Wish Upon A Star

Chapter One

Charlie “Crazzios” Mators, who made fun of his age, being weird and all, loved to write... Crazy was what most people called him. He got the name Crazzios because, well, he was crazy and because of his love for pizza, Mazzios being his favorite restaurant. He hung with the creative crowd. Want evidence of them being creative? Doesn’t the name Crazzios count as evidence? I sure think it should.

                Either way, Charlie was as creative as the people he hung with. He wrote many stories, one for a different person in his little “group.” He wrote about 15 books, giving a signed copy to 15 different people in the group. The last one was called Wish upon a Star, which was a nice book about a large mystery which was averted by wishes by a person whose name is Elijah.

Elijah was the oldest of three children: Nate, the youngest and most inexperienced; Haylee, the only girl, middle child, and the couch potato of the unusual family; and last, but not least , Elijah himself, the crazy blond who never thought twice about playing baseball.

But none of that is necessary information. Elijah had a few wishes, most of which he never mentioned.  Nevertheless, there was one outstanding wish, that he could be a normal kid.  All he really wanted was to be normal. He also had anemones friends who did things. Weird, evil, crazy things that weren’t wanted. No one knows why he was with them, but all that matters in this case because of what happened on the 12th of August on Beethoven Avenue, Siloam Springs, Arkansas.

It was around dusk; no one knows why he was there. Beethoven Ave. has alleyways perpendicular to the strange street. Beethoven Ave. also has weird people living in the houses and alleys. Drugs, Alcohol, guns, gangs, you name it, and it’s there. So why was Elijah on Beethoven Avenue?

Elijah worked late on the 12th; about 7:30 p.m. was when he was let out of his unusual job. You see, Elijah was a chicken sexer. Yes, that’s the job title, and yes, it’s real. What he did was sort through baby chickens to determine if they’re boys or girls. The job usually takes forever since there are so many chickens in a crowded chicken house, and there are so many new chickens being added to the equation.  Anyway, the job lasts from 9 a.m. to 7:30 p.m. every day except the weekends.

Well, the 12th happened to be a Friday, and he looked forward to the sleep and the parties about to happen. His friend’s father’s birthday would be the next day, and he was having a party in Siloam. Anyway, he wanted to go home and rest before the party, so he decided to cut through the alley onto Beethoven Avenue as a short cut to go back. Elijah was somewhat smart, and knew that the avenue was a bad place to be, people got shot every other day, if not every day, not to mention the gangs. Nevertheless, he still went into the alley onto Beethoven. Not unusual for people to be turned to other people and things when passing through that particular alley, but he still went through. He never does this, but he was in a rush and didn’t have a car (which made him even more vulnerable for things to happen) however, he did have a knife on him because today he had to kill some chickens. He wasn’t, however, prepared for what happened to him next.

Elijah started humming, even though he never hummed, because he was starting to freak out by the darkness and the quietness. He heard of the old, evil rumors about this strange street without actually believing them or caring if there are people down there with strangeness about them, naturalization happening there. Had he actually cared about the strange, he would have taken his usual route and taken the time to walk the night away, but he didn’t really care. Though he should care, because you’ll never guess what happened. Awful things.  Packs of things in that street. He still didn’t care, until now, that is.

Beethoven Ave. was a difficult place. Difficult indeed, but he put it out of his mind. He carried a flashlight, so he could see; a knife, not that it would be much use; a cell phone, to call the police even though the police won’t come down to Beethoven Avenue; a heavy backpack full of who knows what. That’s about all he carried, a flashlight, a heavy backpack, a knife, and a cell phone.  Not that any of this would be useful to what would happen to him, the invertible case of this condition, this illness. Some people who didn’t really know would call this a blessing, but he still didn’t care.