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Lakewood Times

Lakewood Times

Legend & Myth


Seventeen year old Annie McAdams stared blankly at her mothers grave.  She wasn’t phased by death like others were.  Her eleven siblings quietly stood in front of her, looking respectable in their black outfits, a different case than the shrieking and arguing that same morning. It took hours to scrub the dirt off their faces, and brush their hair neatly, and get into their funeral clothes.  Little demons, she thought, scowling.   

Back at home, Annie searched through the bare cupboards, coming up with a half empty jar of peanut butter, and a few slices of bread. Annie had a small sum of money she was saving in secret. If she took care of her siblings, it would surely be gone within two weeks at most.

She crept to the apartment’s basement, not having to search far to find the rat poison she was looking for.  She could practically hear the whispers of the poor McAdams family, what a tragedy. Annie was clever, she knew this had to look like an accident.  Little Gertrude was already dead by the time Annie picked up the phone to call the doctor.  Crocodile tears spilled down her wicked face every time the doctors grimly told her they couldn’t help her dear sibling. 

Annie waited a week before packing her bag and sneaking out of town in the middle of the night.  She turned the music up, letting her hand out the open window, with one hand on the steering wheel.  Annie was dizzy with the joy of freedom, blind to the headlights racing towards her.  She tried to swerve away, but her head slammed into the dashboard.  Every minute the pool of blood around her head expanded, she waited alone.  Annie closed her eyes.

When Annie came back to consciousness, she was standing in the way in the cemetery.  Annie examined her translucent hands, realizing she was not alive anymore.  She was a ghost. Desperate to escape her reality, Annie darted towards the exit.  She opened the gate, but found herself unable to step a foot on the ground outside, trapped by some invisible barrier. Annie turned around, realizing she was stuck, forced to watch over her family’s graves for the rest of her existence.  It was the perfect cosmic punishment.  Annie let out a terrible, ear-splitting shriek that echoed throughout the town. 


Theia was a beautiful goddess with black ringlets of hair, brown skin kissed by the sun.  She wore long flowy dresses and decorated her hair with pink and yellow flowers. Theia was the goddess of light and warmth.  She spent her days making sure the plants around her were getting enough sunlight.  She lived with her sisters in a villa surrounded by plants and shrubbery.

One warm summer day, Theia was wandering around outside when she saw a smoke in the distance.  As she ran towards it, the flames of the fire grew.  But when she reached the fire, it disappeared: an illusion. Theia didn’t see the figure behind her that knocked her out and carried her away into the darkness.  It was Boreas, the god of cold and winter; the young goddess had caught his eye.

Theia opened her eyes, finding herself lying on the ground, all alone.  Aware that her captor could be back at any minute, she cautiously creeped out of the cave, running when she felt the sun on her back.  After minutes of running, she stopped, out of breath. Theia shivered, examined the shivered, the wind was picking up, and the temperature seemed to be dropping by the second. She quickened her steps into a run.  She didn’t know how far she was from her home. Suddenly she felt a sting on her shoulder.  She watched curiously as the snowflakes fell.  Something was wrong, it barely snowed in the winter. As it got colder, she felt her skin stiffen, and her power grow weaker.

“Help,” Theia cried out, praying that one of her sisters could hear her pleas.  The snow began falling in angry flurries around her, and the wind became an eerie howl in her ears.  The snow was up to her ankles when her skin started paling, turning a blue hue.  

And as the wind pushed her away, she reached a shaking hand up to the sky with the last of her remaining strength.  Rivers of blue and green were illuminated in the sky, glowing brighter than the stars around it. Theia exhaled her final breath, as the frost traveled from her legs, up to her hands and face.  And forever she remained standing in the snow, her final cry for help still flashing on display above her head. 

And for years and years later, people came from all over to see the magical, glowing Northern lights, blissfully unaware of their tragic beauty.  

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