The Dreaded Personal Project

Geena Papini, Grade 10

            The Personal Project. You’ve all come to loathe it. Don’t lie, I’ve been there, done that. The truth is, in Grade 10 it seems like there is this monstrous task that has been set before you, and with every passing day the deadline looms closer. You have to write an essay, a three thousand word essay about your ‘production process’, wherein it can, at times, seem like you're just writing the same things over and over again. And then there’s the Process Journal. Shudder. Who on earth has time to keep up with schoolwork and activities, free-time, friend-time and then do a project, write an essay, and keep a Process Journal all in one year? (And don’t forget those Provincial Exams we have to worry about folks!) It’s just all part of the Grade 10 experience, right?

            But let me tell you one thing. Don’t worry about it. It’s not that big a deal. No, seriously, it isn’t. The trick, you see, to this mountainous assignment, is to choose something you like. Really, it makes all the difference in the world. Don’t choose to do something because you think it will be short and easy, because chances are A: you’re not going to have enough to write about and B: who really wants to spend six months and all this effort on a project that bores you?

            Well, you could just not do it I suppose. Your funeral. If you want to face the two-headed creature that is our Vice-Principal(s), then I bid you the best of luck, and I promise to bring flowers to your grave.

            Seriously, do the project. Pick something that interests you, something that you will actually want  to spend the whole of Grade 10 doing. Me, I wrote a book. I’m not saying I recommend that to anyone, it was a lot of work. You have to start early, and you have to seriously, seriously love to write. It’s definitely not for everyone, but my advice to you is this: Once you’ve decided what you’re going to do; plan ahead, and be smart. Don’t just one day decide, Hey, today would be a great day to start my project. No, no, no, no, decide in September, say, that you’re going to start in October, and spend September gathering what you need to do so. Better yet, begin before school actually starts, so you have the summer to work on it, and so that in December, when the first draft of the essay is due, you’re not the kid at the back of class who still doesn’t know what they’re going to do (there were more of those this year than anyone cares to admit). More than anything, have fun. You have to decide what your project will mean to you. Most kids treat it as just another hoop to be jumped through, or a pointless waste of time, but to me, it was one of the coolest things I have ever done. I wrote a freaking book.

            You may think, "Well, what’s the point? I’m only getting 2 credits and an MYP certificate when I graduate!" but really, this project is more than that. Don’t focus on the substantial things you’ll get out of it, focus on the insubstantial. This project shows us how real life is going to work, once we’re finished with school and we have jobs. You have to plan ahead, you have to make sure you’re on top of deadlines and due dates. Well actually, I guess you don’t have to; really, there’s no law that says you do.... have fun working at McDonald’s for the rest of your life!

            Don’t let the rules of this project get you down. If you’re one of those people (myself included) who likes to think of themselves as anti-establishment, and because of that, you don’t want to do the project, think of it like this. If most people dislike and don’t want to do the project, then aren’t you being anti-establishment by doing what they’re not? By doing the project? Go on, take a chance, I dare you. Who knows, you may even have fun.

Interested in a look at a sneak-peek of Geena’s book? That’s the next article folks! Check it out!

Changeling

Geena Indigo

The following is a work of fiction. Names,

characters, places, and

incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are

used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons,living or dead, events, or locales is entirely

coincidental.

Copyright © 2012 by Geena Indigo

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced or

transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying or otherwise,

without the prior permission of the publisher.

Originally published in paperback in Canada by

Shadowsong © Publishing Inc., British Columbia, 2012.

Shadowsong Publishing, Inc

3381 William Ave.

North Vancouver, B.C. V7K 1Z7

February 2012

Printed in Canada

1

She was running faster than ever before. Behind her, two big, ugly brutes were trying to keep up with her, and succeeding. Rose’s lungs burned for air, and her bare feet stung as they slapped across the dusty back alley streets. Her arms had been scratched to ribbons, as she had run through a thorn warren in a desperate attempt to throw off her pursuers, and her whole body felt as though it was on fire. But none of that mattered. The only thing on her mind was escape.

      In her opinion, this whole thing was an overreaction. The fat men behind her, with their red noses and wandering hands, were always overpricing their delicious, fatty meat, and their stocks were always bulging. They had so much food; she thought she'd just take a few legs of ham off their hands-free of charge of course. She had taken a little more than she had first intended; three legs of ham, two pieces of venison, two chickens, and about five rolls of fresh bread, all wrapped up in wax paper and stuffed into her small satchel, but what the heck she thought; they needed to eat.

      So, with her back aching from all the food she carried, and sweat trickling down her neck from the hot August sun, she hurtled down the streets of Cheapside; the poorest district in all of London; frantically searching for a small nook in which she could hide and wait for her pursuers to give up and go home. But they were too close behind. For a moment, she contemplated entering the teeming market place in an attempt to lose the men amongst the crowds city's busiest hub, but dismissed the notion almost immediately. Her problem was she stood out. Amongst mainly dark skinned people, she was like a dove amongst ravens. Her skin was as pale as the alabaster buildings that surrounded her, and even though her skin saw the sun for five months straight, she didn’t tan. Her small almond shaped eyes could have been called brown, but anyone who wasn’t completely blind knew they were red. Her hair, though once pure corn silk blond, was knotted and dirty from all the grime she and the other street kids live in was and always tied back, to keep it out the way. Most people who looked at her said they found her pretty, some even beautiful, but she didn’t agree. Someone she once knew had called her condition albinism, and she didn’t find it pretty at all. More like she was dead and crying tears of blood.

      And of course, the inevitable always found her. This albino had just hit a dead end. Disappointment washed over her, along with fear. These days, the minimum punishment for stealing something such as a loaf of bread was the loss of your thumb. Steal again, and you lost your hand. Rose actually knew a woman who made four fingered gloves, and from what she could see, she did a pretty steady business.

      Steal something big, or something small in large quantities, and the punishment was worse, much worse. She had only ever been to public hangings a few times, as they were usually hosted at the dreaded Tower of London, but they had been an unpleasant experience nonetheless.

      Most approached the gallows in hysterics, disjointed and confused. It was usually a quick affair. Rose remembered once a boy of about sixteen had attacked the executioner and tried to run. He had nearly escaped (none one from the crowd seemed to have the heart to stop him), when a lord of some estate or another, dressed all in black, had pulled out an enormous gun and shot him straight in the face. The boy’s head had exploded in a horrible red mist, drenching anyone within a two-meter radius.

      She did not want that to be her fate, should she be caught. She gulped, desperately looking around for an escape route. The alley was nothing but a storage yard, boxes and burlap bags piled in every corner, but none of the piles reached high enough for her to climb quickly onto the upper level of the city, and to the streets stretching along the roofs of the houses- her only possible hope of escape.

      One of the men stepped forward into the alley, growling,

      "Ye lit'le chit," Rose winced in irritation at the insult. He as good as called her a whore. "Ye've stolen yer last roll ye brass-faced wench. They'll 'ang ye fer it this time, mark my words. As soon as we drag ye in front o' the Guard, they'll ‘ave yer head. Too long 'ave ye and yer lit'le gang stolen from me an' th’ other merchants, stolen what is righ'fully ours. Ye're nothin' bu' a pox on this land," he finished, almost puffing with self-importance.

      She stared calmly at them for a few moments before,

      "Righ’fully yours?" she asked, with a mocking confusion in her voice. She couldn't help but smile at their bewilderment, 

      “You mean to say that all that meat you’ve got back there is from the poor animals who just walked into your slaughterhouse of their own free will? Or..." She trailed off, allowing herself the pleasure of their astonishment, "Or, wasn't that you I saw in the woods the other day, hunting- or should I say poaching- food that 'rightfully belongs' not to you my good sirs, but to the Pandora Alliance?" She finished, feeling triumph mount in her as the two flinched at the name.

      She wasn’t lying either. She didn’t steal from those who were just as destitute as she was, only from those who had far more than they needed.

      "And besides, it's not like you fat merchants need all that food,” she said, voicing her last thought, “you eat more food in one sitting than my whole gang eats in five days. If anyone is a 'pox on this land', it is you."

      "Why ye impertinent lit’le -"

But the second merchant was cut short by the arrival of a young man.

      He dropped down from the roof-roads that made up the upper level, crouching to absorb the shock of the drop, but only for a second. He quickly rebounded, rising to a standing position, and Rose thought he looked so noble and powerful; he should have had a cape. He was quite young, maybe nineteen or twenty, about two or three years older than her seventeen years. Completely ignoring Rose, he strode up to the butchers, and began conversing with them in an inaudible tone.

She started to feel hope again; if she could just get to the wall, now that she had enough time, she could climb it, and be on her way. A distraction was in place. She was just about to back up to the wall, when suddenly; the boy turned around, his icy blue eyes flashing dangerously.

      "Don't. Move." His voice was slow and impatient, as if he was talking to an idiot, "Come here," he continued, beckoning to her with a long arm. She eyed him suspiciously, before clenching her teeth and taking a couple of determined steps towards them.

      The two butchers stared at Rose with intense mistrust, and she graciously returned it. She stopped before the trio, hands on her hips, and shifted her gaze to the boy, making it clear that he would be the first to speak. He got the message.

      "You stole from these men." It wasn't a question, but she answered stubbornly,

      "I didn't 'steal' it anymore than they did. They poached it from Hyde forest. I was simply taking back what doesn't belong to them." The boy raised his eyebrows, and Rose saw a small smirk playing on his lips. He turned to the butchers and said, "Whether she stole what you stole or-"

      At this, the butchers began to protest, but the boy held up his hand, a silent gesture telling them to shut up.

       "I don't care what happened. How much for all the meat she took? How much money?" The merchants looked flabbergasted-not nearly the right word to describe how Rose felt- but stuttered for only a second before saying: "Three gold ingots sir. Not including th' bread. Th' breads another two nobles."

Rose was enraged by their lie. The whole bundle was probably only worth five nobles altogether! Apparently, the boy wasn't too impressed by their offer either. He fished around in a coin purse for a second, and then pulled out a fistful of money. Rose stared.

      "I'll give you ten nobles for the lot, provided this girl here goes free, and you tell no one what she did." He held out the silver coins, which glittered brightly in the harsh sunlight. The men hesitated, just for a second before, "Done. Ye have yerself a deal, sir. But th' lit'le street-rat will steal again, they allus do, an' when she does, we'll be ready."

      They took the money, much more than the food was worth, and left. The boy turned to face her and she felt the urge to turn and run, but then he spoke,

      "Are you alright?" his words froze her in her tracks.

She had only ever heard those words from her friends; she had never, ever expected to hear them from him. She swallowed, suddenly noticing how thirsty she was.

      "I-I guess I'm okay," she stuttered.

      Jeez, what is wrong with me? She thought angrily to herself.  She never stammered, and anyway, what was doing talking to this guy? She didn’t even know who he was. Sure, he was gorgeous and everything- his dark black hair falling into his startlingly blue eyes, but gang rule number one: Don't talk to strangers.

      "Umm...listen," she started, “Thanks for the help and everything, but I should...go." He gave her a weird look, before taking a few steps towards her, his face so close to her she could see herself reflected in his bright eyes. He gripped her upper arm tightly and she flinched- his grasp was like a vice.

      "No." he said, his fathomless eyes bored holes into hers, and she could feel his cool breath press teasingly against her face, "I don't think you should go. You're coming with me. Now."

      Who does this guy think he is?  Her mind hissed, Yes, he’s just probably saved my life, something most upper class folk- for that was what she assume he was- wouldn't inconvenience their day with, but he can't just take me wherever he pleases. I have to get back to my gang, and Juliet; she’ll be worried.

      "Actually," she squirmed against his death grip, "I really need to leave, so if you would just be kind enough to-" she broke off,  ramming her knee against his stomach, knowing that the breath would be knocked out of him- for a few minutes at least.

     Her prediction was right; the boy doubled over, astonishment flashing across his face. She heard the breath whoosh out of him, and then she bolted; up the boxes piled against the wall and on to the dusty roof streets. Before she turned her back on the boy, however, she looked down at him and gave him a mocking salute.

2

Jack Heller watched the girl go, cursing fluently under his breath. He could feel a small bruise start to form where she had kneed him, and his irritation increased. Ungrateful little fool, he thought, turning away from the roof she had just disappeared over, knowing that there would be no point in following her now. She would be long gone. But now at least, his suspicions had been confirmed, and being unable to get to her today would be no great loss. There would be many other days like this one, and next time, she would not be able escape as easily as she had today.

      The funny thing, Jack thought to himself, was that she didn’t even seem to know what danger she was in...though surely, that wasn’t possible - they all knew, didn’t they? He certainly had.

      But when he came to the green warehouse, with its tall windows that had long ago been boarded up, and its tiny green door, all irritation and dark thoughts fled his mind. He knew the girl would be in there, with her friends, leading the life she had led for so long, a life no child should ever have to endure. Could he really be sure he had anything better to offer?

      He knew the answer, the harsh answer he had to give whenever a time like this came. Even for her, one of many who lived constantly on the brink of death, there would be no improvement in her life once he entered it. But it was sure a hell of a lot better than what it would become if he let them find her. They would mean worse than certain death for one like her.

      Mentally remarking the warehouse’s location in his mind, he stepped into the shadows he had come to know so very well.

~~~*~~~

Dusk had fallen by the time Rose arrived outside the abandoned warehouse that served as her hideout. It was quite large, with a green pointed tin roof and windows that stretched to the sky. Luckily for her and the gang, those had been boarded up so no nosy parker could stick their nose in and spot them. There was a little green door that had once been padlocked, but since they had found it, Sally, the smallest in their little gang, had managed to pick the lock and now they used that instead of one of the windows.

      She slipped inside, knowing that everyone would already be in the back end of the warehouse- just under the loft where they slept. Sure enough, there they were, waiting expectantly (and rather nervously she thought) for her return; with the food, mind you. She was greeted with a chorus of hellos and Juliet rushed out to meet her.

      “Rosary!” Rose’s full name was rarely used, and she only let those very close to her call her that. “Thank god yer back! We though’ ye’d bin’ taken off by th’ Guard! Wha’ took ye so long?”

      “It’s nothin’. I just ran into some trouble at the Market; some merchants saw me stealing, but they were too fat to catch me,” Rose deliberately left out the bit about the boy who had saved her sorry hide; there was no need to ruin her reputation.

      “Well, did ya get any food?” called James, the leader. She rolled her eyes in exasperation, and replied,

      “’Course I did, what d’ya think,” she dropped the little satchel of food in front of him so he could take a look. He let out a low whistle.

      “Wow Rose,” he chuckled in his cheerful street-kid accent, “Ye’ve outdone yerself. Better make sure ye stay well away from th’ Guard this time, or they’ll be after ye.”

      “Nah, th’ Guard’ll never catch our Rose!” Piped up little Annie, a cheerful grin on her freckled face as other kids chuckled along with her. Rose gave a strained smile to James, who clapped his hands together and said, “Righ’, who’s hungry?”

      The small group erupted into cheers, and they all grabbed for the small food satchel.

      Rose smiled as she watched them, not wanting to think about how hungry they must have been; the last time they had eaten was two days ago. Though they were a small group of eight, finding food could be hard, especially when five of them were under the age of fourteen, and always hungry.

      There was Sally, the youngest, only four, who, like Rose, had never known her parents; Luke and Annie, the six year old twins, who had escaped from their foster parents, and were continually chased by the Child Snatchers before they found the gang; Gareth and David, brothers aged twelve and thirteen- their own parents were going to turn them in for theft and arson before they got wind of it and scarpered. Then there was Juliet, sixteen years old, the oldest besides Rose and James. She was only eleven when she shot her abusive stepfather in the head, killing him instantly. Unfortunately, the Guard thought it had been her mother who killed him, and she was hanged for murder, thereby orphaning Juliet.

      James was a year older than Rose, and the leader of the gang. They didn’t know much about him, just that his parents were dead. Whenever anyone asked about his past, he grew silent and angry. The only theory they had was that they had been caught up in some gang trouble, which would explain James’ seemingly irrational loathing for any and all gangs that roamed the streets.

      As a group of kids, they stayed out of their way- the last thing any of them wanted was to be Recruited by a gang- and usually they were ignored. About a year ago, one of their own, Angelique caught the eye of a gang leader and one day they woke up and she was gone. She had been sixteen. Still, usually, if they kept out of the way, the Cobras, the Veil, Bloodhound and Arcangel payed them no attention.

      They all settled down, munching on juicy meat for the first time in ages, laughing happily and exchanging stories-fantastical stories about what they would do, had their parents been in their lives, who their parents where, or what they would do if they had money.

      Abruptly, Gareth turned the conversation to Arcangel, a powerful gang who went where they wanted and slaughtered whom they pleased.

      “When I’m older,” he said with a fiery passion, “I’m gonna raise an army against those murderin’ thugs and bring the Pandora Alliance down along with ‘em.”

      Rose rolled her eyes at Gareth's folly. So did everyone else.

No one could overthrow Arcangel- they were only the biggest gang in the whole of the known world, funded and supported by Pandora- and no one, absolutely no one, went against Pandora; not unless they wanted to die a slow, painful and very public death.

      The sad thing was, the Pandora Alliance had been the rulers of these lands for  almost two-thousand years. The story all rich and well-educated children was told was that about two-thousand years ago, the world was dying; every single country was intensely in debt; no one had any money, and disasters, natural and man-made and shook the world, killing millions at a time. Whole Nations were destroyed; centuries old cultures and religions lost. So, a few ambitious politicians assumed the position of dictators and took the people underground, making sure that everyone was 'safe and protected'. Of course, that was a fragmented truth...

      In reality, going under ground had a price and only the people with money could buy their way to safety. There, deep underground, the People, along with their rulers- Kings or Emperors as they were called back then-waited out the disaster which was now called the EndTimes. And wait they did- for seven hundred years. Elderly leaders died, new generations started, old ones were wiped out- until finally, the earth was still.

      The earthquakes and tsunamis stopped, the furious hurricanes and nuclear storms quieted, and the raging wildfires subsided. But still, they waited, for another fifty years, and then finally, the human race emerged to a fresh world. Because the world had gone seven hundred and fifty years without human contamination, it had repaired itself. The world wasn’t perfect anymore, since humans started building and industrializing again, things had gotten worse, but back then, it was said to be like paradise.

      The holes in the atmosphere had closed over, stronger than ever, all the hideous buildings had been knocked down by earthquakes and hurricanes, beautiful plants growing over them, erasing their existence and the animal race had been allowed to grow and prosper. Species on the brink of extinction had revived themselves, and new species appeared, beautiful and terrible, born over centuries of chaos. But possibly the most peculiar new appearance, was the coming of the Changelings.

      They were the descendants of the millions of people who had lacked the money to buy passage underground. Countless numbers of them had died, abandoned by their countries, but a handful had survived- about a thousand out of the millions scattered throughout the world, and they had Changed. As Pandora told the general public, some were 'hideously mutilated'- becoming half animal half human, with amazing reflexes and senses, whilst others just gained new abilities; like telekinesis, precognition, or control over different elements. Symptoms of being a Changeling appeared when you were anywhere between the ages five and fifteen.

      Children lived in fear that one-day; they too would Change, becoming a freak, an outsider and the subject of brutal experimentation, courtesy of the Pandora Alliance, who seemed obsessed with controlling or slaughtering the Changelings. Those who Changed were taken and never seen again. That’s what they were up against; those were the laws. Obey the Pandora Alliance, or die.

      James cuffed Gareth over his head.

      “Shut it ye idiot, there’s no way t’ challenge Arcangel, ye know tha’. Put tha’ silly idea ou’ o’ yer head afore it gets ya killed.”

      There was a somewhat awkward silence; the younger kids stared sullenly at James, while he glared back at the rest of them. Rose just rolled her eyes, again. This topic was brought up almost every week, and after a while, she had started to wonder why Gareth didn’t just drop it.

      She stood up, suddenly exhausted from the day’s adventure, and, muttering a goodnight to her family, started to make her way up the creaky stairs, to the loft at the back of the room.

      From behind the thin walls she could hear the muffled silence, brought on by the deafening darkness. Some people were afraid of the dark and the cold, but not Rose. It had always been calming to her, to be alone, with nothing but blackness for her eyes to focus on.

      She turned down the corridor that led to the small nook where they slept, but what she saw froze her in place. There was a woman; she couldn’t have been more than twenty three, with light brown hair that tumbled down her back; running towards Rose, constantly looking over her shoulder, as if afraid she was being chased. She had a gaunt, haunted face, somewhat magnified by her snow white dress, which came down almost to her ankles. It was made of a rough, tattered material, and a red design was stretched across the cotton fabric. And yet there was something about her; she glistened, as if made of moonlight and there was an eerie quality about her, almost as if she wasn't real.

      “Please!” she called out to Rose in a strangled voice, “You have to help me! He won't give up; I know he won't. Please miss, he'll find her, my daughter, and then he'll take her, he'll take her away from me!” She stopped, chest heaving, a few feet away from Rose, her pearly blue eyes, sparkly with tears, huge and pleading.

      "Who is it?" Rose asked, "Who's after you?"

The woman opened her mouth, but the sound wasn’t hers:

      "Rose?" the new voice sounded behind her and Rose whirled around, to see Juliet. She stood behind her, holding a candle. She peered over Rose’s shoulder with an anxious look. "Who’re ye talkin’ to Rose?"

      “This woman here. She was saying a man came to take her child and she wants us to...help" She turned back to the woman, obviously expecting her to be there still, but all that was behind her was empty room. Juliet frowned.

      "Rose, there's no one here, its jus’ us. Are ye sure ye're all right? D’ye have a headache or sumthin’?"

      "I could have sworn...” she stared down the corridor, “Never mind, I think I'm just tired" But I’m not, Rose thought, she was here- I know it.

      Juliet gently took her hand and they walked together to the sleeping place.

      Just before Rose’s head touched the sack that served as her pillow, she realized what that red pattern on the woman's dress had been. It had been blood.

            The dream starts the same as always. Behind me, the room’s walls are white and cold. I can see my bony wrists cuffed together by two bands of thick metal that cuts into my skin. Blood seeps down my hands and drips onto the tiled floor. This is a hostile place. There is the clang of a metal door being unlocked and then the squealing protest of rusty hinges and I spin around to see a man. He is quite tall and wears a black hood over his face and a blood stained cloak, hiding himself from me. He says nothing, only beckons to me with his hand. Something in me thinks ‘It’s time.’ I’m never quite sure why at first. Then the dream changes.

      The only things I see are the wooden stairs beneath me. It seems that they go on forever, the only path to take. Everything else is black.

I finally reach the top of the stairs, and once again, I see the man. He is still wearing the black hood, like all executioners do, but now that he is out of the shadows, I can see his eyes. His bright, blue eyes. I start to tremble with fear. The next thing I see is the noose, the coiled rope that I know will soon encircle my neck. The executioner steps forwards and grabs my upper arm, his slender fingers applying more force than necessary.

I cry out as he pulls me forwards, towards the noose, desperately trying to escape, but I know I won’t. And then, the noose is slipped over my head; I can feel it almost burning my neck. I scream and thrash back and forth desperately, pleading with the man behind me,

      ‘Pleaseohplease, dear God don’t kill me. I donwanna die, please, not yet, I’ve barely lived, please!’

But he just stares at me, as calm as anything as I scream and struggle, his eyes the exact same color as the sky I will never see again. And then I am falling, down, down. The noose tightens around me; I can feel it crushing my neck and then everything comes to a sudden halt.

      Rose woke with a small scream. Sweat poured down her face and neck and she felt panicky. Around her, everyone was still asleep, not disturbed in the least by the noise she had made.

      Someone’s arm was flung across her belly, and she could feel a knee digging into her back. On top of everything, someone was snoring. She gently removed the arm, kneed the snorer, David, in the back, and shifted into a more comfortable position lying against James’ chest. This was how things happened most nights. Her friends were such deep sleepers; she doubted they had ever known of her nightly terrors.

Eventually, her breathing calmed, slowly becoming normal as she was comforted by the sounds of safety and familiarity, and soon, she was fine again. She had had this dream repeatedly over her lifetime, and somehow, it didn’t scare her as much as it had at first. At least, that’s what she tried to convince herself.

      The shock of waking up was almost over, and closed her eyes, inhaling deeply James’ familiar smell. In no time at all, she was sleeping as peacefully as if the dream had never happened.

Interested? Email Geena at shadoweaver131@gmail.com with your name and email address to pre-order a signed copy of Changeling!