INTRODUCTION: Eight members of the MCSM Rampage staff decided to experiment with writing a short story in a style that first became popular in the 1920s when young male and female members of the French Surrealist movement created a game in which each person would write a line of narrative then fold the paper so the next writer had to continue the story without knowing what came before.
We at the Rampage changed this formula a bit, but the results were similarly interesting! Lindsey Guallpa illustrated the finished story, while each individual contributor signed their initials at the end of their section. We hope you enjoy our version of what the Surrealists called “The Exquisite Corpse.”
[ Initial code: (FF) Fariha F., (MM) Mayra, (LM) Lubiana, (SA) Samina, (RS) Ruby, (LG) Lindsey, (AS) Anndy, (CC) Carol ]
Footsteps gently creaked on every step of the stairs. The bedroom door handle turned slowly. I had turned around to check the clock indicating “2:34 AM.” The door opened to reveal my mom in a robe, “Dylan you have been working for the last 6 hours, go to sleep—you have school tomorrow.”
After reassuring her, I leaped back into my work. It was my senior year of high school. Although senioritis had already spread around to almost all of my friends, I was determined to finish this last year the way I had started. I don’t know when I finally fell asleep, but an irritating sound woke me up. After a few annoyed grunts, I got up. I then made my usual iced coffee to heal my sleep deprivation. The day started out feeling like any other day, but I didn’t know my life was about to turn upside down.
A few “congratulations” from acquaintances filled my walk to the cafeteria. It still felt surreal that I would be attending my dream school next fall—Princeton University. Springing back into reality, I turned and smiled at them as I said: “Thank you.”
[A few feet ahead of Dylan, Daisy pressed her books to her chest and turned the corner to walk down the hall. She was walking rather quickly and was lost deep in thought. She didn’t even seem to notice the people around her. She suddenly looked up to see a boy about one step in front of her, obscuring her path. Her eyes widened as her feet stumbled over his, and her books fell to the floor in a clatter.]
Maybe it was the lack of attention I paid to where I was walking, or maybe it was the rush of the moment. All I can think to say is “I’m so sorry!” I kneeled down to help her as she did the same. Our heads collided, and we both fell back. To my surprise, she started laughing. (FF)
“Hey, you’re the Princeton kid, right?”, she enthusiastically uttered. I felt the blood rushing to my cheeks as I started blushing. For most of my high school life, I was completely focused on
academia and extracurriculars. Friends were secondary, and even worse, any sort of romantic endeavor was not my priority. I skittishly stuttered “Uh-uh, yeah, yeah…I am that person.” (MM)
I looked at her beaming smile and bright eyes. She was so pretty, but I may have stared at her for too long as she started eyeing me confusedly. “Are you okay?” she asked. “Oh, uh yeah sorry!” I say, still blushing. I pick up her books and give them back to her.
“Well congrats on your acceptance!” she added. “I’m still waiting on mine,” she said and sighed, looking down at her feet.
“Oh, well I’m sure you will get in!” I reassured her. She smiled “Thanks.” We both exchanged smiles, and went on with our day. For some reason, she looked oddly familiar. I didn’t even get a chance to ask her name. She haunted me for the rest of the day, as I anxiously kept watching to catch up with her somewhere else at school. I couldn’t get her off my mind, and I didn’t know why. (LM)
I arrived home around 8:30 pm to find Dad asleep and sprawled over the living room couch. The TV was playing The Price is Right. I crept up the stairs to where the bedroom was and dragged my bookbag to the front of my door. I peered in the direction of my parent’s room. The house was too quiet. I slowly glided towards my parent’s room, my footsteps inaudible.
I grabbed the doorknob but as I twisted the knob, my hand slipped. A dark red liquid began to drip from my fingertips. My heart stopped. My breathing had been caught by shards of glass now present in my throat. I could begin to feel my legs giving in as I continued to stare at my bloody hand.
My brain told me to break down the door and get it over with.
My heart told me to turn back.
My brain won. I took a few steps back and tried to catch my balance for a second. The next moment, I found myself kicking the door as hard as I could and ended up breaking the doorknob. The door was ajar. I tried gulping down the shards of bleak air but there was no hope. I accidentally wiped off my sweat with my bloody hand, and I felt as if my feet were going to crumble.
I was a mess. I slightly pushed the door and stepped inside the room.
I should have followed my heart.
“M-m-Mom?” (SA)
I felt my bloody arm fall limp as I took in the scene around me; a sudden wave of cold washing over my entire body like a shower. My parents’ room–once adorned with a vomit-colored shag rug, cozy faux-wood paneling, and several office-type flower vases–was now reminiscent of a Ted Bundy tier murder scene.
The only light that illuminated the room shone from the moonlight penetrating through the curtains; the room glowed with pearly luminescence. My toes curled in fear as I became aware of a faint whimpering sound emanating from the corner of the room, where the nightstand stood. What the hell is that? Where’s mom? I wondered aloud. My heart threatened to beat out of my chest as I edged my good hand towards the light while cradling my profusely-bleeding hand towards my chest. I inhaled a shaky breath as my index and middle groped the light switch and flicked on.
“Isadora!” I cried out.
A brunette head whipped back in my direction, her face streaked in soot, tears,and blood; there were flecks of some sort of green goo smattering her hair and clothes. Isadora was my 10-year-old sister, who was crouched over a shivering, shadowy figure. She abandoned her post in the corner and hugged me tightly. As she buried her face in my chest, I felt her heart beating a mile a minute; I squeezed her tighter, hoping to channel any form of comfort. I hastily broke up the hug, set my good hand on her shoulder, and looked at her square in the eye.
“What’s going on here? ” I implored.
I searched Isadora’s gentle features for a glimmer of a smile, but to no avail; I was hoping it was just a terrible joke–that the whimpering figure in the corner was an actor, that the eerie scene was a stage. Her pale green eyes met mine and communicated only one thing: fear.
I gave a sidelong glance at the corner again, and the whimpering and shivering magnified. I felt Isadora shift uncomfortably under my grasp and exclaim, “What happened to your other hand?!” (RS)
“I….I was just trying to get into my parent’s room I got cut but why are you here? What’s happening?” I manage to say. Everything seemed so strange that nothing made sense. Despite Isadora giving me a sense of comfort, everything was too confusing. I see Isadora give me a small smile and as she began to speak the whole room started to shake. I try to steady myself; when suddenly, I hear cries from outside. Shrieks of agony echo through the air and the whole room begins to spin. (LG)
Isadora and I run downstairs as fast as we can. She was yelling and crying, and I told her to run faster. When we reached the living room our dad was gone, and I started to hyperventilate. Isadora cried and asked me, “Wh-where is Dad?”
I stared into her watery eyes with my heart thumping in my chest, and replied, “I…I don’t know Isadora, but we have to stick together; I will call for help.”
I grabbed the phone next to the lamp, and dialed 911 as quickly as possible. Isadora was holding my hand but she was squeezing it too hard. I looked around as the phone was ringing, and I saw the back door was open. The glass was broken and there was shattered glass everywhere, and amid that glass, there were shoe prints revealing big feet. The footprints came with large amounts of water that had dirt all over it. I felt the presence inside our home; this person is still in here.
Footsteps were emerging from the stairs, and these footsteps were getting louder and louder as if they were coming towards us. The operator on the phone finally said, “911 what is your emergency?’, but I dropped the phone when the person came down, and I didn’t catch a glimpse of this figure because when I heard its evil presence I grabbed Isabella and ran out the house. Tears were streaming from both of us and my hands were getting so sweaty that at some point I couldn’t grab Isadora and so I carried her. We screamed, “Help! Help! Somebody, please help us!” but no lights turned on in other houses because everyone was asleep.
But then, I saw one house had their lights on, and we went straight to it. I put Isadora down and knocked a thousand times with sweat running down my face. The door opened, and to my surprise, it was the girl I’d stumbled into earlier today, but she seemed a little bit different.
She seemed frightened, saying: “What’s going on? What’s wrong?” Without an answer, I marched straight into her house, but this time holding Isadora and sitting down on the stairs. I was looking down at the ground and I couldn’t concentrate. First there was the girl screaming at me, asking questions; then there was Isadora, crying and pulling on my shirt. Voices became muted, and I stood up, staring at the girl, and I hugged her.
But as I hugged her, I saw red blood stains on her hands, and I shoved her away and stared at her. I asked, “W-why do you have those stains?” Tears were streaming down her face, and she didn’t say a word. I yelled, “WHY DO YOU HAVE BLOOD STAINS?” But she just kept looking down with tears rolling down her face.
Suddenly there was a banging on the door, and we didn’t say anything. Then there was the breaking of a window, and a man stretched his hand in to open the door. I finally caught a glimpse of this person: a scary mask with no expression, and a big hoodie with some long pants and sneakers. He was holding a knife, and within a second, I said, “run!” (AS)
Just as my terror reached its peak, I felt a hand grab my shirt as I struggled to escape. Suddenly I began hearing my mother’s voice: “Wake up, Dylan! This is the third stress nightmare you’ve had this week! Please try to calm down, son. The Saturday mail just came, and there’s a big packet from Princeton for you.”
There was cold sweat all over my pajamas as I forced myself to awaken from my nightmare. I slowly realized my family was fine, my home was calm, and I had not yet bumped into a pretty girl who congratulated me on acceptance to Princeton.
Oh. Wait, Princeton!!!!
What did my mom just say? That a fat package from Princeton just arrived in the mail. I knew what “the thin college packet” meant because I had already gotten two polite rejection letters in slender envelopes from Yale and M.I.T.
I ran from my bedroom to the living room table where we kept all new mail. My sister Isadora was already there grinning, waiting for me as I ripped into the package and found the cover letter. “Congratulations…” it began.
“I did it!” I screamed and grabbed my sister to swing her around. All the late study nights, the hard work, and minimal play time, had paid off. A huge weight seemed to leave my shoulders. “Hey Mom,” I said laughing, “ I don’t think you’ll have to worry about me having stress nightmares any more.”
“Maybe *you* aren’t stressed anymore,” joked my father as he poked his head in the living room, “but your mom and I are still waiting to hear what we need to add to whatever financial aid your beloved Princeton is giving you.”