“Wow, Victoria, you know how to write a story,” said my peers during my workshop for crappy Evangeline’s Flame.
“Wait, are you serious?” I asked. No. They had to be bluffing.
My teacher styled her brown hair in a ponytail and picked up her copy of Evangeline. “Yes, Victoria. It can sometimes be difficult to touch on all the storytelling elements in a short story, but you do it well.”
“Stop doubting yourself,” a friend called from the other side of the class’s workshop circle. “I remember your writing from last semester. It’s really good.” Without warning, she tossed something at me.
I caught it and smiled when she gave me an Advanced Fiction Writing 2022 sticker. It had a cartoon-like typewriter on it. “Tha-Thank you,” I whispered.
My friend continued to beam.
***
This picture of Matthew on my phone was my favorite. He looked the best he did in those few months leading to his death. He was strong and handsome and wore the familiar String Cheese shirt he got when he went with Mom and Dad to one of their concerts. His smile was enough to calm even the fiercest rage. He truly was my Green Guardian.
It felt strange being back on Wattpad, but I went ahead and typed a message into the announcements box:
I had my workshop for Evangeline’s Flame today. It went well.
While I wrote, I gripped the stainless steel necklace my grandmother gave each of my family members after the tragedy. The pendant was a heart with “A piece of my heart is in Heaven” written on it. Attached to it was a smaller heart. Mine read “Brother”, my parents’ read “Son”, and my grandma’s read “Grandson”.
“Iamque decem vitae frater geminaverat annos, cum perit, et coepi parte carere mei,” I repeated to myself. That was a phrase I learned in my Latin class. It translated to: “And he had just doubled ten years of his life when he died, and with him, a part of me.”
Ovid, thank you for understanding the pain of losing a sibling.
I moved my fingers across my pendant and studied my Wattpad stories: The Green Guardian, Evangeline’s Flame, Dragon: Myth of the Bermuda Triangle, etc. Look at all those awards I won! Look at all the chapters and words I wrote!
“We’re so glad to have you back, @CroodsGirl!” my Wattpad friends, my writing family, told me.
I was glad to be back, but I was even more happy to finally start using my Russian name, Viktoria Fyodorova, as my pen name. Catherine Victoria Christie was a kid, but Viktoria Fyodorova was an adult.
Excited, I ran through Evangeline’s Flame and turned on “Infra-Red” by Three Days Grace. It was the only song I listened to while I worked on it.
I couldn’t help myself.
I leaped out of my seat and ran around mine and Dystinee’s small room with my arms stretched wide. What a feeling! There was the spark I lost! I jogged from one side of the dorm to the other. Story ideas fluttered through my brain like butterflies releasing themselves from their cocoons.
“Whoo-hoo!” I cheered.
Time to calm down, Victoria. You need to start brainstorming the next story for your Capstone class. I wanted it to be even better than Evangeline!
I knew the perfect place to think. It was where I first brainstormed the Fins series.
***
Ah, that ocean breeze felt good on my warm cheeks. Memories of my four semesters at the college played like the deleted scenes of a movie in my head. I saw who I was before Matthew died and who I had become.
“I like this school,” I told my parents on Move-In Day three and half years ago while I examined the brick dorm I was going to stay in—McConnell Hall.
Dad ruffled my hair. “You’re going to love it here, Vika.”
The harbor looked like orange Fanta. I held my hand out to it and studied the sailboats, forts, and ships. My other hand set my notebook down on the dock’s railing. The sound of waves slapping its legs reminded me of dear old Tracey. He was somewhere out there.
A few gray fins popped up in the harbor. It had been so long since I saw dolphins.
To show off, they poked the sky with their tails.
Seagulls soared over them, squawking at one another. “Mine! Mine! Mine!” they called.
Birds were one of my favorite animals. They were what inspired Messummer in the original draft of her story. If not for dinosaurs, they would not be here.
I thought about Through the Wormhole, the first story I posted on Wattpad. I promised myself I would eventually publish it.
“I’ll be the first person at your book signing!” Matthew’s old message drew a curved smile across my face.
It’s time to return to the Unknown with my characters.
They circled me like spirit animals and whispered, “Let’s go, Viktoria Fyodorova.”
In place of the seagulls, I saw Messummer. She opened her long wings and flew toward me. Her message was clear.
I wrote Messummer, 4th Draft, at the top of the blank page in my notebook. It was time to hit the books again. I needed to refresh myself with geological history.
“Vika…” Matthew’s voice filled my mind.
A few clouds in the sky moved apart, revealing a single sun ray. It acted like a blanket and tossed itself on top of me.
“I’m sorry,” continued my brother.
A blast of wind flipped the page in my notebook.
“I’m sorry I hurt you and your writing,” Matthew choked out, sniffing. There was his tan, thirty-one-year-old face. He appeared as he did in my dreams—looking better than ever!
“It’s okay, Matthew,” I whispered to myself. A few tears ran down my cheeks, but I rubbed them away. “We all make mistakes.” A second zephyr told me my brother was right against me now. “Don’t worry. I’m going to be the writer you want me to be. I’ve already started a new story called Wait! I Wrote That?”
Matthew laughed. “I like that. Only my little sister would come up with a creative title.”
With a quick shrug, I admitted, “Truthfully, I had writer’s block at the time.” I probably looked strange talking to myself, but that was the whole point of the harbor—to escape the real world and enter my imaginative one.
My name no longer was Catherine Victoria Christie. I was Viktoria Fyodorova, and I wouldn't let a traumatic event destroy my island ever again. It was time for me to share my stories with the world. Only then would my brother’s soul truly rest in peace.
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