right eye. A light touch of make-up enhanced her dark brown eyes. Not only is she pretty on the outside, but also on the inside.

One thing I love about Lydia is that you can tell her secrets and know she will keep them, no matter how much people pry. You can talk to Lydia about everything. Who doesn’t want a trustworthy friend?

Before we left, we decided to meet again after school next week at Lulu’s. I knew she would be there and I wouldn’t have to remind her to come. I love Lydia’s personality and the way she has been such a good friend to me.

Deep in the rainforest, a hunter polishes his gun by his campfire. He has just returned from a successful hunt, having shot a tree kangaroo, a cuscus, and a brace of pigeons. In the leaves of a nearby tree, pair of dark eyes watches him. When the hunter puts down his gun to pick up his bowl of food, he finds that his food is no longer there. His quick eye catches a dark blur darting into the bushes. Then a young black monkey pops out of the bush and starts chattering at him while placing the hunter’s empty bowl by the fire.

“You little…” yells the man grabbing his gun. Before he finishes his sentence, the monkey’s outline starts to blur. Slowly, arms turn into broad wings. The monkey’s nose and mouth blend and harden to form a sharp beak, and his legs shrink and form a pair of scaly, taloned claws. The hunter is still gaping at the creature when the newly formed falcon jumps into flight and snatches the hunter’s hat before winging into the night sky. The falcon shape-shifter flies swiftly to avoid getting hit by the shots that ring out in the jungle. His sharp eyes rove the treetops looking to make more mischief. Landing in a tall oak tree, he places the hat on the highest bough. Then, shifting back to a monkey, he zips swiftly down a third of the tree’s height. He climbs into a hole in the thick trunk and meets four other black monkeys.

“Dralton! Where have you been all night?” one of them demands in monkey language.

“Mom,” he replies, “I was just getting dinner for myself.”

“Don’t tell me you’ve been stealing from the hunters again!” she scolds.

“But Mom, he was hunting me earlier, so I paid him back! I’m going to go sleep on my branch okay?”

“Fine,” his mother replies, “just don’t get yourself shot tomorrow.”

“Got it!” Dralton says as he does a neat backflip out the hole and lands perfectly on the branch below him. Soon he dreams of all the mischievous things he can do and how to incorporate his acrobatic abilities with them.

The men were all gathered around their tables, talking, laughing, and eating. The door gently slides open, and a cloaked figure slips in, disappearing quickly into the shadows of the room. A few moments later, there was a glittering of scales among the rafters.

To the surprise of the cook, a man suddenly appeared, wearing a black cloak, his face hidden in the shadows of his hood, standing before the counter. “May I speak to you in private?” The words that came out from the cowl were surprisingly soft, but there was a deadly undertone.

“Yes,” the cook answered, pushing back her long hair, “I have a private room behind the kitchen.”

The other men in the room, just now noticing the man who stood before the counter, were startled, and all noise ceased for a little while before cautiously beginning again when the cloaked form slipped after the cook into the back.

“Maerckh, old friend, would you like to sit down?” the cook asked, while pulling out a chair from under the small round table in the center of the room.

“No, I prefer to stand,” the mysterious figure said with a small and unseen smile.

“Of course, though you needn’t be afraid of me, a poor cook,” Dasi said as she sat down on the chair she had originally pulled out for Maerckh.

“Ha, I saw you back in the day; poor cook indeed, Dasi.”

“Who, me? It was you who saved my life so many times; I see you are still always ready for anything, balanced like that. That cloak of yours also seems weighted. Do you still carry around all those throwing knives?” questioned Dasi with a teasing tone.

“Dasi, you’re not exactly unprepared either, or isn’t that a dirk handle I see in your boot? Speaking of being prepared, I’ve come to ask you something. Will you join me on a trip?” As Maerckh asked this, there was a small and almost unnoticeable twinkle in his eye, which was hidden from view by the hood of his cloak.

“You know that if I come, I will make you more visible; I could never blend into anything as you can. How’s Ckemi?”

“Ask him yourself.”

“I will, if he shows himself long enough to be seen. I have not forgotten that he is a thinking being.”

“Many people do,” Maerckh answered before calling, “Ckemi!”

A sudden glint, like that of steel, was seen as a small dragon swept in from the eaves. Following soon afterward came a blur of feathers as a strange and unrecognizable being came into view. Anyone other than Maerckh and Dasi would probably have fled in fear, thinking it a spirit, or ghost. It was a rare creature, even in that world. A griffion, similar to the larger griffin, but small enough to perch on your shoulder. “So, Reikvy,” Maerckh continued, quickly shifting the focus of his gaze to and from the griffion, “still lives too. Do you think he could find old Eilmon?”

“Probably, though what do you want him for?” Dasi answered, combining a question with an answer.

“I am going on that ‘trip’ I mentioned earlier, and I want my old, trusted friends to some along.”

“Are you calling me old?” Dasi joked as she pushed back her brown hair, which had no trace of gray.

“We are old in years these days.”

“Well, Maerckh, I’ll come, and I’ll ask Reikvy to search out Eilmon in the morning. Are you staying here for the night?”

“If I can, I’ll just sleep in this room.”

“Ok, I’ll see you when the sun clears the mountain range, but I expect if you still wake like you used to, you’ll be up long before that.”

The entire ninth grade loitered in the white hallway, waiting for their first period to start. Chatting could be heard throughout the building, mingling so that no single conversation could be picked out by an eavesdropper. Suddenly, cool winter air swept through the hall, drowning the students with its freshness. The boy walked through the gray metal doors and a hush settled among the students. Everyone stopped what they were doing, even the old janitor, who wouldn’t have been out of place in a morgue. Acting casual, the mysterious boy continued to walk down the hall to his locker, which was the farthest locker from the door. To say that almost everyone was watching the boy walk through the path that had opened up like the Red Sea would be a lie. Every single set of eyes was glued to the impressive specimen striding down the hallway. Even though no words were coming out of his mouth, which rarely happened, the slight smile on his lips and sparkle in his dark blue eyes spoke volumes. To all the kids who were “normal,” the god-like figure seemed to be reaching down and asking them, “Hey bro, how’s it goin’?” All the bullies read the face as a challenge, though no one dare fight the 6’6”, one-hundred fifty pound boy who’d sent both the star of the high school hockey team and the middle linebacker of the football team to the emergency room after an attempt at giving the new guy a “welcome” to the school. Not only that, but the kid had managed to escape receiving any blows in return. When he walked by the girls, he didn’t even have to look their way to cause tingles shoot up and down their spines, and all the flabbergasted females could do was try not to stare at the muscles rippling under his tight gray shirt. His DC skate shoes made swishing noises as he continued to walk what could have been a red carpet. His dirty blonde hair had a wild yet boyish look to it and his posture was fitting for his appearance. Even though the boy seemed relaxed, his muscular back stood rigid, ready to move fast enough to dodge the sky if it should fall. The sweet aroma of Axe filled the nostrils of the students who stood close enough to the seemingly irresistible being’s path. One of the nerdy girls even fainted as the boy walked by in his journey to reach his locker, embroidered with a nametag that simply read, “Ryder.”