My name is Max. These are the writings from my journal across the years spent in hiding with my closest friends in Inuvik, Canada. Beth, Spencer, and I were sent here covertly to protect us from the US Government Core, which we refer to as Core 2. Beth and I were directed to take on the identities of two individuals on their way to Inuvik, whom were caught in a terrible storm and froze to death, their demise unknown to the rest of the world. We became Ed Fulton, a high school teacher, and Sally Johnston, a psychologist and social worker whom Inuvik knows us as. Spencer arrived shortly after us, a special delivery, with a protector, Maya, I think to both keep Spencer safe as well as keep us all together.
Magic is the theme of the day. Beth stopped by class today. The kids adore Beth. Her majestic bright orange hair, tightly pulled back into a big braid, falling to the back thinning as it falls, seeming to just evaporate as it reaches its natural conclusion. Beth stands about five feet, ten inches tall, and looks like she could take on a bear. Did I say she commands respect in any room she enters. When the kids see Beth, their imagination stands at attention. I was introducing the concept of vectors, when I noticed Beth’s bright blue eyes cast against those rosy cheeks peering around the corner of the class door. Caught for just a moment when I saw her, frozen, captured for just that split second, the class became aware of my split second frozen pause and turned to see their muse, and smiles took over everyone’s face. Beth smiled back scanning the room of smiling almost gawking gazes and walked in, knowing that was her queue, her invitation.
“Ed,” she said in a commanding yet kind tone, walking, as if floating, toward the front of the class where I stood, quiet, wondering what she would say next. Softly, almost slowly, but not quite, “what number am I thinking?”
“One,” I said, quickly, assuredly.
Beth stopped. The room fell deafly silent. Everyone froze as all eyes were on Beth, stopped. While it was only a second, that moment of frozen heavy-with-weight-silent pause seemed like seconds. Her eyebrow rose, ever so slightly as she smiled, never taking her eyes off of me.
“Correct. Wow. You still have it,” she said, and finished her walk to the front of the class.
The kids were silent, as if stunned, not sure of what just happened.
As Beth arrived at the front of the class. I turned to the audience and said, “I learned how to do that from someone who knew Merlin.”
And then Beth punched me in the shoulder, sending me off balance, my arm quickly swinging toward my back, shifting as I turned to catch myself while the class started laughing, all at the same instant.
With a tip of the hat to 1000 Naked Words, and inspired by What I learnt after writing a Medium post every day for 2 months by Shirley Lee, (364) The Evolution of Finding Shit to Write About Every Day for a Damn Year, and following my own advice, I’m setting upon the journey to write a very short story per day, a sketch, nothing special, yet perhaps a slight improvement over the previous day. The idea is that every day, in and of itself, is its own adventure, its own story. The framework for these short stories loosely happen within the context of the draft of “One,” the second part of time.
Who is Hank M. Greene?
“I am what I said I am, a storyteller. But, you may be asking, from whence did I come and to where do I go? ‘Ten’ holds the key to where I go, and it’s to be determined from whence I came.”
Read the draft of Book 1: Ten by Hank M. Greene @ https://sites.google.com/view/time-a-trilogy/
Twitter at @hankmgreene or https://twitter.com/hankmgreene
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