Wicki's Notebook

 Untitled Dystopian

            It seemed to Will that that number, 13, had followed him around like a curse for bad luck for almost two hundred years. It was said, of course, that there was no need for any sort of fear anymore, but old superstitions never did seem to fade. Everyone had a number; that was the way of things. They were so much simpler and more structured than cumbersome names. He himself was not actually called Will, but 13, if anybody besides Eyre talked to him. Names were not forbidden, but discouraged, so he kept his own borrowed name, William, hidden. He had to keep many things hidden, including his pale blue eyes, an unlucky and unwanted defect, under the brim of an old gray cap.

            The morning was rainy and dark. A pale orange glow from the streetlights spilled down the wet cobblestone pavement. Arcade, read the dull flickering red letters on the sign of the dingy brick building, alongside the number 10 in glowing yellow. Even in the torrential downpour, none of the group waiting outside left. They jabbered incessantly and waited with impatience to be let inside. Will only watched them, lingering across the alleyway.

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 Untitled Science Fiction

Prologue: Leaving Earth

January 30, 2109.

            A pale gray early-morning sky yawned overhead, beginning a cool Thursday. Max Wickliff excitedly watched the crowds gathering on the street from his bedroom window. Today was the day the space pod took off, and he would be in it. He bounced nervously on his heels, paced around the bare white room, flung himself on the floor, then jumped up again almost instantly. He couldn’t possibly contain all of his energy. Outside the room, he heard his younger brother and little sister racing each other down the hallway. “Calm down,” their parents kept saying, but they were excited, too.

            Max joined Fynn, who was one year younger than him, and Simone, who was three years younger than him, in the hall.

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