My First Chapter

Hello everybody! Here is a sneak-peek of my first novel, The Day in the Woods.

1

‘I didn’t mean to break his nose,’ I say, scowling. My gaze is fixed on the dreary, gray Seattle rain.

‘Then why’d you punch him?’ The counsellor demands wearily, analyzing me through red cat-eyed spectacles.

‘He called me Loony Lea,’ I complain, swivelling around. ‘You don’t go around calling people crazy- even if it’s true.’ I can see the disappointment clear in her eyes.

    Counsellor Sarah Thompkins, in a perfectly honest opinion, is a spiteful Faery. She smells of grape flavored cough syrup and looks like she chugged the whole bottle. Her straw coloured hair is always kept in a neat ballerina bun, while a black pantsuit looks enormous on her tiny, bony frame. Through cat-eyed spectacles, her squinty blue eyes are made even squintier. She has pursed lips and a long, upturned nose.

    ‘You don’t go around punching people in the face, either,’ she reasons with a sigh. Sipping from her cup of coffee, Spiteful Faery fiddles with a blue ball point pen with a look that says ‘I hope you’re regretting what you've done.’

    I’m not sorry, and I’m not even sorry I’m not sorry, I think to myself. Counsellor Thompkins clears her throat; I shoot her a baffled look. ‘That was not a silent thought,’ she says coldly. Unable to help myself, I grin and swivel around in the black wheelie chair. Counsellor Thompkins doesn’t look too pleased. ‘Miss Weatherburn, all this business is very concerning. You’re always in trouble lately.’

    ‘Oh, I don’t go looking for trouble,’ I promise with a devilish grin. ‘It tackles me from behind.’ Suppressing the urge to roll her eyes, Spiteful Faery disappears momentarily behind her desk. She reappears with a huge mustard yellow manila folder. It lands with a thud, and with a wince, I realize it’s mine.

    Spiteful Faery takes out some of the papers, shuffles them, and recites like a little girl in a school play.

‘Last week, you went to detention thrice for sassing your teachers; you failed your algebra test; your English results are mortifying- your Chemistry even more so; and today, you broke Jacob Langey’s nose.’ I open my mouth to blurt out weak justifications, but nothing comes to mind; the counsellor smiles smugly. I try my hardest not to scrunch up my face.

    Spiteful Faery sighs in a resigned tone and puts down her mug of coffee, a bloody moon upon the rim and an unevenly coloured patch on her lips. Bowing my head I can’t help but laugh softly. ‘Is this funny to you?’ She demands irritably. ‘Quite frankly, I’m annoyed and disappointed with your behaviour- you haven’t changed since our first session, and I’m half tempted to sort this out by talking to somebody.’ I scoff.

‘Don’t be an idiot. You already know there’s nobody to talk to.’ I mean to come out withering and critical, but instead sound sad and tired. It seems to buy her favour however, and she doesn’t look as mad.

‘That’s what I’m here for,’ she says gently. ‘To talk.’

‘Fine,’ I sigh. ‘What do you wanna talk about?’ Spiteful Faery looks hopeful and stammers slightly.

‘M-maybe we should talk about what’s troubling you.’

‘I’m absolutely fine,’ I say with a grin. I lay back in the seat, draping my arms over the back of the chair. Isn’t it lovely how easily lies come to human beings?

    Unfortunately for me, Spiteful Faery doesn’t take it without a fight.

‘Come on, Lea,’ she coaxes. ‘You have to open up, or we can't get you any help,’ Spiteful Faery reasons. ‘You’re only human, you know that. You can’t bottle everything up and shut everybody out.’ I lean back in my seat.

‘Watch me,’ I say with a smirk.

    Counsellor Thompkins may have seen many patients who were depressed or angry or sad, but I bet you she’s never dealt with a crazy one. I bet you, she never once has been into the mind of a so called ‘crazy’ patient, because were she to do that, she would get lost in the eternal blackness that is doubt, confusion, anger, and skepticism. She wants to talk? There are so many topics we could talk about, but that would only scare her. My mind is collapsing under the weight of what I know and what I’ve seen, real or not; insane or sane.

There is a world much darker than the one we know.

    The day in the woods.

They are terrible things.

    The crash.

You really don't want to know.

    The monster.

Nobody would believe me, anyway.

    Dancing with witches and nightmares.

They’d call me crazy.

    Running from shadows and the monsters that hide under children's beds.

Oh wait; they do.

    The bell then rings, loud and shrill. Relief runs through me, and a smile is painted on my lips. I adjust the strap to my messenger bag, pick the lint off my blue sweater, and turn on my heel. ‘Good day, Counsellor Thompkins. See you next time,’ I say before waving and walking away, just a whir of blue.

~

There are clusters of teenagers huddled closely together. They’re safe behind their little cliques and umbrellas with wary glares and accusatory sneers, flinching away from me.

‘They’re scared of you,’ the voice at the back of my head reminds. Well ain’t that the truth, I think grimly to myself. By the way they act, you would think that I’m little Miss Death Personified.

    To be honest, I hate them all. They’re the real reason I’m so angry all the time. You see, the problem with society is that they lap up lies like dogs, and when the truth hits them hard and cold, they back away.

    They resort to stupid rumors and stupid lies, and they hide beneath the thin blanket that is ignorance and fear. The fear that leads them to leer at you, call you crazy, crumple you and your confidence up into a little ball and throw you in the trash after you’ve told them the truth. Society is filled with jerks. How would I know? An educated guess, I suppose you could say.

    You see, my problem is that I'm the black sheep of the flock; I see the world differently, for lack of better terms. How, you ask? I have visions. I’m a ‘freak,’ as society likes to say. Ever since I was a little girl, I've had these strange visions. When I was small, they weren’t much. Just little snapshots of strange places and strange people, here and there, interrupting my dreams. As I grow older, the snapshots get more and more terrifying. Intense. Vivid. Sometimes, they get so vivid that I can’t tell the difference between reality and my mind, my mind being the dark chaotic forest that it is.

    I have yet to find out what happened to me that’s triggered these, and why I keep having visions related to it. For now, I am less than halfway towards the truth. I can’t shake the feeling that they're trying to warn me about something:

   

There is a world much darker than the one we know.

At The End of the Day

Hello everybody! It's the end of the school year already. Can you believe it? I hardly could. It was an extremely sad day, full of nostalgia and tears; my friends and I had to say goodbye to the Independent Learning Class - the ILC- which was our second home for a full two years now. It was extremely difficult to say goodbye, but at the end of the day, nothing lasts forever, does it? Our two years at Northcross Intermediate were wonderful, full of adventure, challenge, achievement, and memories. Eventually, however, time waits for no one: people move on and children grow older- as of today, the year eights are year nines as a new chapter in everybody's life begins, and we all parts ways to begin our college journey...

I'd like to thank the Northcross Intermediate ILC of 2014 & 2015 for being so wonderful, especially my friends, and my teachers, Mrs J, Mrs Joyce, Mrs Hamblyn, and Ms Starrs. You guys are awesome, and have all taught me so much- you people were the ones who helped me get to the NZ FPS Nationals in the first place!

So, yes, I would like to thank the ILC for a lovely experience. I miss you guys already, and I wish you all the best for the future. Also, I would like to thank everybody who has pitched in and helped with raising the 5% of money we have! You are all wonderful.

Goodnight, folks. Here's to a fabulous end of 2015, and all the times we felt alive during it; here's to the newest chapter of our lives, lurking around the corner as the dawn of 2016 approaches.

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year from your NZ Junior Scenario Writing Representative.

4% in 4 days...awesome!!

Hello everyone! You may have noticed on our funding page http://igg.me/at/rhy7Ub7g6nQ that we have adjusted our funding goal down to $10K.   We feel this reflects more accurately our projected costs;  as we continue to scour the internet for better  deals on flights and accommodation and all other logistical considerations, including fees, insurance, transfers from Detroit to the conference site (2 hours away in East Lansing).

We thank you for your support so far and hope you continue to join us on this incredible journey!

Your takeaway for today is one of Pilar's favourite quotes, from one of her all-time favourite novels.
Love and light to you all this Christmas!

The Winning Piece

Here is my winning piece, we hope you like it!  The FPS Future Scenario topic was "Propaganda" and we were tasked to write a 1,500 word short story.  It took a lot of grumpy mood swings and my grandmother asking me if i was all right.  I thought of this because I wanted to write about society's view on perfection and wondered if i could incorporate propaganda.  I plotted this with my mom while we washed the dishes.  

 The quote at the very top is a paraphrase of Thomas Jefferson's quote, "I prefer dangerous freedom to peaceful slavery." I found the quote very interesting, and it served as inspiration for my story; the rest of the scenario is entirely my own.
Enjoy!

---------------------
The Elysium of Freedom

The Nohara sisters are on the run, fearing becoming one of them. Ever since their mother told them to run, Eve has carried her younger sister all over America, running from the government and their lies, with each day a struggle to survive in a world that condemns free will.

   
      My mother once told me that a dangerous freedom is better than a peaceful slavery. She told me this the day I began my run. ‘I love you, Eve,’ she had murmured, kissing me on the forehead. ‘Now go. Take your sister and run. Run and don’t look back.’

     To this day, I am still running, trying to keep my sister and I alive in a world that demands our death. The government fears the ones like us, those who defy The Programme. They think that any sign of disobedience is the potential catalyst for the next war, so they hunt us down. All because we don’t want to live the ‘perfect life.’ But the perfect life is not so perfect when you are The Programmed, and the government controls everything you say and do; the perfect life is the perfect lie, when you realize that you are nothing but a doll, a puppet with no free will, living under a master bred from fear.

    The Programme is the government’s easy way out of the war. They realized they could not win the people with empty speeches and empty promises, so they took the cowardly path. ‘Tired of the war?’ they asked. ‘We can fix that! Grab your form today and join The Programme. America needs you!’ They waved consent forms in our faces with fine print so fine that we couldn’t see the flaws.

     Microchips are implanted in the right arm of every citizen who signed the form, and The Programme was set in action. The government, with one small chip, had access to the minds of all, able to Programme the people’s actions and speech from headquarters. With one small chip, the fire was dampened, tongues were maimed, and the wild animals were tamed. We regained our peace, but we were now quiet, docile, obedient little things, only saying and doing what we were meant to.

     Mother found out. She told us to run, wanting us to defy the oppression; in a dictated world, my mother sacrificed her own freedom, so that we had a chance at life. To this day, I am trying to make sure that her sacrifice does not go to waste.

~

 Tessa is curled up in a ball when I get back ‘home.’ At the moment, we are living in an abandoned apartment on Fifth. Everything is broken, and the walls are claimed by graffiti. It is shelter, however- something that is better than living in a damp alleyway.

     I sit down at the foot of the springy mattress, setting down my tatty messenger bag. I stroke Tessa’s hair gently, looking fondly at my sister. The .45 I gave her sits on the drawer, and I let out a heavy sigh. My eight year old sister is learning to wield guns and knives, living in a hell hole for sometimes days on her own.

     Tessa stirs gently and props herself up on one elbow. When she sees me, she instinctively reaches for her gun, my instructions clearly drilled in her head: ‘shoot first, ask questions later.’

Hey,’ I say with a weary smile. ‘It’s okay, Imouto. It’s just me, Eve.’

    ‘How do I know you haven’t been Programmed?’ she asks, still reaching for her gun.

   ‘Are you kidding?’ I ask teasingly, ruffling her hair. ‘They couldn’t catch Eve Nohara if they tried.’ Tessa looks uncertain, so I flash her a confident smile. I take the messenger bag and let the contents slide onto the bed. One pitiful loaf of bread, a canteen of lumpy stew, and a small flask of water.

     Tessa’s eyes light up and she sits up. My heart lurches, realizing that she’s been alone with no food for a few days now.

     ‘Here you go,’ I murmur, tearing the bread and giving her the bigger half. She takes it eagerly and pours herself some of the stew and begins wolfing it down, completely pushing aside the fact that it is stone cold.


     ‘Aren’t you hungry, Neesan?’ Tessa asks, wiping her mouth on her sleeve. I force a smile on my face and promise quietly,


     ‘I’ll eat later.’ Tessa looks uncertain, and her black eyes are concerned. ‘Are you okay?’ they seem to ask. I push aside my tears and bring her close to my chest. Tessa shouldn’t need to worry about me. In an ideal world, she would be running around playing. She would have rosy cheeks and warm skin, unlike her pale skin now that has never really known the sun. She would have scrapes up her knees and grass stains on her dress.


     She shouldn’t be living like this. Neither of us should be. I hate to think that if we do not get out of America, Tessa could be living like this for the rest of her life. Looking over her shoulder and running with callouses on her feet and crime on her hands. I wish I could get us out of this hell, into a different country like England or New Zealand, where the people still have their free will. Because if we don’t have our free will, what do we have? I hate this world where people are under the cruel, iron grasp of the government- and then because of The Programme, they cannot even fight back. I hate the fact that in America, our society is based on the idea of a ‘perfect’ citizen. The citizen who obeys their government, loves them, and agrees with them, but only because they’re Programmed to. I hate this world where ‘perfection’ is the solution to our war. Where ‘perfection’ is accepted. When will they realize that we are human? We are meant to have a fire in our hearts, a hunger to rise up against injustice, and a freedom to do what we want. We are meant to know mistake and flaw and learn from it- when they take that away from us, we lose what makes us human.

     ‘Neesan, why are you crying?’ Tessa asks quietly, kneeling to wipe the tears from my face. ‘Please don’t cry- daiseku desu.’

     ‘I love you too, Tessa-chan,’ I half laugh, half sob. I stroke her hair gently and hum quietly the lullaby our mother used to sing to us, back when things were simple and things were good. When our smiles meant something and our eyes were wide with curiosity. When we had home cooked food on our table, not stolen food, and when we could enjoy the daylight properly.

     I haven’t heard the lullaby since I was three years old, and my mother sang it to me before going to bed, and she brushed the knots gently from my hair and told me she loved me. It reminds me of the days when Tessa and I were happy, and it gives me the hope that things will once more get better. Hope that, maybe, one day, I can find a way to get us away from this country and to the joy of knowing freedom. A place where we can run around without fear of the government finding us and capturing us.

     Brushing away Tessa’s long black hair, I think of that world, smiling slightly to myself. A world of hope where curiosity is allowed. Where I can ask all the questions in the world without it being seen as an act of defiance. Where I can cut my hair as short as I like without the government fearing me as the catalyst of the new war. Where we will know not a dangerous freedom, but a peaceful freedom; where we won’t fear slavery and losing our humanity.

     I sing to comfort Tessa, as it is the last reminder of the life we left behind. I sometimes like to think my mother, despite being Programmed, is singing with us when we are singing. I will sing it when my lips taste icy cold water, when my feet know grass, and the shadows fade from beneath my eyes and hurt is no longer set to my mouth- a thank you to my mother for giving us this chance at life.

     Tessa curls closer to me, resting her head against my shoulder. We will pull through, I think to myself. We are Noharas- we are strong. Silently, I vow to myself that Tessa will never live a thief like me. She will never know the fear of running through the city, mercenaries on her tail. I will bring her to safety, to a world where she can thrive, even if I must do it with my dying breath. Because my sister deserves the world, and so much more.

     So even if it means I must risk my life another day, scrounging for food to ensure our survival, I will do it. I will rage against the dying night, and I swear that I will bring us both to the Elysium of freedom.

Artwork by Pilar Cruz

Welcome!

And so it Begins...

Hello Everyone!  Welcome to our FPS International Blog.  Our campaign has begun in earnest this very busy weekend.  Christmas is just around the corner, and tomorrow is Graduation Day for Pilar! How time flies.  In the midst of all the Christmas activity (as I write, Pilar is busy hand-making presents on the floor beside me - her creativity knows no bounds! ), we found the time to set up our Funding Page on Generosity, finish storyboarding our upcoming promotional video, signed up for a Twitter Account and created this blog (thanks to Kyle, who set up our template!)

We will continue to grow this page with news and updates so do watch this space!  We have posted Pilar's winning entry "The Elysium of Freedom" - we hope you enjoy it.  This is the piece  that won her first place in the Future Scenario Writing Competition, thus making her New Zealand's representative at next year's FPS  International Conference.



If you would like to make a contribution or become a backer, please visit:
https://www.generosity.com/fundraising/fps-internationals-michigan-here-i-come/x/12988997
You can donate anytime, as many times as you like - no contribution is too big or too small.  If you choose to become a backer you can claim cool perks, including the chance to become a character in Pilar's first novel! 



To find out more about the Future Problem Solving Programme, visit: http://www.fpspi.org/



Watch this rousing TEDx talk from Hannah Hudson, 2013 FPS Champion where she makes a compelling argument for giving our youth the gift of problem solving: http://tedxchristchurch.com/speakers/64-hannah-Hudson



Follow us on Twitter: @pilarinmichigan for news, updates and random awesome stuff as it happens, from today until the big conference date in June.



We will be shooting the video  soon, once school ends this week and the holidays officially begin.  Summer in NZ happily coincides with Christmas and all the lovely things it brings.

Hope you have all had a lovely weekend.  From our family to yours, lots of love and light.
xxx
Melissa, Pilar, Jaime and Tiago

The sign on her bedroom door