This YA collection of Twilight Zone–inspired short stories is a stunning assortment of modern-day twists on classic fables and science fiction standards that tell of a girl who can live in yesterday, a boy who can see through mountains, and a closet monster hunter. These impoverished youth don’t have a lot, but make the most of what they have. As is always the case, every gift comes with responsibility, every vision comes with unwanted knowledge, and nothing is ever what it seems.
This YA collection of Twilight Zone–inspired short stories is a stunning assortment of modern-day twists on classic fables and science fiction standards that tell of a girl who can live in yesterday, a boy who can see through mountains, and a closet monster hunter. These impoverished youth don’t have a lot, but make the most of what they have. As is always the case, every gift comes with responsibility, every vision comes with unwanted knowledge, and nothing is ever what it seems.
eBook
Available on Compatible NOOK devices, the free NOOK App and in My Digital Library.
Related collections and offers
Overview
This YA collection of Twilight Zone–inspired short stories is a stunning assortment of modern-day twists on classic fables and science fiction standards that tell of a girl who can live in yesterday, a boy who can see through mountains, and a closet monster hunter. These impoverished youth don’t have a lot, but make the most of what they have. As is always the case, every gift comes with responsibility, every vision comes with unwanted knowledge, and nothing is ever what it seems.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781495602092 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Rosarium Publishing |
| Publication date: | 06/01/2015 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 80 |
| File size: | 1 MB |
| Age Range: | 9 - 12 Years |
About the Author
Read an Excerpt
Try Looking Ahead
By Jason Rodriguez, R.S., Stacey Robinson
Rosarium Publishing
Copyright © 2014 Jason RodriguezAll rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4956-0209-2
CHAPTER 1
Introductions
In 2036, I was sitting in my bombed-out basement, reading David Copperfield through broken glasses. This was after the second Water War, and as far as I knew I was the last person left on earth. If I wasn't, I didn't care enough to find a companion.
I was wrong about that last person left on earth thing.
One day a man entered my bunker, and I instinctively held my hands up to show him that I had enough blood on them already. He held up his and showed me that he didn't have a drop.
He asked me where we were and I told him the Twilight Zone and he laughed. I told him it was an old TV show from the sixties. I told him that the show was all about people who found themselves in unexplainable situations. He said he knew the show and that wasn't why he was laughing. He asked what I've dreamt about lately, and I said, "Not this."
He asked me if people still hate each other in this time, and I said, "What people?"
He asked me if I'd like a chance to change the world, and I jokingly said, "Who wouldn't?"
But this man didn't joke.
"What would you do?" he asked me.
I told him where I thought we went wrong. How too many decisions were put into the hands of people who never had to dream. Who always had everything handed to them. Who didn't know anything but the greatest conveniences.
"So how would you change that?" he asked me.
I told him I'd speak to the people who had nothing but dreams and the occasional words on a page to inspire new dreams.
The man smiled and nodded his head and now here I am.
This book was written in the future but constructed in the present. I wrote it for you, in the Twilight Zone.
CHAPTER 2The Boy Who Could See Through Mountains
When Indalecio looked off into the horizon, all he saw was sky and ground, despite the fact that his village is surrounded by mountains. It didn't matter if he turned left or right or looks behind him or didn't turn in any direction at all. Indalecio could only see a straight line that was very far away. On top of that line was the sky; the bottom of that line was the ground. Indalecio never, ever saw a mountain.
His father would point east and say that their friends lived over in that direction. "Two days' walk," he'd say. "Along the river and into the valley." He would point south and say that their vile and evil enemies lived in that direction. "It would be a quick walk to their village if it weren't for the mountain," he'd say.
Indalecio would ask, "Are you afraid? Living so close to our vile and evil enemies?"
"No. There is a mountain between us," Indalecio's father would respond, matter-of-factly. For Indalecio's father, a mountain was a mountain. A mountain was tall and thick and made of rocks. There was really no other way to explain it. Indalecio's father never had to say, "Look, over there. Do you see that giant rock coming out of the ground? That's a mountain." A mountain was one of those things you knew about from a very young age. You may not have remembered the exact moment when you learned what a mountain was, but it was probably the first time you'd ever seen one. Indalecio, however, didn't know what a mountain was because he'd never seen one. He just saw a line off in the distance. On top of that line was the sky. Below that line was the ground.
One day Indalecio was sitting at his kitchen table, eating a plate of eels, when a stray cat pounced on his plate and stole his last bite. Indalecio chased the cat south of the village, through fields of flowers and hopped over rocks and tree roots. The cat continued to run, the baby eel hanging from his mouth and flapping against his face. Indalecio bent over and picked up a rock and threw it at the cat. The rock flew over the cat's head but hit the sky with a thunk and rolled back to Indalecio's feet. The cat ran off with the eel, but Indaliecio was more concerned with what made the rock stop in mid-air.
Indalecio picked up another rock and threw it. Thunk! It hit the sky and rolled back to him again.
Indalecio walked towards the spot where the sky was hard and stopped when his face smashed against a rock he could not see. He used one hand to cover his bloody nose and the other hand to touch the sky. "This must be the mountain my father told me about," Indalecio said to himself. He couldn't see the mountain, of course, because Indalecio could never see mountains. All he saw was a line in the distance, with the sky on top and the ground below. And a village. Indalecio also saw a village beyond the hard sky. "These must be my vile and evil enemies," Indalecio said.
Indalecio visited the mountain every day. He watched his vile and evil enemies on the other side and waited for them to do vile and evil things. He watched them eat foods that he'd never eaten before and dance in ways that he'd never danced before and wear clothes that weren't like any of the clothes he'd ever worn before. He watched the children play games that weren't like his games. At first the games were terrifying, but after a while they started to look like fun. The food started to look enticing and the dances started to look beautiful and the clothes started to look comfortable. The more Indalecio watched his vile and evil enemies, the more he started to think that they weren't that vile and they certainly didn't seem evil. They seemed perfectly happy on their side of the mountain, just like his people seemed perfectly happy on his side of the mountain.
One day Indalecio asked his father if he ever visited the other side of the mountain. "No," his father replied, "Why would I go there? Our vile and evil enemies live there."
"Have you met any of our vile and evil enemies?" Indalecio asked.
"No," his father replied. "My father warned me about them."
Indelecio asked if his grandfather ever met any of their vile and evil enemies, but Indalecio's father didn't respond. He just ate his dinner, as if no question was ever asked.
Indalecio spent every day in front of that mountain, watching the people on the other side. He wanted to visit the other side of the mountain and try and get to know these people who were supposedly his vile and evil enemies, but he couldn't walk through mountains.
Indalecio would run his hand across the hard sky. He'd push as hard he could, but the mountain wouldn't budge. Since Indalecio couldn't see the mountain, he couldn't comprehend how big it was. How immovable it seemed. No one had ever tried to move a mountain before, the task simply looked impossible. But, to Indalecio, the mountain was nothing but hard sky.
"Maybe one day I can move this mountain," he said to himself.
CHAPTER 3Reggie & Becky
When Becky was younger, she would play fetch until her body got so hot from all the exertion that she would sometimes pass out. Dogs don't sweat, so if they play too hard their bodies just shut down. And Becky didn't know when to stop — she'd see the ball leave Reggie's hand and take off after it, practically falling over herself as she came upon the ball, legs moving full speed and mouth wide open. And she'd get too hot, and sometimes she'd pass out. But most of the time she'd make it to the ball and pick it up and bring it back to Reggie without passing out. Other times she'd bring it over to a sunny patch of grass and kick it around like a soccer ball. With each round of fetch, she'd start panting louder. Eventually, Reggie would have to stop throwing the ball and show Becky that he was hiding it, otherwise she'd obsess and bark and scratch at Reggie's leg until he threw it again.
That was when she was younger, although it was not fair to say that Becky was ever younger. Reggie's parents adopted Becky when she was eight years old. Becky spent most of her earlier years in the backyard of some owners who would never throw the ball for her.
"She has a lot of catching up to do," Reggie's mom would say, "so make sure you throw that ball for her as much as she can take it."
Reggie would throw the ball for her every day. After school, after Saturday morning cartoons, after Thanksgiving dinner and Christmas morning. In the rain and in the snow and in the extreme heat he'd throw that ball and Becky would chase it down and bring it back.
As the years passed, Becky slowed down. Her legs grew shakier and shakier. Her heart didn't work as well. She'd start coughing after only a few throws.
"She's not the same anymore, mom," Reggie would say, "I want my old Becky back."
"Nothing ever stays the same," Reggie's mom would reply. "This is Old Becky. She'd different than Young Becky."
Old Becky wanted to lie on the couch and watch TV and eat treats. She wanted to snuggle up next to Reggie and have her belly rubbed and be told that she was a good girl. Reggie would do all of this, but he'd also pick up her ball and throw it and watch as Becky's head would turn, excited for a minute, but then she'd lay her head back on a blanket and close her eyes and sleep.
Becky's veterinarian said that she couldn't play fetch anymore because her throat was shrinking. The shrinking throat made it harder to get air and she would cough. The coughing would cause all of these things to happen, but, eventually, her body would turn off and she'd pass out. The veterinarian said there was really nothing they could do about it. Reggie, on the other hand, knew the perfect solution.
He built her a robotic throat, as any kid Reggie's age would do. This throat acted just like any other throat — it swallowed food and took in air and let out air and sometimes let out food, too, if the food wasn't good. It was a bit heavier than Becky's normal throat, being made of metal and all, but Reggie thought that was a fair trade-off if it meant she could still play fetch.
Reggie decided to try out his new-and-improved Becky. He threw the ball and Becky took off after it, a little slower than normal, however, because her throat was a little heavier than normal. But she brought the ball back and he threw it again and again and again and she would go and go and go and never cough because her throat was no longer shrinking.
Until one day, when she just watched the ball leave Reggie's hand and, instead of going after it, jumped up, wanting to snuggle.
Reggie and his mom took Becky to the veterinarian again, and this time he said she had a bad heart. He said she was getting old and her heart was getting weaker and it wasn't able to supply Becky with the energy she needed to chase her ball. He said that there was nothing that could be done about this. Reggie, once again, knew the perfect solution.
Reggie built Becky a robotic heart. He found the schematics on BuildARobotHeartForYourDog.com. It was pretty simple, actually. This heart acted just like a normal heart, pumping blood filled with oxygen to the body and taking in blood that was recently filled with new oxygen from the lungs. It was a bit heavier than Becky's normal heart, being made of metal and all, but being a bit heavier seemed like a fair trade-off if it meant being able to play fetch with Becky again.
Reggie was a bit more skeptical this time — he never built a heart before, after all — but he decided to give it a shot, anyway. When he first threw the ball, he was so nervous that Becky's robot heart would fail that he had to close his eyes. But Becky took off after it, quite a bit slower than normal, however, because her heart and her throat were quite a bit heavier than normal. But she would go and go and go and never cough because her throat was no longer shrinking and never got tired because her heart was stronger.
Until, one day, when she chased after the ball and fell. She got up, her legs shaking, and slowly walked over to Reggie and stared up at him, signaling that she just wanted to snuggle.
Reggie didn't want to snuggle, however. He wanted his old Becky back. So he once again took Becky to the veterinarian, and this time the veterinarian said that her legs were getting weak. That the metal throat and the metal heart were putting too much weight on her knees and that her old legs couldn't take the pressure anymore. The veterinarian said that there was nothing they could do about this. Reggie, obviously, knew the perfect solution.
Reggie built Becky robotic legs. The legs could run faster than Becky's old legs and jump higher than her old legs. And when Reggie threw the ball, Becky just watched it leave his hand, walked up to him, and snuggled on his lap.
"Get the ball, Becky!" Reggie shouted, but Becky just looked up at him and waited for Reggie to pet her. "Go get the ball! I'll pet you later!"
Becky never moved.
"Mom," Reggie cried, "Becky doesn't want to get the ball. I don't know what to do!"
"Reggie," his mom replied, "Becky just wants to be an old dog, and she wants to spend her old years with someone who'll pet her."
Reggie knew what he had to do. He took out the robot throat and the robot heart and the robot legs and replaced them with her shrunken throat and bad heart and shaky legs. And he laid down with her all day, petting her belly and telling her she was a good girl.
The next morning, Becky woke Reggie up by licking his face. She seemed different. She seemed younger. "Let's snuggle, girl," Reggie said. But Becky refused. She nudged a ball toward his hand and ran toward the door. Reggie reluctantly followed.
"I can't throw this ball, Becky," he said, "Your throat is too small and your heart is no good and your legs are shaky!" Becky simply responded by jumping up Reggie's leg, motioning toward the ball in his hand.
"OK," Reggie said, and he gave the ball a little toss. Becky ran after it, picked it up, and brought it back with the speed of a puppy. So Reggie threw it again, this time a little farther, and Becky ran after it, picked it up, and brought it back to Reggie.
He threw it across the yard and Becky brought it back. He threw it down the block and Becky brought it back. He threw it into the park a couple of blocks away and Becky brought it back.
"OK, girl," he said, "This is what you want, so here it comes." Reggie threw the ball as hard as he possibly could. He threw it toward the sunset and never saw it come down.
Becky ran after it, tongue wagging the whole way.
CHAPTER 4Detective Know-it-All and the Glittered-Up Glue Stick
Sally takes a seat at my lunch table. Her long blonde hair's pulled into pigtails that whip this-way and that-way as she scans the cafeteria, making sure no one sees her sitting across from me. She opens her milk and pretends to take a sip, trying to cover up the fact that she's talking to me but garbling up her words in the process. She smells like hamster food. She must be on King Philip duty this week. These secretive cases always give me nerves. I open up my own milk and take a long, hard swig. "Put the milk down," I tell her. "All it's good for is a tummy ache, anyways."
Sally shoots me a dirty look and puts her milk back down on her lunch tray. "I have a problem, and I heard you're the guy who can solve it."
Sally's never said a word to me before this moment, if you don't count the moment before this moment when she tried to talk to me with milk in her mouth. It's the way things go around here — I'm just a fly on a wall until there's a problem that needs to be solved. Then I become a fly on the wall that also solves problems. "I can solve problems, yeah. But I ain't cheap. My fee's two candy bars a day, plus expenses. I prefer Snickers, but as long as it's a full-sized I won't go crying home to my mom. You may have pulled in a great deal of Halloween-sized candy bars last month. You can keep 'em to yourself. People call 'em fun-sized; I call 'em a bad racket. And there's gotta be some chocolate in them, you hear? And nothing too tacky, either. They get stuck between my teeth, and the dentist has been riding me the past couple of visits about flossing."
"That's fine," Sally says a little too quickly. I ask myself why and realize she has a stash of full-sized candy bars in her kitchen pantry. I need to get better at thinking these things through first. I could have easily pushed for four candy bars a day.
She starts to tell me about her problem that needs fixing, but, before she even opens her mouth, I already know that she thinks someone's been taking down her class president posters and replacing them with posters that say things like "Sally Smells" and "Sally Stinks." Kids in the third grade ain't got that great of an imagination, I guess. They understand that things sound better when you use alliteration, that is to say things sound super when someone says sentences by starting words with similar sounds such as "smells" and "stinks" side-by-side with "Sally." So they get poetry points, but they keep using words that refer to Sally's supposed body odor. Lacks imagination and also seems false. As mentioned, Sally smells like King Philip, the class hamster, which means she smells like cedar chips. I like the smell of cedar chips. Who doesn't?
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Try Looking Ahead by Jason Rodriguez, R.S., Stacey Robinson. Copyright © 2014 Jason Rodriguez. Excerpted by permission of Rosarium Publishing.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
Table of Contents
Contents
Try Looking Ahead,I. Introductions,
II. The Boy Who Could See Through Mountains,
III. Reggie & Becky,
IV. Detective Know-it-All and the Glittered-Up Glue Stick,
V. Rocket Ruiz Builds a Warp Drive,
VI. Checking In,
VII. The Monster Hunter,
VIII. The End of Stars,
IX. The Girl Who Could Live In Yesterday,
X. Anita's Dreams,
XI. Outroductions,
XII. Try Looking Ahead,