WA 8 final draft

Elyon shuffled the notecards in front of her and studied her audience: a group of retirees from the local nursing home, Golden Acres. Most of the them were either not paying attention, or drifting off to sleep. Still, she at least had to try. Ignoring the cloying scent of disinfectant creeping into her nostrils, she cleared her throat and gave them her best cheerful smile while at the same time trying to minimize the view of her abnormally large canines, in case some of them still had sharp vision.

"Uh, thank you all for having me here to discuss the issue at hand... which is, of course, planting trees at Golden Acres." She'd better get a good grade in History for this.

"What?" yelled old Mrs. Elmerson in the back, who suffered from hearing loss.

"PLANTING TREES AT GOLDEN ACRES," repeated Elyon in a much louder voice.

"WHAT?"

"Oh for God's sake..." muttered Elyon under her breath. She smiled again, though it was forced.

"What did she say," said Mrs. Elmerson in what she thought was a whisper. 

"She said, 'Planting trees at Golden Acres,' dear," explained Mrs. Reynolds, who thankfully could hear quite well. Elyon was instantly grateful to the woman.

"Where?" demanded Mrs. Elmerson.

"Never mind."

"As I said," continued Elyon, "Everyone knows that, of course, trees help clean the air we breathe, and that's enormously beneficial for one's health and well-being."

"Yeah, well, in my day, trees were just standing in the way of progress. Cut 'em down and didn't ask questions, we did," snapped the combative old Mr. Jones, waving his cane to emphasize the point.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," grumbled Elyon. "Anyways, what the kids from the high school and I were thinking was that you all might like to help us plant trees around the nursing home -"

"I'm allergic to pollen!" interrupted Mr. Jones yet again. Elyon was sorely tempted to tell the old coot to stuff it, but that may not have gone over well with the other retirees.

"Uh, anyways, I hope you all are open to the idea, because - well, how many of you have grandchildren?"

"WHAT?"

"GRANDCHILDREN," she repeated. Several hands went up.

"Well, planting these trees will help these kids. It'll show them that their dear old grandpa and grandma cared about the environment -"

"Whaddaya mean 'cared'?!" 

"- Care about the environment, and that they were - are - working to make this planet a better place," Elyon ended, wishing for visiting hours to be over.

"I think it's a simply SMASHING idea, my dear," called Mrs. Reynolds from where she was sitting.

Elyon smiled as more voices joined Mrs. Reynolds, and pretty soon a group of elders were shuffling up to collect fliers (which were printed in large text, of course). They say back down, poring over the fliers.

"So, um, if you'll read, there's the date, which is April 25, a Saturday. We'll be providing the materials and stuff, and there will be snacks and stuff, in case you're wondering. We'll work in the late afternoon and evening, and the forecast is calling for pretty mild weather, so that should be pretty pleasant. It'll only be for a couple of hours. We'll probably end up doing most of the work anyways," she added under her breath.

"Hey!" Mr. Jones waved his cane like a conductor's baton for attention.

"Yeeeees, Mr. Jones?" drawled Elyon, just to irritate him a little.

"Why is your hair like that? You're a girl, aren't you?"

"My-?" Elyon raised her hand and brushed her mohawk-like mane of blond hair. "Of course I'm a girl!"

"Then why do you wear your hair in that ungodly horses' mane?"

Elyon groaned. She was so tired of explaining this. "It's just the way my hair grows, okay? I didn't really style it like this."

"You look like a punk," he declared.

Elyon grimaced. "Are you done now?"

"WHAT?"

"Not you, Mrs. Elmerson!"

"Oh gosh, look at the time," Elyon fibbed, pretending to glance at her watch, even though she didn't have one. "I guess I'll see you all on Saturday!" She grabbed her notecards and extra fliers, and got the hell out of there.

WA 8 draft 1

Elyon shuffled the notecards in front of her and studied her audience: a group of elders from the local nursing home, Golden Acres. Most of them were either not paying attention or drifting off to sleep. Still, she at least had to try. Ignoring the cloying scent of disinfectant creeping into her nostrils, she cleared her throat and gave them her best cheerful smile while at the same time trying to minimize the view of her abnormally large canines, in case some of them still had sharp vision. 

"Uh, thank you all for having me here to discuss the issue at hand... which is, of course, planting trees at Golden Acres." She'd better get a good great in History for this.

"What?" yelled Mrs. Elmerson in the back, who suffered from hearing loss. 

"PLANTING TREES AT GOLDEN ACRES," repeated Elyon in a much louder voice.

"WHAT?"

"Oh for God's sake..." muttered Elyon under her breath. She smiled again, though it was forced.

"What did she say?" said Mrs. Elmerson in what she thought was a whisper. 

"She said, 'Planting trees at Golden Acres,' dear," explained Mrs. Reynolds, who thankfully could hear quite well. Elyon was instantly grateful to the woman.

"Where?" demanded Mrs. Elmerson, who appeared to be suffering from more than hearing loss.

"Never mind."

"As I said," continued Elyon, "Everyone knows that, of course, trees help clean the air we breathe, and that's enormously beneficial for one's health and well-being."

"Yeah, well, in my day, trees were just standing in the way of progress," snapped the combative old Mr. Jones, waving his cane to emphasize this point.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," grumbled Elyon. "Anyways, what the kids from the high school and I were thinking was that you all might like to help us plant trees around the nursing home -"

"I'm allergic to pollen!" interrupted Mr. Jones yet again. Elyon was sorely tempted to tell the old coot to stuff it, but that may not have gone over well with the other retirees. 

"Uh, anyways, I hope you all are open to the idea, because - well, how many of you have grandchildren?"

"WHAT?"

"GRANDCHILDREN," she repeated. Several hands went up.

"Well, planting these trees will help these kids. It'll show them that their dear old grandpa and grandma cared about the environment -"

"Whaddaya mean 'cared'?!"

"- care about the environment, and that they were - are - working to make this planet a better place," Elyon ended, wishing for visiting hours to be over.

"I think it's a simply SMASHING idea, my dear!" called Mrs. Reynolds from where she was sitting.

Elyon smiled as more voices joined Mrs. Reynolds, and pretty soon she had a group of elders shuffling up to collect fliers (which were printed in large text, of course). They sat back down, poring over the fliers.

"So, um, if you'll read, there's the date, which is April 25, a Saturday. We'll be providing the materials and stuff, and there will be snacks and stuff, in case you're wondering. We'll work in the late afternoon and evening, and the forecast is calling for pretty mild weather, so that should be pretty pleasant. It'll only be for a couple hours. We'll probably end up doing most of the work anyways," she added under her breath.

"Hey!" Mr. Jones waved his cane like a conductor's baton for attention. 

"Yeeeees, Mr. Jones?" drawled Elyon, just to irritate him a little.

"Why is your hair like that? You're a girl, aren't you?"

"My-?" Elyon raised her hand and brushed her mohawk-like mane of blond hair. "Of course I'm a girl!"

"Then why do you wear your hair in that ungodly horse's mane?" 

Elyon groaned. She was so tired of explaining this. "It's just the way my hair grows. I didn't really style it like this. It's like... a kind of pattern baldness."

"You look like a punk," he declared.

"And you look like a cranky old geezer," she snapped back, to a chorus of giggles from the other retirees.

"WHAT?"

"Not you, Mrs. Elmerson!"

"Oh gosh, look at the time," Elyon fibbed, pretending to glance at her watch, even though she didn't have one. "I guess I'll see you all on Saturday!" She grabbed her notecards and extra fliers, and got the hell out of there.

WA 6 final draft

Acrid smoke drifted up from the cracked asphalt, stinking of tar and brimstone. Detective Lucas Zorran and Officer Jean-Paul Rosseau stood with their guns at the ready, and behind them assembled a battalion of policemen, looking less than confident. About twenty feet in front of them was a gaping hole in the major roadway, a column of smoke twirling lazily from its center. Huge cracks emanated from the impact point like strands of a spider web. The fallout from the impact was everywhere: broken windows, pieces of tires, the flaming shells of cars, chunks of brick walls.

"Can you see anything, Zorran?" whispered Rosseau shakily. He was a tall, lanky young twenty-something with a shock of floppy brown hair and an over-eager way about him. His brown leather greatcoat flapped about his knees.

"Nothing but smoke. Keep your eyes open, Officer. We could be in very deep trouble in a few seconds," advised his senior officer. Zorran was a bald black man with a fierce gaze and a personality stereotypically suited for army life (though he'd left the army at the age of 22). He wore a white coat and had his Sig Sauer pointed at the crater. Slowly the smoke was beginning to lift. There was a huge, bulky shape poking through the smoke.

Zorran and Rosseau took a few steps towards the object, skirting the enormous cracks and debris. As the object came into focus, Jean-Paul let out a small gasp. It was a chunk of pure white metal, smooth but for the slight dent on the bottom from striking the ground. It seemed like it hadn't suffered any damage at all from its trip through Earth's atmosphere. It was round on one side, but the other side had wires and bits of machinery poking from it, as though it had been torn from another structure. It looked, for all the world, like a piece of a flying saucer.

"Wh-what the hell is it?" gasped Rosseau, his gun hand shaking wildly. Zorran put a hand on the younger man's arm before he could put a bullet in the mysterious object.

"I don't know, Officer. Might be part of a space shuttle, or maybe a piece of the ISS. One thing's for sure. I've never seen this kind of metal in my life, and I've worked on and off with NASA for seventeen years. I know all of the latest technology they're developing and whatever this stuff is, either they've been keeping it all hush-hush, it's a prototype, or..." Zorran paused and rubbed his broad forehead; he felt a headache coming on.

"Or... what, sir?" asked Rosseau softly, excitedly. "Maybe it's part of a UFO!"

"Son, it is a UFO. We don't know what the hell this thing is or where it came from, it was flying - or falling, at least - and it is clearly some kind of object."

"But maybe, sir, maybe? It could be part of an alien spacecraft, couldn't it? I mean, satellites have more or less proven that there's at least signs of life on other planets, so -"

"Officer, will you shut up for a minute and just let me think?"

"Oh. Yes, sir. Sorry, sir."

"Be quiet. Now, I think... yes, I think I'll do that. I'll call my friend at NASA and ask her to come up here. Yeah. All right. Rosseau, you have a phone on you?"

"Oh yes - let me see..." Rosseau clumsily put the safety back on the gun and fumbled in his pocket for his pink cellphone, which he tossed to Zorran. He stared down at the carnation-colored device in his hand.

"Rosseau, was that really the only color available when you bought this thing?"

Rosseau went as pink as the cellphone. "It looked different in the magazine picture, sir." Zorran rolled his eyes and flipped it open with one hand, dialing the number of his NASA contact while keeping his gun trained on the white bulk in case it decided to do anything surprising. Tracy Morris, who was the head of Research & Development at Goddard Institute of Space Studies, picked up on the fourth ring.

"Whoever it is, make it snappy, 'kay? I've got a lot of work on my plate and a deadline," she snapped in a clipped, professional voice.

"Geez, Tracy, sorry I got you at a bad time," smiled Zorran.

"Lucas, is that you? Hey! How are you, baby?" she laughed, instantly melting into the warmer, more sociable voice that she used outside the office.

"I've been doing alright, but -"

"When are you going to come see me again?" she interrupted.

"Um, I was actually going to ask you to come down and see me - us. We've found something out in Barre, and I think you're going to want to check this out."

"Something like what? A piece of a shuttle? A meteor? A... UFO?" she snickered.

He knew she meant the last one as a joke, but he said, "The last one actually."

There was a moment of silence on the other end. Tracy knew Zorran almost never joked and was rarely sarcastic. "I'll come right down," she promised, and hung up. That was it. He had piqued her scientist's curiosity, and she would stop at nothing until she found out what it was.

WA 6 draft 1

Acrid smoke drifted up from the cracked asphalt, stinking of tar and brimstone. Detective Lucas Zorran and Officer Jean-Paul Rousseau stood with their guns at the ready, and behind them stood a battalion of policemen, looking less than confident. About twenty feet in front of them was a gaping hole in the major roadway, a column of smoke twirling lazily from its center. Huge cracks emanated from the impact point like strands of a spider web. The fallout from the impact was everywhere: broken windows, pieces of tires, the flaming shells of cars, chunks of brick walls. 

"Can you see anything, Zorran?" whispered Rousseau shakily. He was a tall, lanky young twenty-something with a shock of floppy brown hair and an over-eager way about him. His brown leather greatcoat flapped around his knees.

"Nothing but smoke. Keep your eyes open, Private. We could be in very deep trouble in a few seconds," advised his senior officer. Zorran was a bald black man with a fierce gaze and a personality stereotypically suited for army life (though he'd left the army at the age of 22). He wore a white coat and had his Sig Sauer pointed at the crater. Slowly the smoke was beginning to lift. There was a huge, bulky shape poking through the smoke. 

Zorran and Rousseau took a few steps towards the object, skirting the enormous cracks and debris. As the object came into focus, Jean-Paul let out a small gasp. It was a chunk of pure white metal, smooth but for the slight dent on the bottom from striking the ground. It seemed like it hadn't suffered any damage at all from its trip through Earth's atmosphere. It was round on one side, but the other side had wires and bits of machinery poking from it, as though it had been torn from another structure. It looked, for all the world, like a piece of a flying saucer.

"Wh-what the hell is it?" gasped Rousseau, his gun hand shaking wildly. Zorran put a hand on the younger man's arm before he could put a bullet in the mysterious object. 

"I don't know, Officer. Might be part of a space shuttle, or maybe a piece of the ISS. One thing's for sure. I've never seen this kind of metal in my life, and I've worked on and off with NASA for seventeen years. I know all of the latest technology they're developing and whatever this stuff is, either they've been keeping it all hush-hush, it's a prototype, or..." Zorran paused and rubbed his broad forehead; he felt a headache coming on. 

"Or... what, sir?" asked Rousseau softly, excitedly. "Maybe it's part of a UFO!"

"Son, it is a UFO. We don't know what the hell this thing is or where it came from, it was flying - or falling, at least - and it is clearly some kind of object."

"But maybe, sir, maybe? It could be part of an alien spacecraft, couldn't it? I mean, satellites have more or less proved that there's at least signs of life on other planets, so -"

"Officer, will you shut up for a minute and just let me think?"

"Oh. Yes, sir. Sorry, sir."

"Be quiet. Now, I suggest we let NASA know about this as soon as possible and not let anyone touch it or get near it until they get here.Rousseau, you have a phone on you?"

"Oh yes - let me see..." Rousseau clumsily put the safety back on his gun and fumbled in his pocket for his pink cellphone, which he tossed to Zorran. He stared down at the carnation-colored device in his hand. 

"Rousseau, was that really the only color available when you bought this thing?"

Rousseau went as pink as the cellphone. "It looked different in the magazine picture, sir." Zorran rolled his eyes and flipped it open with one hand, dialing the number to his most trusted contact in NASA while keeping his gun trained on the white bulk in case it decided to do anything surprising. Tracy Morris, who was the head of Research & Development at Goddard Institute of Space Studies, picked up on the fourth ring.

"Whoever it is, make it quick, okay? I've got a deadline and a lot of work to do," she snapped in a clipped, professional voice.

"Geez, Tracy, sorry I got you at a bad time," smiled Zorran.

"Lucas, is that you? Hey! How are you, baby?" she laughed, instantly melting into the warmer, more sociable voice that she used outside the office.

"I've been doing alright, how are you?"

"Oh, I'm not too bad, actually. When are you going to come see me again?" she chirped.

"Well, I was actually going to ask you to come down and see us. We've found something out in Barre, and I think you're going to want to check this out."

"Something like what? A piece of a shuttle? A meteor? A UFO?" 

She probably meant the last one as a joke, but Zorran, said, "The last one, actually."

"I'll come down as soon as I can," she assured him, and hung up. That was something Zorran could always count on: Tracy's unquenchable scientist's curiosity. He smiled, the first time he had that day.

WA 5 draft 3

I was standing in my normal clothes, looking at the faded, cardboard box in my hands. Inside was Aunt Tiffany's wedding dress, and I was about to put it on, something I'd dreamed of doing since I was a little girl. Suddenly I felt nervous that I would rip it or trip when I was walking in it. "Lucy? You ready to try that thing?" called Morgan from where she was getting changed.

I stood behind the big wooden pews, looking around the church. It must have been time for the wedding to start by now - we'd been in here for most of the day, getting things set up. Lizzy and I had been stealing cookies from the caterers' plates when they weren't looking, but then Noah caught us and made us stop. Of course, Lizzy blamed the idea on me. She's always doing that. It's like she forgets that I'm older and smarter than her.

Besides, it was her idea.

Morgan helped me get the dress on and was now zipping up the back. It was tighter than I had expected, but it really was beautiful. It went down to my feet and the sleeves actually made my arms look good. Morgan had a handful of flowers that she was pinning to the veil before I put it on.

I've never seen Ethan look so nervous. He was standing in front of the mirror, combing through his hair with his fingers. We were in one of those little rooms that you have Sunday school in when you're a little kid. They creep me out, especially at night. Noah caught my eye and came down to brush my jacket off. I wonder if he was still mad about the cookie thing.

"You look beautiful, Lucy," Morgan gushed as I looked at myself in the mirror.

"I'm so glad Aunt Tiffany let me have this dress. It's so... elegant." I did look pretty good in it. I twirled around in front of the glass. 

"Aunt Lucy?" I glanced down at Lizzy, our flower girl, who was pouting. She had on a shiny pink dress and was holding a basket of rose petals. "Percy's here and he won't go away!"

First Noah, now Lizzy. Why is everyone acting so bossy today? Noah just made my job as a ring bearer way harder, and now Lizzy's tattling on me (again!) just because I wanted to see Aunt Lucy. I mean, I didn't even do anything wrong! Did I?

"You know you're not supposed to see me before I walk down the aisle, young man," I reproached Percy, who had shown up unexpectedly just as the guests started arriving. I thought I had told Noah to keep an eye on him.

Percy sighed and gave me a pout that could've given Lucy a run for her money. "Everyone's telling me what to do today. Why can't I just -?"

"Because Aunt Lucy said so," interrupted Lizzy in her best bossy voice. She loved watching him squirm. "Now go away."

Percy gave her a pretty nasty sneer. "Tattletale," he whispered.

I was so annoyed with Lizzy. She really is nothing but a big tattletale, plus she's always siding with whoever's yelling at me. I went stomping out of the room, hoping to make Aunt Lucy feel sorry for me. People were starting to arrive, I noticed.

All of a sudden, I heard running feet behind me and turned around just in time to see Lizzy come flying out of the room and tackle me furiously. We shrieked as we fell to the ground, punching and pulling hair.

I really, really, hated Lizzy at that moment.

WA 5 draft 2

Lucy, the bride, was getting her veil adjusted by her sister and maid of honor, Morgan. Her dress was pure white and very shiny, with long sleeves that flared out at the ends and a gauzy train with hydrangeas and yellow roses. It was a bit uncomfortable, but Lucy kept reminding herself, It's only one day. It's only one day. 

Finally Morgan was done toying with the veil and stood back to admire her sister in all her shiny white glory. "You look beautiful, Lucy."

Lucy shyly examined her reflection in the mirror. "I'm so glad Aunt Tiffany let me have this dress. It's so... elegant."

"Well, it's almost time," announced Morgan, checking her pilot watch, which she had cleverly concealed under the sleeve of her dark red, floor-length gown. 

"Aunt Lucy?"

Lucy glanced down at her flower girl, also known as her niece, nine-year-old Lizzy. She was wearing a pale pink dress with those puffy sleeves that itched like crazy. She clutching a basket of rose petals in her chubby fist. Her normally sweet little face was set into a petulant pout.

"Percy's here and he won't go away!"

"Percy..." Lucy planted her fists on her hips and glared at said ring boy, who was peering up at her hopefully.

"I just wanted to see what you looked like before you get married," he explained.

"You know you're not supposed to see me before I walk down the aisle, young man." 

Percy gave a martyr's sigh. "Everyone's telling me what to do today. Why can't I just...?"

"'Cause Auntie Lucy said so," sniffed Lizzy archly. "Now go away."

Percy sneered at her. "You're just a big tattletale." Lizzy's eyes grew wide with anger. Percy turned and shuffled out of the room. Lizzy ran out after him and suddenly a loud shriek erupted from the church. 

"Oh no," groaned Morgan, hurrying out to them.

WA 5 draft 1

Percy stood behind the rows of wooden pews in the tiny church. It was a beautiful Friday afternoon. The low autumn light was slanting in through the high stained-glass windows on the west long wall, sending patterns of gold-tinged spots of light onto the floor. On the far short wall there was a large rose window that was as deep blue as the sea. On Percy's side, there were no windows, only the simple oak double doors that were open slightly to allow a sweet-smelling autumn breeze inside. Percy sighed and rested his chin on his arms, inhaling the scent of dead leaves, books, and cheap furniture fabric. The wedding hadn't started yet, but it was very close; the guests had begun to arrive. Most of them Percy didn't even know. 

Percy sighed and entered the back room where Ethan, the groom, and Noah, his best man, where nervously preparing for the big "I do." The room was one of those sparsely-furnished and vaguely creepy "church function" rooms with white cinderblock walls, crappy folding chairs, a single faux-wooden table, and tiny windows. Percy hated being in these kinds of rooms at night. For the wedding, someone had set up a cracked full-length mirror on a tilting axis, the kind that would flip over at the slightest nudge. 

Noah spotted the ten-year-old and grinned. "Hey, little man. Don't get those clothes dirty before the wedding's over."

Percy sighed. "I'm not. When's the wedding gonna start?"

"It'll start when it starts."

Noah was always giving him answers like this. "But you always say that!"

"Hey, it's true." Noah was Ethan's elder by two years, twenty-nine (and a half) as opposed to Ethan's twenty-seven. He was also his brother. He had stuck to his little brother like glue in the past week, offering advice and moral guidance - at least that's what he said. It was all meaningless to Percy, their nephew and ring bearer. 

As Ethan nervous combed and re-combed his hair in the mirror, Noah squatted in front of Percy and brushed off the front of his sports jacket and tie. Then he spun the boy around and did the same with his back. Lastly, he pushed Percy's short, silky blond hair into place and picked up a light blue silk cushion that had been on the table. He handed it to Percy, who held it reverently like a priceless gold statuette. There were two lustrous silver rings nestled into the center like bird eggs. Percy liked his job. It made him feel important and the silk felt nice on his fingers. 

"Do not drop those," commanded Noah as he beheld his nephew. "You will be in so much hot water if you do."

Percy nodded, suddenly nervous. He swallowed drily as strains of organ music floated through the doorway. Ethan looked twice as nervous as him as he shuffled out the door with Noah behind him, grinning. Percy was left alone to make sure he got the rings to them on time.