My short story as our project in communication arts subject :)

1. CHOSEN PREY
The dawn isstrikingtowarditsmomentoustime,facingthe mostproficuouspartof my house—my
office.I glancedatthe roomand at the clockhangingrightbehindthe threshold. “4:49 am”—notmerely
a surprise forme.It is somewhata profoundhabitual workof mybody to getup wheneverthe clock
sensedthe approachof the sun.
My name isKrissaMae Alto;an engineer. Myoffice isentirelycoatedwithblackwalls andeverything.I
definitelylike the ambiance of enteringadarkroom that chillsmyskinandbones.
I descendedtomydesk andpouredsome whiskytomyglass. Wanderingthroughmyoffice,I scanned
at some of mysketches.
“Did youjusthave anotherterrifyingdreamKrissa?”
I was stunnedbythe muffledyet mellifluousvoice thatcame nearthe threshold.Itwasmyyounger
sister—Kim. She yawnedwhile she waswalkingtowardsme.
“No dear.I wasjust feelingconstipatedandIcame here to fart.”
“Fart while drinkingwhisky?”
“Yes,to feel the ambiance.”
“I must go tobed. The atmosphere here isbad.”
“Sweetdreams Kim!”
I driftedmyeyesbackto mysketches. The onlythingthatcan be noticeable inmyoffice isthe aligned
sketchesof mypremonitions,apparentlyalmost tenof them,pinnedatthe wall of my office.These
drawingsalteredmyperspective aboutliving.
I scannedthroughmy filesthen spottedthe sketchof ababy aimingforballoons withflockof birdson
itsside.Thisone wasyet a mournful tragicanda crude joke forsome. Thena suddenreviewof this
insightflashedatme.
On the 23rd
of July,while cruisingatthe residential streetsatNashville togetherwithGrant,Igot a
premonition—myfirstpremonition. Outof nowhere,Igothitby a psychological paradox. Shuttered
images,muffledvoices,andindistinctpictureswere rumblingatmymind.Thena terrible headache.Yes.
Andit couldnearlykill me if Iwas notas strong as Alice of Twilight whoperceivesthe future.

2. I had a cleardepictionof the images:A dadand hisbaby were ina loudplace withlotsof stuffs,many
people,andrides— itwasatheme park.Thenballoonsappeared.Bunchof balloonsweretiedatthe
strollerof the baby.What came nextwas a scenicview of a strollerwithababyinside flyingthroughthe
skylike a birdlearningtoflockitswings.
“Is motherEarth callingyouagain,Krissa?”Grant trottedat my side.
I was awakenedbyGrant’svoice.I’mbackto reality.Grantwas anxiouslylookingatme.
“Not whenI’mwithyou.”I grinnedathim.
“Pathetic.”
“I got a premonition. Itsaysyou will be abductedbygianttroll thenpreparedyouasa dishfor yourdear
Mother Earth.”
“A bachelorinhisoverflowingawesomenessbe cookedbyatroll? They’re freakinglucky.”
“Gross.”
Later that night,while athome,newsflashedonthe screen.A baby wasfounddeadat the westpart of
the theme park.I was shockedbywhatthe reportersaid:
“According to the police, poops of bird were found flourishing thebaby’sbody. A peculiarfact saysthese
poopswerethe causeof the death— it covered the little tiny passageway of air in his noseand believed
thatthe baby waschoked by poop to death.”
Aftermomentsof reminiscingmyfirstencounterwiththose strippedevents,Ifoundmyself still inmy
office withawhiskyinmydeskand a drawinginmy hand.I’mback to present.
My eyestookagaina glimpse atthe clock.“6:04 am”—the sunisslightlyupgivingawarmtouch to my
office. Probablybythistime,Kimisstillinherdreamland.
I am afraidfor mylittle sister. Whenourparentsdied inanairplane crash,she lostherself.She can’t
eventalknoreat; she was chaotic.We were bothbroke.But pityconvictedme while enigmasand
odditiesruledherpitifulheart.
I returnedmysightto mydesk. Two new drawingssettledatmytable that draw myattention. These
twoappeareda bitbizarre that givesme the creeps. Twopremonitions occurredatone day—strange
though.
The firstsketchpicturedalittle girl withagun inher hands.Weirdthough.Neveroughttosee alittle
girl be the cause of a crime.Maybe.Maybe a paradox.The othersketchdepictedascene of a woman
lyingonthe ground bathinginherownblood.A dagger onher side wasalsopictured.

3. Two females—one common:theyseemfamiliar.
“I stay out too late, gotnothing in my brain.That’swhatpeoplesay mm-mm.That’swhatpeoplesay
mm-mm.”
My phone ringedinthe beatof TaylorSwift’sShake itoff. Grant’sname appearedatthe screen.
Frantically,Islide the answerbutton.
“Hey,Grant.”
“Alreadypackedup forthe trip?”
“Kimis still asleep. Andshe’ll--..Wait,holdon.”
I stumbledatmydeskand got trippedwhile rushingtothe bathroom.IleftGrant hangingonthe phone
for some reasons.
“What was that noise?”
“That was me.I have to fart.”
“Uh. It stinks.”
“EvenBarack Obama’sfartstinks.So, see youat?”
“Meet me at the moviesaround9.”
“Okay.We’ll be there around8:59.”
“That wouldbe great!Okay,I’ll hangup. Bye”
Grant is mybestfriendsince middle school. Whenthe tragicinour familyhappened,he stoodasKim’s
bigbrotherthat lessensthe anguishof Kim.
I slitheredthe twonewsketchestomypocket.I feel somethingaboutthese two.They’re somewhat
connectedtome;somethingthatreallybothersme.
I descendeddowntothe kitchentoprepare breakfast—sweetpancakesandoreomilkshakes.A
crumpledpaperwasloiteredatthe hallwayof the livingroom.Maybe Kimplayedagainwithhercat
usingthisball-shapedpaperormaybe the cat taught Kimhow to litterapaper.
Movingalongto cleanthe mess,I fiddled the paperanddappledahintof redtint.I examinedthe paper.
Seemsitwassplashedbysome sortof redthingbut whatcaptivatedmyeyeswasthe writingsonthe
paper—itwasa stickfigure drawingof a manholdinga daggerand pointingittoa woman.
TotallysuppressedbywhatIperceived,Ifeltunease again.First,mytwonew premonitionsandsecond
isthe strange drawingof Kim.These give me afreakyfeeling.

4. “8:43 am.” We drove our wayto the moviesnearthe residentialstreets.AnExpeditionwas parkedat
the boothentrance of the movies.ProbablyitwasGrant.
“Ouch! Ohgod.”WhenI pulledbackthe car, the veryhot latte splashedonmyfeet.Thisisterrible.Kim
was staringat me withdisgust.Iknowin hermindshe issaying,“We’re notin a racing eventKrissa.Go,
eat yourroastedfeet.”
Nearlyapproachingthe car,I noticed bloodflowingfromthe window athisfrontseat.Kimpointedout
at the backof my car a maskedmanholdingadaggerwhile runningswiftlyawayfromus.
I immediatelyhoppedoutof the car and leftKiminside.Ihadto see Grant. He wassurelyinside hiscar.
My kneeswere shaking,eyes were blurry,andmyhandswere clinching againstmyfists. Hisface was
coveredwithapiece of cloth. Grant is dead.My bestfriendisdead. AndI couldneverimagine himlying
on hisownblood.
Thena crashingandrumblingsoundcame nearthe place.Idriftedmyeyesbackto my car. Kimisnot
there thenmyeyeswentshakyagain.I froze inmyplace havingno ideawhat to do.
All I can hearwas a thinterrifiedvoice screaming fromsomewhere.Iknow itwasKim, I know itwas my
sister.Maybe the bastard holdingadamndaggerwas the one who abductedher.Ihave to have her.
I followed the scream,driftingfromedge toedge,runningswiftly.Thenthe screamwasgone.
Suddenly,Ibecame numb.Ifeel dizzy.Ihearda quaveringvoice shoutingaone-syllable word‘Kim’.It
was me.ThenI feel like somethingwas injectedtomyrightside.Bloodwasflowingfromme,ariverof
blood. WhenItraced the source of the blood,Itoucheda hand holdingadaggerstabbedat my side.
“Not sosmart huh?”
“Why do youhave to do this?”
“I am not yetdone withyourfather.He killedmydog.”
“Jerk.I suppose youthinkwe’re cannibalswhokilledyourdogjusttobe fed.”
“Shut up!”
“You alreadyshutme up. Justone more favor Grant. NotKim, not mysister.She hasnothingto do with
this.It wasjustan accident”
“Well,I’msorryKrissa.I justdid.”
Thena loudblastcame fromnowhere.Grantis now dealingwith death. He hasbeenshotbya gun and
hisbloodflowedthroughthe concrete floors.

5. While gaspingforairand hardlyforces myself tobe strong,I saw Kimat the back holdinga gun.My tears
dropped whenIsawKimwashedupwithbloodinher stomach.She has beenstabbed. Ican’tspeaknor
move.Ifeel sohelpless.Kimisnowlyingdeadonthe ground,sodidGrant.
The crumpledpaper,the drawing,Kim’sdrawing.Isuddenlyrealize the drawingof mysister—aman
holdingadaggertryingto kill a woman.Itwas me and Grant. I weepforknowingmysisterisalso
experiencingpremonitions.Cruelworld.
Slowlydriftingawayfromwhat’shappening, the surroundingswere fadingouttoblack. The frozen
momentseemstobe slowlyrovingaway. Thenmyeyesshuttered.
“Ouch!” WhenI pulledbackthe car, the veryhot latte splashedonmyfeet.Isaw Grant’s car parkedin
frontof the movies.Kimwaslookingatme withdisgust.ThenIstare at Grant’s car, there was blood
pouringfromthe frontseat.Then Kimpointedoutatthe back of the car a maskedman holdingadagger
who’srunningawayfromus.
I stopfor a while.All thingsseemedtohappenalready.
It was a premonition.Iwasinmy ownpremonition.
A paradox.
A déjàvu.
I was hauntedbymyown premonitions. Iamthe ChosenPrey.