By Emily Albrecht

IOU
I owe you a fall, Sherlock. I
owe
y o u.
Falling is a lot like flying, except theres a more
[P E R M A N E N T]
destination.
People have died.
Thats what people
DO
I will burn you.
I will burn
the
H E AR T
out of you.
I will see [you] later.
{No you wont}
Every fairytale needs a good old-fashioned villain.
DID YOU MISS ME?
DID YOU MISS ME?
DID YOU MISS ME?
DID YOU MISS ME?
Mycroft Holmes has been doing a better job with the measures hes taken in regards to Londons
security. Its still far too easy to get what I want, but I like to watch him dance. Ordinary Sherlock has been
ignoring me, which is
{booooring!}
I calculate every conceivable move they might make against me and counteract it before the thought ever
occurs to them to follow throughbecause Im so terribly
/boredboredboredbOREDBORED\
I glance over at my interrogator and try my very best not to laugh. I dont need to stare at him very
long to know that he
[righthandedmarriedfiveyearsonedomesticshorthaircatfloridavacationlastweekgamblingaddiction
twokidsonepressurepointallIhavetodoispullsomestringsandthen]
thinks he has control over me.
Arent ordinary people adorable?
I do not utter a word until one of the [Holmes] brothers is mentioned. After a while he starts to notice the
pattern and leaves to
GET SHERLOCK
or Mycroft to play my game. I get up and scratch the word
Sherlock
into the walls with my nails until they come alive with
[SherlockSherlockSherlockSherlockSherlockSherlockSherlockSherlockSherlockSherlock]
his name. I am a bit disappointed when Mycroft walks in. He pretends he doesnt see what Ive done to
my cell (hilarious) and beckons me to sit. I do so, and he stands in front of the table at which I am sitting.
James Moriarty, always a pleasure.
I crack my neck slowly, giving him a slow smile. Tell your brother I say hiii.
Gladly. I will release you in due time; the only thing I ask in return is for you to answer one question.
Of course.
Why are you doing this?
The question, admittedly, throws me off track for a moment. I expected him to want information on my
criminal web, the extents of it, something. Why is such a sentimental word, and the question is almost
sickening. I must be cringing because Mycroft frowns. I sigh deeply.
Even you have succumbed yourself to sentiment. Could you be any more BORING?! Silence.
I will tell you why, Mr. Holmes, I do this. I get so bored, you see, I know you understand. All these people
are so o r d i n a r y. Nothing particularly bad happened to me when I was growing up. My parents were

nauseatingly kind to me and I always lived comfortably. Most children dreamed of being firefighters and
astronauts while I dreamt of one day meeting someone who could play my game. Sherlocks losing
himself, Mycroft. I suffocate on my boredom. See, I owe you a fall too, Mycroft. I
OWE
you.
My smile returns in the form of a wicked grin while the sound of my Men blowing up half of London fills the
silence left by my words. Mycrofts phone rings out and I glimpse a sliver of fear widen in his eyes as he
leaves the room, taking my boredom away with him.
By Benjamin Elder
In the early 1990s a small Iraqian village was decimated by a missile is dropped by a United States fighter
jet. The lone surviver, an 18 year old boy crawls away from the ruins of his house and looks up to see the
jet flying away. On that day he swore that one day he would make them pay for they did to his family,
friends, and village. Even if it meant the loss of his own life, but as long as they felt the pain he did, the
price didnt matter. For years he trained and trained and finally he was called from ranks and was told his
mission.When that day arrived he grabbed his fake passport, said his goodbyes, and went off into the city.
He arrived at the airport shortly after 6:30 AM and boarded his plane shortly after 8:00, the plan was
working perfectly. When they had reached 15,000 feet he stood up and ran as fast as he could towards
the cockpit and grabbed a flight attendent on his way. He forced them to open up the cock pit and let him
inside. Once in he redirected his plane for the big apple, NYC. As the plane was about to strike the tower
the only thing he could think of was This is for my family, and village. They shall feel the same pain I felt
on that horrid day so many years ago.
By Shawn Goldring
Wile E. On the verge of starvation, a coyote wondering the desert is longing for some food to pass by.
Hoping it is a road runner for thats all he has ever eaten. There are very few in his area and it seems as
though every coyote but Wile E. has killed their very own road runner. Voosh! A blur zooms by and Wile
E. Coyote knew it just had to be a road runner and as it stopped he then knew for sure it was in fact a
road runner. As it zoomed past him once again he was at first unsure whether he would be able to catch it
or not. Then he noticed it kept going past him blurting out a Meep, Meep! each time it went past and it
would stop and look at him it got more aggravating. He felt disrespected by this road runner taunting him
like it knew he wasnt good enough. So egger to prove himself to every other coyote and the lousy road
runner he then came up with various plans to try and capture the delicious road runner. This went on for
years until his ideas became more and more extreme. With each fail making him more and more furious
as he swore one day he would kill that lousy road runner and it will be the best damn meal hes ever had.
By Emma MacMillan
Knuckles grip the steering wheel to the point of whiteness. A lone tear drop falls onto indigo skinny jeans.
The woman screeches the car to a stop and then parks behind a nondescript building. As she gets out of
her car and continues to the door her lip trembles slightly, but she has not yet lost her composure. She
opens the door silently and heads inside, lightly, perfectly, strutting through on her heels. She instinctively
heads to an elevator on the right without even seeing where she is going. Tears pool in her eyes, but
none more fall. As she got out of the elevator, a medium-sized room with walls of TV screens and some
drawers/safes surrounded her. She headed over to a specific screen, a smaller screen, showing rows of
desks filled with children. She stared at the screen for a while, and then gnashed her lip as her eyes fell
upon a child, sitting in the back corner, with Band-Aids on her cheek and arms. She turned away from the
screen, going to a computer on a desk. Using the computer, she turned on the big monitor in front of her,
revealing a line of cars parked on the side of the street. 90 pounds of pure explosive, strapped under and
hidden inside the gray sports car on which the camera focused. This was never going to happen again.
The woman cupped her other eye, the skin around it puffing up, bright red and inflamed, while the other
eye leaked out a straight line of salty tears. They stung the nail marks on her cheeks, but she made no
hint at the pain it caused her. She waited, watching intently. There he was. Tall, broad, a confident stride,
nonchalantly sharing a joke with some other man. Closer. Closer. He waved goodbye to his co-worker

and swung open the car door. Closed it. Started in drive. She smiled, a bittersweet feeling. It was over.
My baby and I never again she said, shutting her eyes in a bliss akin to quitting your awful job by
telling your boss to go and (insert choice expletive here). Click.
2 dead and some others wounded in unexpected bombing attack. Authorities have examined the scene
of the crime, but are currently able to determine the cause and suspect for the bombing. As of now they
are currently offering a monetary award for any information. If you know anything even possibly related to
the attack or suspect please call 999-8765, names will be kept anonymous
By Lotus Price
I wouldnt necessarily call myself a villain. I just kinda make people go a little bonkers Hi, my name is
Greed and I believe that I run this world, but Im not quite sure. There is always this emptiness that I feel
inside. This emptiness that I need more. That same feeling I give to you. That feeling thatit is just not
enough. TRUST ME YOU CAN NEVER HAVE TOO MUCH. Recently, Joy, Anger, Disgust, Sadness, and
Fear all had a big break in a movieyeah that Disney Pixar joint or whatever. You probably saw it. But,
they forgot about me! Poor little old me! One day I was watching a re-run of my favorite characternot
show, character Stingy from Lazy Town (I hate the show, love Stingy. The only thing that bothers me is
that they will not call him Greedy.) Anyways, I was watching the show in the six year old body of Timothy
and a trailer for a movie called, Inside Out. I felt emptier than ever at that moment. Seeing them, seeing
them get all of the glory. All of the credit for the everyday lives of well, anything that can think. What about
ME?! I have created Empires! I have lived amongst greats! I am in your government! Yet, no one wants to
show me a little (actually a lot would be great) appreciation! Give me a little (a lot of this would be great as
well) recognition! Maybe there is a great explanation behind all of this. Perhaps, they got paid big bucks
for this movie and did not want to split it amongst all of us...perhaps they were feeling greedy. If so, I
understandI think that this is what happened. This I find amusing. Okay, I dont want to talk to this
anymore. Ive got a campaign with Donald Trump to attend.
By Natalie Bitar
She raged against the barrier. For the millionth time in centuries, she threw herself against the
magic set by Mother, determined that this time, this time, she would get through.
But just like the other times, the barrier repulsed her, her form falling to hissing dust where it
touched the barrier. She screamed, unheard, in rage and hatred. As she glared at the barrier above her,
her form began to rebuild itself. Black and white dust swirled around her front paws and horns, reforming
the parts that had fallen apart. She stalked the tiny circular area she had been thrown away in, seething in
rage.
She was Syrila, the Empress of Death, and she would not be contained!
But she was contained, trapped in the Pit where she had been put as punishment for embracing
what was her domain. Skila, her sister, was the Spirit of Life and all she did was bring things to life. Well,
she was the Spirit (fine, Demon) of Death, she should be allowed to kill things all day! It was her right (it
was also fun, but the point still stands!)!
Syrila quieted herself and stared up at the murky sunlight filtering through the barrier above, its
light barely illuminating the clawed walls and ashen floor. At least she wouldnt be in here forever. She
knew that there was a plan in place, and that it was working well. The Bloodbringers, The mortals in her
faction of the Cult, were working with the factions of the other Demons who were trapped. They were
nearly ready to set them all free. She just had to be patient, and she would get her revenge. All the
Demons would get their revenge. The Spirits would never know what hit them.
By Nolan Janda
A journal entry from the beggar-turned-prince Lord Farquaad.
I never knew my parents. I had to live off of small change thrown by awful people. Nobody treated me like
a human being. They instead treated me as an outsider. There was one person who loved me. I never
knew her name. She said I could call her Mamy. Mamy would sell berries in a small hold called Duloc,
where I was raised. Every so often, we would leave Duloc to go to the woods to pick certain berries.
Every time, I had to be told which ones to avoid and which ones to pick.

One day we went to pick some extra berries to sell to a brewing company. She told me about each berry
as usual and I ran off to collect as many as I could. I had collected more than I could keep in the basket
so I went back to show Mamy. On the way down, I heard consecutive screams. I ran back as fast as I
could to see what was happening. What I saw was devastating. A very dark colored tree with a horribly
angry face was choking Mamy to death. I watched in horror until she slowly stopped struggling. The tree
quickly spotted me and threw apple after apple at me. My nose was bleeding. I suffered night after night
by remembering what had happened to the only person who cared about me.
I walked down the blue and white colored streets until I tripped over a horribly misplaced brick. I had no
reason to keep moving, so I laid there for two minutes. A strong wind blew across the high walls of Duloc,
sending a flyer rattling at my back. It was dirty and torn. It said that there was no heir to the throne after
the recent king had died.
I vowed to become Dulocs new prince and avenge my only friends death from magical creatures.
By Stephine Wesley
Lady Tremaine
I, Lady Tremaine, think I am one of the most misunderstood persons in the world. You might know me
better as Cinderellas stepmother or wicked stepmother. I personally dont think I am wicked or evil,
people dont know what actually happened between Cinderella and me, they only see the bad things but
they dont see what happens behind closed doors. I am not just mean to Cinderella for no reason,
Cinderella is the truly evil one. She cuts up my cloths, puts things in my shampoo, makes my life a living
hell, but they only show me making her clean and not letting her go to the ball. She wasnt allowed to go
to the ball because she got Fs on her report card, and I dont feel like she should be rewarded for doing
bad. She also cusses my daughters and me out. I dont approve of cussing but I see why she would hate
my daughters. Her and my daughters argue all the time and it is usually Cinderella that starts the fights.
And I did not lock her in her room, she through a fit because I wouldnt give her money to go shopping,
stormed off to her room, slammed the door, and the door got jammed. I truly thought one of my daughters
would fit the shoe when they showed up my door with the shoe in their hands. When I found out it was
Cinderella I was happy for her because shell be able to have a fairy tale life. I cried when I saw she made
my daughters and I look like monsters and she was innocent. Thats was actually happened believe it or
not.
By Alexandra Zwicky
The thing about murder is that everyone always demands a reason from you. They want to know what
made you do it. Surely you had a reason, everyone has a breaking point and you had to have reached
yours, right?
Sometimes there isnt a reason.
Believe me, at first I thought there was a reason. I was mad at everyone: my friends for turning their
backs on me, my father for never giving me the approval I required, my mother for letting my father walk
all over her. But even after I killed the first one I didnt feel any better about myself.
Dont get me wrong, I loved every moment of it. The memory of feeling of her blood sliding over my hands
still makes me tremble to this day, but all too soon the moment was gone and the feelings came back.
So I had to kill again.
And again.
And again.
Ten women in total, all because I liked the feeling.
Hows that for a reason? I did it to make me feel better.
That always gets the best reaction, telling people I liked it. Theres always this moment where their eyes
get all wide, and they make themselves real small before they can catch themselves. One woman even
had to leave the room she was so disgusted with me.
That was almost as good as the kill.
I digress, my point was (before you got me all sidetracked) that sometimes there isnt a reason. Some
people are just bad, and, sweetheart, Im the worst.

By Anonymous
I long for a glimpse of my girl every night. Shes my slave for when Im sad and need some loving on. Her
name is Josephine. I decided I wanted this magnificent masterpiece on the outside for my collection when
seeing her kick her purple and gold cheerleading skirt. Her legs were smooth as a babys butt and her
hair flowed in the wind like I have never seen ever before. She was too perfect, I wanted to make her
miserable. Before I kidnapped her I spied on her and her sister every night trying to find a way into their
house. Once I had the two girls to myself it was time to start destroying their preciously perfect lives. She
wasnt at all perfect, she was evil. She spat in my face and told me to get off of her over and over again
after each night. She was full of fire, hurt, and courage. She always fights me when I am trying to give her
love and says that I am hurting her when all I have is ropes down for her not to get away. I have another
servant, her sister, Elizabeth who ties Josephine up every night at exactly 9:15. If Elizabeth doesnt have
Josephine ready and all polished up I whip her with my belt.
It has been four weeks and the news has been showing the two missing beloved loving sisters every night
at 8:00. Tonight, they told the citizens that the search is off. What is the purpose of keeping this useless
treasure? Time now to go into the basement and get rid of this old treasure and go get my new girls.
By Anonymous
Villain
One day I was a superhero, but that was a long time ago. I remember the day when people actually liked
me for what I did for our town. Whenever someone was in trouble, they would call me because they knew
that I could do everything that there is to do to save them. Then the day came, when everyone stopped
calling me to help them. So I had to sit around my house because there was nothing for me to save, so I
decided I would become evil and cause trouble instead of helping people.
I would start causing the trouble instead, so then everyone needed my help, but I could not help since I
was evil now. They would try to call the cops on my, but I would just fly away so they would not be able to
get to me. I forgot to mention earlier that my super power was to fly so I would be able to find the problem
easier.
I am sure what you are wondering what I would do that is so evil. I would take peoples animals and give
them to better people who deserve them. So every time I saw someone abusing an animal, I would go
and steal it and take it to an amazing person who deserves an animal. So it is not good for the people, but
good for the dogs and that is all I care about. Animals deserved to be loved and that is my job as a villain,
take away dogs from harmful owners.