Some time ago Barbie Lee sort of challenged me in one of her blogs (https://bigclosetr.us/topshelf/blog-entry/78714/illegal-make...).
At the time I was not really in a shape to do anything about it and didn’t get a silly enough idea. Let’s see if this is silly enough. As for those who think I write too short stories: This is the longest I have posted here. It's also more narrative than most of them.

12 years from now.

My fiancée Mary and I were spending a quiet day in my flat when the door-bell rang. When I opened the door I found Tom, well really Thomasine, my fiancées tomboy younger sister there in tears and carrying among other things the ruins of her prom dress. As it turned out not only her dress had been destroyed. Andrea, their bratty freshman brother, had totally flipped out and hadn’t stopped at the dress but also destroyed Tom’s jewelry and even got in a cut or two with a pair of scissors in Tom’s hair. She looked a mess. All she had left were her shoes and panties and the prom was only a few hours away. Disaster!

There was only one thing to do. I went into my bedroom and got out MY old prom dress.

Mary (rather upset): Peter, why do you have that dress?

I was rather surprised. I thought she knew. This could be awkward. Well, we’ll take care of that problem later. Now we had more important things to take care of. As I started to check if my dress could fit Tom I absentmindedly answered:

- It’s my old prom dress. I graduated from West Peak.

Mary (with a gasp): The infamous West Peak Academy for Young Ladies?

Well, some may call it infamous. I prefer famous. A fame that I’m proud to be partially responsible for. You see, I’m the only boy ever to graduate from that high school/boarding school.

Rebekah slowly broke the kiss and my my mind was still looking up at the sky in a stupor. One could have thrown a football at my head and then tackle me to the ground and I wouldn’t have cared a bit.
“Eric!” Molly hissed.

“Do you have a warrant?” Brianna asked the two police officers who were standing just outside the door, one craning his neck to see in.

“No Ma’am, this is a wellness check but we can come back with a warrant if need be, to make sure Mr. Achles is in one piece.”

“And who exactly is asking?” I couldn’t see her face, but I could just imagine her furrowing her brow at them.

“His parents,” One of the officers explained. “From what they said he was at camp Chippenwood-“

“Well that’s interesting,” My sister said. “An eighteen year old boy at summer camp?”

“Jasmine, sweetie,” Angela said, placing a hand on my shoulder. “Go upstairs, please, into mine and Meredith’s room. I want you to stay there until we come to get you, okay?”

“Wait, what?” I turned to her, an expression of shock and confusion painting my face. “I don’t understand, I want to know what’s going on.”

“This isn’t for you to hear,” Anabelle said, her face stony. “Do as your mother says.”

“I’m not a kid!” I argued “I…”

“You are a kid,” Meredith informed me. “and you need to do as you’re told now.”

When Kristen wakes up in the totalitarian society you will love he soon finds out that he is a square peg for a round hole.
They want him to change, but he is a fighter.
Vowing to never be part of it and intending to fight every step they have in store for him.

In this chapter, you learn a bit more about what has happened to Jill and Carol. You also learn more of the politics and plans of the aliens in Brazil...

“First and foremost,” Angela said, standing maybe three feet from me. “You’re going to learn to string this bow. Notice how the arms are curved, you see?”

I nodded. For the first time I was really getting a look at my bow. It was made from a sleep black wood, very simple, but also a bit heavier than I’d expected. I couldn’t help but feel a little bit of contempt looking at it, as Meredith had forced me to run the obstacle course over and over again while holding it. Still, it was something Angela wanted me to have, and that was enough to make me love it.

Stuck in a Rut.
By Rosalie Redd

Casey Church is a normal 13 year old girl, full of hopes and dreams and fears and anxieties. But in a world where there hasn’t been a girl born in over a century, what is normal?

Chapter 13.

Sunday afternoon, after services, was the time set aside for the women of the foster home to sit down and enjoy a little afternoon tea and unwind from the week and get ready for another one. Sunday was considered a day of rest in the Forest Home, some of the children attend services either at the local Catholic, Episcopal or Methodist Churches. It was those three that supported the foster home with donations of either money or canned goods, but mostly money as cold hard cash was the sinew that kept the house running day to day, month to month and year to year.

I opened my eyes, though I don’t know why I bothered. It was the same room, every day. The same white walls, the same tall barred window, lined with steel lattice just in case I somehow managed to squeeze my way through the iron verticals. A white tile floor, a white bed, everything white. At least they’d unstrapped me from the bed. Why was I here? What had I even done? As I surveyed the white plaster ceiling I remembered my father’s words. “You’re no son of mine,” He’d said. How fucking cliché. I couldn’t tell you why he hated me so much. Well, I could, but does it really matter?