MoonChild ~Chapter 1~

Image Credit: Steve A., Goodyear, AZ The author's comments: This is a run-off of Twilight. In Eclipse and Breaking Dawn, we find Quil imprints on 3 year old Claire. This is her story, 14 years later. ENJOY! Coment and Rate if you can! “Bye Joseph!” I said, slamming the door on his brand new Mitsubishi. He smiled, waved back and drove away. I waved back, still smiling. We had fun over the last week, but I just didn’t feel that click that you are supposed to feel. I walked down the short, poorly cemented square sidewalk leading to my house. It was small, white, and partially run-down. I reached the un-matching door and pulled out the spare key that we kept in the plant on the right. I opened the door as quietly as possible (It squeaked- I had to remind Quil to oil the hinges on that thing) and closed it even quieter. I looked at the wall (white will stains of brown, yellow and green crayon) and to the family pictures. One from when I was too young to remember, was of Quil laughing in a chair with poorly applies make-up on this face and me and my friends dancing around him. It made me smile and think of happier times, times of when Mom actually was around. She was busy being the big-designer she was, so Aunt Emily (I’ll call her mom) Was more of a mom to me than she was. Even though Quil was amazing too, a better father, brother, best friend than anyone could have. He took care of me, told me stories, and was in every picture I was. He’s like that best friend that you click with. When I was five, I asked if the stories were real. “Awe they weal Quil?” I would ask. “No, Claire-“ He said, and then tickled my tummy until I couldn’t breathe, and then said, “Just stories. Nothing more.” And then he looked into the woods. He does that constantly, and then I would hear a growl from the woods. A wolf, most likely. I But lately, I’ve been feeling funny around him, touching my hair a lot, wanting to look good. “Where have you been?” I heard a voice call sternly from behind me. I turned on my high top heel to face Quil, sitting in the old velvet recliner. I put my hand on my chest in relief, “Oh, Quil. You scared me.” I said sighing. He got up and scowled at me. “You didn’t answer. Where. Were. You.” He said through his teeth. I heard a cry from a wolf in the woods. I think they were watching. “At the um…Olympic Music Festival…” I said, looking around, knowing that wasn’t where I was supposed to go. “The WHAT!!! Isn’t that where guys get drunk and sing on stage?” “NO!” I fought back. “Why so you have to be so MEAN!” I shouted and then felt bad. “I don’t know where that came from,” I whispered. “You should have told us.” He said with a disapproving look. “Jeez! I’m what? 17 already? Wow, Quil. It’s time to let me grow up!” I shouted, running upstairs to my room. I slammed the door as he called out after me, “Claire-wait!” I sat in my room and cried and cried until I couldn’t cry anymore. And then I felt a prickly heat running up my spine. I heard a knock at the door. “It’s Emily- I’m going to work. Quil’s off of school today, holiday or something. He’s here, so if you need anything ask.” She said through the door. “I don’t need a babysitter, Mom. I’m fine.” I said through my teeth, though things did not feel right. I heard her take a collective sigh. “Bye hu-“ “Bye.” I interrupted before she could finish. I felt so horrible, I wanted her to leave. A few hours later the pain intensified and I started to thrash around the room, throwing clothes, shoes, lamps, anything I could find. I started screaming grabbing my head to stop the throbbing. Quil knocked on the door,” Claire are you Okay? I’m sorry about saying whatever I said to make you tick before-“ and a lamp flew an inch past his head. “WHOA! Girl, calm it down! What’s wrong!?!” He asked putting his hands on my shoulders as I thrashed. He was too strong. “Jeez, Claire. You’re burning up-“ he said and then stood there. “Quil, QUIL?” I asked. “I’m here.” He said with a sad look on his face. “Quil, it burns. It burns so badly. Stop the burning.” I said to him, falling to my knees. “What’s wrong with me? I’m sorry I yelled at you- I didn’t mean it. I don’t know what-“ “Look, Claire. Those stories I told you when you were little? About the Quileute’s being Werewolves? Shape-Shifting things? They’re not stories. They’re real.” He said, crouching down to my level. It felt as if the earth stood still. “r-real?” “Yes.” “So that means I’m turning into a werewolf?” I whispered. “Just like me, Sam, Jacob, Jared and everyone else. You know those wolves you hear in the woods? Those are them. They, WE can read each other’s minds now. Nothing’s a secret.” He mumbled the last part. I scoffed. “Was anything ever a secret?”



MIR-YASHAR SEYEDBAGHERI: Evening

Evening. I lie in bed, absorbing the hum of the fan. Shadows spill through, lavender and pink cheer bathing me. For this moment, I put aside father’s lectures, bad son, too artistic, not living in the real world. Darkness deepens. For a moment, I can almost forget. Almost. Close enough. Mir-Yashar Seyedbagheri is a graduate … Continue reading MIR-YASHAR SEYEDBAGHERI: Evening →

RAN WALKER: How to Train a Beast

The first time the beast came to the village was by accident. He had simply lost his way. However, once he learned the townspeople were willing to feed him one of their own each year, gradually incorporating more festivities and rituals into his visits, the beast vowed to keep returning. Ran Walker is the award-winning … Continue reading RAN WALKER: How to Train a Beast →

RAVEN CORINN CARLUK: Incandescent

She reads quietly in the corner, sublimely beautiful. Serene. Her soul surrounds her, highlighting every motion, drawing me like a moth to a flame. I’m not worried that I’ll burn, only that she’ll never notice my tiny spark against her brightness. Smiling, she looks up from her book. “Hi, there.” Raven Corinn Carluk writes dark … Continue reading RAVEN CORINN CARLUK: Incandescent →

TOM O’BRIEN: SPF

We lie around the pool, melting, burning, toasting, marinating. Nobody speaks, except for one woman berating her husband for not using sunscreen. Later the waiter tells us they’ve been coming to this same hotel for twenty years. Well, twenty-three if you count the years since he died of skin cancer. Tom O’Brien is an Irishman … Continue reading TOM O’BRIEN: SPF →

LISA ALLETSON: Discordant

A man wrote a song and died. Trembling, the song tried to sing herself. Each day she practised, flexing melodic limbs, strengthening pale notes, until she came to understand discordant beauty. That day, her song spilled into rivers and comet trails, spread throughout galaxies. The universe leaned in to listen. Lisa Alletson is an emerging … Continue reading LISA ALLETSON: Discordant →