I was a pet. I only existed to benefit a man. I was there to boost a man’s mood. I was on earth to be an accessory for a man. Father ruled mother and I around as if we are his servants. He went out all day in his silk turban with gold scarves that mother and I bought him. Then, mother and I would take the scraps of the soup and eat it before Father awoke. I checked Father’s room and I covered him with yet another blanket. I tiptoed back to the kitchen making sure not to disturb Father in his “so precious” sleep. Mother opened the front door and we sneaked into the empty stable. The imprints of cows in the hay reminded me of the cows and chickens we used to have just days before. But as usual Father just gave away our hard-worked gold. Before I knew it, mother and I would be thrown away too.

I miss papa so much. Last year when he died, mother married this man. He was horrible. Once he came to our little hut, he bossed us around to get supper going meanwhile we had been chopping vegetables all day and sweeping the floor since dawn. Once the stew was fully cooked and mother bathed Father, we watched as he quickly ate the bean and lentil soup. Once he was done and lied down for his dusk nap, Mother told me that if we didn’t have a man in the family we really wouldn’t have a house to live. I rested on my bale of hay with mother on the plank of wood next to me and I tried to wake up less than 52 times that night.

I woke to a strange woman in many jewels and gold jewelry. She was talking to Father and mother was listening from the kitchen. I heard Father say to the lady, “You want Yaha? You want that thing?”

The lady answered, “Yes, she will provide you with money and maybe a new life.”

Father’s feelings towards me changed. “Well, yes,” and then he used a word I had never heard him say before, “My daughter…”

Mother came to the barn. She whispered in my ear, “They are going to come and take you in three days time. You will go to the city and work for us. The lady says that you will send us money for the house. Just like Esha.” Esha was our neighbor down the hill. Last year she left for the city with the same lady. Every month she sent a bundle of Indian Rupees. Rumor has it that Esha will be back next year. I will miss mother with my whole heart. I hope Father treats her well and I will miss them very much.

Later that day, mother and i started packing. I brought my best silks for my job and my new blouse. Then, mother slipped something in my hand. I looked down and a golden chain slipped through my fingers. On the chain, an elephant lay on a golden circle which opens up. Inside the necklace, a drawing of mother and I rests. I believe everyone has a talent. Mother’s talent was art. When papa was alive, mother drew all the time. Since papa passed and mother married Father, she hadn’t drawn anything, or so I thought. The necklace was beautiful and mother clamped it around my neck. I tell her, “I will always think of you.”

Mother replied, “I love you. I will pray to Brahma for you.”

I tied my bag and hugged mother. I will miss our hugs.

Two days later the lady came. She had a big grin on her face and handed Father a big sash of Rupee and he reflected the grin. I kissed mother and Father. The strange lady grabbed my hand and tugged me from mother. I looked back for the last time with tears in my eyes. Mother blew me a kiss, I smiled and continue walking. The lady grinned so wide I could see her gums. She had metal in her mouth and goosebumps climbed up my arms. She shoved me into a cart and snarled, “No more pretending,” and ripped off her hair and a lock of hair is in her hands and her head is shaven. I wanted to run home. I wanted Mother. I wanted to hide in Mother’s arms. I wanted to cry. I didn’t want to be there.

The cart rumbled down the dirt roads. I felt every thump and shift through my soul. I suddenly felt the roads become smoother and the noises become louder. I poked my head through the sheets in the cart and peek outside. I saw these metal structures high as the clouds and more people than I have ever seen. There were more food than could feed my family for our lives stacked on carts all around me.

A man walked to the cart and I heard the lady arguing with him. He opened the sheets and saw me curled up in the corner. He forced me out of the cart and pushed my shoulders backwards. He measured every part of me. Then, he shook his head with disapproval and I am forced back into the cart. The strange lady called my name. “Yaha will not eat her scrap of bread today.” The cart continued to drag along the roads.

I woke to loud voices once again. I peaked out from the cart and saw men selling fish saying, “Precious fish for sale.” Even the food had a beautiful name. I wished I was a fish. Able to swim freely and mate with who they want. I took a spoon from the corner and carved a fish into the wood of the cart. I thought of mother and papa and knew they would love the art. The cart stopped and I hide the spoon and my thoughts of mother.

This time the man was greasy and heavy. He shoved a naan down his throat and smiled. The bread squished between his teeth and not only is it visible but so is his personality. He pulled out a wad of rupee and I knew he can pay the price so goosebumps climbed up my body. The man slid his hand down my back and whispered, “Don’t worry, sweetie.” His breath smelled like onions and turmeric. He needed a mint lassi, and I knew he can definitely afford it. The rude lady grins almost as wide as he does. As he was handing over the rupee I thought of mother. I thought of what she would tell me right now. I missed mother. I pushed mother out of my mind and told myself that I will never see her again if I am with this man. I run.

Through the vendors. Through the children skipping in the square. Through the men dragging around their servants. Then I saw the elephant. This huge gorgeous creature stood ahead of me. Our eyes locked and time stopped. The elephant wrapped its trunk around my body and for the first time since I left mother’s side I felt protected. Then I remembered the locket mother gave me. I rubbed my fingers along the engraved elephant. I felt as if hugging the elephant is hugging mother and papa together. Then I felt ice cold and I saw the rude lady with two large men. The elephant was spinning and everything went dark. All I could hear was the cursing of the lady. A sharp pain drove up my back. All was silent.

I heard more people. I opened my eyes and I thought I was in the cart. Not everything was clear. I looked at my drawing and it did not look right. I closed my left eye and the fish was perfect. I closed my right eye and the entire cart was fuzzy. A sudden burst of light and pain entered the cart. Without thinking my hand flew to my left eye and the pain was gone. The lady dragged me out of the cart and my hand stayed on my face. She pried my hand off my eye and fell backwards in awe. Her steps were stuttered and she tried to walk back to me and screamed. She started crying. The lady stormed to the front of the cart and we were back on the road.

We passed six more towns and each man had the same expression as the strange lady did. One man said to the lady, “Kamī, I am disappointed in you, how could you get stuck with such an ugly piece of merchandise?” and walked away with a smirk. The lady rolled her eyes and as she was walking to the front of the cart. I asked her, “Your name is Kamī?”

The lady responded, “No, that is what they call me, you can call me Maya, that is what my family calls me. Did you know you are the first to stay with me this long?” Then Maya shook her head and murmured, “This can’t be happening…” She walked to the front of the cart and said, “No dinner for you.”

The cart rolled along. I heard the approach of another city. I saw more people than any other city. As Maya’s footsteps near the opening of the cart, she said, “Welcome to New Delhi,” under her breath. Another greasy man waddled over. I knew there was no running now. This man’s hair was gelled back and his shirt was unbuttoned. My stomach turned. He slipped his hand down my shirt and I backed away. Maya smirked this time. She demanded the usual number, “Six thousand rupee.” The man handed over a wad of cash without hesitation. I noticed something. He never looked at my eye. His eyes never left my hips. At that moment I knew why he didn’t care about my blurry eye. I looked at Maya as she grinned running into the cart and sped away as fast as possible. The man grabbed my arm and pulled me down alleyways and we ended in a small opening.

We ended at a giant house. Inside an extravagant cooking quarter was in front of me. He showed me twelve rooms and two of them had long beautiful wooden tables topped with baskets and baskets of food. High ceilings and long shining crystals hanging from them. Why would you waste gems on your ceilings? He also had these glass pear shaped things everywhere. They were also hanging with the crystals and on the tables. He brought me to a door but instead of a room, there was only a decreasing elevation. He made a gesture for me to go down and as I made my way down, I heard murmured conversations and the closer I got to the bottom, the quieter they get. There are many other girls. I counted and there were nine of them. They look at me and laugh and continue their conversations. There were mats on the floor and concrete walls. I heard the door above us slam and the girls talk louder. I was unsure of what to do. I sit in the corner and run my fingers across the elephant necklace and the girls stare at me. I close my eyes and try to block out their chatter.

The next morning they surrounded me and stared as I got up. One stopped me and asked me about my eye. I told her I see a blur and she handed me what she called a ‘mirror’ and I saw that one eye looked at the mirror and the other was rolling in circles. No wonder no one wanted me but this man didn’t care. The girl told me her name was Nandita. She used to live on the streets by herself and she explained that the man told her he would give her food and a bed. What she didn’t know was that the bed would be his. She warned me that if he wanted to talk to me in private to do it quick because when it is quick it is less painful. After, if he likes it, you get more food and are welcomed back and stay, but if he doesnt, you’re back on the streets.

While Nandita was explaining life here to me, a bell rang and everyone got in a line. I shuffled to the back and an older lady makes her way down and hands us each a scrap of bread and walks back up. She returns a little later with a piece of meat and gives it to four tall girls who smile and eat it quickly. I think I will not do something I don’t like just to eat.

We are ordered upstairs and each one of us given a long wooden pole with hairs on the bottom and forced to ‘sweep the kitchen,’ ‘clean the toilets,’ ‘dust the furniture,’ ‘soak and dry the dirty clothes,’ ‘wash the dirty dishes.’ Some of the girls that received the meat are allowed to prepare food in the kitchen for the greasy man and his “family.” My arms ache and my head pounds. My fingers feel frail and my legs stumble down the stairs. I lie in the corner and try to take the pain away from my body.

The next day more bread, more cleaning, more aching, more talk, more sleep. About twice a day, a girl was called upstairs and when she came back received an extra scrap of bread.

The cycle repeated for 72 days. I know this because the nice girl Nandita who gave me the mirror engraves a line on the wall everyday. Days that someone new entered she made the line deeper so you know when your time started.

The next morning the old lady comes down and says, “Yaha you are wanted.” I go up to the cooking area and the man is there. He brings me to a room. I get scared but follow.

Leaving the room my body stinged and I felt as if my soul is drained. I looked back and saw the greasy man still in the bed smirking with his rolls spilling over and gelled hair out of place. I could not think straight. When I walked back I saw two little girls marching down the hallway and they asked me, ‘Is daddy in there?” I look at them and barely nodded. Tears crawled down my face and I passed another girl. This one seemed to be about twelve. She looked at me and asked, “You’re new?”

I nod silently and she gives me a tight hug. “You are different, none ever cry. I like you. Tonight meet me in the kitchen after Lila brings you supper.”

“Lila?”

“The old one, my mum. Follow her up the stairs and when she closes the door, stick behind and crawl out into the kitchen and I will be there. Oh and my name is Rajani.”

“Why?” I asked with confusion. “Why would you want to help me? Wouldn’t you want to stay with your mother and father?”

“My mum is silent. She pretends I don’t exist. And that man in there, I wouldn’t call him my father. You know, I heard some white people talking on the streets and they called him a strange word. I think the word was ‘rapist.’” I nodded and walked down the stairs. This all was a lot for me. All I could think was that I could leave this place.

When Lila came downstairs with the bread, I took my scrap and I sneaked behind her. No one saw me except for Nandita and I looked at her and she mouthed, I’ll pray to Brahma for you. I felt a burst of pride and hope through my body. I thought of mother and I felt suddenly happy and my goal was right in front of me. We smiled at eachother and I continued tip-toeing up the stairs. Through the crack in the door, I saw Rajani.

Rajani was holding a sack. It was filled to the rim with not only luxurious food but water canisters. She smirked and motioned me to come towards her. I slowly opened the door and crawled to her. We sneaked through the rooms and ended at the front door with the crystals and bright glass spheres on the ceilings. She whispered, “It’s called a chandelier and those are light bulbs.” I tried saying chandelier but instead said ‘candlair.’ Rajani giggled and as she opened the door a blaring alarm went off. We heard shrieks from the lower level where all the girls were. Now there were only 8.

We ran. We ran and ran. I saw the greasy man run to the door when we were down the alleyway he didn’t say anything but just stared. All eight girls surrounded him cheered. They were all smiling and jumping. Only one woman wasn’t happy. We saw Lila standing in the doorway frowning with her hands on her hips. I pushed her out of my mind and thought about mother. Nothing could stop me from getting to her.

At the end of the alleyway two tall men stood in the way. They were dressed in black pants and shirts and had a gold patch on their chest and nice black shoes. I ducked past them and Rajani passed me the basket and I grabbed it. I waited for Rajani. I run my fingers run down the textured elephant on my necklace and think of mother. Rajani tried dodging the police but they grabbed her. She shrieked and scratched them. She screamed, “YOU CAN’T LEAVE ME IN THIS HELL HOLE! NO, YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT HE DOES TO ME!”

She flew her wrist into one of the men’s face and kicked the other in between the legs. The cheers from the house grew louder. We ran faster this time and Rajani smiled and said, “While those two Bēvakūphōṁ were strangling me, I stole his gun.” She smirked and pulled out a metal handle and as she pushed her finger a loud boom echoed, cats scattered and glass shattered. Rajani smiled wide enough that her dimples could touch her eyes. She shoved the powerful device into the sack and we continued running.

We ran through towns, through people, through homes, and through time. We ran and never stopped. If we stopped we would be misusing our newly found freedom. We ate while running and we talked but running but we never stopped. We ran through the days and nights and holidays. We didn’t try to run, our legs just wouldn’t stop. We couldn’t control our legs but now we could control our fate.

MISSING

Olivia Hackett

Age: 5

Eyes: Green

Height: 3’5

Fresno, California

Declared missing September Sixth, 2006, 4:06pm. She was last seen exiting The Mountainside School with her sister Rain Hackett, 12 years old. Quotes from her sister say, “She was walking with me until I closed my eyes for a second and then all of a sudden she was gone.” She was not near anyone except for her sister. Reports say that she was not one to play practical jokes like this or to want to run away.

I glanced up from my paper to the analog clock that stood on the cobbled adobe wall of the small classroom. 3:46. 14 minutes left. I looked back down at my quiz. One question left.

12. James bought 66 watermelons at the grocery store. He gave half to his friend then and ate ⅙ of the watermelons that were left. How many watermelons does he still have?

“66 watermelons? What’s wrong with you?” I thought to myself but completed the equations nonetheless. I scrawled down the answer on the page and then turned over my paper. I sat at my desk quietly, surveying a small roly poly’s ascent up the window sill.  Just as he was about to finally reach his destination, a shrill ringing woke me out of my stupor. Ms.Cooper sighed and pulled off her spectacles.

“Alright, everyone hand in your papers, then you’re free to go,” she said absentmindedly. I carefully folded my paper and threw it into the air. The airplane soared, doing a loop de loop through the air before landing smoothly on Ms. Cooper’s desk. Then someone started clapping.  The class joined in, and so I gave bow while Ms. Cooper just rolled her eyes, unfolded it,  and put it in her desk.

I pulled on my coat and backpack, then swirled out of the room to go find Liv so that we could go home.  I walked down the stairs to Liv’s classroom where she’d  just been dismissed. She stood patiently outside the door, where we’d declared our meeting spot. Her bright smile encased in a raincoat that was a few sizes too big greeted me as soon as she saw me.

“Hey Liv! How was school?” I said as I gave her a hug.

“So much fun! We started learning times tables,” she replied, jumping up and down. “And I got an A on my science project!” She held up a piece of construction paper crudely illustrating a butterfly’s life cycle.

I grinned at her and said, “That’s great! Now c’mon, let’s get home, Mom’s waiting.” I tugged her hand and she started skipping next to me across the hallway. As we came to the wooden doors that led outside the school, I pulled out mom’s dark blue umbrella; mine wasn’t big enough for the both of us. I opened my umbrella after I pushed through doors, you know, just in case. I held it over our heads as the angry drops of water hit the ground incessantly, the air smelling that roasted kind of smell that always comes with rain.

I closed my eyes blissfully for a moment, taking in the perfect weather. Other people like sunshine, the beach and the water, others the coldness of the snow, making angels and fighting with friends. But I will never enjoy anything better than a good pour. And it’s not just because my name’s Rain!

Opening my eyes, I looked beside me to find Liv. But she wasn’t there. “It’s alright, she’s probably just run ahead.” I thought. But as I looked around, Liv was nowhere to be seen.

“Liv? Liv!” I yelled out. “She’s just hiding, playing a game with me.” I looked around the playground for her, but she wasn’t anywhere. She couldn’t have disappeared…could she? I  started to grow panicked. “LIV! WHERE ARE YOU? COME OUT! COME ON LIV, YOU CAN COME OUT NOW! LIV!” I looked everywhere, checked everywhere 5 times. No Liv. “Where is she?!” I thought. I ran back inside of the school desperately.

I ran until I came to the office where I said breathlessly to the secretary “My sister’s missing.”

“Calm down Ms. Hackett — are you sure that she’s gone?”

“I’ve looked everywhere! I can’t find her!” My big eyes pleaded for her to me believe me.

“Okay, okay. Tell me what’s happened.” She sat me down in a chair and looked at me sympathetically.

“A-alright,” I began, forcing my voice to steady. “We were leaving the school because we were about to walk home, when I closed my eyes for a second and she was gone. I looked everywhere — but I couldn’t find her.”

I choked out a sob and she said, “There there, we’ll find her, don’t you worry. Stay here for a second, okay?” I nodded sorrowfully and watched her enter the principal’s office. She said a few words to Mr. Adams, and he nodded, then dialed a number on the phone and starting saying something when the secretary returned.

“Okay, Mr. Adam’s calling your mom. She’ll come pick you up, okay?”

“But what about the police?” I asked with a sniffle. “Don’t they ought to know? She patted me and said, “Don’t worry, we’ve notified the authorities, they’re coming.”

“Okay,” I said and coughed. I waited in silence, watching the secretary and the principal to bustle about. Finally I hear the door crack open — my mom. As soon as she sees me she pulls me into a hug.

“Oh Rain — how could this happen?!”  she said tearfully.

“I’ve wondering that myself,” I replied. She pulled away from me looking the saddest and most scared expression I’ve ever seen.

“She’ll come back, I know she will. I hope for god’s sake that she does.” My mom said.

“Let’s go home,” I simply said.

“Okay,” she said. She turned around to the secretary and said, “Thank you so much for helping — this kind of thing is tough.”

“Oh it’s no problem. I’m so sorry for your loss — er — no, but I know that we’ll find her. “

“Sorry for your loss? She’s not dead… I hope…” I thought. She smiled and we went through the door. I found Mom’s hand and I clung to it, my clammy fingers to hers. Our walk home was in silence, each contemplating our own despair, tears burning our faces.

***

Later that night I started researching kidnapping. My mouth gaped as I read about some of the things that had happened to unsuspecting people. All I could do was hope that Liv would be okay. If she wasn’t, I didn’t know what I’d do to myself. The rest of the evening rested in silence throughout dinner. I couldn’t help but glance over to the chair where Liv always sat, start to say something, only to realize she wasn’t there. I slept fitfully, dreaming of horrible things happening to Liv. I went to school in a despicably miserable state, my mom at a loss for words with no Liv to tell to brush her teeth and not forget her lunch.

At school I picked up my books without another glance. But when I returned to put them back before lunch, I saw something peculiar… a note. I wondered what that could be from, since I usually kept my locker pretty tidy. It was fancy paper, the kind that’s used for wedding invitations. I put down my books and picked up the note and squinted at the neatly scrawled words .

Dear Ms.Hackett,

We have Olivia. If you ever want to see her again, follow the clues. Drop it in locker 168. Oh, and if you tell your parents or the police, we won’t hesitate to kill her.

Here’s your first clue.

And then nothing. Nothing except the one last clue — a dot, blood-red. I put my finger on it — still wet. The note was new. I was smart enough to guess it was Olivia’s — unless it wasn’t. This all could just be a red herring as they say. But who knew that Olivia was gone? I counted on my fingers — Mom knew, so did Mr. Cooper and the secretary. And then whoever on the police force. Who could’ve done this?

And then there was the question of what the musical note meant. I knew I should remember what those are called, since I did learn it. But that was in 3rd grade! I pulled out my phone and quickly thumbed in “curly musical note with line through it” on Google and pressed send.  A Wikipedia article titled “List of Musical Notes” appeared. I tapped it, and up came the page. I scrolled through all the lines until there, the first one under clefs. Next to the picture read the title, G-Clef.

Like I knew what that meant. I kept on thinking about what it could mean as I sat down at lunch. I could barely pay attention to my friends talking about an anime show, my favorite one. And suddenly I didn’t feel quite as sorrowful about Olivia’s kidnapping with this new development. I was, as they say in mystery novels, hot on the trail.

***

The rest of the day was a whirlwind of tests and homework, which I worked diligently at so that I could spend the rest of the day trying to figure out the clue. When the final bell finally rang, I bolted from my seat before anyone could stop me.

As soon as I got to my locker to pick up my stuff I called my mom to tell her I’d be staying late at school for clubs. My mind was tearing myself apart about whether I should tell her what I was actually doing. But what if doing so got Liv killed?

She agreed to me staying but told me, “Take care. I couldn’t handle you disappearing as well…”

As I shut my locker closed I realized I needed somewhere to think. I finally decided the best place to work this out would be the tables next to playground (where Lily went missing).

As I made my way outside all I could think about was “G-clef, G-clef, G-clef, what does it mean?” Scanning my eyes over the playground I tried to think if there was anyway she could still be hidden there, just waiting to pop up and say “Gotcha!” but of course that couldn’t happen. She had been kidnapped for whatever reason, and it was my job to find her.

I absentmindedly sat down at the plastic blue table. I set down my backpack and pulled out my laptop, suddenly realizing there was another kid sitting across from me.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I’ll sit over –” I started to say, standing up.

“No, no, it’s alright.”

I sat back down slowly, realizing that this kid was in my grade. Sam, the shy kid who played the guitar really well. I had a crush on him back in 5th grade, but I was over him now. He’d always been nice to me but we’d never really been friends.

“Um,” he said quietly, “I heard about your sister. I’m sorry.”

My throat became dry as I looked into his dark brown eyes. “I… it’s okay. We’re, we’re going to find her, I know it.” But really my mind was saying Yeah, unless this psycho killer doesn’t get to her before I figure out what music scales mean!

An idea suddenly hit me.“Wait. Sam…you’re good at guitar right?”

“Uh… yeah, I guess,” he said modestly, turning his glasses-covered eyes away from me. “Been playing since I was six.”

“Um, do you think… you could tell me what this means?” I said, rummaging for the incriminating note in my bag and showing it to him.

“Yeah, that’s a treble clef, less commonly a G-clef. In sheet music, depending on what instrument you’re playing, it tells you what octave to play the notes in a higher or a lower octave.”

“Okay… thanks for the help, Sam,” I said, excited, opening my laptop.

“Wait a second… what did the rest of that note say?” he said worryingly, trying to take it from my hands.

“Um… nothing!” I replied nervously, trying to stuff it in my pocket, but he snatched it before I had the chance.

“…We won’t hesitate to kill her!” he read shrilly as I tried to pry it from his hands. “Rain, you’ve got to tell someone! The police, a teacher… someone!” he cried out.

“Be a little louder why don’t you? Didn’t you read the note? They’ll kill her if I do! These clues are the only way I can find her.”

Sam sighed defeatedly. “Fine. But only if you let me help you,” he replied matter-of-factly.

“What!?” I whisper-shouted. “Nope. Out of the question. Liv might be dead just because I told you! There is no way you are getting involved,” I said firmly.

“Look, I’m good at puzzle solving! I’ll help you! For example, I’ve already figured out that we need to get the key for Room G and take down the three inspiration posters to get the next clue.”

I stood there shell-shocked for a moment before replying quietly, “H-how d’you suppose you figured that out?”

Sam shyly turned his head away. “Oh, well, y’know I figured, I take Latin and clef means key, so I thought Room G at school… and then I realized treble means threefold and what three things is Ms. Giamatti constantly going on about? Our three inspirations,” he replied modestly.

“W-well then,” I replied, surprised at his intellect. “We should probably go do that.”

***

Sam and I wandered the halls together trying to find the janitor (the only person in the whole school who has all the keys) until we finally walked into the office, spotting him at his desk. He was a large man with scarily dark eyes and a wispy mustache, hunched over devouring a sandwich. A plaque in front of him indicated his name was Mr. Ruiz.

“Mr. Ruiz?” I said quietly as we approached his desk. Still focused on ferociously eating his sandwich he took no notice of us. “Mr. Ruiz?” I said a bit louder. Finally he stopped chewing his sandwich and looked up at the pair of us.

“What do you kids want?” he grunted in a suspicious manner. “If you need keys for a prank m’ not helping you, *** kids almost got me fired…” he trailed off in his husky voice.

“No no, nothing like that,” I replied as nicely as I could. “I just… I… well, I um…” I sputtered. Mr. Ruiz glared at me angrily while eyeing his sandwich.

“She thinks she forgot her laptop in Room G. We were wondering if you could unlock it for us? We’d be really grateful.” Sam said smoothly from behind me. Mr. Ruiz grunted and started standing up, mumbling, “*** kids, was on my lunch break, never should have taken this job…” quietly under his breath.

When we finally arrived at Room G on the other side of the school I bounced impatiently on the balls of my feet, waiting for him to open the door already. He unlocked it so slowly it felt like a million years had gone by once we finally stepped into the music room. Me and Sam both a mixture of excited and very nervous walked over to the posters on the wall of Beethoven, Franz Liszt, and Mozart each looking pretentious and pompous in their stance.

As quietly as I could, trying not to alert the hungry janitor outside, I ripped the bottom of the posters off the wall, and out fell a small piece of parchment paper. I quickly stuck the poster back on at hopefully the right angle while Sam picked up the paper. We rushed out the door, janitor only looking a bit suspicious.

“Sorry for wasting your time,” I said quickly. “It wasn’t in there, um, you can go back to your lunch now!” We rushed away from the scene, probably looking like the most suspicious a pair of people can be without having a burglar mask or a gun. We walked quickly back outside to our blue table while Sam anxiously opened the note. This is what it said:

Well done Ms. Hackett. We did not expect you to solve our puzzle quite so fast. But, well, we did not expect your little friend either. Tell no one else or you will bid your sister adieu.                 

Here is your next clue :

Stendhal Syndrome

Again, it was only accompanied with one drop of blood. The strange thing, however, about the note was the words. As I ran my hand across the cursive I could tell it was penned by hand, perhaps with a fountain pen. However I could still feel the wet printer ink from the strange clue’s font. Why go through the trouble of printing the words on the paper and writing it?

“Stendhal syndrome… I’ve never heard of that…” Sam mumbled over his shoulder. Still uneasy about the strangeness of the note, he dismissed it.

“Me neither. We should–” I started to reply before feeling a vibrating against leg. I pulled out my  phone out of my pocket, and sure enough it was my mom calling.

“Dang,” I muttered under my breath. An hour had gone fast. “We’ll finish this later. I have to go home, or my mom will freak,” I said to Sam, folding the paper and stuffing it in my pocket.

“Alright. Do you have a Skype? I’ll look up Stendhal’s Syndrome and text you if I find anything,” Sam said, both of us starting to set off down the paved road.

“Okay,” I intoned and wrote down my name in his contacts. “I’ve really got to go, I’ll see you later.”

“Yeah,” he responded absentmindedly. We both started setting off but a few second later somebody tapped me on the shoulder. I turned around and saw Sam standing there under the cloudy sky, peering up at me gravely. “You know Rain, this is serious. This isn’t just some puzzle game. We’re not just having fun. Someone’s life is at stake.” I looked at him and saw how determined he was, and I knew I had made the right choice in letting him help me.

“I know. This is my sister that’s at stake, and we’re getting to the bottom of it.”

***

7:06 9/7/06 starsandguitars: heyyyy its sam. i found some stuff on stendhal’s syndrome. u might want 2 check it out. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Stendhal_syndrome

7:09 9/7/06 rainthecupcake: Whoa that’s some weird stuff. PS why is starsandguitars your name. I mean I get the guitars part but

7:10 9/7/06 starsandguitars: idk i like stars!! gee so judgy. when urs is rainthecupcake

7:10 9/7/06 rainthecupcake: I WAS 6 YEARS OLD. MISTAKES. WERE. MADE.

7:11 9/7/06 rainthecupcake: Anyways about this Stendhal guy. Who was he?? Maybe he’s somehow part of the answer.

7:13 9/7/06 starsandguitars: hmm he was a french writer dude in the 19th century. stendhal is only his pen name tho. he’s written a bunch of stuff, novellas and biographies…but he’s best known for Le Rouge et le Noir and La Chartreuse de Parme.

7:15 9/7/06 rainthecupcake: Doesn’t sound like anything I’ve read. Send me an excerpt maybe?

7:16 9/7/06 starsandguitars: “Love born in the brain is more spirited, doubtless, than true love, but it has only flashes of enthusiasm; it knows itself too well, it criticizes itself incessantly; so far from banishing thought, it is itself reared only upon a structure of thought.”

7:18 9/7/06 rainthecupcake: That can’t be it. What is the actual syndrome tho?

7:19 9/7/06 starsandguitars: its like this thing that sometimes happens when u go and see famously amazing art, some people actually faint bc they are so amazed. lol

7:19 9/7/06 starsandguitars: it mostly happens in florence, italy cus the statue of david as well as like the uffizi gallery cus it has lots of famous michelangelo type art

7:20 9/7/06 rainthecupcake: Weird. I wonder if the clue has to do w/ art or italy or something.

7:21 9/7/06 starsandguitars: i wonder…no i bet not

7:21 9/7/06 rainthecupcake: oh no i gotta talk to u later im eating dinner w/ my parents. try to think of connections k? ttyl

7:21 9/7/06 starsandguitars: oh ok bye…

***

“Rain! Get off your computer for once and come eat dinner!” my mom hollered at me just as I finished tapping out my last message to Sam.

“I’m coooooooming!” I replied. “Gee, can’t you be patient?” I said jokingly at my mom as I walked into the dining room. My mom rolled her eyes and finishing putting her classic arrabiata pasta with turkey onto her plate. My stomach grumbled as the smell wafted up at me.

“Smells so good,” I said as I sat down at the table, across from my mom, the spot next to me eerily empty.

“Thanks sweetie. I just hope my worry hasn’t gotten into it….” she said distantly. My mom thinks that her emotions seep into her cooking, and she’s kinda right. In our house you can usually tell if my mom is having a bad day by her chicken.

I took the first bite of the pasta, and though it was amazingly spicy and good, there was something lacking, something that could only be discerned by a mom-cooking-aficionado such as I.

“It’s really good,” I assured my mom through a mouthful of pasta who was chewing with a sadness to her eyes.

“Yeah…” she answered, looking at the window. Suddenly she turned her head and stared at me pleadingly with her large eyes gazing into mine. “If you knew where she was, you would tell me right? This isn’t some elaborate prank you two are pulling?” I looked at her and saw the intense worry in her eyes.

“Number one: I promise I would tell you if I knew. Number two: I wish I could say it was, but it’s not. She’s missing.” I said, the guilt creeping into my stomach like a bloodsucking parasite.

My mom sighed. “I almost wanted you to say yes. But of course you wouldn’t. I’m so sorry for doubting you,” she said sincerely as she gave me a hug over the table. It felt like the guilt was consuming my body. Chewing it inside out with its corroding, insidious black slime, making my throat go dry.  “I love you so much. Please don’t ever missing. I don’t think I could ever go without both of munchkins,” she begged of me.

“I promise I never will,” I barely squeaked out before rushing to go clean my plate.

To be continued…

My name is George Applewhite. And I messed up. Big time. The date is May 5th, 2015, and the time is 9:42:34 a.m., and it has been for 32 hours. Why? Because I messed up. Big time. This is how it happened: I was in my lab in the basement, and I was working exceptionally hard on cracking time travel. I finally built a machine that would theoretically do it. It was a 5’ by 10’ by 3’ rectangular prism with many knobs and screens to set the time of the destination. Made of titanium, it looked very impressive. The big test had finally come.

“Come down here, kids,” I called, and two 7-year-olds scampered down the steps and into the lab.

“Hi dad,” Jake and Sarah chirped.

“Wanna see me travel through time?”

They certainly seemed interested.

“Okay kids, this is how it works. Whoever presses this button travels back to the set time, which now is five seconds. So I will appear five seconds before the press of this button, so another me will appear while I am still talking. Ready? Go!” And everything froze.

The usually energetic kids were now as still as a stone. I tapped them. No reaction. I shouted and screamed in their ear. Again, no reaction. I went upstairs to my wife. She, too, was frozen, in the middle of making breakfast. No matter how loud I yelled no matter how forcefully I pushed her, she stood still. I had frozen time.

I stepped outside. Everyone on the streets was frozen. I walked towards the nearest coffee shop: “Café De Jouissance.” When I went in, the customers were as still as my family. I decided to travel the city to see if everyone was frozen. I traveled on a bike I found, since all the cars were frozen ( I couldn’t drive through them), and biked across the city. Some things looked strange, like a soccer ball suspended in the air at Central Park, and a dog in the middle of grabbing a frisbee. I spent what felt like a day searching around, and no matter where I looked,  the people, pets, and all the living things were frozen. The sun wasn’t setting. What have I done?

I quickly pedaled back home and burst through the door. I was exhausted. After making myself a cup of coffee, I walked into the lab. I needed to build something that will make time continue again, even if it took all of the materials in the world, which I had at my disposal. I tried to find out what was wrong with the machine, and I couldn’t find anything. I decided to make a new machine to unfreeze time. It was almost identical to the first machine, but it didn’t have any screens or knobs: just one red button.  It was made of titanium as well, it was a rectangular prism, and the same size. I labored for untold hours, even though time wasn’t moving. I was about to connect the last wire, but I was so tired I spilled my coffee on it.

I cursed, screamed, spat, and no one could hear me. I went back to the machine that froze time, studying it. And then I realized how stupid I was being. I flicked the off switch, and everything went into motion again.

“Dad,” Jake said. “I don’t think it worked.”

I laughed so hard my guts felt like they were going to come out and gave Jake and Sarah a big hug.

“But Daddy,” Sarah said. “Why are you so happy? It didn’t work.”

“I don’t care.”

And I meant it.

THE END

“One, two, three,” I say, grabbing Erin’s hand. We leap off the ledge into the abyss. We plummet fifteen feet down into the water. I am overcome with a giddy feeling of weightlessness but also my body being ripped from its former position.

“Come on, girls, taxi’s waiting,” Erin’s dad jokes. He opens the door of the grey Volvo. “I said that was the last jump.”

Erin and I oblige. I start to head for the car, but someone is calling my name.

“Josie!” Erin yells. “Don’t forget your towel.”

I jog over to her. She’s standing on the outskirts of the quarry, with my towel in her hand, and a smug look on her face.

“What would I possibly do without you?” I ask her.

“Oh, you wouldn’t do anything. You wouldn’t be able to live without me,” Erin walks over to the car, her hips swaying. She looks over her shoulder and grins at me. “C’mon, slowpoke.”

I laugh and join her. I look out the window as we drive. All I see is blurred green, and I hear the whoosh of cars streaming past us.

“Josie, do you want mac and cheese or peanut butter and jelly for lunch?” Erin asks.

I look at her with a raised eyebrow. “Is that even a question?”

She laughs. “Mac and cheese, please!” We say in unison. We smile widely at each other. Erin’s teeth are white and straight, and I see glints of green and gold in her warm brown eyes. I’m distracted by her hair, even wet it’s perfect.

“Do you wanna rent a movie to watch tonight?” I suggest. Erin’s country house has an old TV, so you can only watch videos.

“Absolutely,” Erin replies. “Dad, can we go and get a movie?”

“I suppose so,” her dad says. “After all, we only have two days left.”

I can’t believe we’ve already been here for three days. We have done almost everything you can possibly do on this little island in Maine. Swimming, hiking, eating ice cream, watching movies, going out to dinner, climbing trees, attempting gymnastics in the backyard…

And whenever we have late night conversations before bed, or while enjoying a midnight snack, Erin always mentions boys.

“Oh, Josie, did you see that adorable boy at the quarry today?” or “Ohmygod Channing Tatum is so hot I’m going to die!”

I just nod and say, “I know right?” Even though I couldn’t care less.

No, I didn’t see that adorable boy at the quarry today because I was busy staring at you. Yeah, when we were watching ‘She’s the Man’ I wasn’t looking at Channing Tatum, I was looking at the girls.

Still, I always hope that Erin is hiding her feelings for me with false statements on the attractiveness of dudes. Or maybe she doesn’t even realize she thinks of me like that because of heteronormativity. Yep, it’s definitely our society’s fault.  

“Josie! JOSIE!” Erin startles me. “You were staring off into space. C’mon, we have to pick a movie soon.”

I look around me. I’m renting a movie. Focus. I take a deep breath. Erin is staring at me like I grew an extra head.

“So what are you thinking?” I smile. “Drama, comedy, action…”

“I’m in the mood for more of an action movie,” Erin responds. “Like a thriller!” She has such a serious look on her face, and her arms are spread out wide. I giggle.

“Sounds good!”

We browse the action movies until we find one that we agree on. The Dark Knight.

“I love that movie!” Erin and I say, simultaneously. We laugh because it’s weird how we’re so similar. I sigh. Erin would probably say something about how Christian Bale makes her weak in the knees. I roll my eyes at that thought.

Several hours later, Erin and I are huddled into the corner of the sofa, shoving popcorn into our mouths, as we watch the movie. We watch Heath Ledger as the Joker walk around the fundraiser asking where Harvey Dent is, our eyes wide. We’ve seen The Dark Knight several times, and we turned thirteen a few months ago, but we’re babies when it comes to scary movies.

The Joker is telling another version of how he got his scars, and Erin grabs my arm. I shiver at her touch. I stare at Erin. Her mouth is in a little ‘o.’ I can’t look away from her, but I do. I turn back towards the TV.

The credits are rolling, but I’m not focused on the movie. I’m thinking about what it would be like to kiss Erin. She’s so beautiful. I could look at her forever. Her smiling face, and her soft curves. How does she not realize how gorgeous she is?

“Hey,” she whispers, turning towards me.

“Yeah.”

“Do you have something you want to tell me?”

“What is that supposed to mean?” I respond harshly.

“Woah,” Erin says. “Chill, Josie.”

“I feel like you’re accusing me of something.”

“Hey, look at me,” Erin says soothingly. “I’m not. You seem distracted. I just wanted to see if something was up.”

“You wouldn’t get it.”

“Try me.”

I pause, calculating my response.

“Is it a guy? Do you have a crush on someone? That’s totally normal, you know.”

“No it’s not a guy.”

“Oh, okay. What is it then?”

I take a deep breath. I’m just going to go for it. I don’t want to keep secrets from her. “It’s you.”

“What? What did I do?” Erin seems appalled. She’s getting defensive. Tell her. TELL HER.

“I like you. As more than a friend,” I mumble. Ohmygod I just told her why did I tell her she won’t get it ohmygod I ruined it.

“Oh. Oh my God. Wait seriously?” She looks so confused. Is that a bad sign?

“Yeah, seriously.” I wait. “Um, you’ll probably say no. I, uh, just wanted to see. Do you maybe wanna kiss to see what it’s like?”

“Oh my God. Uh, I don’t know. I never thought of you like that. You’re my best friend. You know that. Um, okay. Ohmygod. Let’s try.”

I can’t believe she agreed to do it. I look at her mouth. We lean in slowly. For a brief second, our lips touch. Hers feel soft and strange. It’s different than I expected. I don’t want it to end. She pulls back.

“Yeah, I don’t. I can’t. I don’t feel anything,” she replies honestly. “I’m not gay. I think I’m straight.”

“I’m sorry. This was a bad idea,” I say quickly. “Let’s just go to bed.”

We brush our teeth and get changed in different rooms. We go to bed without a sound. I try to fall asleep. I move back and forth. Tears well up in my eyes. Why did I do that? I knew it would end up badly. She doesn’t like me like that. No one thinks of me like that. Why can’t I be straight? Why can’t I like guys the way I like girls? Why do I get nervous when I see a pretty girl, but I’ve never felt attracted to a guy?

The last two days are awkward. Erin and I barely talk, especially not about that night. I thought being honest was the right thing to do, but I made everything worse. I don’t know if our friendship will ever be the same. Now we only speak briefly, to the point. We swim without talking, Erin’s dad asks us what we want to eat and then we eat in silence, we don’t watch movies anymore, we just retreat to our rooms and read. I miss her.

Maybe I am straight. I have had crushes on guys if it counts. It doesn’t matter that I didn’t want to date them, and I wasn’t attracted to them physically. That will come with time. I’m only thirteen, after all.

Just because I thought that I was in love with Erin doesn’t mean that I was. We’re just really close friends. I was just thinking about experimenting. I prove it to myself by looking at pictures of hot guys. They are handsome. See! I am straight.

I try to tell Erin. She’s reading Harry Potter on her bed. I cough. She looks up.

“Hey, Erin?” I ask, timidly.

“Yeah?” I don’t know what she’s thinking, but I really want to.

“Remember that night?” She nods. “Well, first, I’m sorry. I made things weird between us. Also, now that I’m thinking about it, I don’t think I actually like you like that. We’re so close, and you’re so pretty and amazing, but I think I was just wondering. I wanted to experiment. That’s it.”

“Josie,” she responds firmly. “Don’t do this to yourself. I don’t know what it feels like, and I’m sure it’s hard, but don’t ignore your feelings. Your sexual orientation is valid, and no matter what it is, I will always love you. As a friend. And I’m sorry that I don’t feel more than that. I wish I could, but I can’t. And you do. You have to accept that. It will be okay. You’ll find someone. I promise. In fact, you’ll find several someones. There will be girls that love you like you love them. Just not me. Come here.”

Erin opens her beautiful arms. I walk over and give her a squeeze. I bury my head in her shoulder.

“I will always love you,” I admit. “But we will be friends.”

“I’m glad,” she whispers. “I don’t want to lose my best friend.”

“Your lesbian best friend,” I add.

My beautiful straight best friend laughs. “My lesbian best friend.”

The story of my grandfather retold 70 years later…

A dagger that started a revolution. A boat that ended a war. A gun that shook the world. These acts, of both bravery and cowardice, do not boast of a leader, but those that want to make a difference. The voiceless, that created the most powerful voices. But as time recalls, they were the popular, the majority, the stars – my grandfather was not such.

He was a cruel man who followed old traditions and strict rule. But through the stories from family, he had an alter ego. One who was sympathetic, kind, and whose life was dedicated to serving his country. His story began in Guangzhou, China in a small farming village. Most of the time, his clothing was drenched in a perpetual sweat and his knuckles were skinned raw working the field in the merciless sun. Growing up, he met the love of his life in a small corner market. My grandmother was taught the ways of any typical village girl. She learned how to cook all sorts of traditional dishes. She cleaned the house, served the men, etc. Growing up, she also met the love of her life in a small corner market. They soon wed at the ripe age of 13.

At the age of 16, my grandparents boarded a ship for the land of the free and prepared for the 30 day expedition to come. Looking at this realistically, a cargo ship meant for a personnel of 20 and holding a thousand, we can only fathom what conditions they faced. Urine lining the walls – the smell of feces and disease thickening the air. On day 25 of the perilous trip, there was an obstacle. A rather large obstacle.

Bob Hom

I awoke to hundreds of other travellers frantically running around diving under beds. Jogging up to the deck, I saw a familiar blue boat docked next to ours. There were two uniformed Coast Guard officers, two on board with flashlights checking every cargo box; slowly, they progressed towards the main basement where we were holed up. I could’ve sworn I was going to be the first 16 year-old to get a heart attack. With the worst agility, I maneuvered my way around the officers to a small group who were stuck in the open. My mind flashed back to the village adjacent to ours when my best friend was in trouble with the police. He had nowhere to go and for three nights we were playing cat and mouse with them. I was interrupted by an abrupt futuristic sound. I looked over the box and saw them talking into a weird black object we now call a walkie-talkie. Suddenly, a voice spoke out of it, “Cargo Ship, Eastbound – be advised.” Abruptly, the white male stopped and whispered to his colored companion. They ran back to their boat where three males stepped out of a hidden door. I sighed with relief and went back to sleep. In the middle of a dream, I had a realization. If the Coast Guard is here, then that means we’re in… I jumped out of the painful bed to see Lady Liberty staring at me, a book in one hand, the candle in the other. Many people had already joined me on deck, but those who hadn’t soon woke up to the droll sound of a dusty horn.

Yick Hom

Such a stupid ship. No fans. Nothing. What the hell were these people thinking? Letting a thousand people board a ship with a capacity of twenty. I hope we’re almost there. I probably have like a million diseases by now. Gosh, and my hair. My poor hair. It’s all dirty….

Reluctantly, I dragged my bony legs up the stupid, narrow staircase – only to find the most beautiful view of all. Standing 93 meters high, a green colossus stared at me straight in the eyes. We sailed around it to the bustling harbor right out of Chinatown and Little Italy. There to greet us was a young group of Asian men and women, a familiar feeling tingling down my chest.

“Ne ho!” A robust lady struggled to walk up the narrow ramp that connected us. She escorted us all to a unique building that was labeled “Chinese Hotel.” Many Hispanics and Muslims walked to and from each apartment room.

Wow, very culturally in depth, I grimaced. The place was ancient. It looked like something from the History Channel. There were these statues that were coated with dust that would greet you at every corner. One time, I was walking up the stairs while talking to our neighbor and when I looked in front of me, a statue was staring right at me. The room was even worse, believe it or not. I’m pretty sure if we black-lighted the whole room, we would’ve found some very unsettling substances in very common spots. The closet was unusable because they had sealed it up due to a cockroach problem. At night, I barely slept because of the bug problem. The first night we had stayed there, I woke up to find a spider and two cockroaches exploring my body.

Bob Hom

The same day we arrived in the States, I had a chat with Uncle Sam and he recruited me for the army. But he thought my name was Jonathan Smith and that I was 21. Five days later, I said my farewell to Yick and left to fight front-line in the Korean War. At the base, two men separated the whites from the blacks. I stood in the middle and asked, “I’m not white nor black. I’m yellow, like the sun. Which way do I go?” The man hit me with his gun and I tripped over another soldier. I guess I’m white. The beds were a little more comfy than those on the ship. The smell of *** was overwhelmed by a heavy smoke – that’s when I learned to love cigarettes.

Yick Hom

The first month was the worst. Loneliness. It was worse than a million words; because none were spoken. I didn’t have many friends except for the nice corner market lady, but I didn’t even know her name. Hers was the only market that sold premium meat so her customers usually consisted of businessmen passing through. Most of the time, I was hiding out in the back, where dead cows were hung by their feet and fish sprawled out on the rusted floors.

I remember one day in particular. It was a Saturday; like all the rest, boring and lonely. So I decided to take the train to Little Russia, get out of my comfort zone. It turned out to be a quaint little neighborhood, and many of the immigrants struggled to tell me their adventures coming to America. On the way back home, I had to stop in Sheepshead Bay to get some water. At a decrepit supermarket, there were two shady men lurking through the aisles. Slowly, I moved further away from them, not wanting any trouble. Both looked African-American but I wasn’t interested enough to check. Without my knowledge, one inched his way towards one end of the aisle; I ran as fast as I could in the opposite direction. Out of the blue, the other popped up in front of me. I yelled for help, but one of them muffled me with his hand. My body became numb and my heart was about to explode. This hadn’t happened before, so I didn’t know what to do. They kept shouting derogatory slurs, but I could barely understand their rough English when I could barely speak it myself. Right before they knocked me out, they took the money from my pocket. No one found me in the store, and the register guy was too busy protecting his own. Without saying a word, I slowly dragged my legs out the door; I stopped in the doorway, a sudden surge of memories flashing through my head. The stench on the boat, the way my body couldn’t support itself. Everything came rushing through in one brief moment. My body collapsed on the ground and the sheer force of the concrete knocked me out.

Bob Hom

Day one on the battlefield was rough. We were hit twice by artillery and a wave of drunken bastards armed with 88’s who didn’t even know how to aim. But when it came down it, when times got tough, and trust me, they were always tough, we had our brothers in arms to lift us back up and keep us going. Semper Fi. Two words that kept me going when times weighed me down and life seemed like a distant reality. We were stationed in a small rural village just outside Pyongyang, where Kim Il-Sung and his forces awaited our arrival. Our small group consisting of less than 100 men were unprepared, unequipped, and had no idea who we were up against. It seemed like a good plan at the time.

Yick Hom

The hollowness inside me grew exponentially by the day. The days were more meaningless than Bobby Darin’s songs. I rarely saw any more Japanese in America after the attack on Pearl Harbor. Luckily, I was still growing up in China at the time of the attack and I was only experiencing the aftermath. Oftentimes, people would mistake me for the people who attacked them just years before. Each day, I learned more and more about the real America. There was no more freedom than in China. Propaganda took the form of commercials and communism, laws. And my partner in life wasn’t even there to save me from it.

Andrew Yuen

For three years, my grandfather had experienced all different levels of pain, from a scratch to multiple gun wounds. Sometimes the pain was so unbearable that he just wanted to end it all. But he fought on for my grandmother, the woman who never lost his faith, nor never gave up hers. It was the pure will of determination that got them both through these hard times.

Bob Hom

“Get up, boys!” Sergeant Smith whooped. It was the last day of our three year tour and the war seemed to be dying down. “I’ve some pretty good news,” he walked down the aisles of tents where we all groggily and reluctantly awoke, “The Northerners have decided to sign an Armistice Agreement. Y’all have officially saved this country and ours from those terrorists we call North Koreans. Pack yer bags, cuz we’re all going home!” We all cheered as a military transport aircraft landed in the safe zone. First, the crazies hopped aboard. The ones with PTSD. It was a sad sight, seeing as how they deserved so much better than that. Serving our country for a trip to the psych ward.

I remember my walking past the infirmary and saw several sights that were unspeakable of. Half-dressed soldiers ran around, their bodies positioned in an awkward position as they yelled at the nurses. Others had to be held down at gunpoint until they calmed down.

Then, we slowly marched into our designated spots, ready for what was to come.

Yick Hom

There was a knock on the door. First time in ages. It’s two in the morning. What can they possibly want from me? I took the bat from the kitchen and slowly opened the door. A handsome man looked at me with weary eyes. At first I couldn’t recognize him with a goatee. Then I realized. It was the love of my life. “I thought you were dead!” I dropped the bat and gave him a bear hug, never wanting to let go.

Epilogue

Bob lived a very traditional Chinese lifestyle for the next twenty years, never forgetting where he was raised and what brought him to where he was, but never quit the old habits that came with the army. Marlboro ultimately led to his demise and he died from a heart attack, caused by one of the several effects of cigarettes. Although post-traumatic stress changed him into a completely different person, he did not waver in faith to his wife nor his children.

The slanted facade of nautical disaster, that I only narrowly avoided getting caught up in, didn’t paralyze me with fear, or at least not as severely as it would any listener to my tale: a tale that few are ever able to live to tell. The oddly cloudy sky made everything especially ominous, and being the dramatic person I am, it made everything feel more intense. Call me a thrill-enthusiast of sorts, but I just can’t help but add every aspect of a terrible situation into the sum of a great and horrifying spectacle. It was almost entertaining, in the sincerest way. Despite my excited viewing of the sinking yacht before me, while I did succeed in escaping, it was not with absolute exultance. I considered the whole thing a real inconvenience.

It was hard to tell what caused the ship to expose its ulterior motive of not doing what it was supposed to do. How rebellious, sinking like that. My kind of guy. If I were a boat being trod on day and night by 200 passengers, I’d sink too. It wasn’t any sort of re-enactment of the Titanic since no icebergs were in the area, (I had done my research.) This wasn’t the ship’s first time sailing, and I couldn’t imagine any other reason for the engine to not have been functioning properly. The only other option was that another yacht (with the same ulterior motive; poor troubled soul) collided with it. That was my theory, but I didn’t go around telling people about how I was probably right. In that moment, even I knew it wasn’t necessarily a good time to start bothering people with my nonsense. Everything I ever did was nonsense according to my “loved ones”, even when my nonsense wasn’t all that nonsensical. So I kept to myself as I had been told to do since a very a young age. When the shaking voice of our captain came over the intercom as the bearer of bad news, I didn’t bother looking for my family. As awful as it may sound, the thought of their deaths occurring in mere minutes was refreshing and motivating. If they were, at long last, going to perish, I at least wanted to see what it was like to live life untied from that pole of confinement.

They thought there was something wrong with me from the moment I was born, but I was just smarter than them. Just to help brush off the unsettling paranoia, my mother named me Candi, which is ironic considering nothing about me is sweet. There wasn’t anything wrong with me in terms of mental health. Although looks and speech may be deceiving as time goes on, seasons change, but people don’t. They didn’t change any more than I did as I grew up, and you could maybe say their cruelty rubbed off on me, but I had the last laugh.

Do these twisted thoughts that entertain me make me a bad person? After all, they kept me alive. After all, those who didn’t think in these ways are now dead, i.e. every passenger but me. It was liberating to watch everyone drown, exhaling their last inhales of the sweet air they would never taste again. Like I said, who cares if I’m being obnoxious or sociopathic or any other derogatory adjective? Wish upon me all the plagues you’d like, but I’ll just laugh when I escape them. I guess it’s a disturbing form of confidence, or maybe I am sick after all, but who cares? No one whose opinions I care about is alive to give me that overdue intervention. I don’t think they ever existed.

I soon realized that staring would not sink the ship any faster, so I decided to scope out my surroundings and potential itinerary. I had a cooler in my boat with a couple jugs of water, various dried foods, a flare gun, and other basic survival tools for unanticipated life at sea, and even though it wasn’t what the crew members had intended when packing supplies into all the boats, I had these provisions all to myself.

How did I get a lifeboat all to myself? It was not an act of selfishness, but more serendipity. How did I miraculously find out that the crew members had been lying about the lack of access to the boats? To make a long story short, one drunk bastard of a crew member managed to convince another one to not let people on the lifeboats. They claimed there was something wrong with the descent pulleys, but did I buy it? Of course not. Is that a plea I would normally believe for the sake of my own safety? Probably, but I had a hunch, so I went with it.

They then escorted everyone to the other end of the boat. I stayed behind and pressed an inviting red button. One of the boats began to slide down the side of the ship. I took a deep breath, jumped into it, and watched as more idiots bickered and fought rather than dealt with the situation at hand. My courageous decision to take matters into my own hands turned out to be more practical than staying with any authorized personnels. My skepticism of being in the lifeboat alone knowing I had the chance to save someone only lasted for a short while (I do have some morals, even if they tend to be temporary). But then I realized the horrible life of neglect I’d lived. People had scorned me, shunned me, ridiculed me, and I guess in that moment I was feeling particularly vengeful and vindictive. Now here I was, alive and alone, but feeling no need to fret. For me, it wasn’t a rare occasion to be alone, but this time I was alone and feeling happy rather than knowing I was alone because people hated me. I used this me-time to my advantage and thought of it as a form of meditation. Monks do eternal relaxation crap like this all the time. Maybe I could be a monk. An 18 year-old, white, female monk.

And then I saw a small head floating hilariously against the current. I cocked my head to get a better view of his effortless charade. He seemed relaxed in his strokes. Maybe he would be like me, I thought. Maybe he too was nonchalant and indifferent. He could be my mate; the two of us, floating along the Atlantic, dismissive of our situation, living happily ever after on our raft sharing dark joke after dark joke. I swam closer to him until I could hear his moans of restlessness. It looked like I’d thought wrong and he was just like another one of the scared passengers that drowned. He noticed me before I could paddle away.

“Help!” he sputtered. He was floating around the wreckage of a ship that didn’t look like the one I’d escaped from, but another yacht. I then looked around the corner to see the remains of my own yacht. I was right after all about the reason for the sinking, and it looked like another 199 people died out of 200 on another boat.

I figured I had to help him now, although I really didn’t want to. I steered my small boat closer to him and helped him aboard. He was getting my clothes wet which aggravated me, but it wasn’t like dumping him back in the water would better the situation. He clambered onto the opposite bench and sniffled his way through sentences.

“Th…ank…you…I tho…ugt…I was al…one…I was so…sca..red.”

I cut him off before he could continue. “Keep your mouth shut and catch your breath or I’ll kick you right off.”

He did as I told him with slight aggro towards my attitude. He stayed quiet for a few minutes. It was nice to be able to give orders to someone else and know they had nothing to do but obey. It never worked that way in my house with me in control. I surveyed the area but then I realized there was no point since I barely moved away from the wreckage at all. I guess my boat had gotten a little bit to the right and around but that seemed about it. I was still left to admire the same boring backdrop of two sunken ships, the refracted planks of wood shimmering against the sheets of bluish green and a few bodies were even visible. I winced the tiniest bit and looked down at my fingernails. They were shorter than ever from all the biting. I’d be left practically with nubs by the time I reached land.

By the time we reached land.

*** it, he was still there.

“Are you okay?” He asked. His voice was deep when he wasn’t choking. “You look a little uncomfortable.”

“Me? Uncomfortable?” I was insulted. “I’m fine. Great in fact.”

At this he raised an eyebrow but changed the subject. “Eames. Declan Eames.”

I hesitated at his abruptness. “Just call me Candace.”

“Candace,” he said. “Well, Candace, what is it that’s making you feel so great?”

“You’re surrounded by it,” I laughed. He didn’t bother turning around, or laughing with me. I could tell just from that that this prude would not contribute any additional enjoyment to this situation.

“I’m glad you’re not upset by it,” he said. “After all the accident will be burned into our brains forever, and our brains alone.”

He was glad.

“Oh well,” I said. “So, I don’t suppose you were on the Marigold?”

“No, I was on the Onyx with my wife and kids.” He looked down as if he felt guilty about even saying their names. He scratched the back of his neck and sniffed. “We were on our way back to England. It was the last leg of a long, exhausting trip.”

“I was dragged onto the Marigold by my family. Glad everything backfired.”

I wasn’t sure whether or not my goal was to scare the fellow, but even if it was, it didn’t seem to be working. He examined me with a quizzical yet intrigued eye rather than a horrified one. His arms were crossed and struggling to bend through the damp silk of his jacket, but he looked comfortable. Comfortable with me.

“Are you some kind of doctor?” I asked. “You look all fancy with your jacket and your name tag that I just now noticed. Who are you?”

“‘Who are you,’” he repeated with a laugh. “I’m a pediatrician in Liverpool. I lived with my wife Elise and our daughters, Etta and Eilis.”

“You like the ‘E’ names, don’t you?”

“Elise finds them attractive.”

“Yeah, well, now she’s dead.”

He looked up from his focused gaze and stared at me. Was he horrified that I would say something like that? Angry? Hurt? From the mere minutes we’d been together, I was already finding him hard to understand. I’ve always found it fairly easy to read people. He didn’t seem very put off by my pessimistic comments or overall outlook on life. I wouldn’t say he seemed completely intrigued either. It was possible there was a middle ground I wasn’t seeing.

Changing the subject, he quickly added, “I don’t suppose you’ve touched the water at all, have you?”

“No, I managed to stay dry.”

He reached over the edge of the boat and dipped his hand into the water, suddenly whipping his hand back out and practically drenching me. The upper half of my torso was now damp and the bottom of my face, too. He stared back at me with a stone cold expression.

“How old are you, may I ask?” I said to him.

“I don’t believe that concerns you,” he replied haughtily.

“I thought it was a feminine thing to refrain from revealing your age?” He laughed. “It doesn’t concern me per se. It’s your maturity level that has my interest piqued. You must spend an awful lot of time with children.”

“I’m sitting with you, aren’t I?”

“I’m a legal adult, thank you very much.”

“Are you just in a *** because I splashed you? Are we not allowed to have a little fun?”

“Believe me,” I said, stretching my legs in a very unladylike way. “I’m having the time of my life.”

The day went on. It wasn’t very sunny. It rained for a few minutes which wasn’t pleasant, but then the weak sun took over again. Declan found a notebook at the bottom of the cooler and had a pen clipped to his jacket, so he spent most of his time writing in the notebook which, after three days, was almost half full. I hadn’t really thought of the fact that I was now forced to share my generous ration of food and water with a man I was beginning to despise. Except Declan was hard to despise. I felt like he was hiding something. A psychological problem, maybe. It was hard to know. Anyone would have a problem with my attitude, but he didn’t. He didn’t really make anything of me. I was sure he was flawed in some area that caused him to be so laid back, especially for a child’s doctor. I wanted to know more about him, but he seemed fine to stay not very well acquainted with me.

He would dismiss every conversation starter, and those were things one could not get out of me often. He didn’t seem to understand who he was dealing with here, not that he would, but he would have to learn the newly tied ropes soon. I was Candi from Manchester with her insensitive, despondent, cynical, disheartening words. Why wasn’t he scared of me? Why didn’t he react? I hated being ignored by people who projected innocence that aren’t a member of my family, since those people are the easiest to frighten.

That’s how I could tell he wasn’t innocent.

A week or so went by, and I would always feel a strong urge to undergo some sort of social interaction. Although it was definitely unusual for me to feel something like this, I wanted someone to talk to given our isolated situation, and although it was unusual for me to want something like this, I wanted access to the human, with the ability to talk, comfort and all, sitting across from me. But he was so caught up in that little notebook (that I soon began to wish I’d come across first,) and I was deathly bored. I reflexively pinned a lock of hair behind my ear, shifted my weight, cleared my throat and prepared myself to try again giving him another incentive for interaction.

“What are you writing about, Declan?” I asked, for what it was worth. “You’ve been scribbling in that thing an awful lot lately.” An ‘awful lot’ was an understatement that was clear to both of us.

He looked up as if I’d startled him and stared at me. Maybe it was just me overreacting to his actions since, after all, we hadn’t spoken while making eye contact in days. His eyeballs were unusually prominent as if preparing to eject themselves out of their sockets. His lips were dry, his hair somewhat messy and he was shaking. He was nervous about something. Was it the fact that I was talking to him? Or just our current situation as a whole? I suddenly became concerned for his mental and physical well-being.

Why was I feeling so strongly infatuated with, not Declan, but his mannerisms and responses and overall feelings?

“Oh, just notes I suppose.” He laughed nervously and his eye began twitching. I was becoming a little scared; scared that I was scared of something, and that he was acting strange. I recalled back to a few instances from the past couple of days where he seemed particularly moody or estranged, not that we were well-acquainted at all. I think I felt more acquainted with him than he felt with me.

And given the circumstances and the differences between our personalities, that didn’t seem right.

“What are you noting in partic–”

“Would you like to read them?”

His hand was outstretched to mine before I could reply. Of course I wanted to read his notes and finally find out what had been distracting him all this time. Jesus, why was this so distressing? My concern for him was unrequited, but then again, why would it be? I was rude when we first met. I’m not sorry about it, because that’s just me. He’ll never change me. Neither will this entire predicament.

I grabbed the notebook from him. His feet were tapping the bottom of our raft and he seemed anxious about me reading his notes. Without further ado, I flipped to the first page, from our first day together. I figured this would be a diary of some sort, but it was really a combination of that and a regular field notebook.

He had taken note of the weather conditions, scribbled random messages about how he missed his family and he even wrote a few things about me. Not much, to my dismay, but he did mention me being callous and unrelenting and obdurate and other words I didn’t know the meaning of. I was pretty sure they all had the same related meanings and they were not things you’d want to be called. As I sifted through the pages, the words he wrote became less coherent and his word choices were questionable. As the words got shakier and not as well-constructed, the thoughts became more insane. He said that he’d seen the Onyx sailing through fog up ahead a few times and he was planning to try and get to it.

“Don’t read that part!”

Declan snatched the book out of my hand, looked at the page I was on and then looked at me as if I’d just read his deepest darkest secret.

“I’m…sorry,” I mumbled. “You never specified a stopping point.”

“Well, you’ve reached it.” He slammed the book onto the bench next to him. “I’m taking a nap.”

“Wow, I’m flattered that you felt the need to tell me.”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s not like you talk to me at all. I’m surprised you bothered to update me on your schedule.”

“Well, you’re welcome. I didn’t know my actions were a topic that interested you.”

I didn’t quite know either. “I never said they were.”

“I didn’t want to tell you,” he blurted out suddenly.

I stared him. “You didn’t want to tell me what?” He looked down nervously, still twitching. “Declan, come on, we’re stuck on a boat together. Whatever secrets you think you have, you may as well come out with them. After all we probably won’t last another–”

“Will you shut your condescending mouth?”

That got me to shut my condescending mouth. “I’m sorry, do you have a problem?”

“I do have a problem.” He stood up and started pacing, causing our small boat to rock back and forth. It worried me slightly. “The entire time we’ve been stuck here you’ve been expressing your pessimistic, sardonic, wry opinions that frankly I don’t care about.”

“Declan, you’re–”

“We are two completely different people. That’s it. And when the differences between us are this prominent, they shouldn’t be thrown together, but since we’re forcefully stuck on this *** boat, we should at least be aware of the fact that our personalities don’t mesh and try to work with it. Let’s both be a little flexible, shall we?”

He’s trying to change me. “Declan, the boat–”

“And another thing–”

“Declan you’re shaking the boat!” I screamed at the top of my lungs.

He plopped down on the bench which shook the boat even more, but he looked like he wasn’t planning for his crazed rant to stop.

“Declan, if I were you I would stop right there. When I saw you I wanted to row away as quickly as I could. I saved your life despite the fact that I really didn’t care. You better be *** thankful for that.”

“Well, let’s see Candace, if I had saved your life would you have shown any thanks at all?”

He hadn’t used my name since our first day together. “You need to calm down and realize you can’t change people so that your life can be more of a breeze.”

“I’m asking you to be flexible,” he said. “Is that a word in your tiny vocabulary?” He was looking at me with bloodthirsty eyes and I thought he was maybe considering killing me. With what, it was hard to know, but he seemed like the kind of guy to get creative when necessary. I actually started to feel sorry and guilty for putting him through everything. For forcing him to deal with me. But that is not something I have ever felt before. I never care about other people’s needs, but I seemed to for him, and I hated that. Suddenly, his eyes wandered to a spot behind me. His expression dropped and he started shaking again. Not the kind of shaking when you get angry, but the kind of shaking when you have an adrenaline rush. He grabbed his notebook and walked right past me, staring off into the fog up ahead.

He opened his book and started writing without looking. He just stared mindlessly into the fog, but he looked perplexed. He was staring at nothing. He was examining. What was he doing? He was still shaking, too.

“Declan, what was it you said you didn’t want to tell me?”

He didn’t answer me.

“Declan, out with it!”

I was expecting something really important and possibly day-changing but what I heard was somewhat disappointing in its pointlessness.

“I didn’t want to tell you that I saw the Onyx!”

“Declan are you kidding me? The Onyx is gone! Your family is gone! Sit down and get a grip!”

“Look over there if you don’t believe me.”

He pointed to where the fog was. There was nothing there.

“I don’t see anything, Declan–”

“Look!” He put his hand on my shoulder, sending shivers down my spine. His shaking fingers were practically digging holes into my flesh. I was tempted to flick his hand away but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I let my eyes follow his index finger and then I saw it. A ship-like shadow in the distance.

It wasn’t really a ship, but for someone as vulnerable as Declan, it could have passed as one. I wanted desperately to believe it was a real ship, and sometimes I would let myself slip into full-belief of its existence, but the part of me that hadn’t lost itself pulled me back up and slapped me across the face.

My first thought was to get us to it and seek help, but my gut was telling me not to for a reason unbeknownst to me. My brain was telling me to steer the boat into the fog and where the ship was, but every time the thought threatened to cross my mind, the side of me that managed to stay sane was vetoing the idea. Was it not a good idea?

But then I realized what was happening. “Declan…”

“My wife, my kids, they’re still alive.”

“Declan, even if that was the Onyx, your family is–”

“It is the Onyx!”

He lifted his arm and before I could figure out what he was going to do, I grabbed his wrist. The muscles in his arm were tense but they softened at my touch.

“Declan, I need you to listen to me.”

“Do you see it too?”

The truth was that I did see it. From what I’d seen of the Onyx, the two ships did look practically similar. The thing was that I didn’t really have the clearest image of the ship in the distance. Whatever Declan saw was probably more defined and visible. Either way, I knew better than to let a hallucination fool me.

“Declan, I see it.” His eye twitched. He had gone absolutely mad. “But you need to listen to me. I know what’s happening to you. You’re having a hallucination. It’s the weather, that’s it. It’s the light and the refraction in the water. It’s creating images that are messing with your head. Whatever you see isn’t actually there.”

“Why should I be listening to you?”

“Because my sanity right now is more reliable than yours and don’t you dare try to convince either of us otherwise.”

He walked to the other end of the boat. “I know you think I’m crazy, Candace.” That was the third time he’d used my name. “I see the way you examine me, and you feel sorry for me. You think I’m just some miserable family man who can’t take care of himself in a harsh situation, but I know exactly what I’m doing.”

“I do not feel sorry for you.” It was kind of true. I did pity him, but I don’t pity people. “Declan, even if it’s the last thing I do, I’m not letting you give into the hallucination. You’re going crazy, and now that you know that that’s what I think of you, I don’t have to hide it. You need to get ahold of yourself.”

“I’m not listening to you! I’m going after the Onyx whether you join me or not!”

I was losing patience very quickly. “Declan, that’s not the god***ed Onyx! Your family is not there! It’s all in your head! How are you gonna feel if and when you get to the ship and realize that I was right and you were wrong?”

He stared me dead in the eye for a good ten seconds. He took off his jacket and threw it at me before spastically diving into the water. My heart stopped.

“Declan!” I screamed. The current was becoming especially strong but he fought it with such determination. I wondered what it could have been like to love my family that much.

He couldn’t leave me. He just couldn’t.

He ignored me. His arms ripped  through the waves and his struggling legs splashed me with water, but this time I didn’t mind. I wasn’t going to let him succumb to the hysteria, but he wasn’t going to let me help him. It was impossible to see this ending well. He was already feet away. I had to think quickly, but no matter how quickly I thought, it was inevitable that he be swept away by the lie-infested current, leading him to a place he wanted desperately to go to, but wasn’t what he thought. And ultimately, he would realize this and go crazier. The idea of freedom was being dangled in front of him as a cruel joke made by the laws of physics. The fact that images like these appear and mess with one’s brain is horrible, and it was the last thing I would ever want.

It was the last thing I would ever want for Declan.

Declan, a man who’d lost his family, a man with obvious struggles, a man I genuinely pitied.

I was too busy over-analyzing to realize that Declan had already reached the deceiving fog. It pained me to watch as he gave in to his own delirium and achieved nothing when he thought he could achieve so much.

It was as if his body melted into the water and rode with the current, like he had been doing this for the past few miles. I think I kept staring in his former direction hours after he left, maybe even days, but time was a myth after you’d been on a lifeboat for this long.

It was weird to be alone after being accompanied for so long. My vocal chords felt like a swamp that had no uses anymore. With no one to talk to, I felt myself going mad, but I was self-aware and looked at it as if I were watching a show. When you’re alone in a compromised situation, it’s easy to create presences that are purely for the maintenance of your sanity, but really, those mere ideas of possible companionship are what drive you crazier.

Declan visits me at least twice a day. He can’t communicate, or stay longer than fifteen seconds, but he comes.

She didn’t look back, she just kept running.

My sister was something different. I could remember from they day I met her in the hospital, her dark brown eyes met mine and I got a tickle in my stomach. Rachel always was looking to be someone different. Mom and Dad had separated when she was in first grade and this was the point in which Rachel’s anger built up. Each year we would pick out our Halloween costumes with our grandma, and Rachel would always run into the aisle and pick out the same Scream Mask and fish net stockings. Grandma would sigh, but didn’t want to get involved in her craziness. In second grade she had a best friend named Sarah, everyday they would run home lock the door and play and laugh for hours. Oh, our sweet little Rachel. As Halloween of third grade came around, Sarah no longer came over, something about “not agreeing on the same costume.” I didn’t see Rachel for a week after that, but the trail of Godiva chocolate wrappers through the hallway gave me the sense she was still there. Amongst Rachel’s differences, she loved me more than anyone in the world. On stormy nights she would nuzzle up against me in my bed and the sound of her breath was more powerful than the racket outside. Whenever Rachel would act up, we would lie on the roof and stare at the stars, hand in hand we would hum her favorite song. At school I would see Rachel alone, after school alone, but that time on the roof we had each other, she wasn’t alone.

Today is Rachel’s first day of highschool year, my junior year. I rush downstairs, eat a bowl of cereal, get dressed and grab my keys. Where was Rachel? I wait by the door, expecting her to be down soon. “Mom, where the heck is Rachel?” I holler. No response, maybe she’s out getting coffee. “Rachel!” I scream up the stairs.

“What…” travels down the stairs in a moan.

“It is the first day of school and you’re sleeping, that’s a great start, stupid.” Just then, Mom walks in the door and she insists I leave and she’ll drive Rachel to school when she’s ready. I was too confused, why did Rachel not care at all, what had gotten into her?

My jaw drops. My head fills with disbelief. This could not be my sister? Who has taken over her? I walk past her, “Rachel?” She’s dressed in black fishnet stockings, a short leather skirt, with black outlining her eyes. It seems as if her Halloween costume has become a reality.

Her earbud slips from her ear. ”Hey Fran,” she says, then drops her head and continues walking. The rest of the day I can’t concentrate, there is no way Mom let her out of the house like that, I remember the day I tried to a short dress to the school dance and Mom totally flipped out. Thank goodness I survived the day without seeing my new sister again.

That night at dinner she’s dressed in sweatpants and a sweatshirt, I force myself to speak. “How was your day Rae?”

“Fine.”

“Any good teachers?”

“Yeah they’re chill.”

I finish my chicken and go to wash the dishes, she drops her plate in the sink and I don’t see her till the next morning. Mom is puzzled by our lack of conversation, it bothers me too.

Within a few weeks Rachel makes a new friend, Eden. Just like Sarah they run up the stairs and lock the door, except this girl is different from Sarah. Eden dresses with skulls and black, her ear is filled with earrings and her voice is low and raspy. They must have lost interest in our house because after a couple of weeks they no longer came over. I once caught a glimpse of them slipping behind the fence by school and that night Rachel wasn’t home till after ten. One night it rained, my baby sister didn’t come to lie next to me. I sobbed harder than the rain falling onto our roof, the roof where we would lie and stare at the stars.

I was worried for my sister. What angered me the most was that Mom didn’t seem to care. Was I kidding, Rachel would never care what Mom said. As I laid in bed, without knowing where or who my sister was, I decided I was going to have to talk to her.

I couldn’t spit it out, I stumbled on my words. But the second I saw her dark chocolate eyes, surrounded by that awful ring of black makeup, the words poured out. “Where did my loving, kind, funny sister go.” I waited for a response, she glanced up with nothing to say. “Rachel talk to me, I love you, I care.”

“Am I not allowed to be different because you don’t accept me? Oh pardon me, I’ll just become an exact copy of you, Mrs. Perfect. Just mind your own business anyways, mother,” she rolls her eyes.

This was the first time she had spoken to me like this. I walked away and up into my room. I wanted to be alone, like a star in the hushed night sky, something my sister would actually want to look up to. That night I dreamt of my sister’s personality being stolen from her heart. I woke in a cold sweat.

Breakfast was uncomfortable, I couldn’t dare look at her stinging eyes and obnoxious soul. I no longer cared for who she would become, I gave up. In the halls I would see her and her “gang,” cutting class, laughing, they never made eye contact with me. It still bothered me, but I pretended I didn’t care. Until the day she smelt of drugs.

It was a cool spring day, days like these me and my friend Hannah would meet in the park to study. I came home around five, and Rachel wasn’t home yet. Mom was at court tonight, her and Dad still had conflict over custody. Rachel walked in the door around 8:30, an hour over her weekday curfew. Classic Rachel taking advantage of our family problems. I left her a hamburger on the kitchen table, but the minute she got home she walked straight to her room. Just then I smelt it, the sharp stinging smell of weed.

I ran to her room in a humph. I stared into her eyes, the chocolate eyes that I saw when she was an innocent baby, the ones that often were surrounded by a ring of black and the ones that now are bloodshot. She looked at me sideways. “Leave me alone.”

“What, so you can just smoke in peace?”

She stumbled over the rug and tossed me a plastic bag filled with green leaves. “You need to chill girl, have some,” she had a low tone and slurred her words. I shrieked, ran out the door, slamming it behind me.

Mom walked in, to see me in the hallway crying, without saying a word I pointed towards Rachel’s door. She walked in and I could hear her gasp. Mom never really did anything about it, it’s what we all expected.

I couldn’t take it, my sister was ruining her life. When Rachel was in elementry school I remember when she came home with a 60% on a math test she really worked hard on and she came home and said, “I wish I could just die.” This frightened me, I stirred all that night thinking of my life without my sister. Just like the Halloween costume I felt this too was becoming a reality too. But this time I had to stop it.

Everytime I saw her I would stare in shame. “Your life is crumbling and you won’t listen to me, it’s just stupid and total bull ***.”

“I don’t care what you say, you mean nothing to me, I’m happy and that’s all that matters.”

“Shut the *** up with the excuses, you are killing yourself and I feel like I’m going down with you.”

It felt good to say it, it just came out. She stopped and looked up at me. She heard me that time.

“I’ve gotten into this Fran, I’m not gonna get out.”

“And I tried to stop you…”

“That’s my sister, my perfect, always right sister.”

The next morning she came down the stairs, a backpack slung over her shoulder. She tossed me a note. She didn’t look back she just kept running. I collapsed onto the floor. “If you don’t love me here, I need to find somewhere where I will be loved.” So this was all my fault. The drugs, the goth everything was on me. I got up and tried to run, I fell on the grass. I called Mom, “Mommy she’s gone, Rachel is gone.”

“What do you mean?”

“She ran, she’s gone.”

“Why didn’t you follow her?”

“Why didn’t you get involved in your daughter’s life?” I grabbed my keys and rushed into the car. I searched all over town, Mom left work and was searching also. I called Sarah, Rachel’s old best friend, she told me about who Rachel was hanging out with and where should could possibly be. I thanked her, hung up and began searching for the house’s of her friends.

It was four hours later when we found her. She was hiding at a friends apartment in the town over. When I found her, I was stunned. There she was, my baby sister, the one I thought I would never see again. She looked tired and dirty, I grinned at her, my heart thumped. When we got home Mom hugged her, then she went upstairs.

Ironically, it poured that night. I hear her light feet on the creaky floorboards. I moved to the left side of my bed and she slipped next to me. The sound of her breath put me to sleep, “I love you Rachel.”

“I love you too, Franny,” and then came the tears.

The rain still came down, but the stars were unseen.

Keys — Life is Just a String of Keys

My fingers traced along the keys making a slow, soft melody. I don’t really remember what I was playing, something famous, maybe Swan Lake, but that wasn’t important. I remember the cool feeling as I touched the smooth keys. I was wearing a dress I think, something white, white and purple. The whole room smelled of lilacs and my music flowed out of the keys into the eager audience’s ears. It was a good recital, not that it matters, not now. I remember that last note I struck, it was a C#, and the note hung in the air, the piece didn’t seem finished, and it wasn’t supposed to be. There was a bang, a loud bang, but after that there was only silence. They took me to the hospital. I remember the flashing lights, they were red. I remember laying motionless, my hand bloodstream stopped for a moment, wanting to speak, and I could have, but I couldn’t find the courage. Hushed whispers in the hospital. The doctor and my parents talking. And now here. Trying to fall asleep in this plastic covered hospital bed. My hand laying motionless beside me, fingers limp, pale and lifeless. Never to be used again was what I heard the doctor say. Finally, I remembered the writhing pain when the piano cover slammed on my hand, the hand that was once a hand. As a bellybutton is worthless after you’ve been born, my hand is worthless after it’s been crushed.

The room smells of medicine, fake water, acids to put inside people, to help them. No natural cold water, nourishing to the touch. The wallpaper has teddybears on them, creepy teddy bears holding hearts. I don’t like it. There is no music, the place is dead, cold, silent. I’m going home tomorrow. They’ve done as much as they can, they say. They say. How different it will feel to be home, to see the piano I once played sitting there, reminding me on everything i’ve lost. Reminding me of that day, that fateful day.

I wake up to the nurse’s face hovering over mine, smiling  and cooing as if I was a baby. I was awake most of last night, thinking. The nurse grabs a red plastic tray and puts it on my lap. I see a loaf of stale bread, pudding, and some sort of nectary, sticky juice. I push the tray away. The nurse pulls a clementine from behind her back. She speaks, but to me, she doesn’t say a word. I don’t care enough to listen. I just want to go home. I still take the clementine and peel it. It is juicy. I smile at her. I feel like a child who lost their voice.

My parents stayed in a hotel near the hospital. The airport was nearby. They sat on the edge of my bed and told me about how they heard planes whooshing by all night. It’s nice to know that i’m not the only one who barely slept last night. I knew they wanted me to speak, as they looked at me with anxious eyes brimming with hope. I felt so sick, even though I wasn’t. Not talking made everything seem so much worse. But I couldn’t bring myself to speak, I couldn’t.

They took me to the car. When I got up and took a step, it felt wobbly, almost like the legs I was standing on weren’t mine. As I exited the hospital and smelled the fresh air, it felt like I had woken up from a nightmare. It was a cloudy day. The sky was full of gray blotches. As I put one foot into the car, It began to rain. Cold, wet raindrops fell down to the ground, pouring themselves towards everything, like tiny cannonballs. The nurse and the doctor, crouched down trying to stop themselves from getting wet, they all beckoned for me to get into the car. I slowly drew my foot out, and looking up at the sky, I smiled. I smiled, I laughed. I laughed.
It stopped raining. They helped me into the backseat of the car. As we drove away, I rolled open the window and watched as the hospital waved goodbye. My parents didn’t talk for the whole time. I liked the silence. It made it seem less unnatural for me to not talk. As we rolled down Maple Street. Memories began to flood into my mind. Things that I could never do anymore. I could never ride my skateboard, the doctor said it was too much of a risk, no more Friday family bike rides, no more piano. I closed the window and looked straight at the gray seat in front of me. There was no point of looking at something I could never enjoy in the same way. The seat in front of me never changed. Sure, it can be shifted forwards and backwards, but it was something you could always count on to never take you by surprise when you looked at it. Maple Street was full of surprises.

As we pulled into the driveway and my mom accounted that we were home in a bright, cheery voice. I wasn’t as excited as I thought I would be. When I swung open the chestnut wood door and looked inside, everything looked different. I had known before that living at home would never be the same, but looking at the things I had always appreciated in life made me have almost no feeling towards them. I ran into the living room looking for the big black piano that once stood there, but it was gone. A lead weight dropped to the bottom of my stomach and I turned to my parents for explanation. They looked guiltily at each other and told me that they got rid of it. The said that they didn’t want me to see it and be upset about what I had lost. They said that I couldn’t play anymore. They said there was no point.

I remembered. I was 2. It was Christmas. Under the tree was a keyboard- a baby keyboard in a big red ribbon. The first time I ever struck a note was that day. It was a C#. By the time I turned 4, I had memorized the whole keyboard. I could name any note and play it. I played simple songs until I was 5. Symphonies came between 6 and 7. That was when I got a grand piano. Recitals came at 8. Awards. Ribbons. First place. Second. Practicing everyday at age 9. Then one more recital. Still 9. No more piano.

I should have ran upstairs and slammed the door to my room in my parent’s faces, but I only had one hand. So, I slowly walked, step by step up the staircase and into my room. My room had always been painted light purple. I had always told my parents how much I wanted red walls, red, my favorite color. Right now, I couldn’t care in the least what color my walls were. But when I stepped into my room, the walls were painted bright firetruck red. The color of the paint sample I showed my parents every time we went into a hardware store. They had always said, maybe someday. I looked around my red, blushing room and into the white mirror on the wall. I smiled. My room looked like me. I saw in the mirror my red bushy hair, my blue eyes, my freckles, and I saw this beautiful red, and I smiled. Red was the color of love, of life, of fireworks, red sparks flashing in the sky, deep red was the color of everything mixed together to make a murky, lazy mixture of beauty and blood. I was red.

I took a nap. I don’t know how long I slept, I didn’t know what time I fell asleep, but I woke up to a dark window, my arm pulsing in pain under the bandage. On the foot of my bed was a typed note and my old baby keyboard. The note said-

We’re sorry honey

Found this in the garage

Love, Mom and Dad

I felt the keys with my one hand, and the pain stopped in the other. I began to play Twinkle Twinkle Little Star with one hand. It sounded like an elephant stepping on my keyboard, all the right notes, sounding wrong. The song felt incomplete without the harmony. The melody needs something else. The melody needed the other hand. I wanted to get out of bed and slam the keyboard to the ground, but I couldn’t, not with one hand. I lay back, closed my eyes and they filled with tears. I wanted to wipe them away but I didn’t have enough hands. I fell asleep with dried tears on my face.

When I opened my eyes, my mom was sitting on the right side on the bed, and my dad on the left. They were both looking worried, but relief flashed through their faces when I sat up in bed. I could tell right away what my mom was thinking, thank god she’s not dead. How weak did they think I was! Then I remembered, I was so weak, I couldn’t even pull up the feathery covers from my bed. Helping me out of bed was the hard part, as they could only hold one of my hands. The hospital gave us some chair that can be raised up so I can just scoot into it to get off my bed. As I hopped down to the floor, I smelled eggs and bacon cooking in a pan downstairs. As I sniffed, I glanced at my parents and saw them mouthing to each other. When they noticed me looking at them, they helped me downstairs muttering something to me in muffled voices.

My parents sat me down in a chair and started feeding me. I tried to pull their hands full of spoons away from me, I didn’t want to have to be fed. I can’t be this helpless. I tried to tell them to stop, but I didn’t speak or say a word. They shoved more and more food into my mouth, stuffing me like a turkey. I started pushing with my one hand more violently, they were feeding me too fast. They didn’t get the message. I tried to get up from my chair but they still didn’t understand. It was… it was scary. Scary knowing that my parents could accidentally hurt me. Finally, they understood. I was helped up and I slowly walked into the downstairs bathroom, crying. I felt like a stupid baby. I had to be fed, and cared for, and everyone had to always watch me. I just wanted my life back. So there I sat, in the bathroom crying, making everything feel more babyish than it did already.

Once I lowered the sound of my crying, I heard my parents talking in the kitchen, saying something about how it’s not safe for me to not want to talk, something about taking me to therapy. I took a deep breath, and stepped out of the bathroom. Looking my parents right in the eye, I sat down, and using my one working hand, I spooned the hot eggs into my mouth. My parents stared at me in awe, and I finished up my plate and slowly walked my way upstairs into my room.

My parents barely said anything to me after that all day. I think they were embarrassed for thinking that I was so helpless. I found a way to feed my cat, Barley one-handed. I guess for everything now, I have to find a way. Some things though, are better off left alone. I’m trying to not think about this, but deep inside, I don’t think it’s bad that my parents got rid of my piano. I have to learn to cope without it. Maybe, well maybe. I don’t know. Maybe if I can eat one-handed, I can play one-handed. Really, I know this is not possible. It’s better off left alone.

After my parents said goodnight, I didn’t really go to sleep. I clumsily tried to take a box from under my bed. It took me a minute, but once I pulled it out, I found a way to slide it open and take out my scrapbook. I slid onto the chair and put my foot on the “raise” pedal. After laying in bed comfortably, or semi-comfortably, I used my one hand to turn the first page of the book. There were pictures of the first time I rode my skateboard, when I fell off and broke my leg. There was a picture of me in the hospital, surrounded by flowers and friends, with a laughing smile on my face. There was a picture of everyone signing my cast. I closed the book. Maybe that’s what I needed. I looked so happy in that picture, yet I was injured. Yes, it wasn’t as serious as this, and yes, I was only 6, but I could at least try, try to be happy.

I woke up the next morning with the scrapbook open on my lap, no covers on me. My parents weren’t there. I looked at the alarm clock and saw that the time was 9:00 AM. Something wasn’t right. My parents told me they would wake me up every morning. I crept out of my room and saw my mom sleeping peacefully in their bed, but my dad was gone. I shivered and crept down the staircase slowly, but stopped as I noticed my dad in a red robe standing by the window. I crouched to the ground and watched as my dad turned around. He was smoking a cigarette with a black tip. He dropped it to the ground and grounded it with his foot. He walked over to the computer and hesitantly began to type an email. Closing the computer, he headed towards the staircase. I tried to crouch lower so he wouldn’t see me, but it was too late. He gave me a look that had no definite expression, and saying nothing, he picked me up and carried me back into my room.

I’ve never seen my dad smoke before. I don’t really know what to think. What if…? No, I tell myself, pushing the thought away. I knew I needed something to distract me from life itself. Things were getting way too complicated. My mom slowly walks into my room and sits down next to me on my bed. She is silent and so am I. Then she wraps her arms around me and gives me a tight squeeze for no reason, or for every reason. She holds on tight, and when it seems like she will never let go, she does. She looks at me with a small smile and brushes my red hair away from my eyes. I watch as my mom walks over to my drawer and takes out a red sequined shirt and gold shorts. After helping me put them on, she leaves the room, still smiling in a strange way. She seems to be hinting for me to follow her, so I do. I follow her to the staircase, but then she steps aside allowing me to see… Lulu. Lulu. Lulu the angel. Lulu the perfect doll. Lulu, the girl with the long blonde hair. Lulu the perfect. Lulu the gentle. Lulu the sensitive. Lulu the sincere. Lulu, my best friend. I race down the stairs, while my mom looks at me in horror, worried I will trip and fall. Lulu runs to the bottom of the staircase to meet me, and we awkwardly hug, or at least try.

I wish I was ready, ready to talk, to tell Lulu everything, about my life, my problems, everything I’ve cried about and laughed about since I last saw her. Last saw her… My face changes from daylight to darkness. When I last saw her. At my piano recital. She hands me her rose bouquet, not understanding my change in mood. Red roses. My favorite. I throw them to the ground with my one hand, and run back upstairs. I don’t know what excuses my mom gave for my “rude behavior” to Lulu and her parents. I don’t know what time Lulu left, and I don’t know if she cried- but knowing Lulu, she probably did. I felt guilty right after it. I ran downstairs and clumsily picked up the roses. She had just been trying to be a good friend. I felt like my heart shattered like a stained glass window. I had been so rude… rude to my best friend. A little light bulb popped into my head. I ran into the kitchen where my mom was sitting. She got up right when I ran into the room. I stood and pointed to the fridge, so she opened it for me. I took out butter, flour, apricots, eggs, and milk, and then took grandma’s apricot pie recipe from the recipe box. I think my mom got the point from that. My mom started mixing the pie crust batter. I sighed. There was no way I could help after my accident. Suddenly, my mom handed me a wooden mixing spoon and told me to mix the batter. I looked at her confused. How could I use this with only one hand? My mom looked at me meaningfully and told me to try. I held onto the spoon with my hand and began to swirl the mixture in the bowl. A spark inside my soul lit up as the struggle to mix became easier. Maybe everything would be alright. If I could do this, who knows what else I could do.

Once the pie was done, the whole room smelled of sweet, hot apricots and crispy crust. I took it all in and cracked a hidden smile. My mom said that she would give the pie to Lulu’s mom the next day. The phone ring and my mom answered it. She handed the phone to me. It was Beatriz. Beatriz was my other best friend. She didn’t know about what had happened to me. I now know that Beatriz didn’t know that what she said would hurt me. I wish I could have realized it then. As I answered the phone, I pictured Beatriz sweeping her long black hair behind her shoulders and holding the phone, her nails painted bubblegum pink. Beatriz’s biggest fault had always been not knowing the difference between funny and mean. This wasn’t this time. This time, she would have understood why I hung up, if she had only known. When she started her sentence I knew it would result in disaster. Right after she said in a squealing excited voice that she got into the Juilliard young people’s orchestra. Beatriz was a great piano player too. She applied to the Juilliard young people’s orchestra as the piano player. She didn’t know that I applied too. After she said it, all my anger bubbled up to the top of my stomach and I slammed the phone down. Right after she said the words that took the smile off my face.

I stormed upstairs, my mom looking up at me confused after not hearing what I heard on the phone. So I guess I’m not good enough. I wouldn’t have even gotten in if I could play the piano. Beatriz would have been the piano player in any situation. I locked myself in my room not listening to my parents knocking on the door loudly asking me if I was ok. I was not ok. I began sobbing. I kicked my baby keyboard to the floor stepping on it, crying tears of red lava. All the keys fell out all over the floor, a tangle of white and black rectangles. That’s all they are, just stupid rectangles. Life is just a string of stupid keys. I ripped my piano posters from the walls, sent my trophies crashing to the ground, and threw all my ribbons away.

And then I smiled. All my piano worries and thoughts seemed to whisk away from my head. Not quickly, but slowly. Each thought taking its own time. I had nothing left anymore to remind me of what I used to love. I didn’t need piano anymore, I need something that I could use. I had to stop pretending as if my hand injury had never happened.  I knew it more than ever now. I could never play the piano again. And what surprised me about this was how happy I was. I felt like a burden, a weight came off my shoulders. I realized that I just need to find a way, just like I was for everything else. I had to find something else I could do, there had to be something that did not involve using my hand.

I raced out of my room and down the stairs.

“C#,” I said laughing.

I passed my parents looking at me wide-eyed as I ran by. I’m not really sure if they followed me, I wasn’t looking behind me. All I knew was that I had to try that pie. It was important that I did, after all I can’t bake if I’m bad at it. Something about that moment when my mom handed me the spoon and when I realized that I really could do things with my hand felt really magical. Maybe that’s what I’m looking for, a little magic. I didn’t know if I could be good at baking, if I could ever have a chance, but if I had never tried piano who knows where I would be now? Who knows if I would have realized that life is just a string of keys? There are high notes and low notes, but the most important thing is what you take them as. I’m not perfect, but I’m sure glad. I’m not saying that I wish I had my hand injury in the first place, but it’s the little moments, looking at my scrapbook, seeing my friends happy about things that I wanted, finding secrets I didn’t know about people in my family that really make life up. This is my story, what’s yours?

“It was an odd beast,” the York family said when their dog came back in the house with a blue looking animal all chewed up. The dog, Cammy, was wagging her tail as if nothing happened. The family did not know what to do, blood was all over the floor from this strange looking beast the dog had chewed up. The family called a specialist, but he said that he had never seen anything like this before. The family cleaned it all up before the dog started chewing it up more. They were a bit scared, especially for the dog, because what if the animal was poisonous? The mother of the family called the vet, even though he probably couldn’t do that much because nobody in Connecticut or the world had ever experienced this animal before.

That night they were all too scared to go to bed. In the middle of the night they heard something outside. They all froze to listen. It sounded like birds chirping, except worse. Finally they looked outside and saw hundreds of the beasts that the dog had chewed up. They were all the size of a duck, but were bright blue in the shape of a frog with teeth. They were so scared because there were hundreds of them. The father asked very nervously, “Where did they all come from?” The little girl and boy, Allie and Sam, did not know. They just hid under the covers in their parents’ room.

Then the mom asked, “Where did the dog go?”

They all said “Oh no!” and headed downstairs to see if he was in his bed, but he was not there! They were so scared. Then the father looked out the window and saw the weird looking beasts all huddling around something that looked brown and white!

The dad screamed, “That’s our dog!”

The mother looked confused and said, “What are you talking about?”

The dad, almost speechless, just pointed out of the window to show her the beasts crowding the dog.

The mom said, “What should we do!? We need to keep the kids inside before they see the dog because they will start crying.”

“I need to go get him,” said the father.

He grabbed a kitchen knife and slowly opened the door.

“Be careful honey!” said the mother.

“I will,” said the father.

As he stepped outside, the beasts looked straight at him and all ran away except for one that headed straight towards him, as if he were about to bite on to him, but as he saw the knife heading towards him he ran away toward the group. The dog was finally free, but his hair was all messed up from the beasts biting him. He was shaking and looked out into the distance where the beasts had run off to. The father picked him up to go inside. The mother was shocked, and thankful nobody was hurt. The mother didn’t even recognize the dog because of his fur that was all tangled and wet from the beasts’ mouths. The stayed up all night with the dog to make sure he was ok, but he fell asleep and so did they eventually.

The next morning the dog looked so bad and dirty that they took her to the groomer. The groomer was shocked, but said, “She’ll look good when it’s done.”