Stormwatch by Evangeline Beggs || Team Otter!!!

Lanea leaned over the balcony rail, her fingers gripping the smoothly polished wood and her heart racing with excitement. My first day as Stormwatcher, she thought. Oh, gosh! I’ve been waiting for this for so long!

            Every kid in the orphanage got this chance, once they came of age. They would scale the 130-or-so steps of the lighthouse and sit patiently in the sea breeze at the peak of the tower. When a storm came that day, they would get the chance to ring the massive bell there. The Stormbell warned the fishermen in the harbor—and the people of the village—that a storm was coming. It gave the people in that precariously-placed village time to prepare and batten down. Time that they didn’t use to have, before the lighthouse was built. And, of course, it was a tradition in the orphanage. It was called the Stormwatch, and it would be the best day in Lanea’s life.

            She puffed a wisp of brown hair out of her eye and squinted at the horizon. As usual, a murky gray mist hung over the ocean far out, occasionally lit by a sharp glow of lightning. Its arrival was unpredictable (hence the Stormwatch), but it was always there.

            Lanea turned her eyes to the village, a smile curling her lips. She hadn’t appreciated the village so much until she’d gotten up here. The rolling green hills cascading down, the army of little homes with sod roofs and tendrils of smoke hanging in the sky, the sharp line where the cliffs sliced the world into a duality of sea and stone. Children played and laughed in the streets, and little flocks of sheep roamed across the hills like tiny clouds.

            To others, it was just “home”. To Lanea, it was art.

            She sighed and snapped herself out of the reverie. Stormwatch, Lanea, she sternly told herself. Stormwatch.

            She gazed into the horizon once more and gasped slightly, standing up straight. The storm came quicker than expected. It was already crowding out the late afternoon sun, dark clouds making stark shadows on the cerulean sea below. The faint thunder now growled ever so slightly louder.

            “Ah, fudge!” Lanea shouted. If Ms. Crannit was here, she’d be smacking my mouth, she thought wryly. She stumbled quickly to the rope that hung beneath the large bell—then stopped.

            What if I’m being paranoid? She looked out at the storm again. None of the sailors in the harbor seemed to concerned.

I’m ringing it too soon, right?

Or am I?

Or maybe I’m going about this all wrong…

If I ring the bell too soon, will I get in trouble?

What will everyone think of me then?

Her head buzzed. She could hear the kids’ taunts already; Lanea had her head so far in the clouds again that she thought she could see clouds for real! little voices giggled at her.

She shook her head. No, she’d be fine. She was used to the taunts and pokes. So what if she rang the bell too early? I mean, that’s the point of the bell, right? To give the village time to prepare.

She grabbed the rope, the sharp fibers jabbing her skin and bringing her back into focus. Now was her chance to prove herself. That’s what Stormwatch was: a chance for the orphans to prove that they were worth something.

She steeled herself, gripped the rope, and pulled.

Every muscle seemed to groan with the effort, and when the bell rang, she was flung back from the momentum. Lanea held her head in both hands, gritting her teeth as the ringing of the bell vibrated her entire body and made her ears ring and pound. Her breath came in short huffs.

Then, finally, the sound began to fade. Lanea sat up and blinked the pained tears from her eyes.

Below, she could already see the villagers preparing: parents rushed their children inside, chimneys slammed shut, cattle were herded into their sheds. Out in the harbor, all of the boats came in unison, turning towards the docks and flowing in like a flock of strange white birds.

Lanea sighed and closed her eyes. I did it, she thought. I did the Stormwatch.

After she lit the lantern at the center of the lens room, and made sure it had plenty of oil to last the evening and night, she slowly made her way down the stairs. Her bones ached, and her muscles felt like they were made of liquid. But she had done it.

Ms. Crannit met her at the bottom of the stairs, peering at her through her tiny little spectacles. Her pale apron seemed to glow in the dim lighting. Lanea sighed and braced herself for a barrage of reprimands.

Instead, though, all she received was a small phrase. “Good job,” Ms. Crannit said quietly.

Lanea smiled.

After the colorful spaceship landed on the sands outside of town, the children at the orphanage could talk of nothing else. They had only seen the silver transport ships that brought supplies and took away the clear rocks they spent their days pulling out of the mines. This ship was so unlike anything in their drab world they couldn’t help but stare.

Adults dismissed the ship, saying it would probably go away again because of the drillfly plague. Tate worried they were right. No adult could stand being around the drillflies because of the sound they made. That’s why the children worked in the mines. It didn’t bother them as much.

The drillflies were supposed to stay in the mines, their tiny but powerful mandibles digging out the needed rocks. Something had gone wrong, though. The drillflies had multiplied, pouring out into the world above. A swarm of them made a daily route through town, chipping at rocks and buildings. They called it the “drillfly storm”.

Three days after it arrived, the ship opened. The children were on their lunch break. The man passed the orphanage with a bounce in his step. He had hair as red as the setting sun. His bright clothes hung in strips of color. As he passed, he smiled and waved.

Word of the meeting between the stranger and the mayor spread quickly. Piper, as the stranger was called, offered his services in getting rid of the drillflies. The mayor agreed to his price without hesitation. If the drillflies continued, there would be nothing left of the town.

Despite knowing he would get into trouble, Tate slipped away from the mines the next morning. He had to see what Piper would do.

The townspeople gathered. Tate scooted up a tree and hid among the brown leaves. Everyone watched with curiosity as the stranger pulled off his bright white backpack, unfolded some legs, and put it down like a table. Inside the bag was a machine with lots of buttons, knobs, and lights.

“Is there anything we should do to help?” the mayor asked.

“I could use an extra pair of hands.” Piper looked over the crowd behind him. Then, his eyes stopped on the tree and Tate. “He’ll do.”

It was a moment before the mayor found Tate in the tree. He scowled, but Piper interrupted before he could scold him.

“Come down, boy. I need you to hold this.”

Tate scrambled from the tree. Keeping his distance from the mayor, he accepted the long yellow wire Piper handed him. Except for the color, it didn’t look like anything special.

The storm came quicker than expected. They day seemed to darken as a dark cloud approached. The townspeople headed for cover.

“I wish you luck,” the mayor said as he hurried away.

Piper turned to Tate, unconcerned, and held out his hand. On his palm were two small green devices.

“Put them in your ears,” he instructed.

Tate obeyed. To his amazement, the sound of the drillflies went away, but he could still hear everything else.

As the cloud of drillflies approached, Piper reached into a hidden pocket and pulled out a blue pipe with holes. He took the wire from Tate and plugged it into one end. With a glance at the cloud and a wink at Tate, he blew into the other end.

The sound was unlike anything Tate had ever heard. It was mellow and soothing, leaving him with the impression that, no matter how things looked right now, everything would be okay.

A ripple went though the cloud as it turned. With another note, the swarm made a circle around them.

Piper snapped his bag shut. The legs disappeared, and he flung it on his back.

“Stay close,” he told Tate. Putting the flute back to his lips, he began a lively tune, and danced down the road. Soon, Tate was dancing, too. So were the flies. They gathered like a long tail behind them, bobbing in time to the music.
Other drillflies joined in. As they neared the mines, Tate watched in amazement as those drillflies poured out to join in.

Piper and Tate skipped their way out of town toward the ship. Without missing a note in his tune, Piper tossed a small green box to Tate. He caught it and saw a yellow button. With a nod from Piper, he pushed it. A large door lowered to the ground. At a change in Piper’s song, the drillflies darted for the door.

There was no work in the mines the next day. Tate and several other children hid outside the town hall and listened while the adults argued. Piper had come to collect his pay. The adults were refusing because he had taken the ones in the mines, too. Piper argued that they were defective. If they weren’t all taken, they would soon have the same problem. No one was listening.

“Very well,” Piper finally said. “I’ll take my pay some other way.”

That next night, Tate lay in his bunk unable to sleep. Out of the unaccustomed silence, he heard that single, long note. He sat up to listened. Others did, too. A tune began to play. It wasn’t the lively tune from before, but a slow, relaxing song. Tate had to see.

As quickly as he could, he pulled on his clothes and stuffed shoes on his feet. The song promised a better life. Tate gathered what little he called his own. Looking around, he realized the others were doing the same.

Tate led the way as they ran to the edge of town where Piper was playing his flute. With a final note, Piper looked over the group of children who watched him expectantly. When his eyes reached Tate, he smiled and winked. Tate grinned. The Piper turned and began a happy song. The children danced along behind him, headed for the ship they knew would take them far away from this place.

Amelia Capellan || Team Otter || The Storm

I shudder, pulling my thin cloak tighter around my shoulders. Under this small, crooked tree, the wind still threatens to blow my only source of warmth away from me, to send it tumbling with all the other things rolling through the grass. But it’s the safest place in this bunch of plains. 

I need to get back to Mama, I tell myself. To Mama and Papa and Eli. I need to get back home. Back home before the storm comes rolling in.

I walk out ready to brave the wind again. It’s like swimming against a strong river current, and every step takes every ounce of my effort. 

“Come on Kalilah! You need to get home before the storm!” I yell over the wind. It feels like the wind is attacking me personally, I think. My stomach drops. Oh no oh no oh no oh no. The wind is attacking me personally.  

Why did I go out on the annual day of The Storm? Why did I leave the house on the one day my mom told me never to go exploring The Violent Meadow? It’s called that for a reason. Why did I go out on the one day that Nature attacks us every year?

I want to cry or scream or something, but I feel a bubble of determination fill my chest. I will make it home. I have to.

I feel the raindrops soak through my hair, sending a chill down my spine. 

Plip. Plop. Plip. Plop.

I force my scrawny legs into a shaky sprint. 

I need to make it home, I need to make it home, oh Mama I need to make it home…

My stamina doesn't last long. I stop, clutching my chest, willing it not to clog up like it always has when I run. I breathe deep. In, out. In… and out. After five breaths I hear myself… wheezing. I sigh, my breath sounding thin. Why did my asthma have to choose to act up right now? 

It’s okay, I tell myself. Mama will boil me a nice steam to open up my airways again when I get home.

If I get home. I pull my hands away from my soaked chest and stand up, looking around. The rain is pouring harder around me, and my clothes stick to me like glue. I need to make it home before the lighting. A shudder runs down my spine, and it’s not because of the cold. I take a few short, shaky breaths. There’s no lightning here… yet. The even worse possibility of getting struck soon gets me moving again, and I fight against the still raging wind, which is now joined with the steady stream of raindrops pelting my face.

I’ll make it home Mama; I’ll make it home! My chest is clogging faster than ever before in the wet conditions, and the minuscule stream of air entering my lungs isn’t enough. I slow down, willing myself not to stop. I can’t stop. 

Buuuuuuuuummm. 

The thunderclap startles me, and I look back, terrified. Before I know it, I trip on something and I’m on the ground, my shaky breaths and shuddering shoulders keeping me there. Get up, get up, get up!!! my frantic brain yells at me. I can’t, I can’t, I can’t, I reply. But maybe I can crawl. 

I pull my skinny body across the grass. Arms down, and back.  I repeat the same motion over and over again, my chest pleading for rest and relief, my arms cramping, my breath shaking…

How much longer till home?

A sudden ray of bright white light flashes in front of me. I stop dead in my tracks. This can't be real. I close my eyes, relieving myself from reality for a second. But this is the reality. I need to make it home.

I pull, I push, I struggle. Through the pouring rain, I see a faded figure…

Mama! Oh Mama! It’s me, Kalilah!

But the words don't make it out of my head. They can’t. I attempt to take a breath to try again and… it doesn’t come through. I can’t breathe. 

I pull myself an inch closer to the muffled figure. Mama, help me, I can't breathe Mama…

I slump on the ground. I feel myself slipping out of consciousness. 

I tried Mama. But the storm came quicker than expected.

Storm

The rubber rafts bobbed up and down. Passengers paddled frantically into the beach. They had been floating in the open ocean for hours. Lightning streaked through the dark, heavy clouds. Thunder rattled the small lifeboats. Jake jumped out of his boat and pulled both rafts ashore.

Why do I care about these people? No one ever took care of me? I should just leave them and take care of myself. Jake dismissed the thoughts with a shake of his head. 

They needed to find shelter fast. Jake looked around the small cove. There were rocks, cliffs, and one small cave opening.

“Everyone, follow me!” Jake called out. 

[Who’s gonna follow you? You’re no leader!]

Jake winced; he thought he had left that voice behind. He was stranded on a planet far from his home galaxy, and the voice had still found him.

The exhausted passengers pulled themselves up off the sand and followed Jake. The storm came quicker than expected, and the group barely made it into the cave before the wind picked up and the rain came down. 

Jake pulled a flare out of the emergency pack and lit it. He looked around at the group of broken people huddled in the damp cave. The ship had wrecked several hours ago, and people were exhausted and hungry. They had had enough water to last them the day, but that was now running low as well. He was going to die, surrounded by strangers. Lost. Alone. Without Hope.

“Young man, could you light a fire for us?” An old man asked from the shadows.

Jake looked around hesitantly and saw that he was the young man in question. In fact, he was the youngest person in the cave. “Um, Okay.” 

[Failure…. Worthless…. Stupid….  They will find you out.]

The voice from his past echoed. “Go Away!” Jake whispered loudly. Looking around to see if anyone heard him.  Couldn’t have people figuring out how crazy he was. 

There was a pile of dry driftwood in the mouth of the cave. It was just enough to get a fire started. The fire crackled and lit up the faces around him while he handed out emergency blankets.

“Why thank you.” An old woman said quietly as he handed her the blanket. 

“You’re welcome, ma’am.” Jake replied. 

[Ha. You think they will believe you are really that polite? Pathetic. They will just think you are going to try to use them, control them.]

Jake sat apart from the others. Far away from the fire. It was safer in the shadows. Maybe they would forget he was there. Maybe they wouldn’t  need him. 

I cannot let them need me. I will fail them just like I failed to save mom. Jake tried to block the painful memories and the gorge that was rising in his stomach with them. He stared unfocused at the storm outside the cave. 

“Guilty!” Jake had barely heard the jury foreman through his tears. It confirmed everything he had ever been told about himself. 

[They threw you away like trash. That is what you are trash, just like that mother of yours.]

Jake squeezed his eyes against the voice in his head. Willing away the memories it brought with it. Thunder cracked outside, summoning his attention back to the present. 

“Dearie, could you take the empty water jug outside to catch the rain?” The old woman he had given the blanket to asked, looking straight at him. Smiling. 

She wouldn’t smile if she knew what I really was. What I did to deserve this one-way space trip. Jake was trying to make himself small enough to not be noticed, but for some reason the others kept seeking him out. 

[They aren’t seeking you out. They are scared of you. Scared of what you might do. They don’t want to let you out of their sight. You Freak.]

His smile did not reach his eyes as he took the jugs and placed them in the rain. Just once he wanted to be told he was worthy. That there was something worth living for. Hard to believe that when they sent you on a one-way trip to the planet of useless humans. At least he had actually committed a crime. The rest of these people were just guilty of the crime of getting too old to be useful. 

[Don’t kid yourself you are unforgivable, broken. Just like your mother.]

His stepdad’s voice was getting louder. The memories getting harder to push away. He put his head in his hands trying to press the emotions down.  

“Are you okay son?” An old man asked quietly. “Can I sit here next to you? I am getting a bit warm close to the fire.”

Jake flinched as the man sat down. He was sitting close. Too close. Jake kept his head down, his eyes on the ground. “Fine.”

I am not fine, Jake thought. I am a monster, and the voice in my head won’t leave me alone.

The storm continued to rage outside as Jake’s mind spiraled. Suddenly he was back home reliving that fateful day.

“Woman!” He heard his stepfather yell at his mother. A loud THWAP followed, and he heard his mother’s voice pleading unintelligibly. STOMP. STOMP.  “Crazy, worthless freak!” SLAP. THUD.

Jake curled up in a ball with his hands over his ears trying to block it out just like the other nights. But this night was different. Jake felt the thunder in his belly. The storm came quicker than expected. Blackness. Then was standing over his stepfather with a hammer, covered in blood. 

Unfortunately, he had been too late, his mother lay on the floor motionless with her neck at an unnatural angle. He collapsed and wept. 

Tears wet his face as he was brought back to the present by concerned voices.

 “Son, can you hear me? We need you here. Please”  

“Honey, please we want to help you.”

Jake opened his eyes. The rain had stopped.