Through My Eyes
I shift the golden straw underneath my powerful hooves. Ears erect, eyes wide, I make the perfect picture of grace and beauty. I am a glistening bay mare, my smooth body proclaiming many minutes of careful brushing. My mane falls neatly to the right side of my neck, dark brown in color. The air is charged with excitement.
I hear soft whinnies and aroused snorts from the stalls adjacent to mine and I wonder if my stablemates are feeling the same energy I am. Of course in the stables we are the best of friends...with the exception of a few not-so-humble horses whose names I won't mention. On the track though, it's a completely different story. We all get competitive then, a bit too much so at times.
Tossing my head, I thrust my muzzle further out of the half-door, my impatience mounting. As a thoroughbred, we are known for our short tempers and swiftness, two traits I hold dear. It is what makes me what I am. Down the hall, my sharp eyes spot a human. He is my owner and his name is John. He's nice but I prefer my groom. John only comes around when I am at the racetrack. He hurries over to me and I greet him with a playful shove.
Now the stable yard is filling with voices. Some low and steady, some higher and excited. I can feel the tension increasing. My ears flick back and forth questioningly though I know what's coming. My body trembles with anticipation and I toss my head again, snorting my feelings to the world. My hoof shovels the hay back as my jockey Christopher eases into the stall along with my groom Henri. The groom is carrying a saddle. It is black and smells of animal hide. One of my horse friends said it is called leather.
Henri sets a purple blanket on my back and then tosses the saddle on top of that. My ears pin back. I don't like it when he does that. It's his only fault. I contemplate bucking but I can hear the other horses having fits and know that it will only wear them out. I must conserve my energy until the race. Henri's soothing voice calms me down too.
After he cinches up the girth I kick at it with a back leg and then settle down. John hands Henri a bridle and my groom approaches my head. I sniff the straps and wait while he puts them onto my head, a most unpleasant business. He stuffs the metal bit into my mouth and I chomp on it angrily. It rattles against my teeth. Henri puts a firm hand on my neck. “Easy girl,” he says softly. If I could roll my eyes I would.
A voice comes over the loudspeaker. “Riders up!” The air suddenly gets noisier and the tension rises even higher. I prance around while John holds my reins tightly, trying to keep me still. I am so eager to go it's so hard to obey! I settle a bit when Henri boosts Christopher into the saddle. The weight on my back increases. I could run so much faster without him on but at least he's light. They don't allow heavy people to ride me and for that I'm grateful.
John hands Christopher my reins and leads me out into the aisle. I try to trot but Christopher hauls back on my bit. Henri says I'm feeling my oats whatever that means. Other horses are in front of me, some behind. I can see them. A mix of brown, grey, black and chestnuts moving towards the end of the stable row. I jerk my head up and down trying to loosen the tight pull on my mouth.
My ears pick up the sounds of cheering. Excited people point. It hurts my ears but I toss my head and hold it high, prancing a little. They're cheering for me! One reaches out towards my face but I hurry past. I can see the racetrack now, the grandstands are filled with more humans that have come to watch me run. The golden sand lays before me in a never-ending stretch, beckoning me to come and race upon it's smooth surface. I can hardly resist the urge to buck. In fact, I can't and my hind legs kick up slightly. Christopher pulls my head up higher and suddenly I can't buck anymore. My hooves sink slightly into the turf. It's spongy and feels good. We're heading for the starting gate. It sits in front of me, a mass of cold metal. I hesitate but Christopher drives me forwards, using his legs. Two assistance pull me towards a narrow opening. I eye it critically but finally enter. It's the only way if I want to run.
Other horses are giving their handlers trouble. I can hear their frantic whinnies and heavy breathing. The grunts of the grooms as they try to force the horses in. Finally everything quiets down. All the horses are in.
Besides crossing the finish line first, this is my favorite part of a race. Time seems to go in slow motion, each horse and rider become one. Everything is hushed and the tension is so high my heart pounds in my chest. Every muscle is tensed, every eye fixed on the track in front of us, the view slightly obscured by metal bars to keep us in until the bell rings. I paw the earth, uprooting it. My jockey leans forwards, whispering encouragements in my ears. The air is silent.
Finally, with a sudden release of springs, the gates fly open and a loud bell rings. The race is on! I fly through the opening as my jockey squeezes my sides with his legs. I don't need the encouragement. My hooves eat up the ground. There is sand flying in my face but I don't care. Feet are flying, tails stinging we are so close to each other. I need space. Space to stretch out and run like the wind. I am the wind.
My jockey eases me close to the rail. It is a good position as long as I am not pushed into it. We are clear of the other horses, I have passed them. I can feel the warmth of a head close to my side. It's one of my friends but we are racing now, we can't play nice. I increase my pace and she drops behind.
Christopher is a good rider. He moves with my movements and helps me run my best. He only uses his whip when absolutely necessary and not hard. I respond to cues well. I can hear hooves pounding the turf behind me, harsh breathing and leather creaking. The sounds of a race I know well. The crowd is hushed, all eyes fixed solely on us, the runners. Only the announcer calls who is in what place and which horse is which. I am in the lead.
My eyes are taking in the view in front of me and I don't see the small rock beneath the sand. With a sickening lurch, I nearly lose my footing. Christopher hauls on my reins, trying to keep me up. I stagger a few ungraceful strides and continue. The slight pain in my foot numbs as I focus on the task at hand. We have lost several positions and I must make up ground. I heard the groans of the crowd as I tripped but I must not think of that now.
Run. Breathe. Press onward. Weave. These thoughts hurtle through my mind as my feet strike the ground rhythmically. I'm gasping for air, my nostrils flared. My ears are pinned flat against my head and my mane and tail toss in the wind. The race is almost finished. I am in second place and gaining fast on the gray mare in front of me. She's one of the bossy ones and no one likes her much. I can't let her beat me.
I reach deep within my reserves of strength as my jockey taps me with his whip. My paces increases even more. My legs are numb with exhaustion now. I'm running on empty. It is only my courage and will to win that drives me onward. The finish line approaches! Only a couple of furlongs to go! I'm so tired but I have to finish. The gray and I are neck and neck. She eyes me and I eye her. I don't like the look in her black eyes. She's telling me I can't win. She's daring me to beat her.
I take the dare. With a last burst of energy I gather myself and plunge ahead of her nose just as we cross the finish line. I have won.
I shift the golden straw underneath my powerful hooves. Ears erect, eyes wide, I make the perfect picture of grace and beauty. I am a glistening bay mare, my smooth body proclaiming many minutes of careful brushing. My mane falls neatly to the right side of my neck, dark brown in color. The air is charged with excitement.
I hear soft whinnies and aroused snorts from the stalls adjacent to mine and I wonder if my stablemates are feeling the same energy I am. Of course in the stables we are the best of friends...with the exception of a few not-so-humble horses whose names I won't mention. On the track though, it's a completely different story. We all get competitive then, a bit too much so at times.
Tossing my head, I thrust my muzzle further out of the half-door, my impatience mounting. As a thoroughbred, we are known for our short tempers and swiftness, two traits I hold dear. It is what makes me what I am. Down the hall, my sharp eyes spot a human. He is my owner and his name is John. He's nice but I prefer my groom. John only comes around when I am at the racetrack. He hurries over to me and I greet him with a playful shove.
Now the stable yard is filling with voices. Some low and steady, some higher and excited. I can feel the tension increasing. My ears flick back and forth questioningly though I know what's coming. My body trembles with anticipation and I toss my head again, snorting my feelings to the world. My hoof shovels the hay back as my jockey Christopher eases into the stall along with my groom Henri. The groom is carrying a saddle. It is black and smells of animal hide. One of my horse friends said it is called leather.
Henri sets a purple blanket on my back and then tosses the saddle on top of that. My ears pin back. I don't like it when he does that. It's his only fault. I contemplate bucking but I can hear the other horses having fits and know that it will only wear them out. I must conserve my energy until the race. Henri's soothing voice calms me down too.
After he cinches up the girth I kick at it with a back leg and then settle down. John hands Henri a bridle and my groom approaches my head. I sniff the straps and wait while he puts them onto my head, a most unpleasant business. He stuffs the metal bit into my mouth and I chomp on it angrily. It rattles against my teeth. Henri puts a firm hand on my neck. “Easy girl,” he says softly. If I could roll my eyes I would.
A voice comes over the loudspeaker. “Riders up!” The air suddenly gets noisier and the tension rises even higher. I prance around while John holds my reins tightly, trying to keep me still. I am so eager to go it's so hard to obey! I settle a bit when Henri boosts Christopher into the saddle. The weight on my back increases. I could run so much faster without him on but at least he's light. They don't allow heavy people to ride me and for that I'm grateful.
John hands Christopher my reins and leads me out into the aisle. I try to trot but Christopher hauls back on my bit. Henri says I'm feeling my oats whatever that means. Other horses are in front of me, some behind. I can see them. A mix of brown, grey, black and chestnuts moving towards the end of the stable row. I jerk my head up and down trying to loosen the tight pull on my mouth.
My ears pick up the sounds of cheering. Excited people point. It hurts my ears but I toss my head and hold it high, prancing a little. They're cheering for me! One reaches out towards my face but I hurry past. I can see the racetrack now, the grandstands are filled with more humans that have come to watch me run. The golden sand lays before me in a never-ending stretch, beckoning me to come and race upon it's smooth surface. I can hardly resist the urge to buck. In fact, I can't and my hind legs kick up slightly. Christopher pulls my head up higher and suddenly I can't buck anymore. My hooves sink slightly into the turf. It's spongy and feels good. We're heading for the starting gate. It sits in front of me, a mass of cold metal. I hesitate but Christopher drives me forwards, using his legs. Two assistance pull me towards a narrow opening. I eye it critically but finally enter. It's the only way if I want to run.
Other horses are giving their handlers trouble. I can hear their frantic whinnies and heavy breathing. The grunts of the grooms as they try to force the horses in. Finally everything quiets down. All the horses are in.
Besides crossing the finish line first, this is my favorite part of a race. Time seems to go in slow motion, each horse and rider become one. Everything is hushed and the tension is so high my heart pounds in my chest. Every muscle is tensed, every eye fixed on the track in front of us, the view slightly obscured by metal bars to keep us in until the bell rings. I paw the earth, uprooting it. My jockey leans forwards, whispering encouragements in my ears. The air is silent.
Finally, with a sudden release of springs, the gates fly open and a loud bell rings. The race is on! I fly through the opening as my jockey squeezes my sides with his legs. I don't need the encouragement. My hooves eat up the ground. There is sand flying in my face but I don't care. Feet are flying, tails stinging we are so close to each other. I need space. Space to stretch out and run like the wind. I am the wind.
My jockey eases me close to the rail. It is a good position as long as I am not pushed into it. We are clear of the other horses, I have passed them. I can feel the warmth of a head close to my side. It's one of my friends but we are racing now, we can't play nice. I increase my pace and she drops behind.
Christopher is a good rider. He moves with my movements and helps me run my best. He only uses his whip when absolutely necessary and not hard. I respond to cues well. I can hear hooves pounding the turf behind me, harsh breathing and leather creaking. The sounds of a race I know well. The crowd is hushed, all eyes fixed solely on us, the runners. Only the announcer calls who is in what place and which horse is which. I am in the lead.
My eyes are taking in the view in front of me and I don't see the small rock beneath the sand. With a sickening lurch, I nearly lose my footing. Christopher hauls on my reins, trying to keep me up. I stagger a few ungraceful strides and continue. The slight pain in my foot numbs as I focus on the task at hand. We have lost several positions and I must make up ground. I heard the groans of the crowd as I tripped but I must not think of that now.
Run. Breathe. Press onward. Weave. These thoughts hurtle through my mind as my feet strike the ground rhythmically. I'm gasping for air, my nostrils flared. My ears are pinned flat against my head and my mane and tail toss in the wind. The race is almost finished. I am in second place and gaining fast on the gray mare in front of me. She's one of the bossy ones and no one likes her much. I can't let her beat me.
I reach deep within my reserves of strength as my jockey taps me with his whip. My paces increases even more. My legs are numb with exhaustion now. I'm running on empty. It is only my courage and will to win that drives me onward. The finish line approaches! Only a couple of furlongs to go! I'm so tired but I have to finish. The gray and I are neck and neck. She eyes me and I eye her. I don't like the look in her black eyes. She's telling me I can't win. She's daring me to beat her.
I take the dare. With a last burst of energy I gather myself and plunge ahead of her nose just as we cross the finish line. I have won.
Twelve O' Clock Fright
The room was dark and hot. The only lights in the area were the blinking flashes from various machines, sure to turn someone's stomach inside out from fright. Poky needles, straps and the like hung off of nearly every single one of them. It was a fearful place.
In the middle of the madness, bent over a small table was a man in a white laboratory coat. Half of his hair was snow white and the other half was jet black. His eyes were squinted and an evil, coy smile was upon his bronze face. His hands turned knobs on what looked similar to a magnifying glass but was obviously some other contraption. A sickening laugh filled the room. “MUHAHAHA! I shall now be able to complete my experiment!” his gravely voice thundered. “Bring in my test subject!” he ordered to a man who was nearly invisible in the darkest corner of the room.
The latter hurried to obey. His boss was not someone to be trifled with. He returned a minute later with a young boy who was bound hand and foot with strong iron shackles that looked very uncomfortable. “H-here you are, sir,” he stammered, thrusting the boy forwards.
“Hmm...well...you'll do I guess.” the scientist mused.
The boy was average height for someone in his early teens. He was wearing a red and black checkered shirt and nearly black pants. His tennis shoes were black and his hair was a flaming red. His green eyes locked onto the sneering black ones of the scientist. “Who are you?” he asked calmly.
The scientist seemed slightly taken aback. “I...I am Doctor Vonhoff! The most evil scientist in the world!” he threw back his head and let out another bone-chilling laugh. “Now...who might you be?” Vonhoff stepped over to the lad and peered him intently in the face.
“I am Jack,” the boy replied promptly. “So...what are you going to be doing with me?”
Vonhoff twisted his lips into an evil sneer. “I shall preform an experiment on you that no man before me or after has ever dreamed of!” he shouted.
Jack plopped into a chair. “Really?”
Vonhoff paused in the midst of another laugh and stared at Jack. “Of course! Are you ready? This shall be SO much fun!”
Jack's eyes narrowed. “I'm ready but are you?”
Vonhoff's eyes widened. “Y-yes! Why wouldn't I be? Now...let me think...this has to be done before midnight in order for it to work so that's about thirty minutes away...sixty seconds in one minute and thirty minutes in one hour so that works out to be about...oh never mind I'm starting to ramble here.” He paused and and looked at Jack. “Where were we?”
“You said something about midnight,” Jack prompted, trying to keep a sly smile off of his face.
“Oh yes! Like I was saying, we have a time crunch here so let's get to work.”
“Wait!” Jack called. “You have to look the part first. You don't look very evil to me.”
“Wait what?” Vonhoff asked, bewildered.
“Your hair...something doesn't seem right.” Jack pointed out.
“My hair is perfect!” Vonhoff snapped. “Well...what do you mean?”
“I mean it doesn't look evil enough. Sure you've got the right colors and all but it's too neat and tidy,” Jack replied.
“What do you suggest?” Vonhoff asked.
“Hmm...make it spiky or something. An evil scientist needs his hair to be crazy,” suggested Jack.
“Ahh! That's brilliant!” Vonhoff agreed. He took his hands and ran them through his hair. “Is that better?”
Jack looked intently at the scientist. “Not quite.”
Vonhoff tried again. “Is this good?”
“I still think something's off. Why don't you let me try?” Jack asked.
“Oh very well.” Vonhoff bent to Jack's level and the boy tousled his hair into crazy shaggy locks that stuck out in all directions from his head. “There! Now that's the look we want.”
“Thank you!” Vonhoff grinned. “Now...it is time for the experiment to begin!”
“Wait!” Jack cried.
“Bring in the...” Vonhoff paused and looked at Jack. “What?”
“Your outfit! It doesn't look right. An evil scientist simply MUST have the right attire.” Jack told him.
Vonhoff looked down at his laboratory coat. “What does it need?”
Jack's mind raced. If he told Vonhoff that it should be bloody then he would be putting himself in unneeded danger. He came up with another idea. “It's got to be stained! Don't you have something around here that could make it old and tattered looking? It's so white right now that no one in the world would believe you were a mad scientist.”
“You're right! I'm sure I can find something. Don't go anywhere. I'll be right back.” Vonhoff chuckled as he hurried out of the room. He was back not more than two minutes later, lugging in a boxful of colorful liquids. He took off the coat and laid it on the floor. “What colors?”
“Your friend over in the corner kind of tied me up to this chair and it's hard to see from here. What colors do you have?”
“Red, green, blue, orange, black, purple...” Vonhoff rattled off the extensive list.
“Those will do fine,” Jack assured him. “Use lots of red. Black would look striking as well. To match your hair.”
Vonhoff grinned slyly as he popped the cork off the bottle and drizzled it onto his coat. The red soaked immediately into the fabric.
“Wow that looks great!” Jack admired, glancing at the clock.
“Thanks! Is that enough or shall I add more?” Vonhoff asked.
“Hmm...maybe just a bit more red on that sleeve. There. That's perfect!”
Vonhoff donned his coat again. “MUHAHA! Prepare yourself helpless lad! It is time!” He sneered, making his way over to the table he had previously been working at.
“Umm...you need to fix that.” Jack replied.
“Huh? Fix what?” Vonhoff asked curiously.
“They way you walk! It's atrocious!”
“A what?” Vonhoff asked, not understanding.
“It looks terrible!” Jack explained. “Walk with a limp. That will make you look terribly terrifying!” he added quickly before the man could get mad.
“Oh! That's a great idea!” Vonhoff agreed, his black eyes glinting in the light of a glowing green button. He limped away from the table. “How's that?”
Jack winced. “Wow...that needs help. I could show you...”
Vonhoff nodded. “Untie the boy! Jack don't you dare try anything or I'll have your head. Got it?”
Jack quickly nodded. “Of course! I just want to help you.” His hands and feet were quickly unbound and Jack limped dramatically around the room. “Try this,” he directed.
Vonhoff drug his leg around in a terrible limp. “Yay! Now it is time.”
“You've got to flop your body around. Remember, jerks make a crazy impression. Especially in the dark room you've got.” Jack demonstrated.
“Wow! Absolutely terrifying! Get back in that chair now.” Vonhoff ordered, following Jack's example as he made his way back to the table. He nearly toppled two machines over.
Jack sat back down. “Now for your face.”
“My face?” Vonhoff repeated, surprised.
“Yeah. Your face just looks like a person. Not scary at all.”
“Oh! What is it supposed to look like?”
“Umm...try making a scary face,” Jack prompted.
Vonhoff twisted his face into a sickly figure. “Is that scary enough?”
Jack cocked his head, pretending to think deeply. “That looks ok but it could be better.”
“How so?” Vonhoff asked eagerly.
“Drool.”
“What?!” Vonhoff gulped.
“I said drool. You know, like a rabid animal. It always makes everyone scream.” Jack explained.
“You're right!” Vonhoff nearly shouted, snapping his fingers. “Ok I'll drool.” Twisting his face back into the scary impression, Vonhoff drooled. “How's this?”
Jack shivered, trying not to laugh at the hilarious sight before him. “Oh wow, that looks amazing! I'm really scared!”
“Great! Now change your voice. Low and evil or something.”
Putting on all the acts Jack had showed him, Jack let out the evillest laugh of them all. “MUHAHAHA! Ith thith better?”
Jack pressed himself against the back of his chair. “Ahhhh! You're scaring me!”
“HA HA HA! Now we shall proceed! I am now the perfect evil scientist! I hope you like needles!” Vonhoff grabbed a vial with a glowing red liquid and staggered towards Jack, flopping around like a rag doll.
Now Jack really was scared. He tried frantically to come up with one more thing. He was so close but he still had one more minute before he would be safe!
“Any last words?” Vonhoff asked gleefully, his hands shaking in eagerness. A drop of drool fell on his toe.
“Yes,” Jack responded. “I just wanted you to know that you are the best, coolest, most impressive, jaw dropping, heart pounding, teeth chattering, heart attack causing, mind blowing...”
“Ok! Thanks! And P.S. This is the most amazing day of my life!” Vonhoff grinned as he brought the needle closer and closer to Jack's arm. The boy cringed and this time it was for real.
At that exact moment, the clock struck twelve. Vonhoff jerked back as if he had been shot. “What?! It can't be twelve!” He lay the needle on the table and peered at his clock as the liquid in the vial slowly turned black. It was no longer harmful. Vonhoff shook his clock. “NOOOOOO!” He screamed. “My experiment won't work!!!”
Jack tried not to laugh he was so relieved. “Can I go now?” he asked.
Vonhoff was crying. “I-I don't care! Go away and n-never come back! I don't want to see you EVER again!”
“Me either!” Jack mumbled under his breath as he made a quick exit from the laboratory. He was safe.
The room was dark and hot. The only lights in the area were the blinking flashes from various machines, sure to turn someone's stomach inside out from fright. Poky needles, straps and the like hung off of nearly every single one of them. It was a fearful place.
In the middle of the madness, bent over a small table was a man in a white laboratory coat. Half of his hair was snow white and the other half was jet black. His eyes were squinted and an evil, coy smile was upon his bronze face. His hands turned knobs on what looked similar to a magnifying glass but was obviously some other contraption. A sickening laugh filled the room. “MUHAHAHA! I shall now be able to complete my experiment!” his gravely voice thundered. “Bring in my test subject!” he ordered to a man who was nearly invisible in the darkest corner of the room.
The latter hurried to obey. His boss was not someone to be trifled with. He returned a minute later with a young boy who was bound hand and foot with strong iron shackles that looked very uncomfortable. “H-here you are, sir,” he stammered, thrusting the boy forwards.
“Hmm...well...you'll do I guess.” the scientist mused.
The boy was average height for someone in his early teens. He was wearing a red and black checkered shirt and nearly black pants. His tennis shoes were black and his hair was a flaming red. His green eyes locked onto the sneering black ones of the scientist. “Who are you?” he asked calmly.
The scientist seemed slightly taken aback. “I...I am Doctor Vonhoff! The most evil scientist in the world!” he threw back his head and let out another bone-chilling laugh. “Now...who might you be?” Vonhoff stepped over to the lad and peered him intently in the face.
“I am Jack,” the boy replied promptly. “So...what are you going to be doing with me?”
Vonhoff twisted his lips into an evil sneer. “I shall preform an experiment on you that no man before me or after has ever dreamed of!” he shouted.
Jack plopped into a chair. “Really?”
Vonhoff paused in the midst of another laugh and stared at Jack. “Of course! Are you ready? This shall be SO much fun!”
Jack's eyes narrowed. “I'm ready but are you?”
Vonhoff's eyes widened. “Y-yes! Why wouldn't I be? Now...let me think...this has to be done before midnight in order for it to work so that's about thirty minutes away...sixty seconds in one minute and thirty minutes in one hour so that works out to be about...oh never mind I'm starting to ramble here.” He paused and and looked at Jack. “Where were we?”
“You said something about midnight,” Jack prompted, trying to keep a sly smile off of his face.
“Oh yes! Like I was saying, we have a time crunch here so let's get to work.”
“Wait!” Jack called. “You have to look the part first. You don't look very evil to me.”
“Wait what?” Vonhoff asked, bewildered.
“Your hair...something doesn't seem right.” Jack pointed out.
“My hair is perfect!” Vonhoff snapped. “Well...what do you mean?”
“I mean it doesn't look evil enough. Sure you've got the right colors and all but it's too neat and tidy,” Jack replied.
“What do you suggest?” Vonhoff asked.
“Hmm...make it spiky or something. An evil scientist needs his hair to be crazy,” suggested Jack.
“Ahh! That's brilliant!” Vonhoff agreed. He took his hands and ran them through his hair. “Is that better?”
Jack looked intently at the scientist. “Not quite.”
Vonhoff tried again. “Is this good?”
“I still think something's off. Why don't you let me try?” Jack asked.
“Oh very well.” Vonhoff bent to Jack's level and the boy tousled his hair into crazy shaggy locks that stuck out in all directions from his head. “There! Now that's the look we want.”
“Thank you!” Vonhoff grinned. “Now...it is time for the experiment to begin!”
“Wait!” Jack cried.
“Bring in the...” Vonhoff paused and looked at Jack. “What?”
“Your outfit! It doesn't look right. An evil scientist simply MUST have the right attire.” Jack told him.
Vonhoff looked down at his laboratory coat. “What does it need?”
Jack's mind raced. If he told Vonhoff that it should be bloody then he would be putting himself in unneeded danger. He came up with another idea. “It's got to be stained! Don't you have something around here that could make it old and tattered looking? It's so white right now that no one in the world would believe you were a mad scientist.”
“You're right! I'm sure I can find something. Don't go anywhere. I'll be right back.” Vonhoff chuckled as he hurried out of the room. He was back not more than two minutes later, lugging in a boxful of colorful liquids. He took off the coat and laid it on the floor. “What colors?”
“Your friend over in the corner kind of tied me up to this chair and it's hard to see from here. What colors do you have?”
“Red, green, blue, orange, black, purple...” Vonhoff rattled off the extensive list.
“Those will do fine,” Jack assured him. “Use lots of red. Black would look striking as well. To match your hair.”
Vonhoff grinned slyly as he popped the cork off the bottle and drizzled it onto his coat. The red soaked immediately into the fabric.
“Wow that looks great!” Jack admired, glancing at the clock.
“Thanks! Is that enough or shall I add more?” Vonhoff asked.
“Hmm...maybe just a bit more red on that sleeve. There. That's perfect!”
Vonhoff donned his coat again. “MUHAHA! Prepare yourself helpless lad! It is time!” He sneered, making his way over to the table he had previously been working at.
“Umm...you need to fix that.” Jack replied.
“Huh? Fix what?” Vonhoff asked curiously.
“They way you walk! It's atrocious!”
“A what?” Vonhoff asked, not understanding.
“It looks terrible!” Jack explained. “Walk with a limp. That will make you look terribly terrifying!” he added quickly before the man could get mad.
“Oh! That's a great idea!” Vonhoff agreed, his black eyes glinting in the light of a glowing green button. He limped away from the table. “How's that?”
Jack winced. “Wow...that needs help. I could show you...”
Vonhoff nodded. “Untie the boy! Jack don't you dare try anything or I'll have your head. Got it?”
Jack quickly nodded. “Of course! I just want to help you.” His hands and feet were quickly unbound and Jack limped dramatically around the room. “Try this,” he directed.
Vonhoff drug his leg around in a terrible limp. “Yay! Now it is time.”
“You've got to flop your body around. Remember, jerks make a crazy impression. Especially in the dark room you've got.” Jack demonstrated.
“Wow! Absolutely terrifying! Get back in that chair now.” Vonhoff ordered, following Jack's example as he made his way back to the table. He nearly toppled two machines over.
Jack sat back down. “Now for your face.”
“My face?” Vonhoff repeated, surprised.
“Yeah. Your face just looks like a person. Not scary at all.”
“Oh! What is it supposed to look like?”
“Umm...try making a scary face,” Jack prompted.
Vonhoff twisted his face into a sickly figure. “Is that scary enough?”
Jack cocked his head, pretending to think deeply. “That looks ok but it could be better.”
“How so?” Vonhoff asked eagerly.
“Drool.”
“What?!” Vonhoff gulped.
“I said drool. You know, like a rabid animal. It always makes everyone scream.” Jack explained.
“You're right!” Vonhoff nearly shouted, snapping his fingers. “Ok I'll drool.” Twisting his face back into the scary impression, Vonhoff drooled. “How's this?”
Jack shivered, trying not to laugh at the hilarious sight before him. “Oh wow, that looks amazing! I'm really scared!”
“Great! Now change your voice. Low and evil or something.”
Putting on all the acts Jack had showed him, Jack let out the evillest laugh of them all. “MUHAHAHA! Ith thith better?”
Jack pressed himself against the back of his chair. “Ahhhh! You're scaring me!”
“HA HA HA! Now we shall proceed! I am now the perfect evil scientist! I hope you like needles!” Vonhoff grabbed a vial with a glowing red liquid and staggered towards Jack, flopping around like a rag doll.
Now Jack really was scared. He tried frantically to come up with one more thing. He was so close but he still had one more minute before he would be safe!
“Any last words?” Vonhoff asked gleefully, his hands shaking in eagerness. A drop of drool fell on his toe.
“Yes,” Jack responded. “I just wanted you to know that you are the best, coolest, most impressive, jaw dropping, heart pounding, teeth chattering, heart attack causing, mind blowing...”
“Ok! Thanks! And P.S. This is the most amazing day of my life!” Vonhoff grinned as he brought the needle closer and closer to Jack's arm. The boy cringed and this time it was for real.
At that exact moment, the clock struck twelve. Vonhoff jerked back as if he had been shot. “What?! It can't be twelve!” He lay the needle on the table and peered at his clock as the liquid in the vial slowly turned black. It was no longer harmful. Vonhoff shook his clock. “NOOOOOO!” He screamed. “My experiment won't work!!!”
Jack tried not to laugh he was so relieved. “Can I go now?” he asked.
Vonhoff was crying. “I-I don't care! Go away and n-never come back! I don't want to see you EVER again!”
“Me either!” Jack mumbled under his breath as he made a quick exit from the laboratory. He was safe.
Oppression
Thunder rumbled in the overcast sky. The land was lush and green, tall grasses swirling like an under sea bed in the rustling winds that had been picking up since noon. Dark grey clouds covered the once blue sky, quickly overpowering the sun's rays. The threat of rain increased as the temperature dropped from its comfortable setting to a colder one. The very air was thick with tension, mounting steadily. It was charged with anticipation and electricity ready to boil over at the slightest spark.
Dark woods surrounded a large meadow, concealing two armies, both hushed and waiting. On one side, the Americans, still and camouflaged in their green outfits, their eyes straining towards the opposite side of the field where their enemy lay just as tense as they. Guns held in a ready position, medics on standby. All part of a soon-to-be carried out plan of attack. Somewhere the hammer of a sniper rifle cocked, clicking slightly. A whispered command to be quiet and the woods plunged into stillness once more. Not even the birds cheered the land with their happy melodies.
On the opposite side of the empty meadow, lay the Germans. Their bodies pressed against the moist earth, peeping cautiously over the edge of their trenches, the only place where safety lay, and a feeble place at that. The slight shuffling of men trying to edge into a more comfortable position did not bring a a sharp reprimand for they knew the element of surprise was not involved in this battle on their part. A large brown rat scurried along the trench's filthy walkway, unscathed by the men and emboldened by hunger. No one heeded its presence. They were a part of the trenches and the soldiers had long since grown used to them.
A flash of lightening briefly lit up the sky, giving evidence to how dark it had been. The wind howled, no longer playing, but became a madding burst of fury, intent on destruction. Thunder rumbled again, seemingly closer this time. The ground trembled beneath it's powerful sound. A drop of rain hit the earth and splattered over a blade of green grass, then another and another until the meadow was clouded with rain, making visibility increasingly difficult.
With this new level in the deadly game the men were playing, the tension rose higher. Hands tightened on trusty wooden and steel guns, seeking comfort in the weapons made for the destruction of others. Eyes locked onto others, searching for reassurance, none of which came easily. A few hushed prayers on both sides, thick letters carefully addressed to loved ones thrown into a battered helmet for safekeeping as men made ready for what may be their last day on Earth.
The American's signal to attack did not come in a loud yell. It was whispered down the long line of brave soldiers until all had received the call. There was a rustling of movement, and several hundred metallic clicks as bayonets were fixed onto muzzles. Muscles tensed, eyes narrowed and nerves on edge the men pressed onwards towards the open field beyond, silent and waiting. Boots moved rapidly, seeking a foothold on the slippery slope covered in dried leaves and pine needles, quickly becoming drenched in the pouring rains. In some places, only bare dirt lay in patches, quickly trampled with prints of shoes, many of which would never walk again.
The attackers did not hesitate as they reached the protective edge of the forest they had just emerged out of. Filled with adrenaline, their legs moved mechanically over the smoothing terrain towards the spot where their enemy waited. The dark green cameo was soon soaking wet from the downpour, clinging to bodies and hindering movements. Still, the army pressed on, unwilling to give way to the raging elements. The rain provided cover but that protection would not last long. The long march across the field seemed to take hours. As they neared the far end, some wondered with apprehension if the enemy were there, so close were they to where the general assumed they were entrenched.
Finally, the first outcry of a rifle cracked like a crash of thunder. In fact, the sound was similar as it reverberated through the trees, echoing slightly. It was only at this did the men falter. The shot had been a miss, but hearts were filled with terror, minds swimming with imagined ways they would die. Another gun went off. One man stumbled, so frightened was he, fell face flat in the mud and dropped his weapon. His companion lifted him to his feet, whispered a few words in his ear and gave him a shove forwards, having all he could do to comfort him in the time of danger.
Despite all this, the American army moved as one, finally reaching the opposite side of the woods. They were well aware of the enemy now, having spotted a movement and a patch of white from a rank on a helmet. A man took quick aim and fired. The bullet landed in a tree, quite far from the target, splintering the dark brown wood with sharp cracks.
Now the air was filled with gunshots. Some single, some automatic. The woods were alive with popping and noise, masses of men bent on deadly intensions, each side seeking to kill and destroy the other. A few of the more cowardly humans attempted to turn and run the way they had come, faces both young and old filled with the utmost of terror. They were run through by their own men. To run was to dessert and to dessert was to betray, none of which either army would accept. With the fatal example of the few who dared try it branded freshly on the remaining soldier's minds, the others continued their march towards the Germans who were now taking pop shots at the advancing army.
As the moments ticked by, no longer where there mostly missed shots. Now the deadly brass bullets were hitting targets right and left, their paths true and steady, a reward to the owner of the gun who had taken the time to steady his aim. Cries of the wounded began to fill the air, adding to the chaos. The medics ran to and fro, doing their best to comfort the dying and ease the pains of the lesser wounded men. White strips of bandages became soaked with the red blood of brave soldiers who had given it all for what they thought was right. The ground was quickly turning a shade of dull red, proclaiming numerous losses and casualties on both sides.
The Germans were having an easier time of it, having been provided with the cover of their trenches. They were less exposed and therefore bolder to attack. Of course, no one was completely safe. The sharp ping of a bullet clipping a metal helmet rang in the ears of many. It was painful, yes, but many were saved by the head protection they once called bothersome.
The Americans had their own means of dealing with trenches. One soldier, with a heavy canister on his back and a flamethrower in his hands, pulled the trigger sending a blast of fiery heat down into the drop off below him. The screams that resulted were terrible. Another, pulling metal pin on a grenade, chucked it as far as he could in the direction of his opponents. A deadly blast resulted, a ball of fire and smoke killed all who were unlucky enough to be in the way. In this way the men continued to fight, the Americans slowly gaining ground, though much blood was spilled as they fought for every inch.
Dropping into the trenches at an alarming rate, the German army retreated further back into the recesses of tunnels and the maze of uprooted earth. As the Americans progressed, a new weapon was called into play. The air suddenly became still. No Germans could be seen. Men jumped at every sound, no matter how little, their faces white with fright. A small pop and a hiss resounded from one of the bodies that lay sprawled out on the ground. Clouds of deadly vapors began to fill the air, bringing with it, cries of terror. The Americans scrambled for gas masks, their shaking fingers fumbling at the straps, weapons forgotten in the heat of the moment. Many were able to scramble to a brief safety, though only because of the shouts of warning and the agonized screams of the ones who had not made it in time.
The Germans appeared again, in numbers untold, brandishing guns and thrusting with sharp bayonets. Though the Americans were scattered, surprisingly they made quick work of the army, and sent them fleeing through the trees, now running for their lives. Many prisoners were taken, a small payback for the lives lost to the American army. Their victory cry rang through the trees long after their enemy had vanished, defeated and alone.
Night fell early, due to the storm, kissing goodbye to the bodies of both armies, scattered abroad throughout the woods and blanketing them in a bed of darkness. It had been a battle hard earned, only one of many to come, but it was as step towards victory. War is terrible but to keep the peace, sometimes it has to be made. The outcome depends on the army and the leaders. Without a good leader, victory is lost.
Thunder rumbled in the overcast sky. The land was lush and green, tall grasses swirling like an under sea bed in the rustling winds that had been picking up since noon. Dark grey clouds covered the once blue sky, quickly overpowering the sun's rays. The threat of rain increased as the temperature dropped from its comfortable setting to a colder one. The very air was thick with tension, mounting steadily. It was charged with anticipation and electricity ready to boil over at the slightest spark.
Dark woods surrounded a large meadow, concealing two armies, both hushed and waiting. On one side, the Americans, still and camouflaged in their green outfits, their eyes straining towards the opposite side of the field where their enemy lay just as tense as they. Guns held in a ready position, medics on standby. All part of a soon-to-be carried out plan of attack. Somewhere the hammer of a sniper rifle cocked, clicking slightly. A whispered command to be quiet and the woods plunged into stillness once more. Not even the birds cheered the land with their happy melodies.
On the opposite side of the empty meadow, lay the Germans. Their bodies pressed against the moist earth, peeping cautiously over the edge of their trenches, the only place where safety lay, and a feeble place at that. The slight shuffling of men trying to edge into a more comfortable position did not bring a a sharp reprimand for they knew the element of surprise was not involved in this battle on their part. A large brown rat scurried along the trench's filthy walkway, unscathed by the men and emboldened by hunger. No one heeded its presence. They were a part of the trenches and the soldiers had long since grown used to them.
A flash of lightening briefly lit up the sky, giving evidence to how dark it had been. The wind howled, no longer playing, but became a madding burst of fury, intent on destruction. Thunder rumbled again, seemingly closer this time. The ground trembled beneath it's powerful sound. A drop of rain hit the earth and splattered over a blade of green grass, then another and another until the meadow was clouded with rain, making visibility increasingly difficult.
With this new level in the deadly game the men were playing, the tension rose higher. Hands tightened on trusty wooden and steel guns, seeking comfort in the weapons made for the destruction of others. Eyes locked onto others, searching for reassurance, none of which came easily. A few hushed prayers on both sides, thick letters carefully addressed to loved ones thrown into a battered helmet for safekeeping as men made ready for what may be their last day on Earth.
The American's signal to attack did not come in a loud yell. It was whispered down the long line of brave soldiers until all had received the call. There was a rustling of movement, and several hundred metallic clicks as bayonets were fixed onto muzzles. Muscles tensed, eyes narrowed and nerves on edge the men pressed onwards towards the open field beyond, silent and waiting. Boots moved rapidly, seeking a foothold on the slippery slope covered in dried leaves and pine needles, quickly becoming drenched in the pouring rains. In some places, only bare dirt lay in patches, quickly trampled with prints of shoes, many of which would never walk again.
The attackers did not hesitate as they reached the protective edge of the forest they had just emerged out of. Filled with adrenaline, their legs moved mechanically over the smoothing terrain towards the spot where their enemy waited. The dark green cameo was soon soaking wet from the downpour, clinging to bodies and hindering movements. Still, the army pressed on, unwilling to give way to the raging elements. The rain provided cover but that protection would not last long. The long march across the field seemed to take hours. As they neared the far end, some wondered with apprehension if the enemy were there, so close were they to where the general assumed they were entrenched.
Finally, the first outcry of a rifle cracked like a crash of thunder. In fact, the sound was similar as it reverberated through the trees, echoing slightly. It was only at this did the men falter. The shot had been a miss, but hearts were filled with terror, minds swimming with imagined ways they would die. Another gun went off. One man stumbled, so frightened was he, fell face flat in the mud and dropped his weapon. His companion lifted him to his feet, whispered a few words in his ear and gave him a shove forwards, having all he could do to comfort him in the time of danger.
Despite all this, the American army moved as one, finally reaching the opposite side of the woods. They were well aware of the enemy now, having spotted a movement and a patch of white from a rank on a helmet. A man took quick aim and fired. The bullet landed in a tree, quite far from the target, splintering the dark brown wood with sharp cracks.
Now the air was filled with gunshots. Some single, some automatic. The woods were alive with popping and noise, masses of men bent on deadly intensions, each side seeking to kill and destroy the other. A few of the more cowardly humans attempted to turn and run the way they had come, faces both young and old filled with the utmost of terror. They were run through by their own men. To run was to dessert and to dessert was to betray, none of which either army would accept. With the fatal example of the few who dared try it branded freshly on the remaining soldier's minds, the others continued their march towards the Germans who were now taking pop shots at the advancing army.
As the moments ticked by, no longer where there mostly missed shots. Now the deadly brass bullets were hitting targets right and left, their paths true and steady, a reward to the owner of the gun who had taken the time to steady his aim. Cries of the wounded began to fill the air, adding to the chaos. The medics ran to and fro, doing their best to comfort the dying and ease the pains of the lesser wounded men. White strips of bandages became soaked with the red blood of brave soldiers who had given it all for what they thought was right. The ground was quickly turning a shade of dull red, proclaiming numerous losses and casualties on both sides.
The Germans were having an easier time of it, having been provided with the cover of their trenches. They were less exposed and therefore bolder to attack. Of course, no one was completely safe. The sharp ping of a bullet clipping a metal helmet rang in the ears of many. It was painful, yes, but many were saved by the head protection they once called bothersome.
The Americans had their own means of dealing with trenches. One soldier, with a heavy canister on his back and a flamethrower in his hands, pulled the trigger sending a blast of fiery heat down into the drop off below him. The screams that resulted were terrible. Another, pulling metal pin on a grenade, chucked it as far as he could in the direction of his opponents. A deadly blast resulted, a ball of fire and smoke killed all who were unlucky enough to be in the way. In this way the men continued to fight, the Americans slowly gaining ground, though much blood was spilled as they fought for every inch.
Dropping into the trenches at an alarming rate, the German army retreated further back into the recesses of tunnels and the maze of uprooted earth. As the Americans progressed, a new weapon was called into play. The air suddenly became still. No Germans could be seen. Men jumped at every sound, no matter how little, their faces white with fright. A small pop and a hiss resounded from one of the bodies that lay sprawled out on the ground. Clouds of deadly vapors began to fill the air, bringing with it, cries of terror. The Americans scrambled for gas masks, their shaking fingers fumbling at the straps, weapons forgotten in the heat of the moment. Many were able to scramble to a brief safety, though only because of the shouts of warning and the agonized screams of the ones who had not made it in time.
The Germans appeared again, in numbers untold, brandishing guns and thrusting with sharp bayonets. Though the Americans were scattered, surprisingly they made quick work of the army, and sent them fleeing through the trees, now running for their lives. Many prisoners were taken, a small payback for the lives lost to the American army. Their victory cry rang through the trees long after their enemy had vanished, defeated and alone.
Night fell early, due to the storm, kissing goodbye to the bodies of both armies, scattered abroad throughout the woods and blanketing them in a bed of darkness. It had been a battle hard earned, only one of many to come, but it was as step towards victory. War is terrible but to keep the peace, sometimes it has to be made. The outcome depends on the army and the leaders. Without a good leader, victory is lost.