Group 1: Eva

Posted by on Jun 21, 2012 in Other Writings | 3 comments

How does a rock feel while a butterfly surronds it with wing flaps and glinting scales?
No, not a butterfly.
A hyper, caffeine infused hummingbird flitting and buzzing to all the flowers making you
want to just-
“Webby. Sit. Down.”I am jolted back to consciousness as Blake sternly reprimands
Webby, giving up on coaxing the hummingbird to silence. Immediately, two desire echos
pop into my head. Webby’s all curlicues and bubbles soaring upwards, like soda in a glass
cup, the words efflorescencing in my head, singing :I wish he would loosen up I wish I could dance around
the whole cafeteria, i wish I didn’t have to wear shoes inside . Joined by Blake’s echo, all lines and angles,
a straightforward office memo which streamed across my head at a steady pace: I wish
Webs would calm down I wish people didn’t stare at us so much–I wish this
sandwich tasted less bland–
I stifle a laugh, ending up with a snort as Blake looks at me questioningly, then, as I see
my secret echo catch his understanding, with amusement.
Webby stares at us in confusion, then, figuring out what’s going on, sighs, rolls her eyes
with the frustrated understanding she’s gotten used to feeling that she’ll never get out way of
communication. Shaking her fawn corkscrew ringlets and refusing to oblige to Blakes request,
Webby skips to the other side of the table, her asparagus green dress dress swishing at her
“Why?” she asks, eyebrows raised and a shadow of a smile across her face,” I actually LIKE
talking to people, you know!”
“Only because you can’t see what their hiding beneath straightened hair and baseball
caps-their rotting souls!” Blake taunts back dramatically.
“Eww, Blake, that’s gross!” Webby squinches up her face before going on, “ Not
EVERYONE is hiding some huge, dark secret.”
“Really? Wanna bet?” I ask daringly, a grin creeping its way onto my face. “You know
that girl you were just talking to? Hazel Mortens? You know what SHE’s hiding in her secret
“Or mind!” Blake adds through a mouthful of turkey and lettuce.
Webby shoves her hands in her ears, shouting, “No! nonononononono!You guys can’t
help hearing people’s secrets, but-”
“AND desires!” I lean back, watching Webby at her emotional high.
“Whatever!”she shakes her hands flusteredly, “But the words hidden in the mind and the words
hidden in the heart-I don’t want to find them!”
Blake plasters on a face of astonishment, “What? You mean you don’t want to hear
complete strangers secrets and desires?!”
“No!” Webby cries, her eyes wild, “ I’d much rather hear their hopes! Their loves!”
I yawn, acting bored, “Meh. But what’s the fun in that?”
“Yes! Why on earth would you want to her the most positive side of people rather than
the things they try the most to hide?” Blake is now cracking up.
Playfully infuriated, Webby smacks his shoulder, crouching and trying to block her blows
by putting up his hands. He overly dramatically sighs, then looks at me. “Mirren, she can’t
handle the truth! We’ve failed!” He cries, now open to the sky.
“The truth of what?” I hear an obnoxiously nasal voice loom into our conversation
like a huge nose. A desire round and see through, like the balls of gel I used to love when I
was younger, all full of clear gel and nothing else invades my mind with a constant chatter of
nothingness: I wish they would let Webby just talk to me I wish Blake wasn’t so much of a loner
I wish this other girl would learn to use conditioner I wish my mom didn’t limit my allowance so
much I wish prom queen was decided on beauty and not popularity-
Hazel Mortens. She was back.
We all three swivel around in shock, fearing that someone will see past our projections of loner
“The truth of what?” she asks impatiently, her straightened and colored brown hair shaking
slightly as she bobs her head. Her beady , dull brown eyes peer out over a bulbous nose
looming over an over zealous, shocking pink lips stretching in a grin over her bared teeth.
Quickly, Webby regains her composure, and only a flicker of faint frantically is in her eyes she
she chirps out, “He thinks that sneakers are more practical than high heeled shoes!”
Shaking from his daze, Blake leans over and whispers in my ear, “Well, they are.”
Hazel frowns at us, and, still in my frozen shock, I think she’s about to call us out on hearing
desires and secrets- things that ought to be given out like wedding rings, sparsely and only by
the people they belong to.
“That’s soo stupid,” she drawls, chomping on gum. A scent of artificial watermelon wafts over
and I feel a wave of nausea break my panic spell. “Everyone knows that high heeled shoes
provide better arch support.” And leaving our confused faces with her words still tumbling in our
brains and the scent of watermelon breathing in the air, she strolled away, hair swishing and
designer bag bumping against her knees.
“Actually, they provide better weapons of self defense…” Webby murmurs, and I laugh for the
first time all of lunch. Webby looks over at me with a smile at the corners of her eyes, as Blake
starts complaining about the noise level in the cafeteria. Only, he’s not just talking about the
voices we hear with our ears. The words in my head are bouncing around,too.
Less than ten minutes after the hectic chaos of lunch, Blake, Webby and I were placed sparcely
in a large classroom with one teacher sitting at the front. I had just picked a random seat, but
Blake and Webby had their strategies. Blake choose the seat in the last column in the very
back row, which happened to be row nine, section 4, seat 13. Webby chose row nine, section
3, seat 2. As the teacher droned on and on, Webby, Blake and I made faces at each other. I
remembered my first test. Desires swarming my head like vultures over a dead corpse of some
poor animal. I couldn’t concentrate, and ended up crying in the bathroom. Now, Webby, Blake
and I are in special classrooms, where there are only three streams of desires, which I can
block out easily after all these years of coping.
I wish this test had more practical questions- who cares what the circumference of this circle is I wish I could take this test dancing
and barefoot I wish that we could walk to the gardens after school – Webby’s stream is doing flips and dives, like
a dolphin in the dark ocean of my mind. I smile at the last one, and remind myself to make sure
we walk to the gardens. Of all of us, Webby has the hardest time testing.
I wish we didn’t have to take these tests I wish Webby would stop thinking
so rapidly right now I wish the teacher would have some emotion-Blake’s
marches across my mind, a comforting balance to Webby’s more decorative one.
Finally, the nameless teacher’s stream, which felt like a contact in a eye unaccustomed: I wish these
kids weren’t special I wish my coffee tasted better I wish my cat gets better soon.
“Students, you have 45 minutes to complete the test, or to get as far as you can. Now, turn
the page and you may begin.” What I first took as a desire echo startled me and by the time I
started, I heard Webby’s feet thumping the carpet softly. Thump Thump Thump. I turned to the
page filled with black ink and circles, my head filling with confusion and began scratching in a
“Now please stop. Pencils up.” The teacher’s monotone is irritating, like a mosquito bite that
won’t go away. I feel my breath go ragged just as Webby’s stream does a somersault: I wish
Mirren would calm down I wish we didn’t have to take these tests I wish i could hug her to make her feel better I wish I
could study math more efficiently
I sighed. Webby is like a little sister to me, so I try to breathe in time to her Thump Thump
Thump on the carpet. Soon, I realize Blake has joined our duo with a scratching on the chair. All
are too soft for the teacher, who is hardly paying attention to hear, but I grin.
“Now, we will do the Math Comprehension section of the test,” the monotone chants. I shift my
attention back to the array of bubble and lines. Two hours later, we have finished the last testing
day. The second the clock on the wall hits three, the teacher, who has successfully had me
believe that she is a robot by her monotone voice and no apparent emotion, rushes out of the
room with a speed that can only be explained by, well, mechanical parts. Or the desire to eat
a bagel. As the shcnick shcnick of her soft shoes padding down the tile hallway fades away,
Webby swings her legs over the top of the desk and hoists herself up and over. She prances
over to me and sits on the desk next to me, legs swinging.
“Soo, that was fun…” Webby starts sarcastically, in an attempt to make a conversation. Webby
hates being quiet and sitting still, and now all the talking and movement she had had to sustain
during testing was crowding and rolling over each other like clouds in the wind. “Did you guys
get the question about the kangaroo on the math section? Like, what were we supposed to do
anyways? Take the circumference of its belly?”
“Webby, the test is over. We don’t have to talk about it.” Blake says, rubbing his temples and
coming up behind her and sitting in the desk, “Like you’re supposed to do with a desk” he says
to Webby’s look of irritation while gesturing to his sitting . As always, he teases with gentle care
and a mocking smile. As Webby tries to kick him with her shoe – a mutant half brown leather
oxford and half floral ballet flat.


  1. I love the spot-on and snarky depiction of poor Hazel Mortens. The watermelon gum is the cherry (so to speak) on the sundae. I also like the “mutant” shoe, and the sound effects– “shcnick shcnick.” I love it. I am a little confused about who the narrator is, and what powers he/she has (if any), but I do like the idea of both of their powers.. How harrowing it would be to know everyone’s desires? Creepy! Anyway, I’m looking forward to reading more of this. I love the playful banter between Webby and Blake. Awesome! So I guess my only comments are a little more development of the narrator, but the writing itself is mature and humorous. Well done!

  2. I loved it. I feel like you developed your character very well. I reall like esperagous green dress, but you can emphasive if theres stains, or no stains on the dress or if she even cares to develop her character.

  3. You did a good job of portraying what it sounds like in their heads with the assault of wishes and lots of specific descriptions to show what the characters are thinking too. It has a good pace, just think about switching that bubble line to circle.

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