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Description
Hidden among a jungle of brick, deep along a trail of stone lays a monster in a building with wheels that have never moved.  This building is frequented by hundreds of daring visitors all trying to get their moment with the monster. The daring visitors cringe at their forced daily meetings, they hate his gripping tasks, and fight against his deadly ventures.   But there he still dwells, waiting, plotting, and thriving – for people like me.

It wasn't until the sweltering summer of 2004 that he first cast his red eyes among me.  I glared at his balding head, his white teeth, and his crooked smile – afraid.  I had failed the challenges of the winter and spring and was forced into a meeting with the beast.  They said it was to be redeemed, they said it was for my own good – but I knew better, no, I thought I knew better.

Twenty-six other victims met him on that sweltering day – twenty-six others who couldn't spend the heat with the safety of their friends, the comfort of a cool pool, or the pleasantness of a peaceful beach.  No we all, twenty-seven in total, were forced to be victims of the monster in his trailer that's never moved stashed deep in the jungle of brick.

His tasks were brutal; I stayed up to odd hours in the warm night fussing over goals I felt no man could accomplish:  A six page report on Great Expectations one day, eight poems the next, a research paper after, and résumé soon too. The list of deathly tasks grew long, my patience sucked thin – how could I keep going at the insane rate the monster's red eyes deemed necessary?  How can I move on?

But then something unexpected happened.  It was long - yes, ten pages, it was tough - true, deadline in two days, but it was different, something no beast had ever requested, something that dumped gas on the fire I never knew I had.  The one rule of the beastly project was: "Write a ten page creative piece. Due – Friday." My first reaction was ten, ten pages!? In two days! This monster was out of his mind, I've never done so much in my life! But I had to work on his project if I ever hoped to be redeemed - as they claimed.

So I started, Pike, no Pea, no Poe – oh, Peter, yes I like that – Peter.  Peter what? On a trail, no – on the run, why? A map! Not just any map, a map that shows you your true desire – a corrupt map. Slieth – the creature that's chasing him, why? A message, a deadly message.  A cold, wet gray hand around Peter's ankle, sprouting out of the ground. The Slieth pulled its moist body on top of Peter, holding him down. It's face, it had no face, only two holes of nostrils, flat panels for eyes, two stubs for ears, and a mouth – oh a wicked mouth almost sewn shut with flesh – dried blood on its lips. The mouth opened, the ears widened and bled, a screech echoed though a massive forest, ringing blew through Peter's ears, and some sound hardly comprehensible approached: "If you are the key, don't break the lock…"

The story grew, Fairies – small – no Sairy's, monsters with wings, a massive desert, a crazy scientist or two, vicious birds, an epic chase scene, a mammoth war, a city that houses billions, a jail, the mafia, secret police, a cave -  hours passed.  I didn't sleep – I slowly looked at the bottom of the screen – ninety-six pages, and I only skimmed the top.

Friday appeared, I got to read the story out loud, well some of it at least, to a small group.  I started strong, proud – sure the grammar smelt like rotten cheese, the plot had holes as large as old tires, the vocabulary questionably at my reading level – but I was proud. Ten minutes passed and the entire trailer had gone quite – only me reading my story, only me which had not noticed the awkward silence. I paused, the end of a paragraph, and when I paused the entire room froze. My head slowly turned away from the wall, from my group, and everyone, all twenty-six plus the monster was looking at me.   My eyes glittered, my mind sparkled and the monster said but two words: "Go on."

Description
Hidden among a jungle of brick, deep along a trail of stone lays a monster in a building with wheels that have never moved.  This building is frequented by hundreds of daring visitors all trying to get their moment with the monster. The daring visitors cringe at their forced daily meetings, they hate his gripping tasks, and fight against his deadly ventures.   But there he still dwells, waiting, plotting, and thriving – for people like me.

It wasn't until the sweltering summer of 2004 that he first cast his red eyes among me.  I glared at his balding head, his white teeth, and his crooked smile – afraid.  I had failed the challenges of the winter and spring and was forced into a meeting with the beast.  They said it was to be redeemed, they said it was for my own good – but I knew better, no, I thought I knew better.

Twenty-six other victims met him on that sweltering day – twenty-six others who couldn't spend the heat with the safety of their friends, the comfort of a cool pool, or the pleasantness of a peaceful beach.  No we all, twenty-seven in total, were forced to be victims of the monster in his trailer that's never moved stashed deep in the jungle of brick.

His tasks were brutal; I stayed up to odd hours in the warm night fussing over goals I felt no man could accomplish:  A six page report on Great Expectations one day, eight poems the next, a research paper after, and résumé soon too. The list of deathly tasks grew long, my patience sucked thin – how could I keep going at the insane rate the monster's red eyes deemed necessary?  How can I move on?

But then something unexpected happened.  It was long - yes, ten pages, it was tough - true, deadline in two days, but it was different, something no beast had ever requested, something that dumped gas on the fire I never knew I had.  The one rule of the beastly project was: "Write a ten page creative piece. Due – Friday." My first reaction was ten, ten pages!? In two days! This monster was out of his mind, I've never done so much in my life! But I had to work on his project if I ever hoped to be redeemed - as they claimed.

So I started, Pike, no Pea, no Poe – oh, Peter, yes I like that – Peter.  Peter what? On a trail, no – on the run, why? A map! Not just any map, a map that shows you your true desire – a corrupt map. Slieth – the creature that's chasing him, why? A message, a deadly message.  A cold, wet gray hand around Peter's ankle, sprouting out of the ground. The Slieth pulled its moist body on top of Peter, holding him down. It's face, it had no face, only two holes of nostrils, flat panels for eyes, two stubs for ears, and a mouth – oh a wicked mouth almost sewn shut with flesh – dried blood on its lips. The mouth opened, the ears widened and bled, a screech echoed though a massive forest, ringing blew through Peter's ears, and some sound hardly comprehensible approached: "If you are the key, don't break the lock…"

The story grew, Fairies – small – no Sairy's, monsters with wings, a massive desert, a crazy scientist or two, vicious birds, an epic chase scene, a mammoth war, a city that houses billions, a jail, the mafia, secret police, a cave -  hours passed.  I didn't sleep – I slowly looked at the bottom of the screen – ninety-six pages, and I only skimmed the top.

Friday appeared, I got to read the story out loud, well some of it at least, to a small group.  I started strong, proud – sure the grammar smelt like rotten cheese, the plot had holes as large as old tires, the vocabulary questionably at my reading level – but I was proud. Ten minutes passed and the entire trailer had gone quite – only me reading my story, only me which had not noticed the awkward silence. I paused, the end of a paragraph, and when I paused the entire room froze. My head slowly turned away from the wall, from my group, and everyone, all twenty-six plus the monster was looking at me.   My eyes glittered, my mind sparkled and the monster said but two words: "Go on."