My Experience At A Table Eating French Fries

I’ve been on the road since dawn, and my stomach feels nauseous. An excess of sugar coated carbs and caffeine are the culprits. Without checking the house number, I pull into the driveway of a charming cottage with a rose garden in the front yard. A woman with long, silver gray hair greets me. I roll down the window, and say, “I’m here to visit Malcolm.”

“Well you had this look of depression the whole time we were walking. Just a moment ago you let out a sigh. Is there anything you need to tell us? You know that me, Will, and Anna all care about you.”

“You must be Kate. I’m David, one of the first to escape from the force fields. In fact, everyone you see here are escapees. Anyway, it’s great to meet you.” he said enthusiastically.

“What mum?,” Shocked to hear her mum’s voice she calls out again. “ Mum! Is that you?”

“Yeah boo hoo it’s not like my mom is gonna do anything about it,” she said.

“Well I'm leaving now and how'd you know I just got here, we're you stalking me?” I

Mom explodes, “Don’t you dare just say what! Where have you been? What were you

She takes her hand off my shoulder and nods her head. I shake my parents’ hands until they open their eyes. Gadaje speaks, “Good fairies, may this not be your last morning in Enywier. Go with the hope of our kind and find a way to put our realm right again.”

“M-m-my mom, she passed out and won’t respond,” I said trying to keep myself steady.

It was a distinguished neighborhood, stately houses with sprawling porches made for sipping cold drinks and entertaining guests. Fourteen thirty-seven Twain Street was nestled at the far end the street. The house actually looked out of place when compared to the neighborhood, if it could even be considered a part of the neighborhood. The house was located roughly a quarter mile up the street from the closest neighbor, undiscernible from the woods that surrounded it. I stopped at the gate and regarded the worn house. It was made in the same style as the others in the neighborhood, but something about it made it different. It had character. The paint wasn’t peeling, but it had weathered the long hot sun for many a day and it had begun to form lines, giving the house the impression of a wrinkled and withered old

Yes, you are mother but you’re not my mom.” She runs outside and steals the

“ No, no I might not remember much, but the last time I try to recreate the accident it nearly

Rick and I enter the garage, there is a boy, he looks like my age, scavenging through Rick's belonging.

Adam pulls up in front of our new home and my mind floods with a sea of worry. There is an ordinary cottage. It looks sad and old and it is

“You’re no friggin’ angel,” Alex surged ahead. “You’re no more of an angel than one of these damn things that burnt up in here. In fact, I bet you’re more—”