THE OTHER ME
by Mariana C., 11 years old
At that moment I was only thinking about two things: If I had either seriously hit my head against the floor or I was dreaming. Maybe I was dreaming, but who can tell. No one who I’ve told this story to has believed me, but I want to give it another shot in case something of this sort ever happens to you.
I was rushing home from school crying because everybody had made fun of my huge pimple. I locked myself in my room and cried for hours and hours hating my pimple. It went on like that till I couldn’t stand it anymore. I picked up a rock that was lying on the floor and threw it as hard as I could to my mirror. Broken glass showered all over the floor, and I was thrown to the ground as if someone had pushed me. And that is when the world changed, at least for me. In front of me was me. I was lying in the floor staring at me. It was a perfect replica of me that breathed and blinked. I stood up slowly never leaving her, I mean my, I mean her eyes. She only smiled and said Hi.
“Hi!?” I answered a little too loud. “Who, who are you, me ,you , me, you who looks like me??”
“I’m your conscience.” She broke out a huge smile.
I didn’t know I was capable of doing. “Okay... conscience. And...what exactly are you doing here?” I asked quietly, fighting my throat not to let out a scream or a squeal.
“I’m here to teach you a lesson. You have obviously not learned patience, like the way you almost exploded at school today because of your pimple.”
Patience. Patience? I’m patient. She’s crazy. “Or is she?” I thought. “ She is my conscience, so she must know everything about me.” I got a brilliant idea. A horrible idea. I got a brilliant yet horrible idea. “She wants me to learn patience, doesn’t she? But how can I with all the kids at school calling me pimple Jane? Maybe if I stayed home all day and let her do all the work for me I can learn to be patient,” I thought.
I took a deep breath and said, “You’re right conscience, I should be more patient. I will be, but you have to do me a favor. You have to go to school for me, so I can stay home and think about everything calmly, and by the end of the week I’ll be the most patient girl in the world!” I ended with a brilliant smile that sure got her.
“I’m so happy you’ve decided to learn. I will go to school for you until you learn.” She jumped up and down and began to do a little dance while I smiled, evilly thinking of the wonderful weeks yet to come.
12 weeks later...
Everything was heaven. Everything. Every day was vacation. Since my parents work all day and didn’t come back until dinner, I could do anything. And the best part was my parents believed it was really me that went to school, did homework, went to soccer on Wednesdays. And what was even better was my conscience got me perfect grades, wonderful compliments by all the teachers, and she made me the most popular girl in the 6th grade. It was the best life ever.
Since I became popular I got lots of invites to classmate’s houses, so I went. My conscience was very different from me. She was sweeter, funnier, and somehow prettier. Those times I was invited, I was myself, and they really hated myself. But I was always loved in school because Conscience was there. My parents loved the new me (Conscience). She was the one who usually had dinner with them and she only brought up the food to me when it was over. She had become me, everybody loved her but not me, and I was not going to accept it.
One day she came home from school and did homework, as usual. I sat next to her at the dinner table and waited for the right moment.
“Conscience?” She looked up. “I...I’m really confident I have learned patience and I would like to go to school tomorrow.”
She frowned. It was the first time I saw her frown. “You...want to...go to...school tomorrow?”
I nodded slowly.
She grinned. “Well, I’m afraid that is impossible. Tomorrow I have an important report do, and it’s my turn to sit with Olivia and Rosie, and you don’t know any of the stuff we’re working on.”
“I can hand in your report, I’ve been studying about everything you’re seeing at school right now. I’ll be fine.”
She turned madly red. “You don’t understand. I’m popular, have perfect grades, now everybody likes ME not YOU! YOU CAN’T GO!”
“I am the real Jane Willick. You are just my conscience!” I shouted.
“Please! You don’t do anything anymore. I live your life now! And guess what? Since I do everything you once did, I’m now officially Jane Willick and you are left as my conscience!” She picked up her books stormed out.
“I hate you! I wish I never threw that rock in the mirror! I wish you never appeared!”
And like a wave of a wand, my wish came true. The room began to spin and spin and spin. I could see my parents and Conscience walking and talking, but the room was spinning so fast I could only see their faces. It kept spinning and spinning until it magically stopped and I was alone in my room holding a rock in my hand and facing a mirror.
“Wow,” I whispered. For a second there I had no idea where I was, no idea where I came from.
by Casey S., Age 12
They were finally done. The glasses that would change the face of humanity. And they were undoubtedly, completely, hers. The glasses that read minds were very inconspicuous except for one minor detail: her logo on the side, an ancient Greek letter that her father had taught her.
She put them on and could hear her mother’s thoughts from the kitchen downstairs. Chicken or Pork? Her mother thought. She turned her focus towards her brother’s room. Barely anything, blurred images. He was sleeping. How predictable.
She then took the glasses off and wrote down an entry in the notebook titled Casey’s Notebook. What an exciting day for science it had been! Time for her to get some rest.
The next day, she brought the glasses into her classroom, but didn’t tell anyone what they were. Instead of crawling by like it usually would, all old knowledge, she discovered a treasure trove of new things in that day. Things that people would never say aloud to her, never. She smiled with contentment at her invention and kicked back her heels. Someday, she would be famous and rich; then people would tell her things.
Her mind was exhausted from all the hard work, so she collapsed on her bed and started to snore gently right when she came home from basketball practice. But she forgot to take off the mind-reading glasses! When she woke up in the morning, she was shocked to find them there, sitting crooked on her nose. But she thought it would be fine, in the end. She shoved them in their case and ran to board the school bus.
That whole day she didn’t think about the mind-reading glasses sitting at the bottom of her back pack. But when she got off the school bus, she ran up to her room, locked the door, and pushed them on. Instead of hearing her mom’s thoughts like she was hoping to, she heard nothing.
Hello? She thought, cautiously.
“Hello,” came the startling return. “We’ve waiting for you.” A twining, doubled, snake-like voice answered her. Inside her own mind. Something had gone horribly wrong the night she had slept with them on: they were no longer mind-reading glasses. They were mind-controlling glasses.
She tried to lift her arm to take them off, but found her arm feeling as if it was glued to the table.
“Now, Casey,” it whispered. “Let’s not do anything brash.”
GET OUT OF MY MIND! She wanted to scream, but her voice was locked in her lungs, unable to come out. So she thought hard.
“Casey, we can’t get get out of your mind!” It hissed, slyly. “When you’re wearing our glasses, we are your mind. Now sit up.”
Casey’s body fought hard against this command, but in the end the glasses won. She sat straight as a board, motionless. But inside her head, thoughts seethed like a pot about to boil over.
What can I do? I’ll have to fight it. What is it? How can I fight my own mind? What if I lose? Will someone find me? Maybe they’ll think I’m in a coma. She thought rapidly, as the glasses presence hummed like background music. Then ideas began to form in her head, but she quickly stifled them. What if I haven’t thought everything? What if there are things it doesn’t know about me? She smiled with grim anticipation. She’s my last hope.
As if on cue, a knock resounded through the silent house. A door was opened, and a familiar voice drifted up to her:
“Is Casey here?” asked Casey’s best friend, Gwen.
“Up in her room, the hermit,” her mom answered loudly, probably hoping that she would hear her and come down.
Casey did hear her, but she couldn’t move. Gwen bounced up the stairs knocked their special knock on the door. Experimentally, Casey tried tapping her fingers gently on the table. She could! --. .-- . -. ..--. She tapped out on the table. Long tap, long tap, short tap. It was Morse code, one of their just-for-fun experiments. Gwen! she had tapped. -.-- . … ..--.. Gwen tapped back- Yes? …. . .-.. .--. ..--. Casey tapped- Help!
Gwen yelled in, “Casey? Are you O.K.? Can you hear me?”
Yes. I can hear you. We don’t have much time before it finds out and ends this form of communication. Casey tapped, as quickly as possible. Gwen, pick the lock, and when you come in, take off the glasses. Please. You are my last hope . . .
Gwen quickly, with years of skill behind her, picked the lock. She ran in and found her frozen there. She thought she was saved, but her mind-controlling glasses still had a few tricks on her.
Casey found herself being forced to stand up and smile.
“Hi, Gwen. I was just playing with you there,” she heard herself say, but her voice was rough and strangled. She looked Gwen in the eyes through the glasses and tried to force as much fear and desperation as she could into the look. She tried to tap her fingers, but found them frozen. So she gave one last effort. She began to breathe as shaky and unevenly as she could. Those loud, panicked breaths were enough to throw Gwen off.
“Casey, what the heck? This is weird!” she said, and finally did what she had been waiting for the whole time—she tore off the glasses. Casey could hear it being sucked out of her mind. It was like a drain emptying. Then when she could control her limbs again, she grabbed for the nearest object. It was a Harry Potter book.
“Casey?” Gwen said worriedly. But it was too late. She picked up the Harry Potter book and smashed the glasses to pieces. There they sat, mangled and broken. That was the last thing Casey remembered seeing before she blacked out.
Fifteen minutes later, Casey woke up crying. But the fight was over, and she was safe.
THE KILLING TOASTER
By Brandon D.
“Uggg, what should I do for my invention?” I said. I needed an invention for a school project.
“What’s the matter?” my sister asked.
“I need an idea for a project at school,” I said.
“ Well, you could do a toaster,” she said.
“What? That’s already invented,” I said.
“No, no, no. I mean one that pops out from the bottom. You press a button that says ‘jelly’ or ‘butter’. Whichever one you want splatters on your plate,” she said.
I got the supplies and got to work. I put wires, nails, bolts and even a little wood in my toaster. I put it on my kitchen counter. I put the bread in the toaster and it popped out in ten seconds. I put it on my plate. Then I pressed the jelly button. In a split second, jelly fell on my toast. I bit into it and it tasted like heaven. This was perfect. The next day I made toast again. I heard a crunchy noise. I looked over my shoulder.
“Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh,” I yelled. “The toaster is alive,” I said and picked up a bat.
“Please don’t hurt me. I’m your friend,” said the toaster.
I put down the bat.
“How did you come to life?” I asked.
“You put wood in me. Wood comes from trees and trees are living things,” he said.
“Wow,” I said, reaching for cereal. When I turned around, the toaster had a fork and knife.
“I tricked you,” the toaster said with a devious look.
“Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh,” I screamed. I ran for my life.
The toaster chased me. He spit out burning hot toast. He even spit out jelly and butter. I ran in my room and locked my door, but he was so strong he knocked down my door. I panicked and almost jumped out my window. The toaster was about to spit another piece of burning toast when I picked up a bat. I hit that toaster so hard I heard an explosion. I looked down and saw a piece of toast on a destroyed toaster. Jelly was smeared all over the toaster like blood. I took the toaster apart so I knew for certain it was dead.
I took it to a dumpster. I knew I wasn’t ever going to invent a toaster again.
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