First Writer’s Club is a program at CASP (Curley after school program) encouraging students to write.  Our writers were asked to write about escaping from a future city, and to be descriptive about certain aspects of their cities. This is the first in a series of stories. Here is what Mia wrote:

Blam! The steel door closed.  Locked.  It was dark and cold.  He sat down and thought.  He thought and thought.  Two hours had passed.  A tiny slit opened in the door, and a hand came through with a plastic platter of gruel.  “Eat this, or rot till’ you’re dead as this door!” a voice spat from the other side.  Then there were footsteps.  The man was gone.  He curled up and sniffed the gruel, and then he turned away with disgust.  ‘How did this happen?’ he thought.  He tried to recall the series of events that had caused this.  As he thought, he suddenly became aware of a faint draft coming from the wall.  He crawled over, and peered inside.  A hole! Then his hopes melted when he looked through.  Not only was he sixty feet up in the air, but the lockdown wasn’t a building!  It was one of those… those…  Well, they were airborne, no structure, flyi-Colt! It was a colt.  No escaping.  Then again, he could use the hole to go out, or escape from the colt.  So he squeezed his hands through and started to push in opposite directions, therefore, widening the stone-cold wall gap.

The job was done after a while.  He climbed through.  Outside, it wasn’t the slightest bit warm.  In fact, it was freezing.  As he shivered, he gripped on tightly to the colt, trying not to fall to his death.  A small jet passed by.  ‘Should I take this risk?’ he wondered.  No time to think!  He let go.  He was falling and falling.

Boom! He was on the jet.  The top.  He reached out for a handle of some sort, but couldn’t.  pain rippled through his arms to his chest.  He fell back on the surface, whining.  Then he realized everything was bleeding.  Everything went blurry and red.  Then black, as he slowly closed his eyes.

“Hello?  Hello?  Wake up!”

“Ugggg,” he groaned, as he opened his eyes.

“Howdy ho!  Look!  A survivor!  Com’on guys!”

“Wh-wh-what’s happening?” he whimpered.

“We’re the resistance.  We found you on that nasty old blood Cross Jet, and took it down.  You’re safe now,” the person explained.

“But-but-the ‘Blood Cross’?  What’s that?  I’m from Alabama, and I’ve heard no such ‘Blood Cross.’”  He was puzzled.

“Oh, you’re from the other dimension?  Cool!  What’s it like?  Ours is plain boring.  Ever since the Blood Cross took over the world, at least.

“Your world has been taken over?”

Then there was silence.  “Egh-em,” a person cleared his throat.  “Randy Rouson.  The head of the Blood Cross.  He invented the amazing devices that Blood Cross owns.  But then he took advantage.  He and his group grew and grew.  He and that group took over.  Destroyed homes, lives, families.  As we said before, we’re the resistance.  We roam around spying on the Blood Cross.  Learning their secrets.  Anything to stop them.  Well, you’re safe in these woods, there’s a portal nearby.  We need to leave.  Oh, and by the way, this world is the future.  The future world.  Good Luck.”