The Monsters


Art by Adelae Norwood.

Julia Clark, Author

There are two beings in our world: humans and monsters.

Now, humans are just ordinary people with ordinary talents and jobs. Monsters are cold, agile shapeshifters. They are created with human appearances, so we can only identify them through our hearing and their silence — monsters can’t talk.

Oh, and, one other way. Their blood.

A monster’s blood is purple and cold, making its skin feel like a thin sheet of ice. Ours is red. So I guess that makes us warmer.

Anyways, when someone is known to be quiet, hasn’t been heard speaking, and tries to hide as much as possible, he is accused of being a monster and executed on the spot. This is a bummer for kids who are just simply shy.

But it has to be done; we have to kill all the monsters in order to live a normal, happy life.

And that’s what I believed for the first eighteen years of my life.

I, along with the rest of my school — and, really, the whole world, was brainwashed. And if he never saved me, I wouldn’t be here right now. No one would have ever known how monsters really work.

People have begged me to tell the story; they want me to write what they think is the truth, based on what little they’ve heard. So I’m going to do just that. I’m going to tell the real truth about the monsters.


Roe Castells

The street was as busy as it had always been: cars driving without stopping, people walking without thinking, monsters lurking on every corner.

I didn’t know for sure, but I assumed indifferently that there were still millions left, although I didn’t have the animosity everyone else seemed to feel.

I wasn’t scared of monsters; they seemed harmless. What if they are helping us in ways we are not able to understand yet? What would our world be like without them?

The green light flashed above me  and woke me from my daze. I walked across the street until I heard a blood-curdling “Stop!”

I stopped in my tracks, looking around.

The scream had come from the ebony-haired boy across the street. Before I could move, a black car flew around the corner, running a red light and knocking me off my feet.

If the boy hadn’t warned me, I would’ve been dead.

I looked across the road. He was still standing there, his dark blue eyes staring straight through mine. He looked utterly confused, hand to his throat, as if what he did was against the rules.  

While my head spun from my fall, I knew two things for sure. One: He’d just saved my life, and I would be forever grateful.

Two: He’s not a monster.


Kaspien Lane

I stood on the side of the corner, shaking, not from the icy touch of the city, but the fear that rattled my bones every day, the fear that someone would know.

These humans were dangerous — scary, even. They carried guns in their backpacks and pockets and in their cars. Some even carried guns in their hands, and if they realized I was a monster, they would kill me instantly.

The familiar white flash of the future raced past my eyes. I got these often, snippets of the future ten minutes before these moments occurred. Most were completely pointless; it’s not like I could make much of a difference anyway. Still, I succumbed to my gnawing instinct to see the ten-minute future.

I closed my eyes, then came the usual flutter in my stomach, the blotches of white against my eyelids, and finally, a pure blackness that eased into a vision.

There’s a girl, with bright red hair and emerald green eyes. She wears jeans with rips down the front and a navy shirt. She stares into space for a moment, waiting to cross the street.  Once the light flashes green for pedestrians, she walks. Then, toward the end of the crosswalk, a car bolts down the street, fast as lightning. The girl doesn’t notice; the car comes too fast, and in less than a minute, she’s brutally hit and killed, left on the street.

I stumbled back and opened my eyes, not wanting to return to the gruesome thought. I had to save this girl. But I didn’t know how.

Ten minutes later, as I waited anxiously, I saw her lingering by the pole. Her hair blew and tumbled playfully in the sleeting wind. Her eyes were a clear warm green, and her skin was milky white.

Something told me she was different. She didn’t carry a weapon of any sort. I sensed fear in her, yes, but not fear of me, or any monsters.

The green light flashed. I was too late! I wouldn’t be able to run in front of the car in time. My mind circled with different ways to save her, my blood freezing as I watched her walk across the street, unaware of what the future held. I walked forward, trying to do something.

I waved to her, but she wasn’t looking.

Then, the strangest thing happened. Warmth bubbled to the top of my throat and seeped into the sides of my neck. A fuzzy, light feeling trickled through me, and the blood in my throat stung from heat. A word climbed to the top of my mouth and threw itself off of my tongue. “STOP!” I yelled.

The girl looked at me, utterly confused, and then came the car. It missed her. She fell to the asphalt, narrowly avoiding a far worse fate.

I locked my eyes on her, searching through her thoughts. And, inexplicably I heard the smallest, most delicate whisper: “He’s not a monster.”