Pain is my drug,

Making me numb.

Only to hurt me worst than before.

I tried to run,

Get it out my blood.

Trust me, it's no fun.

Finding an escape,

In a blood stain blade.

Given to me by the center of my pain.

Black pocket knives,

Long sleeves,

Trying to hide the cuts I leave.

Now I'm beginning,

To overdose on these drugs.

I gotta cut it out.

Next I'll go comatose,

One foot in the grave,

One on land.

My name is Abby Sire. When I was a child, I was obsessed with the idea that I could write something down and through time and space, someone would read it and know what I was trying to say.

I’ve been writing ever since then. Terrible novels at first that helped me understand my voice and what exactly I am capable of. When I was in junior high I tried my hardest to impress every English teacher I could get my hands on. One created a prompt that was the basis for my novel To Flip a Three-Sided Coin; that there are voices inside every writer’s head. We were supposed to personify these voices and see how the interact with each other.

In high school I was raped. There’s really no easy way to descrbie how I survived but it started with the idea that if I was going to live past this, I needed my fears of how my past defined me to die. I wrote the three main characters to be personifications of my fears for the past, where I was in the present and fears for the future; Edie is my present, Florence is the future and Alice is the bitter resentment I felt for the past. Then I put them all together to see how they would react with the need for the past to die weaving through out.

I want to reach anyone who has ever thought they were alone. Really alone. Being in school after I accused another student of the assault, and eventually it ended in a restraining order, I had to find people who believed in me. Without a doubt. but still there was so much of me that didn’t believe I wasn’t to blame. And if I could help anyone else whoever doubted themselves while the world made it out to blame them.

I’d like to think that I’ve woven a moral as well as an intriguing about facing time three-fold. There are three parts and a prologue highlighting the Greek Fates at a total of 131,523 words.

In a perfect world I would like to inspire people to read again, to create again. I would love to be active on social media with ads to remind people of how enlightening the written word can be. Besides analyzing this for talent of marketing potential I would really appreciate any insight you have into my work. Please contact me at ladybugsy315@gmail.com

To Flip a Three-Sided Coin

It was the first time the two had wandered outside together. The wind embraced them then danced with red leaves over forgotten graves. The sun peeked through dying trees and Edie squinted. It was a good minute until Edie realized Alice had raced ahead, leaving Edie spinning her wheels in attempt to follow.

The shrieking of brakes sliced through the cool afternoon. Alice froze. She glared at the garish school bus that dared to trespass. With a roll of her eyes she scoffed and covered her mouth with her scarf while leaping towards the grave marker.

Edie watched the tykes scrambled out into the cemetery, their cries of life mocking the dead. “They are here for the historical reenactments,” Alice declared with disdain. Edie frowned as a chubby kid kicked the corner of a gravestone and proceeded to guide it with his foot as men and women dressed in costumes attempted to entertain the class.

Alice paused, kneeling in the rain drenched grass. Her hands slowly slid over the grooves chiseled in concrete. Between her fingers Edie struggled to make out, ‘Marjorie Whitaker’. Edie squeaked, “Who was she?” Silence. Her mysterious partner stood and demanded in a harsh whisper, “Who is she? you pitiable fool.” The guttural inflection spewed out of her plump lips and dallied on the wind.

Edie’s cheeks grew red, she had insulted Alice and whomever laid below. Mumbling curses Alice stormed away, weary of disturbances.

A sigh escaped Edie’s cold lips and part of her regretted inviting herself along. Without another thought, Edie spun her wheelchair, readying herself for the bumpy trail ahead when a chill like witches’ fingers fell down her spine. Edie sat, baking in the sun with her hand raised and finger-sized shadows striped her cheeks, her companion was a cold, blurred silhouette. The kind that frightened Edie as the lines between Alice and the pale light clashed, retreated into themselves and clashed again.

Before Edie could shout at the shifting shadow before her the boy terrorizing the gravestone dashed up the hill in jagged, agitated steps to corner his prey. His sneakers hit the cobblestone with shoelaces flopping when he yanked the tail of her coat. Edie could see tension rising in Alice’s frame.

“Miss? Miss Alice Whitaker? Is it really you? Weren’t you just visiting your. . .” The words were caught in his throat. With bright eyes the child looked up at her in a mixture of fear and awe. “What do you want?” She growled tucking herself tighter in the pea coat that seemed to consume her whole. “Is it true?” He inquired fidgeting with his hands and refused to meet her glare. His teacher soon rescued him by putting a hand on his shoulder, a preface to the chiding he would no doubt receive.

The teacher murmured apologies and the pair joined the group in the distance. Alice lit a cigarette, her hands shaking and her eyes wild. Wordless animosity composed Alice’s every move and dodging the impending hellfire Edie wheeled behind her as the breeze ushered them to the Happy Home.

Thanks again for your time! I look forward to your reply.

I was nine years old when I murdered my friend, Nessie.

She had died fast, her body thrashing on the ground. I stared, awestruck. The only sadness I’d felt was when it was over. Destructive me.

I was ten years old when I killed Finley. He died the same way as Nessie, his body thrashing on the ground, squirming. It was a really interesting sight. And I've kept it a secret, because I'm pretty sure no one would have liked to hear that I had killed two of my good friends.

Finley and Nessie are buried together. I didn’t have that much space for them, because they were... well, they were really big. I used a shovel to sink them into the ground, and then I prayed for them.

I did the same thing when I was eleven to my other friend, Feefee. She died the same way, and I began getting bored of killing. I went out to bury Feefee that day, but then, my dad my stepped outside.

“Athena, will you take out the gar-” he’d started to say, then stopped when he saw me. His eyes grew big.

I was dragging Feefee out onto the lawn. My dad’s eyes grew even larger, if that was even possible, and his eyebrows bended over so much that they crossed. He looked ready to choke, and I couldn’t blame him. Dragging something takes a lot of effort.

“What is that your carrying?” He asked, his eyes now bulging out of his head. He closed his eyes. “Oh God, tell me I’m dreaming, tell me this isn’t real.”

He told me I had a lot to explain. And I did, later. I told him about Nessie, Finley, and Feefee.

Nessie, Finley, and Feefee.

In my life, I’ve murdered three.

Fish.

_____________________________________________________________________

Title: Murdering three

Genre: Children’s books maybe

Age range: 8-11

Word count: 258 words.

Author name: Elie (just first name for now :) )

Why it is a good fit: I'm not sure if it's a good fit based on what you're looking for, but I just thought this would be a fun contest to enter!

The hook: That the three that the Athena’d killed were fish... instead of humans.

Target audience: Most likely children, I think?

Platform: N/A

Education: Middle School

Hometown: Somewhere in New Jersey

Age: (I originally put my age here, but I think I probably shouldn’t. Anyways, I’m in Middle School- some people call it intermediate school, but they’re basically the same thing to me)

You don't know me, but I love you.

I pray for you every day.

You're very important to me, each and every one of you.

No matter what your race, color, creed, nationality, ethnicity, belief...

I love you.

I want you to know that God made you and put you here for a purpose.

So, just be you, and listen for His voice if you will.

Live on this earth and thrive, being the unique being you were made to be.

I love you.

“STARLESS and Bible Black” is a collection of interrelated short stories in which I use science as a backdrop to put humanism in the foreground. This succeeds in rendering a fascinating juxtaposition of cosmic effect and psychological affect.

GENRE: SciFi/humanism

AGE: 14+

WORD COUNT 45,000

AUTHOR: Gerard DiLeo

A GOOD FIT: it appeals to those looking for a theme not explored previously.

HOOK: Our world thrown a cosmic screwball.

TARGET AUDIENCE: SciFi fans, intellectuals, curious, offbeat/quirky, esoteric, philosophers.

SYNOPSIS: STARLESS and Bible Black centers on a common premise that we are suddenly alone in the universe: on a crisp, clear night the stars and other planets vanish from our night sky. Suddenly, mysteriously, and totally. Would you really miss them? As science scrambles to explain it scientifically, scholars wax philosophical on existentialism, religions fall victim to irrelevance, and the rest of the world scrambles to try to make sense of what has happened. Individuals--each visited via a short story--must deal with the effect the phenomenon has on him or her. Why should this change anything? The stars had no tangible effect before they left. Why should their absence even matter?

The stories center on religion, fanaticism, financial markets and capitalism, coming of age, sexual encounters, the common man, and other motifs. It interweaves humor, pathos, and several other facets of the human condition. STARLESS and Bible Black explores our perspective of place in the universe, whether we notice or not.

BIO: I am a retired MD writing full time now, with an interest in introducing themes based on science into stories that center on humanism.

HOMETOWN: Boston, from New Orleans.

This book is completed. Please request a PDF if interested. Thanks.

The Fall. In practically every religion, there is a narrative regarding a “Fall”, or “The Fall”. I never genuinely experienced the notion of that. Indeed though I am a Christian, it didn’t occur to me that “The Fall” signified the origin function of the complete scripture. Each pastor I associate with uses “The Fall” as a biblical reference to each infirmity. Awaking one morning, I subsequently conjectured why it remained so relevant. That one aurora was the wakeup omen of all my vulnerable beliefs. It completely originated while I woke up to a phone call. Annoyed, because it remained barely 4 a.m. & I wasn’t scheduled for my alarm ’till 7:30 a.m. I answered abruptly.“Is this Isabella Hunter?” Unenthusiastic, irritable, & exhausted I snarled: “Why are you calling me?” I ought to confess that I was dampened by his distant, penetrating voice. So I softened my voice, not wanting to arouse my mum. “Humankind possesses only 7 spans left ere I terminate it!” He frightened me! Oh, how he frightened me! His wretched call was similar to a transpiring shot with an arrow. Direct, punctured, & shocking! Abruptly, the peculiar man hung up, issuing me with dark, dejected silence...

Genre: Drama/Mystery

Age range: 16+

Word count: 202

Author name: Tatiana McCruel

Why project is a good fit: It grows deep into the idea of the Fall and explores religious tension and inquiry.

Target Audience: Teens/ Y.A.

Platform: N/A

Education: Middle school

Experience: Classes taken on writing

Hometown: Cleveland, Ohio

Age: 13