Feather Project 4: Feather Project

By Morgan Pletcher, Rodaina, Hope Robens and 3 more

The Golden Rule - Morgan Pletcher
Rule #1- Never doubt the Golden. Rule #2- The Golden are always right. Rule # 3- The Red are inferior
Follow Cleo on her climb to become the first Golden of her kind, With all the work she's put into it, failure is not an option.

Secrets of a Ghost Town - Rodaina
"Blood.
Dark, red splotches ruined the beautiful green of the grass and the brown of the tree trunks. Red blending in with no longer clear blue water. Red everywhere."
It's just a day like any other, or so Lizzy thought.

Dennis's Freedom - Hope Robens
"But he was no coward. If he were going to win the game, he would. If he were going to get pummeled for it afterward, he would do that too."
Tired of living to the constraints of his family's name, Dennis strikes out on his own, Surely he's savvy enough to survive whatever the world has to throw at him

Oak Street Witch - Mike McCarthy
"Tears ran down Huey's cheeks, but the boy did not make a sound. The dog punctuated its growl with a deafening bark."
Follow the events of the most terrifying day in the McDonald household,

The Estate - Holden Marrs
"The boy's now shouts assaulted my mind, invading every corner of my skull as I fumbled desperately with the handle."
When cleaning out a dead relative's home, who knows what you might stumble upon?

The Secret to a Happy Marriage - Samantha Sullivan
"Linn County had a bloody history; ghost stories stretched as far back as memory. For the last forty years, a woman has been murdered annually."
Follow Detective Roy Sanchez as he gets to the bottom of Linn County's dark history

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ibis Publishing LLC
• Release date: Jan 11, 2023
• ISBN: 9798987272329

Book preview

Feather Project

IV

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Anthology of Short Stories

Copyright

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No portion of this book may be reproduced or distributed in any form without permission from the Publisher

Names, characters, products, etc. are used from the author’s imagination, as this is a work of fiction. If there is any resemblance to any establishment or person living or dead, it is purely coincidental

COPYRIGHT© 2023 Ibis Publishing LLC

Contents

The Golden Rule

Secrets of a Ghost Town

Dennis’s Freedom

The Oak Street Witch

The Estate

The Secret to a Happy Marriage

The Golden Rule

By Morgan Pletcher

Rule #1- Never doubt the Golden

Rule #2- The Golden are always right

Rule # 3- The Red are inferior

I read from the list on my mirror, just as I’ve done every morning since I learned to read. Everybody does, ever since the Oriane Empire was founded 50 years ago.

I can’t help but imagine my pale skin with golden ink gleaming across my neck and a crown in my honey-blond hair.

Those who are deemed Blue are high class, the superior. Everybody only dares to wish to be Blue, but I want something better.

The Golden rule over Oriane as a group of kings. There are currently twelve, and never before has there been a woman as a Golden.

I belong with them.

I will be the first.

Cleo! My brother calls from outside. Luke, the son my parents always wanted. Their favorite, to say the least.

The golden child, if you will.

I unlock my bathroom door, heading into my small bedroom, ignoring my brother. The bed was shoved into a corner with an overflowing desk next to it. There’s a small rack of hand-me-down clothes acting as the only decoration.

Cleo! he yells again.

What? I reply, annoyed, walking over to the rack, pulling out an oversized red shirt advertising one of the only bands the Golden granted a permit. I can hear their screaming through the thin wall between Luke’s and my rooms.

They’re not good.

Did you fill out the entry form? He asks through the door.

Did he seriously not do it? You need it for the Prism!

You need it for the Prism! I call out.

I’d like to say I’m surprised, but he always does this with schoolwork.

How am I twins with him?

The top student and the failing one being related is surprising, but being twins is downright embarrassing... at least for one of us.

And yes, being born seven minutes earlier than me qualifies Luke for hand-me-down clothes.

Come on, don’t be like that, He tries, You’d do anything for me.

Since when? I mutter.

Luke! Breakfast! Mom calls from downstairs.

Cleo. Breakfast. I say to no one.

I sit on the couch, reading and eating a granola bar, while Luke eats french toast at the table.

Are you ready for the Prism? Mom asks, my head snapping up.

The Prism, the day our role in society is determined.

Every sixteen-year-old undergoes it on the nation’s anniversary.

It’ll be easy, Luke replies, his mouth full of food.

This decides your future; I don’t want you throwing it away because you were cocky. She says, the striking blue gleaming on her neck. We can't have a Red as a son.

Red, the ones who failed.

I will never be a Red.

I refuse.

Honey, come here. I have a thought. She says sweetly. Luke goes to her, still holding his plate. She whispers something in his ear; his eyes glint with shocked betrayal. A sad look settling in as he looks at me.

Worry blossoming in my gut.

***

Are you really not nervous? I ask, my curiosity getting the better of me.

How could he not be nervous?

He lets out a sigh that sounds like the weight of the world is on his shoulders. Though more accurately, it’s a jacket he’s holding. A Golden-issued jacket. Its seams are painted blue, etched along stiff black fabric.

We were in a small room, awaiting the prism. It’s barer than my bedroom. The walls a dull gray, the chairs cheap metal. There are two partitions propped in opposite corners.

The only thing to note is the prism-shaped chandelier, decorating the wall with rainbows.

Okay, maybe my room is actually blander.

You never answered my question, I say, looking at Luke. Are you nervous?

He looks away.

Fine, be like that. See if I care.

I turn and walk into one of the changing spots. There’s a large mirror leaning against the wall and an outfit hanging from the wood. The pants match the jacket and the tank top perfectly.

Putting all of my nerves into pulling the shirt up over my head.

This is the most nerve-racking thing I’ve ever done in my life, Luke says, just as my shirt gets caught half over my head.

What? I ask, as I engage in battle against my shirt.

If I mess this up, He lets out an exhausted sigh just as the collar slips off my head. I mess everything up.

Then why act like you don’t care? I ask, genuinely confused. I’ve never been one to hide my feelings, wearing my heart on my sleeve since I was a kid.

And no, this is not some attention-seeking method patented by the forgotten twin.... Oh... wait...

You wouldn't understand. I can picture his look, a mix of his ego and fear.

Try me, I mutter, pulling the tank top on; it goes on without a fight.

They expect so much from me, He says, sounding woeful. I can’t mess this up.

This stirs something in me. Has this been an unconscious motive for me? No, that would be far too cliche.

Why wouldn't I understand that? I ask, emotion finding its way into my voice. Don’t even.

They adore you; you’re their favorite. He says.

I laugh. I laugh at this ridiculous lie. Me, their favorite? That’s ridiculous.

Anyway, I should go, He says.

They hate me, I say, changing into pants. I hear the door behind him. You hate me.

***

All participants are bound to the rules of the Prism; all cheating will result in an immediate ranking of Red, the proctor says. I do my best to shove all thoughts of the previous conversation from my mind.

I have to focus.

We will begin with the physical test. She says again. Her hard green eyes landing on me.

We’re split into three groups before they take us into a dark room one by one. We’re all required to wear the Golden issued uniform, consisting of a jacket with blue streaks across the seams. I enter the room, one of the first to do so. Three glowing streaks being the only source of light. I had no clue what to expect, they change the test every year, and I admittedly still don’t know.

The Golden are not responsible for injuries or death, the woman says over the loudspeaker. Good luck.

My nerves spike at her words. I wonder why, I think sarcastically.

My heart is in my throat when the lights flick on—revealing a large room, a set of Monkey bars suspended over a large pit. It’s terrifying and surely deadly.

It’s beautiful. Beautiful and deadly.

You have three minutes starting now. The voice says again. Your future depends on this; good luck, Miss Magnus.

My heart races with her words, my eyes fixed on the gleaming rungs. I climb up the ladder, grabbing the sides to steady myself. A startled, embarrassing sound escapes me when my skin meets the metal. It’s boiling hot.

Okay, this complicates matters.

My fears keep rising; my life is staked on this; everything is staked on this. I need to think this through.

Okay, so what do I have? I ask myself, making a list in my mind. A Golden issued outfit, Three minutes, and a flaming set of Monkey bars. That would be the name of my band if I had any musical talent. An image of me in a leather jacket and teased hair fills my mind.

Wait, the jacket. Could I use the jacket to protect myself? Yeah, that’s