Part One- Trouble’s Out of Town

HEY! I’m back! And with a surprise to both you and I. I’m writing another story that I wanna post on here. It’s a little bit weird I would say BUT I would appreciate if you guys read it and let me know what you think in the comments! Love all you guys so much and I hope you have a lovely day!


A truck slowly, painfully rumbles down the road. The left headlight out. The right the only light for a mile and three quarters. It’s bumper has three deep dents that were imbedded with two different paint colors, red and yellow. The engine groans as the gravel leads it further on.

It’s silent. Yet, not really.  The corn whispering to each other theories of who it is and what action to take. It’s obviously someone who didn’t belong. Obviously some one looking for Trouble. Looking hard. Trouble has been gone for the past month, everyone knows that.  It is taking a short vacation to the north. But whomever is in the truck, if anyone, is apparently unaware. Had they not seen the notice posted on bulletin in the town hall? Trouble would be back promptly on May 9th. So long as the month isn’t cancelled, as May so often is.

The truck lurches to a stop, right before the road veers right. The corn listens, bending towards the truck and holding its breath. What steps out is a pair of dirty sneakers that don’t match and a girl whose face very much resembles the sneakers. Similar but definitely not identical nor symmetrical. She stands as still as the corn stalks for a moment, her big eyes blinking up at the moon, her small lips taking in the warm dusty air of the night, pushing ropes of hair from her sharp face.

When she finally does move, its with surprising speed. The door swinging shut, the key locking the door and the girl already pushing through the stalks in what felt like the blink of an eye. Anything that isn’t paying attention, is now. What business did the girl have in the fields? How could they help or harm the process? Despite her moving so quickly, the odd glint in her eye that was fearfully strong and the soft song she sings as she goes, the peak of her interest is in the way she ignores the whispers of the world around her. That when a certain something rustled especially loudly, she doesn’t even glance. The girl just keeps walking like nothing could harm and nothing could help.

The peak of her interest is her independence. From the rest of the world. They do the best to scare her. They rattle their loudest and scream their fiercest, not even a gasp or a shiver. This is slightly annoying, with Trouble gone for so much longer they wish for something to do. Someone to frighten. Tonight that wish is not fulfilled. At least not yet.

She walks deeper and deeper, delving into the corn with an expert pair of eyes that peel back every husk with a single look. The stalks are now the ones who are frightened. They’re not sure they want her here. Not sure they like her very much at all. The two corners of her lips lift slightly upward as she finds what she came here for. She grabs a single ear of corn, her finger nails short with dirt underneath. The soil from another land. She grabs the ear, peels back the husk this time not with her eyes, pulls the soft hair from it and holds it up to the moon.

It catches the rays of silver sun brilliantly. Her mysterious smile grows wider. She wraps a few strands around her fingers and drops the rest of her gatherings. A soft thud and the slam of a car door and she was gone.

The corn no longer whisper. Neither do the rest of them. The crickets are the only ones who blare on with their love songs and proclamations. Everything sits still. The only sign of any truck is the indents of the gravel and the only clue of a girl is the bent stalks.

The moon sighs as it finishes its course around the sky.


The next time the truck is seen.

A gas station in the middle of the day. The sun searing into the cracked concrete, the blue of the atmosphere stretching forever. No corn to whisper, only dust to thickly coat every surface and every word.

The truck jerks to a stop next to a pump with a cracked sign of the number 3. This time it has seven dents and a myriad of colors. It’s left headlight has been pulled out and not replaced. Two shoes step out, this time boots. But instead of a girl its a boy. A boy with an even face and full lips. His eyes are squinted against the bright light glinting off anything that catches it, he shields them with an arm clad in worn flannel. He is not here for the hair inside a particular stalk of corn. He is here because someone sold him a faulty truck that consumes more gas than he had anticipated. The boy, his fingers exploring each surface curiously as if they weren’t connected to something larger, is here because he needs to fill up both his truck and stomach.  

An attendant comes out to help him. He doesn’t need it but doesn’t say so. The boy just lets the employee do her job and walks inside the small store to his right. The store is to the point, two aisles and a single refrigerator in the back. No one inside, not even another employee, he shivers slightly and the eeriness sets in quickly and quietly. He tucks a curl into his baseball cap,  his fingernails clean and trim. He walks down each aisle three or four times before the attendant comes back. She doesn’t say a word but he knows what she expects. The boy can’t decide what he wants so he grabs serval things, piling them high in his arms. Hoping at least one would quench his hunger. He sets them on the counter and the attendant scan each one with wrinkled fingers. She doesn’t look away from him for the entirety of the process. He studies a paper taped to the counter to avoid her painful gaze.

It reads in big, fanciful letters:

Trouble out of town till May 9th Please act accordingly.

“What does this mean?” He asks, looking up to find her gaze still peeling back his layers. She just shrugs. Helpful. “Can I take it?”

She hands him one from a large stack and throws all his items into a bag. Her lips stay pressed together tightly, disappearing into themselves. He folds the paper and sets it in his bag, not quite sure why he wants it or what he’ll do with it.

The sun is swollen as he pulls out onto the road.


9 Comments Add yours

  1. I am the 25-year-old writing a children’s fantasy not knowing how to write a book. I do have three snippets from my book on my blog. I have a wild imagination. I love the fantasy world I created- even though it is small- after all I created it.

    Liked by 1 person


    Liked by 1 person

    1. Laurel says:

      OH MY GOODNESS thank you so much :,))) hopefully you like this one a lot better than the last 🧡🧡

      Liked by 1 person

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