Wilhelmina Ariana Montgomery 1

Wilhelmina Ariana Montgomery







williegirl13’s blog: August 8, 2613            9:34 a.m.

Topic: 18 Fast Approaching


            My name is Wilhelmina Ariana Montgomery. Call me Willie. No, I’m not afraid to tell you my full name. In my opinion, all this identity-security stuff is bogus. Instead of being afraid of stupid, worthless things like that, I’m afraid of my 18th birthday.

            Sure, I’ll be an adult, but the test is forever drawing nearer. I’m 17. My birthday is in 11 days. What does this test consist of? What happens if you pass? More importantly, what happens if you don’t?

            All of my friends think that this test is the best thing the royals, the Coriansens, can offer us. Please, reply if you know anything about it.




            I tap my ear and the computer screen before me, made completely of thin air, vanishes. My brother Philip also finishes a blog entry. “What’s for breakfast?” he yawns.

            “Whatever you can find,” I reply, punching him lightly on the arm. “The kitchen will make you something. Get me a cinnamon roll, will you? With icing.”

            Grumbling, he stalks off.

            I sit down between the quarrelling twins, Ray and Max, and try to pay attention to the telewindow, also known as the TW. They lean over me, looking as if they’re about to start a fistfight. I turn to the one on my right and tell him sternly, “Raymond, stop.”

            “I’m Ray!” shrieks the twin on my left.

            A sigh escapes me. “Stupid identical-twin genes. Look, both of you – Maximillian, Raymond, whoever you are – stop. Now.”

            “Or what?” the twin to my right taunts.

            “Or you won’t have your blog for the rest of the week. Now, which one of you is Maximillian?”

            “Me!” they say at the same time.

            I grab them by their hair. “A month unless you tell me now.” I don’t add that in less than two weeks I’ll be gone.

            They seem to realize this already. “I’m Max,” the left-hand one says meekly.

            I release them. “You’d better be.”

           Suddenly the television-window’s scene changes, and I freeze where I am. It’s an advertisement for an old movie – one with cows. “Turn off the TW.”

           Philip comes in now and tosses me a bag while munching on a muffin. He takes in the scene quickly – me, a statue on the sofa; Ray and Max, taking advantage of my nonresponsive state; and a telewindow proudly displaying black-and-white cows with big, sad eyes. He notices the bag land, untouched, by my feet, only seconds before the twins converge on it. Quickly, Philip tap the screen of the telewindow and it becomes a transparent sheet of glass. “You okay, Willie?”

          I nod.

          “You’re afraid of a cow?” Max guffaws through a mouthful of my cinnamon roll.

          “Wilhelmina’s afraid of cows!” Ray screams with laughter.

          “I most certainly am not,” I lie with as much dignity as I can muster. “And don’t call me Wilhelmina.”

          “You call us Maximillian and Raymond, and we don’t like that,” one says. I’ve already lost track of which one is which.

          “Wilhelmina, Wilhelmina, Wilhelmina!” the other chants, his brother soon joining in.

           “Guys, I…I’m not going to be here in eleven days,” I say, gulping back tears as I quickly check the blog post. No replies yet. “Do you really want your last words to me before I leave to be a jibe?”

           They both shake their heads vigorously.

           I smile sadly, tousling their hair as I head to the kitchen. “I’ll be right back. I need some breakfast – since you two little devils stole mine.”

           They look regretfully at the icing coating their hands as I check the blog again. Still nothing.

           “What would you like to eat?” the oven asks me.

           “Cinnamon bun. Please.”

           The oven whirs into life, its light flicking on as it heats the dough with super-speed. Within two minutes a hot bun is on a plate before me. I eagerly bite off a chunk and look at the blog once more. This time, I nearly drop my breakfast.

            Someone has sent a reply.

The End

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