Only a Name

Literally. Up and down his arms, across his chest. Even all over his back and legs. They were written in different styles and sizes, but the were all my name. I knew this because no one spells their name the way I do, well, no one on their right mind anyway. Thanks Mom, whoever who are.

"Why do you have my name written all over your body?" I asked, dreading the answer.

He have me a sheepish look and answered, "Honestly, I have no idea. "

"What do you mean you have no idea?!?!" I shouted and he flinched. "It's all over you! That doesn't happen by accident."

"They kinda just......appear." He answered, not looking at me anymore.

"They just appear." I echoed. My voice dripped with sarcasm and skepticism.

"Ever since I turned eighteen they've been showing up. No explanation, no reason. There's not even a set number of days in between when they appear. No set time either."

I staggered and flopped down in a chair. This was too much. Not only was there some guy that had my name written all over him; but he didn't eve know why it was there. What in the world was going on? This was like some crazy sci-fi scenario. This couldn't be happening. It-

"Uh, excuse me," his words brought me out of my racing thoughts, "can I put my clothes on now?"

The Message Van

He stared at the writing on the vehicle's roof. The van had sat abandoned in the woods all summer. No one knew where it had come from, it had just appeared. It would probably be towed soon. It was nicknamed the "Message Van". Sometime during those warm months, someone had gotten the "brilliant" idea of writing messages all over the roof, which was now covered in them. Most of it was cutesy stuff- "so-and-so loves so-and-so",  "so-and-so was here". There were also hearts, stars, and other various doodles. Some were dark and hateful. There were also a good amount phone numbers with the words, "call me" written beside them. Some had names, some didn't. He looked at his watch, he'd been reading the markings for almost an hour. It was time to leave. He picked up a marker, there were plenty scattered on the floor. He found an empty spot and wrote, "...but I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep..." He then capped the marker and crawled out of the van.

Scribbles to Kill For

 He stared at the scribbling on the wall. The entire back wall, ceiling to floor, had been painted to be a gigantic chalkboard. Every inch was covered in mathematical and scientific formulas and scribbles. He knew his father had been obsessive about his work, but this was a bit extreme. There were whiteboards hung from the other walls, also filled with writing. Two tables stood parallel in the center, littered with paperwork and contraptions with no obvious purpose. Plates with half finished food and cups of coffee shared the tables with them. He was a genius in his own right, but even he could not decipher his father's work, but somewhere in this madness was something worth killing for.